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Daiki had been sitting cross-legged on their shared bedroom floor for what seemed like hours, surrounded by a scatter of Atsushi's cardigans and shirts. If Daiki closed his eyes and focused, he could smell the lingering scent of rain after it had fallen, a calming petrichor he had grown accustomed to.
The morning light filtered through the blinds in stripes, casting soft wisps over the nest. It was really more of a circle of clothes layered on top of each other. Daiki grabbed the nearest piece of clothing and brought it to his nose, sniffing slightly as a smile unconsciously spread across his face. He rubbed his face along it, a strange sound coming from the middle of his chest—primal.
Each cardigan that belonged to Atsushi was layered with intense care—or as much care as Daiki’s finicky hands allowed him to have— around himself, creating a small mound of softness that smelled like safety, like Atsushi, like home.
At first, it really had been unintentional, Daiki didn't mean to hoard all of Atsushi's clothes until one day, about a week ago, he saw Atsushi looking dumbfounded in the closet, mumbling something about where he could have misplaced his favorite cardigan.
And he didn't mean to yesterday, when Atsushi was scrambling to find his work shirt.
Or two hours ago, when Atsushi found that shirt stashed away in a corner of their small walk-in closet.
But just because Atsushi found one clothing item didn't mean that there weren't more stashed elsewhere, in fact, that one single blue-colored cardigan that Atsushi had stressed over was draped over Daiki's frail stature minutes later, when the apartment had begun to feel too cold, too empty without Atsushi’s anxious babbling and nonsensical caring filling the space.
But one cardigan didn't feel like it was enough, if that made sense; it didn't satiate the nagging urge that Daiki had begun to indulge in the past few weeks.
The faint trace of Atsushi’s scent and the lingering warmth from the last time he wore it tugged at something deep inside Daiki. It was strange; he was a beta, he always had been..
Maybe Atsushi’s omega-ness was rubbing off on him, or something like that. Daiki was sure that something was messing with his mind.
And being in Atsushi's scent wasn't helping. He needed to put these up, and fast, before it spreads even quicker.
Daiki’s hands began to tremble ever-so slightly as he shoved the last of Atsushi’s cardigans into the cramped closet, tugging the door shut with more force than necessary.
The woolen fabric of one of the cardigans snagged slightly on the doors, but he chose to ignore it. He needed to step back, to catch his breath, to walk away.
The growing urge lingered even after he attempted to walk away. A pressure remained in his chest, some stupid instinct that betas had maybe. It felt almost like a persistent itch beneath his skin, one that he couldn't reach or scratch properly.
He really wanted to pull the cardigans back out and bury himself in the familiar scent, but Daiki clenched his fists, trying to ground himself with the cool press of his nails against his palms. "No," he whispered, "Nope, not doing that." His tone wavered.
Daiki could pretend like saying those words really did dispel the thoughts that encouraged him to indulge; they didn't, but he could still pretend that they did.
Even still, he was determined to distract himself. As Daiki shuffled to the kitchenette, flicking the switch on the electric kettle with practiced ease. — He had been practicing! Atsushi was so proud of him, too. When he first learned how to make a simple cup of ramen, Atsushi had raved about it for a week straight, and Daiki was still reeling from it a month later. — The mundane routine calmed him slightly as he selected his favorite mug, which was a chipped one Atsushi had gifted him during a small trip to a flea market.
He spooned tea leaves into an infuser, watching the water boil, steam curling like fragile ribbons into the air. As Daiki poured the hot water, the faint aroma of the tea — jasmine and something citrusy — rose upward, but it felt hollow compared to the comforting petrichor scent he’d just buried away.
No, don't think about it, you're being stupid. If you just focus on the scent right now, then it'll be fine, you'll forget it ever happened, and then Atsushi won't ever have to know.
It'll be fine, he repeated. Daiki brought the mug to his lips, sipping it carefully, letting the warmth coat his throat as it went down, but it did next to nothing to soothe the restless ache that began to bloom in his chest.
By the time Atsushi returned home, Daiki had begun to settle on the couch, his mug empty, the taste long since faded. He watched Atsushi kick off his shoes, messy pink hair slightly tangled from his midsection and lower.
There was something strangely magnetic; stupidly, insanely, intensely grounding about Atsushi’s presence that made Daiki’s fingers twitch to reach out.
He didn't.
"Hey, you alright there, Daiki?" Atsushi asked, tilting his head, concern etched in the curve of his brow.
Daiki forced a smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, nodding. "Yeah, 'm just tired, you worry wart. I didn't sleep all that well last night, that all."
But when Atsushi’s gaze lingered, oddly sharp and observant, nose flaring and eyes narrowing; Daiki felt like he could actually see through the facade he built up, and when Atsushi's scent spiked for a fraction of a second, Daiki felt like, maybe, just maybe, he could.
Atsushi stepped closer, his scent slightly stronger now, — less diluted and smothered by the cologne he wears to cover it — and Daiki’s heart almost stumbled.
The scent wrapped around him like an invisible tether, pulling tight, and for the first time, Daiki couldn’t ignore it. His fingers tightened around the empty mug, knuckles white.
Okay, that was new.
Daiki’s heart raced with a frantic familiar rhythm as he shot up from the couch, the mug slipping from his grasp just enough to clank sharply against the glass coffee table, not breaking, but still making a loud enough sound that Atsushi flinched back.
The sound itself echoed louder than it should have.
“Ah—Atsu- s-sorry,” he blurted, his voice too tight, too scratchy, too small.
He didn’t wait for Atsushi’s reply, his footsteps quick and uneven as he dashed past, the undercurrent of Atsushi’s scent clinging to him like static.
He could faintly hear Atsushi following behind, footsteps echoing with each step as the part-timer tried asking him what was wrong, worrying about him incessantly; so annoying.
The bathroom door clicked shut, a quiet sound compared to what was racing through his head as he felt his breathing pick up.
Daiki gripped the edge of the marble sink, fingers digging into the cool object until his knuckles blanched. His reflection stared back with wide, unsteady, and unfamiliar eyes, auburn hair streaked with white, and his cardigan—his, not Atsushi’s, despite Atsushi buying it for him—hanging loosely, like it no longer fit right on his body.
His breath came in short, yet ragged, bursts, chest rising and falling too quickly. He squeezed his eyes shut, attempting to perhaps will the rising tide of emotion recede into his brain.
“'m a beta," he rasped, the words thin and brittle; not even sounding truthful to himself. But it was, it was truthful, he was a beta, he knew that this was a fact.
But even if he repeated these words like a mantra, his body always seemed to betray him. His fingers trembled against the sink’s cold surface. His knees felt unsteady, like the ground itself wasn’t solid enough; the once cold marble floor seemed to behave like a tidal wave without his expressed permission.
He tried to slow his breathing—inhale, exhale, like what Atsushi had told him last time something like this happened—but each breath caught halfway, tangled in the tightness coiling in his chest.
God, where was Atsushi when he needed him? When had he even entered the bathroom? What was he doing here?
Daiki let go of the sink, running his palms down his face, clawing at the soft skin that he felt underneath, and eventually let his hands come up in fists next to his head as he slowly backed into the wall, right next to the door.
His hands clenched themselves harder, dull nails biting into his palms with sharp precision. Pain was grounding, right? This was what he was supposed to do, right?
Everything around him closed in on him, swirling and churning around his being. Daiki felt too small, too tiny, too insignificant to fight back.
The only thing that Daiki could hear was white noise — the sounds in his head, the sounds of his breathing, his own voice as he repeated words that seemed too dreadful all sounded foreign, as if he wasn't the one doing it,—
“No,” he whispered, "No, nononono..." he then began to shake his head vehemently, as if motion alone could dislodge the spiraling thoughts, along with the sight of the walls, which were approaching closer.
The reflection that wasn't his stared down at him; pitying. A sob threatened to rise, and he swallowed it down, throat burning in return.
Daiki slouched against the wall, head in his knees as he began to slowly shrink into himself, rubbing his palms against the fabric of his own jeans, trying to gain a sense of closure.
No, this wasn't working, nothing ever worked for him, he couldn't do anything right, could never be anything correctly. He jammed his fists against his thighs, hard, trying to anchor himself in pain, in anything that wasn’t this shameful moment.
“Stop it. You’re fine. Y-You’re normal,” he muttered, voice trembling despite the harshness of his tone.
His brain blurred, smudged itself, and blanched every time he tried to think. Everything seemed like it was in slow-mo, every time he tried to look up, his vision started to be delayed, edges of his eyes blurring; not from tears,— he wouldn’t cry, he wasn't supposed to cry, he knew what would happen if he cried — but simply from the uneven breaths fogging the mirror. He wiped at his face angrily with a sound mixed with a groan and a growl, as if clearing the dampness on his face could somehow clear the chaos that made his head spin.
Daiki's chest ached, and raced, and hurt. Where was Atsushi? He needed Atsushi.
He needed out.
Daiki’s breath hitched, his chest constricting to the point where it felt like the very air had turned against him, the oxygen seemingly beginning to scald his insides as if it were sour-smelling vanilla acid.
The sharp sting of nails digging into his palms was a distant throb against the overwhelming cacophony of white noise that clouded his mind with agony.
His body trembled, sweat slicking his temples despite the coolness of the bathroom. The walls seemed too close, pressing inward with suffocating insistence.
From beyond the door, muffled knocks and a voice pierced through the haze—Atsushi’s concerned voice.
"Daiki? Daiki, open the door, please. It’s me, Atsushi. It’s okay, just… just open the door for me?"
Atsushi.
The desperate realization that he needed to escape, to breathe, to move then suddenly overrode his senses.
With shaking hands, Daiki clawed at the metal doorknob, his fingers slipping once, twice, before finally managing to twist it. The door swung open abruptly, and Atsushi nearly stumbled forward from where he'd been leaning, his worried face inches away.
Daiki’s vision blurred and whited out at the edges, tears streaming down unchecked, his chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths. Before he could collapse under the weight of it all, Atsushi’s arms enveloped him—warm, grounding, solid... good.
Atsushi’s scent washed over him, unfiltered and practically immediate — Atsushi's scent usually was a dull smell, one that Daiki had turned off a week into their meeting, already accustomed to the scent, but now, Atsushi's scent was harsh and merciful, and Daiki would do anything to bury his nose in Atsushi's neck to get a reprieve. —
Atsushi's hands both wrapped around the frayed edges of Daiki’s heart like a balm, his palms felt firm yet gentle, one cradling the back of Daiki’s head, the other pressing against his trembling back, tracing patterns in the fabric, and then coming down to rub circles on the back of his palm.
“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” Atsushi whispered, his voice sounded soft, almost as if he was whispering despite it only being the two in the room. “I’m here. You’re okay. You’re safe.”
Daiki’s fingers clutched at Atsushi’s shirt, gripping it like a lifeline,—he was, if Daiki thought about it.—The sob he’d tried to swallow a few seconds ago broke free, raw and desperate, muffled against Atsushi’s shoulder.
“I-I can’t—” Daiki gasped between hiccupped gasps, “I’m— I-I’m not—”
“You don’t have to be anything right now, it's okay," Atsushi murmured, his chin resting lightly against Daiki’s temple, rocking them both slowly side to side on the cold marble floor. “Just breathe with me, okay? Just… breathe.”
Atsushi’s steady heartbeat thudded softly against Daiki’s chest, a rhythmic reminder that he wasn’t alone, not anymore, and that he hadn't been. Atsushi's been with him, been caring for him so much, been so patient, and loving, and caring for Daiki despite everything horrible that both of them had done. It made Daiki almost want to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it.
Atsushi began to breathe deliberately, slow, deep inhales followed by gentle exhales, guiding Daiki through each sob and gasp that clawed itself out.
Daiki’s breaths remained shaky, but gradually, the crushing weight on his chest began to lift. His sobs softened into small hiccups as his tears dried on his flushed red cheeks, his grip on Atsushi loosening just enough to shift, though not letting go completely.
When Daiki came to, just a little bit, he could feel the pressure of Atssuhi's wrist against his, subconsciously rubbing against his own scent gland.
Atsushi pulled back slightly, just enough to cup Daiki’s damp cheeks with one of his hands, his thumb wiping away the tears with tender strokes. His gaze was soft but unyielding, filled with a warmth that made Daiki’s throat ache and twist again.
“You’re okay,” Atsushi repeated, voice a quiet promise. “I’ve got you.”
Daiki’s lips trembled, but he managed a small, broken nod, his breath hitching with each gulp of air, his chest still trembling with the remnants of the sobs that had wracked his body moments before.
His wide, tear-glazed eyes stared up at Atsushi, almost as if his defenses that he normally kept in place had crumbled completely.
Ah, he was small now, Atsushi thinks, at least.
“I—'m s-sorry,” Daiki stammered, voice thin and shaky, his words broken by residual hiccups. “I didn’t mean to—I just... A-Atsushi....—!”
Atsushi gently shushed him, his fingers continuing their soft, grounding patterns along Daiki’s cheek, thumb brushing away stray tears as he began to sob in the crook pf hid neck again. His other hand remained wrapped around Daiki’s wrist, his own scent gland pressed softly against Daiki’s skin. The comforting scent of warm vanilla intertwined with the faint petrichor drifted around them in soft bursts.
“Shh, Daiki, it’s okay, it's alright,” Atsushi whispered, his voice steady and practically coated in honey. “You don’t need to be sorry. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to feel stuff. You’re safe here with me.”
Daiki’s heart clenched at Atsushi’s words, his mind recoiling as if the kindness was something sharp.
Safe?
The word echoed hollowly in his chest, fossilizing there, mocking him, and foreign to his mind. Atsushi’s comfort felt like pity, like being seen and exposed through a lens Daiki never wanted to be exposed under. His fingers twitched against Atsushi’s shirt, not in gratitude, but in an instinctive attempt to pull away—to retreat, to hide, that was all.
But Atsushi didn’t let go. His touch remained steady, not suffocating, not trapping, just… there. A presence, a pressure against his own in return.
Daiki’s trembling eased slightly, though his mind clung stubbornly to the self-loathing whispers. He’s only doing this because he feels bad for you, you know. The thought stung worse than the ache in his chest.
Yet, despite the resistance, Atsushi’s presence seeped in, like warmth seeping through a crack in a sealed window. The gentle press of Atsushi’s carpal scent gland against his own wrist wasn’t condescending; Atsushi had never been condescending.
After a few more shaky inhales, breath still hitching and trying to catch up to itself, Daiki’s body began to relax completely, pure exhaustion from the emotional strain catching up with him. His eyelids became heavy, head bobbing and lolling forward as he gave a soft, almost silent sigh before going fully limp in Atsushi’s arms, his breathing evening out into the steady cadence of sleep.
...Atsushi stayed still for a moment, his hand still cradling Daiki’s wrist, his scent lingering like a soft protection over them both.
Ah, was he scenting Daiki the entire time he was coddling him?
Atsushi blinked once, then twice. His hand still rested gently against Daiki’s skin. He could feel the faint pulse beneath his fingertips, more steady now, calm.
Carefully, Atsushi eased them both into a more comfortable position, his arms still securely wrapped around Daiki, unwilling to let go just yet.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured again, more just to himself this time.
Atsushi held Daiki close for a few more moments, an indescribable strange feeling gnawing at his core as he looked down at the mess of tears.
Can he waste all his time here on this floor? Can he sit in Daiki's light for just a little while longer?
And so he tried to; he stayed cradling Daiki for a few minutes, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as sleep finally claimed him. His arms tightened slightly, as if afraid that letting go might shatter the fragile calmness that had just settled over Daiki. But Atsushi knew they couldn’t stay on the cold bathroom floor all night.
With careful, measured movements, Atsushi shifted his weight, sliding one arm beneath Daiki’s knees and the other around his back. Gathering Daiki gently into his arms, Atsushi stood, his muscles protesting slightly under the strain, which wasn't much, he was scarily light. Daiki’s head lolled against Atsushi's shoulder, his warm breath fanning against Atsushi’s neck, a faint remnant of trembling still ghosting through his frame.
Atsushi carried Daiki down the short hallway toward their shared bedroom. The door creaked softly as he nudged it open with his foot, the dim light from the living room casting faint shadows across the familiar space. The bed was unmade, a tangle of sheets and pillows.
Lowering Daiki gently onto the soft mattress, Atsushi took a small moment to adjust the pillows, cradling Daiki’s head with utter care.
His fingers lingered, brushing stray auburn strands from Daiki’s damp forehead. As Atsushi looked Daiki over, the tear tracks on Daiki’s cheeks caught Atsushi’s attention, and with a soft frown, tenderness creasing his brow, he cupped Daiki’s face, his thumbs gently wiping away the remnants of still-damp tears.
His touch was feather-light, the part-timer still slightly afraid of waking him; though Daiki remained deep in slumber, his face slack and softened with exhaustion.
Atsushi stood for a moment, and then a few moments more, his hands resting on the edge of the bed, eyes tracing the familiar lines of Daiki’s face, softened by sleep. There was a feeling in his chest again, it was a pressure that made its way up to his throat, a numbness that clawed its way up and made the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Was he happy? He was, because.. both of them had finally accepted that it's okay. And that they were not okay, but they could get better, with each other, and that's fine. That's fine, while Daiki was here. It's all.. finally, fine. If Atsushi ignored that feeling, maybe it would go away... surely, right?
Then, with a quiet, dejected sigh, he turned and padded silently back to the living room; The faintest scent of rain and bare vanilla still lingered in the air.
As he approached the room, his eyes fell on the forgotten mug resting on the coffee table, its chipped rim faintly catching the soft glow of the nearby lamp, along with the fading sun setting. Atsushi stared at it for a heartbeat longer than necessary, longer than he wanted.
With a soft shake of his head, Atsushi let the mug be, turning instead to face toward the closet where he knew the extra blankets were stored. He gathered a few, their familiar soft textures grounding him as he made his way back to the bedroom.
Daiki hadn’t moved. His breathing was steady, his body still curled slightly into the mattress as if seeking comfort. Atsushi draped the blankets over him with careful precision, tucking the edges in gently, ensuring Daiki was cocooned in warmth, safety, and smelled like home (him).
Atsushi stood beside the bed, the dim light casting soft shadows across both of them.
Atsushi knew that Daiki wasn't a beta anymore, if he even had been in the first place, he was pretty sure he had known for about a week or two now.
The signs had been clear before, but now they were practically blaring in his face. He thought back on every gesture, — Daiki nuzzling the lower half of his face into Atsushi's neck before he went to work, rubbing his scent gland onto him as if he was trying to intertwine their scents, despite both of theirs not being prevalent on their own. —
Every instinctive pull toward Atsushi’s scent, — Atsushi settling into the couch, finally home from work and ready to just rest his eyes on the couch, when Daiki had waltzed up to him without a word and flopped over; sighing as he just... lay over him, akin to a cat; Atsushi letting the smaller boy do so. —
The hoarding of his clothes, — Atsushi had seen Daiki take his cardigans from the laundry, frowning at the loss of his scent and throwing them on the bed, only taking them after Atsushi had worn them out once or twice. —
Daiki was an omega.
Huh.
But... Atsushi? He was a beta who was used to never fitting the mold of aloof detachment expected from his secondary gender. He was used to people mistaking him as just an omega, since his scent was usually more present than most betas he's known, and he was more on the 'smaller side' of the scale.
Sitting on the floor beside Daiki’s bed, Atsushi rested his head against the mattress, feeling the faint rhythm of Daiki’s breathing beneath the blankets.
God, how were they gonna navigate through this? Alphas were expected to be with omegas, that was normal, that was what society expected of both of them; for Eaiki to end up with an Alpha, and Atsushi to end up with... Well, Betas were usually indifferent observers, people who could hypothetically be with an alpha or an omega, but were mostly expected to be with other betas.
But here they were, sitting in a shoddy apartment room, already breaking all of the preconceived rules, despite their relationship not even being romantic; God no, neither of them wanted anything to do with that, and that was okay, because they didn't have to be romantic, nor platonic. They just needed to be Daiki and Atsushi.
The room grew quieter, save for the soft sound of Daiki’s breathing and the occasional rustle of fabric as Atsushi adjusted his position. His fingers lightly brushed Daiki’s wrist again, the faint pulse steady beneath his touch.
...He could deal with it in the morning, he told himself as he let the scent of vanilla wash over him, making his eyelids heavy and then slowly ease shut.