Chapter Text
Rudo doesn't realize it at first. That he's nesting, i mean.
It started as just collecting things. Y'know, the works. Soft things, useful things, clothes from 2019 that probably haven't seen the sun since, and fabric scraps. What he doesn't realize is that he's kind of accumulated a pile. That is, of course, is until Enjin points it out...
Rudo is in his room when Enjin walks in, finding the boy practically burrowed into a pile of blankets and clothes that reek of his scent. He pauses in the doorway, raising an eyebrow as he takes in the scene. The heap is… impressive, to say the least, in a chaotic, very Rudo kind of way. Layers of mismatched fabric, old jackets, worn shirts, even bits of tarp and cloth stitched together like some makeshift fortress. And right in the middle of it, Rudo is curled up, half-hidden, shoulders tense as if he’s been caught doing something he doesn’t understand. His eyes flick up, sharp and defensive, but there’s something else there too, something softer, uncertain.
“...Why the hell do you have a pile?” Enjin asks, not unkindly, but blunt as ever. He steps closer, nudging aside a pile with his foot. The scent hits him stronger now. Rudo’s scent, thick and overwhelming in a way it’s never been before. It's a bit sweet, like whipped topping and lemons. It clicks a second later, and Enjin’s expression shifts, subtle but unmistakable. “…You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
Rudo bristles immediately. “It’s not a pile,” he snaps, though he pulls one of the blankets tighter around himself, almost instinctively. “I just..these were useful. And it’s comfortable. So what?” But even as he says it, his voice wavers, betraying him. He doesn’t understand why he feels so exposed, why Enjin standing there feels like a threat to something he didn’t even know he was building.
Enjin exhales through his nose, running a hand through his hair. “Rudo,” he says, slower now, more careful. “You’re nesting.”
The word lands heavy. Rudo frowns, like it physically pains him to process it. “I’m.. I'm not nesting,” he starts, but stops. Because when he looks around, really looks, it’s obvious. The way everything is arranged around him, the way he’s tucked himself into the center, the way every piece smells like him. His stomach twists. “…That’s not.. I didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah, no one does their first time,” Enjin mutters. He crouches down slightly, not entering the nest but close enough that Rudo doesn’t feel abandoned. There’s a strange tension in the air now, something instinctive and new. “You’re presenting, idiot. Omega stuff. It happens.”
Rudo’s grip tightens on the fabric in his hands. Presenting. The word makes his chest feel tight, like something’s shifting under his skin that he can’t control. “So what, I just… start acting like this?” he asks, quieter now, frustration shifting into something almost reminiscent of vulnerability.
Enjin shrugs one shoulder, though his gaze stays sharp, observant. “Not acting, it’s just what your body does. Nesting helps you feel safe, right?” He glances at the pile again, then back at Rudo, who nods reluctantly. “Could be worse. At least you’ve got decent taste in materials.”
That earns a weak scoff from Rudo, but he doesn’t argue again. Instead, he sinks a little deeper into the nest, tension easing just a fraction. It still feels... strange, being seen like this. Being understood in a way he didn’t ask for. But Enjin doesn’t laugh, doesn’t tear it apart, doesn’t treat it like something shameful. He just… shrugs and leaves the room, leaving Rudo to his nest of blankets, pillows, clothes and fabric.
After 20 minutes of throroughly thinking about his own presentation as an omega, Rudo just sighs and burrows further into his nest, dozing off peacefully.