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Summary
Omegas in pre-heat were useless. They dripped, they whined, they tugged at their own collars and pawed at their own throats and made nuisances of themselves.
Naoya, before he had started taking suppressants continuously, had watched himself fall apart in similar undignified ways-like a filthy, worthless animal, leaking slick and begging for something to fill his hole.
He had built his life on the certainty that this was the rule of the world. Heat made you weak and inferior and stupid.
The thing across the tunnel from him was producing precision blood-shards out of its own circulatory system, holding a guard, reading his movements, and giving him a cut on the cheek. On the edge of heat.
It was offensive.
Omegas are weak and pathetic and useless. Nobody knows this better than Zenin Naoya, who has furiously suppressed his heats since the day he presented. But the omega in front of him, with the dark stripe painted across his nose and hair thrown into messy buns, is not pathetic at all. Naoya is incandescent with rage.