Chapter Text
If there was one thing that Kento hadn't missed at all about jujutsu and all of its bullshit, then it was certainly the threat of death hanging over everyone's heads. He had left precisely because he could not stand having to interact with people and make friends with them, when they might as well be dead the next day. That uncertainty, that heartbreak, was what had originally turned Kento away from jujutsu.
But now he was back, too late if you asked some, and he thought that he was ready to face such loss again. He would simply harden his heart and not let it get to him this time. As he was already jaded by the soulless grinding mill of regular society, he thought himself immune.
He had forgotten about all the other things that also annoyed him back in the day. Such as the shitty scents being sprayed everywhere by hormonal teens and adult teachers that should know better alike.
Regular people did not have this quirk of biology that born jujutsu sorcerers had. They were all, as modern jujutsu slang called them, 'betas'. They had no scents, no primal instincts beyond the usual, no biological anomalies that bisected jujutsu sorcerers into 'alphas' and 'omegas'.
Thankfully, Kento lived in a time where the old, far more derogatory terms were no longer in use. Or he might have blown a gasket far earlier than he had in this lifetime.
In any case, he had pulled somewhat of a double win in this stupid genetic lottery. He was born not only as a male, but a male alpha at that. It awarded him with certain preconceived privileges stemming from the misogynistic, eugenicist and racist roots of jujutsu society. Not only did the higher-ups see this biological difference between jujutsu sorcerers and regular people as proof of their genetic superiority, but they also used its justification to suppress those of either female or both female and omega presentation. That's where the eugenicist tendencies came in as well, with vocabulary such as 'breeding' being slung around like it didn't dehumanize the very real women they were speaking about.
Male omegas and female alphas held a somewhat contentious place in this strict hierarchy, somehow tolerated yet even more perverse in the subversion of the supposed natural order the higher-ups had constructed. Naturally, that was the justification they presented every time they were reminded of Getou Suguru, who had been a male omega. Nevermind the fact that most special-grades seemed to edge into the contentious, with Gojo Satoru also being a male omega, and Tsukumo Yuki having presented as a female alpha.
Whatever the case may be, Kento was glad to have been accepted back in jujutsu society as a grade 1 sorcerer. He was less happy about his welcome back as a 'virile breeder' thanks to his alpha status. Especially when such comments were followed up with the addendum that his 'pedigree' was sadly lacking, though there was potential to 'refreshing' certain bloodlines. Referring to his status as a sorcerer born to an entirely non-sorcerer family, of course.
He wanted to puke. Or better, cut off some heads. But alas. All he could do was bow and swallow his pride.
While he studied at university and later worked as a salaryman, Kento had not cherished enough that nobody gave a shit about his presentation. They were more curious about his naturally blond hair than his scent, which also became annoying after a while, but never threatened to veer into the breeding-stock talk that it always seemed to with the higher-ups. Nor had Kento cherished enough how clean everyone around him smelled.
Now he was inundated in the confusing perfumes of sweaty students and the silent pissing contests between teachers, directors and higher-ups, and he wished that everyone would just fucking stop it.
Perhaps that way the reason why Kento had naturally gravitated towards the new addition to the Tokyo Jujutsu High roster, newly awakened grade 1 sorcerer Higuruma Hiromi. As a former non-sorcerer, the man was still and likely would remain a beta. He neither perceived nor participated in the chemical warfare that was currently happening in the meeting between Principal Gakuganji and Gojo Satoru.
Meetings between school staff and the higher-ups were never pleasant to begin with. But throw instincts and scents into the mix, and it was an inevitable headache. Though Kento didn't even know why he had been invited to this meeting, seeing as he was neither school staff nor was he working directly for the higher-ups.
"It is tradition," Gakuganji said, his alpha scent sour with displeasure. He was sitting on top a pretty thick cushion, while everyone else was forced to sit directly on the ancient tatami mats. He had claimed it was because of his old age, but Kento knew that man could still move like a twenty-year-old.
"Fuck tradition," Gojo spat back.
"The rules have already been bent to the point of nearly breaking. There is no reason to further—"
"You didn't have a problem with it last year!"
"I did," Gakuganji bit out, "but as usual you—"
"Perhaps I could take a look at the rules and determine if there is a compromise that would satisfy Gojo-san, while still complying with the tradition?" Higuruma then offered diplomatically.
That was when Gojo let out his scent. Higuruma, as the sole beta in the room, was the only one not wrinkling his nose at the sudden assault of passion fruit—unripe, acidic and tangy. Kento swallowed back a cough.
"We do it my way or we won't do it at all," Gojo said, standing up.
"Outrageous!" Gakuganji yelled, all pretense of frailty thrown out the window. "You can't just—!"
The scent increased in intensity, enough to have Iori swaying where she sat. Even Gakuganji couldn't hold back an unseemly grimace.
Gojo just smiled.
"If everyone is in favor?"
No one dared to even say anything.
"Good," Gojo laughed and walked out of the room, effectively ending the meeting on his own terms.
"Why did Principal Gakuganji suddenly back down without counterargument? I almost had him convinced to compromise," Higuruma asked him later, leaning against the vending machine next to the one Kento was trying to coax into giving him a can of soda.
"Because Gojo practically burned off all our scent receptors with his stink," Kento sighed. Finally, after another kick to the stubborn machine, his can dropped down. He bent low to fish it out, then cracked it open with one hand. "Be grateful you didn't smell that shit."
"Oh, I am. It is very entertaining to see you all flinch from something I don't even know is there."
Kento furrowed his brow as he took a sip of his drink.
"Really," he emphasized. "I mean it. You don't want any part of this."
Higuruma shrugged.
"It just doesn't feel like I'm really part of anything, you know. Still looking from the outside in. Even Yuuji-kun has presented as an alpha now."
Tapping his finger against the half empty can, Kento thought to himself. He had noticed that Higuruma and Itadori were rather close, but had waved it off as trauma-bonding due to the things they had experienced in the Culling Games and afterwards. But that their—until recently—mutual beta-status was a factor as well had not even occurred to Kento.
"It really bothers you that much?"
"No," Higuruma said, though he had turned his eyes away, avoiding Kento's gaze. "I mean, I understand intellectually how annoying all the scents and instincts probably are. Especially when they are used to bully others. But I can tell other sorcerers hate the fact that I smell like nothing and avoid me for it. You're the only one who doesn't give a shit. Aside from some of the kids, I suppose."
Kento stared.
"Oh. Well. I like that you smell like nothing," he then said dumbly.
"Thanks," Higuruma drawled. He then pushed himself off the vending machine and checked his wristwatch. "Anyway. I have a mission later tonight, and I should get some food and a nap in before then. See you later?"
"See you," Kento said automatically.
As it was already nearing 6pm and Kento did not have a mission scheduled for tonight, he left the campus and headed home. On the way, he picked up a bento box for dinner, and as he did so, he realized how alienating it really was that everyone in his surroundings was equally as scentless, almost identity-less and blank as Higuruma.
Regardless of designation, one's scent could tell a lot about a person. It was almost an instant personality-check. Domineering and extroverted people often had intrusive, aggressive scents, for example. On top of that, scents changed based on mood or health status, and could tell a lot of information that one could act upon accordingly. For example, smelling Gojo's fury despite his genial grin would let Kento know that he should give the omega wide, wide berth.
He had none of that information on Higuruma. Just like he didn't with any of the non-sorcerers milling about in the konbini with him right now.
A jolt of anxiety bolted through him. He almost tamped it down, were it not for the knowledge that no one in his surroundings could read the spike of bitterness in his scent anyway, so there was no reason to control it. Had he read Higuruma wrong all this time? How was he to know if the other sorcerer was genuinely comfortable in his presence? How was he to know if Higuruma told him the truth when he said that he was fine?
And why did that thought of not knowing bother Kento so much?
Kento was not one to let his alpha instincts rule his life. His designation was not an excuse to be a raging asshole. But he did for example enjoy knowing when Shoko was feeling sad or when her heat was coming up, so he could bring her expensive chocolate or offer her a night out drinking and smoking without judgement. It let him take care of his friends. Because he could tell from their scents when they needed it. He even let Gojo tease and poke fun at him sometimes, when he could tell that his senpai needed the outlet.
He would never be able to do that for Higuruma. And he was now realizing that he wanted to. That he cared for the older man and could relate to him in a different way than anyone else. But even if he allowed himself to live out his alpha instincts, Higuruma would likely not understand. Nor could he reciprocate in any—to Kento's instincts—meaningful manner. He had no scent. If he were to bite—
He had no scent.
He went home and ate his bento while listening to an audiobook, but he had to rewind it several times because his thoughts were drifting. Even after a long shower he did not feel much clearer. Perhaps his rut was coming early? It should not be for several months yet. But how else was he supposed to explain this strange flare of his instincts?
As he prepared for bed that night, he resolved to drop by Shoko's and have her check him out. Just in case something was wrong.
The next day, he picked up a coffee and a pastry to go from a nearby bakery. It wasn't the same as when he had done the same thing back during his salaryman days. But the routine of it was still soothing. Besides, nothing could beat the smell of a bakery, the fresh feeling of biting into a still warm pastry.
There was no mission scheduled for him today, but he was on-call as the only available grade 1 that was not already on a mission, just recovering from one, or otherwise indisposed. He was picked up by an assistant manager who drove him to the school. There, he was expected to sit on his ass and twiddle his thumbs until the alarm came that his intervention was required. But until then he was free to do whatever, as long as he could abandon it at the drop of a hat.
First, he went by the ready station to greet the grade 3 and grade 2 sorcerers milling about there. They would be the ones called out ahead of him, if there was an emergency. Only once they could not deal with whatever threat they faced would Kento be required to go in after them.
They all bowed and nodded at him politely, but gave him a wide berth. The scents in the air were sour with anxiety, but also dusty and powdery with boredom. Kento let them be and moved on to the training field.
From the shadows of a nearby elm tree, Kento observed the new first years running laps while Inumaki-kun shouted onigiri ingredients at them through a megaphone.
Kento wondered where the other third years and the second years had gone. He also wondered, though less so, where Gojo had gone to leave poor Inumaki-kun in charge of training the first years.
On his way to the infirmary, Kento encountered only empty hallways that felt even emptier now that the Kyoto delegation had left. He remembered all of a sudden when, as students, Haibara once asked him why there were so many lockers and shower stalls and class rooms when the vast majority of them remained empty. He couldn't remember what he had answered.
The hallways leading to Shoko's office and the adjacent mortuary were pungent with the smell of disinfectant. Just below that, Kento's nose could pick up on her faint omegan scent. It had always reminded him of a bouquet of toxic oleander, seeping from her office like a warning.
Her door was open, so Kento did not bother to knock. Inside, Shoko was seated behind her desk, a lit cigarette between her fingers. She then tapped the bud against a half-full ashtray and muttered around an exhalation of smoke: "Is this a social visit, Nanami?"
"Not really."
"Sit." She gestured at the chair in front of her desk with the cigarette, then went to take another drag. "What ails you?"
Kento lowered himself into the chair gingerly, then said: "I'm worried about my rut cycle being early."
"Why?"
"I'm … sensitive to smells." Or the lack thereof. "Territorial instincts. Things like that."
"Your scent hasn't spiked?"
"Not that I'm aware of."
"Libido?"
"Normal."
Her brow furrowed delicately as she leaned forward.
"What makes you think your cycle is out of order then?"
"Nothing specific, I— … Can't you just check?" he sighed.
"Oh," she chuckled warmly. "You should have just said that you wanted me to draw your blood. Pull up your sleeve."
He complied, taking off his jacket before rolling up his shirt sleeve, and held still as she drew some blood. She even healed the tiny puncture wound with a swipe of her cursed energy. As she did that, she also casually rubbed her wrist across his inner forearm. It seemed like an unconscious gesture. Kento relaxed further into his seat.
"I'll check your hormone levels, and see if I notice anything else."
"Thank you."
"Is that all?"
"Yes, I think so." He stood and rolled down his sleeve again. Covering up Shoko's gentle scent mark on his arm. "How long will this take?"
"A few days. I'll call you with the results."
"Okay."
While she put away her instruments with her back turned to him, she asked: "Aside from that, how are you holding up?"
Kento shrugged, even though she couldn't see it.
"You know how it is. I've been busy." He put on his jacket again. "I made a new Binding Vow."
"Oh?" She sat back down and picked up her cigarette. "Tell me more."
"It's a time based vow that I'm calling Overtime. I am restricting my own cursed energy output to about 80% during what can be considered a regular workday. So, let's say from nine to five. After that, I am able to undo that cap in order to generate roughly 120% of my regular output."
"How very on theme," she chuckled warmly.
"I ran it by Gojo, he's already laughed in my face about it."
Shoko waved him off.
"Don't let him get to you. I think it sounds like a great idea. It won't handicap you too much during the day, but since most sorcerers' work happens at night, that's when you will reap the benefits."
"Exactly." He hesitated. "And you? How have you been?"
"Same old, same old," she sighed, then put the cigarette between her lips. With it still held there, she muttered: "Now get out of here, I have charting to do. I will call you with the results."
"Alright. Thanks again."
"Don't mention it."
With that, Kento left Shoko's office feeling somewhat lighter, though he worried about his friend and former senpai. He may have unburdened himself, as did most people who visited her office, yet that may well have come at the cost of piling on more suffering onto her. As a doctor, he knew she did not have an easy job. Even more so, considering her clientele.
There was, after all, a reason why the morgue was right next door to her office.
Instead of tracing his way back to the ready station, Kento took a detour. As he walked along empty paths with overgrown greenery and abandoned structures lining them, he fought to shake off a feeling of wrongness. The layout of the shrines and other buildings around the campus did not constantly change anymore because Tengen was no longer aware enough to shuffle the arrangement of their barriers. It was strange to think of these changes sometimes. He had left the jujutsu world for just about ten years, yet sometimes he couldn't recognize it anymore.
It was mutual, he knew that. Aside from Gojo and Shoko and the rest of his cohort who had survived this long, everyone else treated Kento with a certain distance. He knew it was because some of them just didn't know and trust him yet. Some also resented him for not being there for the Parade of a Hundred Demons. And of course he was not there during the Shibuya incident and after—so of course they wondered if his presence might not have saved a few more lives. And some avoided him just out of principle. Because he wasn't a member of a clan, because he had dared to retire and then come back, because he had nothing of value to offer to them.
It didn't matter to Kento. As long as they didn't go out of their way to bother him.
As he rounded a corner, Kento got a sudden whiff of watermelon and something like wood polish. An omega and an alpha?
Before he could wonder further, the voice of a woman cried out in frustration.
"Dammit! Why is this so hard?"
"Just keep trying," answered a man's voice, sounding superficially cheerful and energetic, but Kento got the sense of an underlying exhaustion or perhaps sadness that also soured the wood polish scent. "You have already made so much progress, you will be back to where you were before in no time."
"Yeah," the woman said, "but I hate it. Everyone else is making progress. And I'm just clawing my way back to where I started."
As the man answered with more well-meaning mutterings, Kento finally saw them. He recognized the woman, one of the second year students, Kugisaki Nobara. With her was a young man dressed in dark, baggy clothes. His left sleeve had been tied off at the elbow, because that was where his arm ended. Both of them had one eye covered by a patch. Despite that, they both spotted Kento before he could decide whether to greet and approach or give them a wide berth.
"Nanami-san," greeted the man with a wide grin. "Are you here to train too?"
"No, just on a walk." He paused in his steps, then bowed shallowly. "Apologies, I do not believe we have officially met before."
"Ah! Sorry about that! I am Ino Takuma," the man hurried to say, mirroring his bow.
"Nanami Kento. Nice to meet you both."
"Kugisaki Nobara," the young woman said, though she didn't bow. In her right hand, she lazily swung a carpentry hammer. Her gaze was as piercing as her nails undoubtedly were, despite her missing eye.
"I did not mean to interrupt. Please, continue. I should get back to the ready station anyways."
But before he could leave, Kugisaki spoke up: "You're a grade 1, right? What do you say is the difference between us grade 2 and 3 rabble and someone like you?"
Caught off guard, Kento had to gather his thoughts for a moment.
"I thought you were promoted to grade 1?" he then asked, half to stall for time to come up with a good answer, and half because he really had assumed that the rumors all of the second years had been promoted to grade 1 were true. Gojo had bragged about that to him personally, after all.
"Demoted again," Kugisaki said wryly, pointing at her eyepatch.
"Same here," added Ino with a wave of his arm stump.
"Ah. Well. As far as I am concerned, I believe the grading system is bullshit."
Kugisaki and Ino stared at him for a moment, and then the young woman smiled a terrifying smile.
"Nice. So what made you a grade 1 then? Whose ass did you kiss?"
"No one's. Unless you count Gojo recommending me as nepotism, because we went to school together. The higher-ups could have still rejected his recommendation." Kento shrugged. "I believe grade 1 is about potential. Where special grades like Gojo have almost limitless potential—pardon the pun—a grade 1 is the most that a human could hope to achieve through hard work, dedication and understanding of jujutsu. Regardless of technique, becoming a grade 1 is a matter of refinement of that technique."
"I see," Ino hummed, rubbing his chin. "So you're saying becoming a grade 1 is not about how strong one's technique is?"
"Absolutely. Just look at Kusakabe-san, who has no innate technique. Yet I would not be exaggerating in saying he is one of the strongest grade 1 sorcerers we have. That's because he has refined the New Shadow Style to its fullest potential."
"Interesting." Kugisaki's eye glinted with a renewed fire, even as she sketched a shallow bow. "Thank you, Nanami-san. I will think on this."
"Anytime."
With that, Kento left the two of them to their training. Even as he walked on, he could hear the ringing impact of a hammer upon nails behind him.
By this point, it was almost lunchtime, so Kento picked his way through the winding paths towards the communal kitchen. A few other sorcerers were milling about here, as well as the first years under the supervision of Inumaki. They all greeted Kento distantly but politely, the air swimming with a mix of their various scents and the smell of rice, miso, fish and seaweed. Someone had apparently made onigiri.
Inumaki approached him and offered him one, which he accepted gratefully. He had been prepared to cook something for himself or just grab whatever leftovers there were, but these were far better. He told Inumaki as much after one bite, earning himself a squint-eyed smile and a thumbs up from the Cursed Speech user.
"Salmon!"
He munched on his onigiri—with tuna mayo filling—while walking to the ready station. On the way, he came across a group of windows that fell silent when he approached, their scents turning chalky with apprehension. He nodded at them, but did not pause to listen to their stammered greetings.
The ready station was really just a lounge. A few armchairs, coffee tables and lounge chairs were scattered around the room that had a carpeted floor and wide, open windows that looked out onto the temple greenery. There was a stand with magazines and newspapers, a bookshelf that also doubled as an open library with an eclectic mix of genres, and a small coffeemaker and teakettle. Currently, because it was lunchtime, there was no one here.
Except one figure curled up on one of the armchairs. He was instantly recognizable to Kento, not because of any specific scent or his appearance, but rather exactly because he was nearly a nonentity. No scent to ping his hind brain. Clean, unmarked. Vulnerable.
It was Higuruma, of course, slumped over in the sleep of the deeply exhausted. He was still wearing his suit, though he must have abandoned his tie somewhere. Something in Kento itched to find it, even though he rationally knew there would be no scent clinging to it. It was just his instincts screaming at him to protect something so potentially intimate from being snatched up or stolen.
He approached slowly, his steps thankfully muffled by the carpet. As he came closer, he realized that his assumption from earlier wasn't quite true. He caught a whiff of oleander, as well as the zingy spice of oranges and ginger. Before he could stop himself, he had leaned over the side of the armchair and bent low to inhale, his nose less than a hand-span away from Higuruma's shoulder.
That was where the orange and ginger scent-mark was strongest. High on top of his shoulder, almost by his neck. An arm slung casually around, or a hug that transferred pheromones from the glands at the wrists. A casual gesture, but nonetheless more intimate than most would risk with a mere acquaintance. Kento swallowed, then stretched his neck further to find Shoko's oleander scent on the arm sleeves. Much more casual, perhaps even accidental if Higuruma went to her for healing.
Before he could inhale again, Higuruma stirred groggily. Kento stepped back and straightened himself, just as the other sorcerer must have registered him—Higuruma sat up with a yelp, gavel in hand. From behind the armchair rose the formless shape of Judgeman, his face pale like the moon.
The shikigami whispered: "Guilty."
Kento had to try very hard not to feel like he was referring to himself.
"Oh, it's you," Higuruma said, without acknowledging Judgeman. He then dismissed both his gavel and the shikigami, slumping back into his seat. A quick look around, then he asked: "Where's everyone else?"
"The kitchen. Inumaki made onigiri."
"Ah. I should eat something too," Higuruma then sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly.
Kento regretted, with a sudden intensity, that he hadn't asked Inumaki for a second riceball to offer to Higuruma, then squashed that feeling resolutely. Higuruma was a beta. He would not understand the gesture. It was pointless to try and, what, court him?
Oh no. His instincts were trying to get him to court Higuruma.
"Is everything alright?"
"Yes," Kento said. Too fast. He fought back a wince, and held very still under Higuruma's dark gaze.
If there was one thing that Kento should not have forgotten, then it was the fact that the lawyer was a very, very smart man.
"Is this about what I said yesterday?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
To stall for time, Kento picked a nearby armchair and sat down carefully, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Then he said: "Yes. Kind of."
Higuruma had shifted to prop up his chin on one hand.
"Did it make you uncomfortable?"
Another thing he had forgotten to take into account. As a lawyer, Higuruma was very, very good at interrogating people and hitting them where they were weak. Considering his own cursed technique, Kento almost had to admire it. But only almost. He grunted uncomfortably and fought the urge to grab a nearby newspaper to hide himself behind.
"Not directly," he said eventually.
"Okay. But it has something to do with this alpha, omega, scent stuff. Right?" he said, waving his free hand in a vague gesture.
"Mm." And then, to hopefully stop Higuruma from digging further, he added: "It's nothing. I just realized something."
"Something is not nothing."
Damn it.
"You have ... other people's scents on you," he eventually, reluctantly said. His eyes automatically fell upon the spot on Higuruma's shoulder and arm where he had detected the oleander, orange and ginger. "You wouldn't notice yourself, but it's ... These marks can mean something. Any alpha or omega may read these intentions off of you, while you remain unaware."
"Oh? What sort of stuff?" Higuruma asked, craning his neck to also look at the same spots as if he might see something smeared over his jacket.
"Things like ..." He blinked. "Has really no one explained this to you?"
"Nope. Since I'm a 'beta'"—he mimed the quotation marks—"they thought it wasn't necessary."
Kento sighed deeply and then stood up.
"Alright. Time for a crash course. Stand in front of me."
Higuruma obeyed, settling into a loose stance in front of Kento. He was smiling faintly, like this was amusing to him.
"Both alphas and omegas have scent glands on their body. The external ones are at the base of the neck, the sides of the throat, under the chin, on the inner wrist, groin and the hollow of the knees." He pointed at these locations as he listed them. "There are also internal glands on the inside of the mouth and genitalia, but those are not relevant right now."
"Why not?"
Kento felt a muscle in his jaw jump. "Those are only active during heats and ruts."
"I see."
"These scent glands produce two kinds of pheromones," Kento continued and held up two fingers. "Aerosols and oils. Aerosols get dispersed in a room and are highly reactive. They change based on mood and other factors such as physical health and one's cycle. It is how we may identify someone about to enter heat, for example. Oils on the other hand are more stable. They get deposited upon skin and other objects in order to mark them in a more permanent fashion."
"And you say I have such marks on me."
"Precisely."
"Why?"
"There are, as I said, different kinds of messages that may be left with scent marks. One may mark a certain territory as theirs, such as an office or their home. There are also pack scent marks. You can think of them as olfactory friendship bracelets."
Higuruma chuckled at that and looked at his arm.
"And I have such friendship bracelets on me right now, without my knowledge? Whose?"
"These two are from Shoko," Kento said, pointing at the vague region around Higuruma's forearms.
"There's more?"
"You also have one here, on top of your shoulder. That's ... not somewhere a casual friend or workplace colleague should mark you."
"Ah!" Higuruma exclaimed. "That must have been Yuuji-kun. He was leaving this morning just as I came back from my mission, and he hugged me. That's when he must have done it, the sneaky boy."
"I see," Kento nodded. He bit down the wave of relief, hearing this. "I did not recognize his scent. But in that case, it is more appropriate. He is still considered a pup, who may offer even such intimate marks to trusted adults."
"Aww, that means he trusts me? I will have to tease him about it later," Higuruma laughed. He then tilted his head. "This is considered intimate?"
"It is a spot near your neck. That area is limited to romantic partners or family only."
"So, that was what was bothering you?" Higuruma asked, his smile tilting up further on one side. "You thought I had a sweetheart?"
Kento tsked and looked away, hoping the warmth rising to his cheeks was not visible.
"No, of course not. I was only worried someone might have taken advantage, or done it as a prank. You would not notice if someone went too far, but everyone else would be able to tell," he said. Then, biting his tongue, he reached out to rub his wrist against the fabric of Higuruma's sleeve, above his elbow. "There. Now you have mine too."
"Hmm," Higuruma hummed lightly, peering at the newly marked spot. He was still smirking. "Won't that go away as soon as I change or wash my jacket?"
"Yes. I'll just reapply it," Kento said, then winced internally at the implication.
But Higuruma only said, cheerfully: "Okay!"
Then, seemingly without a thought, Higuruma reached out and clapped Kento high up on the shoulder with one hand, nearly at the junction of his neck. He watched it happen as if in slow motion, like a car about to crash. The shoulder! It didn't matter, he told himself. There wasn't going to be a scent mark left behind. He was a beta. He didn't know better. But, right after Kento had explained to him that certain parts of the body were reserved for family or romantic partners, he dared to get this close to such an area? Higuruma wasn't stupid. He had to know the implications.
"Alright, I think I'll see if I can grab one of Inumaki-kun's onigiri from the kitchen for lunch," Higuruma continued, cool as a cucumber, as if he hadn't just delivered a fatal blow to Kento's instincts. "See you later."
And not a moment too late. As Higuruma brushed past Kento to leave, a gaggle of grade 3 and 2 sorcerers walked back into the ready station. They gave him curious looks, nostrils flaring, only to freeze and then pretend like the carpet was really interesting when they caught sight—or rather scent—of Kento.
He didn't want to know what kind of expression he was making, or how much his own scent had flared. So, he resolutely sat back down in his armchair, grabbed the nearest newspaper and buried his nose in it. Only to realize five seconds later that he had been holding it upside down.
"Fucking hell," he muttered to himself.