Chapter Text
ʅιɠԋƚʂ, ƈαɱҽɾα, αƈƚισɳ... ყσυ ƙɳσɯ ι ƈαɳ'ƚ ɱαƙҽ ιƚ σɳ ɱყ σɯɳ.
Women were weak.
No one celebrated when a girl was born. They looked at her in all the ways of disgust and thought about all the ways to bury her alive. No one batted an eyelash if a woman went missing; no one cared about what happened to her. No one cared what they did to her. She didn't matter. She was below.
Omegas were normally women, the world soon grew to believe. Women were below men. Omegas were below Alphas. The names were funny; whoever created them might have thought they sounded regal. They sounded like medicine labels.
Omegas were soft. In need of protection and care. They could not care for themselves, always in need of someone who could handle them. Omegas were only good for repopulation and taking care of their Alpha's children. They could not survive without their Alpha, their fated mate. They were dependent, vulnerable, and weak.
Someone who is unable to hold themselves up must be truly weak.
At least, that's what Naoya was taught.
He believed it, of course. Something driven so deeply into a child's skull was inevitably their truth, their religion, their belief. A parent should nourish their child, raise them for good, let them breathe and live for themselves. Love their child.
Well, that is not what Naoya was taught.
Or maybe it was not what he believed. The Zen'in clan expected a lot from their heirs. It was an endless cycle of degradation and torture. Naoya didn't know what pain felt like until he presented. Watching it happen to his cousins around him, and being protected by his father's influence, pain never touched him until he presented. If he could change anything in the world, it would have been the day he presented. If he had to destroy anything in the world, it would have been the day he presented.
Women were weak. Omegas were weak. Omegas were women. So, did that make Naoya a woman? Did that make Naoya weak?
He certainly did feel weak the day he presented. It was horrible, being locked away from his cousins, told to be silent unless he wanted to show the world what a failure he was. Being praised all his life couldn't have possibly led to this moment. The warmth was unbearable, and the pathetic need to be held was even more so. If he could forget anything, it would have been the day he presented, the way he tried to rip his skin apart, trying to soothe the ache– the 'heat' as people called it. It was humiliating, it was horrible, it was embarrassing, it ruined him more than anything in the world.
Naturally, Naobito decided that he could not keep a son with a gender so weak. The Zen'in clan would have ended at Naoya's dead feet if it wasn't so large. The humiliation of being sent away ruined him further. What they... said. What had happened. It worsened. Despite being a male, he could not walk like one; he couldn't feel like one. Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the woman that his father berated and beat, and how horrible was it of him to have his mother's eyes.
So he did what any sane person would have done. He hid it.
Once again, hiding it from his cousins had been a sort of a trial run. He remembered the look on that girl's face when he had looked out of his room for the first time in weeks, still recovering from the cycle. Her eyes were wide open, shocked that Naoya Zen'in had presented as an Omega. The way she stood screamed 'Alpha.' He remembered the absolute disgust he felt, learning that a woman had become an Alpha, while he had become an Omega. Was it some sort of punishment? A trial set for him because of a past life? Did it mean anything?
He also remembered how she composed herself calmly and asked if he needed anything. 13 years old and stubborn, he screamed 'Fucking cunt!' in her face and slammed the door.
Naoya wonders if she remembers him. She might have been the only one who knew he was an Omega after his parents.
Suppressants for his heat and pheromone patches were used like they were his drugs. He took them everywhere he went, and never let anyone see him while he was at home. Heats were inevitable, no matter how irregular they were. The pharmacy that he frequented might have already gotten the hint of his second gender. They had asked him a cryptic question about his heat cycles. Hearing that he hadn't had one in months, they said that the suppressants were out of stock and would be back next week.
If that was their way of showing concern, Naoya did NOT like that and never visited again.
Times had changed, of course. A lot of men presented as Omegas and were accepted for it. It just made the pit of jealousy in his stomach grow. He didn't care about being accepted; he wanted to strip himself of this gender and stay barren. He'd be happy as a goddamn Beta. Everyone just fooled themselves, trying to accept women into their lives, Omegas, as if they were equal. They would forever remain below and weak. Just like him.
He can't change who he was. The least he could do was hide it.
The Zen'in clan didn't associate themselves with Naoya after he moved out. His mother called, and despite all the hatred and disgust he had at hearing her voice, he'd spend hours talking to her, just wanting to hear someone speak. It would wash over him when days were long and he hadn't taken his medication for the day; when the anxiety of being found out worsened and he couldn't control his heat. She'd speak about how his father was doing, about what she had prepared for lunch that day, or even a new bird she saw. The fondness in her tone was sickening.
All his father ever did was yell, surrounded by men, and him his entire childhood. When she spoke, he was filled with the urge to throw the phone against the wall.
However, she called almost every time he was too tired to snap at her. He'd set the phone down next to his pillow and answer in small hums before falling asleep. The next day his phone would be dead.
His mother hasn't called in a while. He's not about to end the cycle and call her back.
College ended a month ago. Around his birthday, the day he presented. A lot of his classmates were already all over his Instagram page, getting their dream jobs with the degree they had achieved. Naoya lived off the money the clan provided him. He didn't know what the point of sending him to college anyway was. It would be nice... however. To do something. Get his mind off of things.
He wouldn't say he had friends. He didn't get friends by showing the real thoughts in his brain. They avoided him because of all the controversial opinions he had, pointing at him like he was some freak show. Maybe it wasn't real, because his entire high school life had included him sitting in the back. He had no social life. His childhood did not train him for that.
College forced him to branch out more. The teachers didn't like anyone who didn't socialise. A random encounter led him to be paired up with a kid he was quite familiar with. Gojo. The Gojo clan and the Zen'in clan were considered... enemies. With all the influence the Zen'in could have to offer, they could never match Gojo, which made the leaders hate them all the more.
Naoya was told that the members of the Gojo clan were loud, abrasive, reckless, and mindless. He certainly believed it after meeting Satoru. Everything he did was loud, and boy, did that dude have a lot of friends. Naoya could tell they weren't actual friends. They just hung around him because of his name. The same thing they would've done if they knew who Naoya was.
Naoya didn't tell Gojo his last name, because the school didn't know it either. He went by Kurosawa. His hair wasn't black like the rest of the Zen'in clan. He had dyed it blonde, and what a horrible job he had done, too. If anything, it looked like piss. Another thing to stare at in the mirror for.
What was really shocking, however, was when one day Gojo introduced him to his boyfriend of 3 years, Suguru Geto, a man with no proper background, basically a nobody—an Alpha.
An Alpha dating an Alpha? Was that even allowed?
But no. Gojo wasn't an Alpha. He was an Omega. Just like him.
So you can only imagine his absolute jealousy, anger, disgust, and self-hatred when he found out that Gojo's family had accepted him.
It made him envy Satoru even more. Naoya despised him. He despised Gojo and the fucking Gojo clan. He despised the teacher for pairing him up with him; he despised Geto for being associated with Gojo; he hated everything and everyone that had helped lead him to this moment.
That didn't mean Naoya showed it, of course.
It was... bearable. The more exposure he got to being around Gojo was like a social experiment. How many outings can he take before he snaps? And being their third wheel too. Maybe it was because he didn't say much, which is why they tolerated him. Back in high school, he would try to make himself known and fail, so he didn't try at all anymore. Was this the reason why they kept him around? Because he had nothing for them to judge?
When the topic of second genders came up, Naoya simply stated he was a Beta and nothing more. Pretending to be one was easier said than done. Handling all those strong senses and trying not to succumb to other alpha commands was difficult, which led him to stay inside more than anything.
Being... 'friends' with him was... new. He couldn't say he liked it. It distracted him well enough. There were small get-togethers, house parties, and skipping class. Naoya figured if his degree had nothing to do with him, he wouldn't bother getting it. What's another failure to the Zen'in Clan?
His anxiety got worse around 17. It led him to visit a therapist. He didn't make a habit of visiting. He just got a prescription for some pills and reused them every 4 months. That and his heat suppressants. It got him through high school and college. It should get him through life too, right?
The only reason he thought about Gojo right now was the fact that the idiot had dragged him out to a club. He really didn't want to go, but Gojo insisted. Of course, it wasn't like he went just because Satoru asked. He wanted to get out anyway. He hadn't talked to anyone in days, and boy, was it driving him crazy. Why not take the offer for a free night out? Opportunities were to be taken advantage of, after all.
"Kurosawa! Over here!!" The head of white hair is easily spotted, and Naoya's eyes travel towards the source of the sound, staring at Gojo. He had certainly dolled himself up, all dressed up to the nines. Geto was right there next to him, sporting a really bright red martini in one hand and a glass of water in the other.
Naoya sighed, hand reflexively feeling for the suppressant bottle he had in his jean pocket. A room full of horny Alphas and Omegas. He can do this, right? How inconvenient for him, haha...
"Hi." He says, sitting down where Gojo was beckoning him. A drink slides over the counter, and Naoya takes it without question, downing it in one go.
Okay, maybe this could work.
"So, I know you're not one for meet'n'greets, but I invited my other friends over!" Gojo starts, voice raised to be heard over the music. Naoya wishes the alcohol would work already. "Hope you don't mind! You don't mind, right!?"
Naoya shrugs and takes another drink. He just wanted to get stoned and hopefully run into a tree or something.
"Oh, look, there they are!! Yuuji! Gumi!!"
Naoya's head raised at the mention of two unfamiliar names. He should get familiar with them to avoid them for the rest of his life. One had pink hair shaped into an undercut with dark sideburns and two cuts on either cheekbone, which, in Naoya's opinion, looked stupid, and the other had... surprisingly familiar features. Black hair that looked indigo in the flashing lights, eyes like slits and a serious expression. He seriously couldn't put a pin on it.
"Gumibear, hi~!!" Gojo already leapt up across his chair and was smothering the kid. He looked younger than all of them anyway. The dude scoffed, pushing him away.
"Is he already drunk? Why'd you let him take any alcohol at all?" 'Gumibear' asked, pushing the white-haired man back to Geto, who only smiled and settled Gojo back into his seat.
"Sorry, Megs, he kept looking at me all sweet, you know I can't–"
"Ew, no, shut up."
"Oh, Gumi, Gumi, this is Kurosawa!! Kurosawa, say hi to Gumi and Yuuji!!" Gojo said, grabbing Naoya's arm and pulling him into the circle, which the force of it made him quite dizzy.
Yuuji held out his hand, all enthusiastic and bright. His firm grip over Naoya's hand told him he was an Alpha. The same thing with Megumi, whose gaze pierced him like a needle.
"Megumi Fushiguro."
"Naoya Kurosawa." He responded curtly, letting go of his hand.
"So you're friends of Gojo, then?"
"Classmates. We were project partners once, but I guess he thinks that he can trust me with his life now."
Megumi nods, letting Naoya go back to his drink. He ordered a new one while Yuuji sat next to Gojo, starting a highly animated conversation on... Digimon?
"Oh, by the way, Choso's here too."
Geto's eyebrows raised, looking to Yuuji. "You bring him here or–?"
"Nah, he's here on his own. Can't let his brother go anywhere alone. We lost him at registration though, so it gives us time to chat before he hovers."
Geto snorts, and Yuuji goes back to the conversation with Gojo. Naoya just sighs, looking back to his drink. Another one to avoid. Okay, he can do this. He just needed to get through this night and go back home and block Gojo's number. Then he could sleep peacefully for the rest of his pathetic life.
Choso, who catches up maybe 30 minutes later, is really a sight for sore eyes.
It's a goth type of look he's going for; Naoya wouldn't say he succeeded. His eyeshadow was a bruising purple, and there was this cryptic nose tattoo of a blank strip that stretched out to his cheeks. He isn't sure whether it's a tattoo or just a stupid makeup choice. Either way, Naoya could appreciate the sight.
"Yuuji, why'd you run off? I'm supposed to keep an eye on you, you know."
"I'm 21, give it a rest, bro, jeez."
Choso's hair was tied up in these stupid pigtails, and Naoya can't help but look over. He'd probably look good with his hair down; it'd help with any headaches too cause who ties their hair up that high, that tight?
"Hai, Choso!! Oh, wait, here's someone new! This is Naoya Kurosawa! Say hi!"
Naoya was ready to bash Gojo's head in when he got pushed over for the second time. He would have almost crashed face-first into Choso if he didn't stop himself, and he offered a polite nod.
"Kamo Choso. Friends of my brother?"
"Of Gojo. I don't know your brother."
"Ah... You don't do drugs, right?"
"What kind of question is that?" Naoya raises an eyebrow, looking Choso up and down.
"Sorry, it's just, I'm quite protective of my brother, you know." Choso chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes already darting to his brother. 'Creep,' Naoya thinks.
"You'll be glad to know I want nothing to do with him." He mumbles, as blunt as he can be. He's here for the drinks and nothing more.
That sobers Choso's expression, and he can tell the other doesn't appreciate the comment. Their conversation ends after 10 seconds of awkward silence, and Gojo drags Geto to the dance floor. Naoya could already feel the alcohol starting to seep into his system, making everything around him feel hazy and bright. It doesn't make things better, and neither does the next batch of people he has to meet.
It's a girl. Nobara's her name. Naoya instantly avoids any conversation with her, especially since his only link was throwing up on the dance floor. Short brown hair, but he couldn't detect any pheromones from her. Come to think of it, he couldn't detect any pheromones from Choso either. Both of them must've been Betas, then.
She talks fast, and her movements are even faster. Backing into the counter, she knocks his glass over, and after apologising and offering to buy him a new one, Naoya just looks at her and narrows his eyes.
"Are you... an Omega?"
She pauses, already holding his new drink. "Uhm... no? Why?"
Naoya shrugs, gesturing for her to put the glass down. "Just curious. Women are normally Omegas."
Her expression sours, and Megumi from behind seems to hear the conversation, looking over her shoulder. She frowns.
"Excuse me? Are you trying to be misogynistic in the big 2026?"
"Who said anything about being misogynistic? I was just curious."
"You literally just told me that you think women are normally Omegas."
"And they are." He says, standing with his point. He doesn't understand why she's so pressed about it. From the corner of his eye, Choso also seems to be interested in their conversation.
"So, what, you think men can't be Omegas or something?"
"They shouldn't be. I'm not saying it's impossible."
Her eyes narrow. "You're one prick, aren't you?"
"What's going on?" Choso steps in. Naoya instantly feels everything he's drunk and eaten today swirl around in his stomach. Nobara huffs, looking at Choso.
"Gojo's friend might be a closeted misogynist."
"I'm not a misogynist; I just asked you a question," Naoya mutters, starting to see where this conversation was going. Maybe he shouldn't have opened his mouth at all.
"You assumed I was an Omega because I was a woman." She continues, refusing to back down. Naoya rolls his eyes, and Choso sighs, holding her shoulder gently.
"Nobara, it's alright; he probably didn't mean it that way."
"I did," Naoya mutters, looking at Choso. Nobara lets out a condescending "See!?" and Choso's eyes narrow.
He doesn't get mad, though.
"Hey, look, it's Maki. You brought Maki over too?" Yuuji starts, breaking the fight up. If you could even call it that. A taller girl with darker hair, but not black, approaches them, and she waves easily towards their group, jogging up to Nobara.
Nobara seems to easily light up, fawning over this 'Maki,' surprised to even see her here.
"Oh Maki, I thought you weren't coming! Didn't you have a college thing to go to–"
"Yeah, I figured I could just ditch it. Besides, if Gojo's treating everyone, I should be included, no?"
She has the same familiar features he saw on Megumi, the ones he tried so hard to understand. Where has he seen them before? Her name doesn't ring any bells. He doesn't find himself keen on talking to her anyway.
People seemed to gravitate towards her. He can't tell why. They were all obviously friends, probably for longer than years. But there was something about her... It made Naoya scowl.
"Who's this?" Maki asked, directing all attention towards him. He was hoping she'd get the hint that none of them wanted to talk to him. However, luck never seemed to want to listen to him. Choso shuffled in his shoes.
"Friend of Gojo's." That's all he is. Yep, leave him alone, c'mon, no one wants to talk to the asshole loser.
"What's your name, then?" Maki's as respectful as she can be, her face neutral while Nobara gives him a disgusted look from behind her. Naoya sighs.
"Kurosawa. Kurosawa Naoya."
She doesn't... answer him. She just stares, tilting her head as if she's trying to analyse him.
"Naoya...?"
The tone shifts seals it for him. She knew him. She knew him, and he didn't, and that worsened the nausea inside him. It's the alcohol. He doesn't have his anxiety pills. He has to keep calm.
"Yeah. Got a problem with my name?"
"Leave him be, Maki; he's an ass," Nobara says, tugging at her arm.
"I don't have a problem with your name." She says, shrugging Nobara off. "A simple conversation is all I want. Is being nice that hard for you?"
"No. I'm only nice to people who deserve it."
Maki raises an eyebrow, and Nobara's face turns into something akin to satisfaction. Yuuji and Megumi had long left the conversation, no longer interested, and Choso just stood there, looking back and forth.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing. I don't talk to Omegas like you. You should really be embarrassed walking around like that."
Okay, maybe he could've been less rude with what he said, but it's not like he was lying. He refused to associate himself with those who were really happy with their second gender. Like, how are you not ashamed of being so weak?
Nobara's jaw may have just dropped to the ground, while Choso's eyes filled with rage. Naoya's used to it. He expected both of them to jump him right now. It would be better. He wanted to get hammered up one way or another.
Maki, obviously, did not like that. But instead of getting mad and slapping him across the face, she stood straighter.
"I'm not an Omega. I'm an Alpha."
With that, she leaned over the counter, looking at him sideways, her face still easy.
"But you're one, aren't you? Zen'in?"
He'd say it was the alcohol. He could say it was him not getting enough sleep last night. He could say someone drugged him and he was suffering the consequences at that specific time; the minute those words leave her mouth, everything tilts. Her face morphs into the face he remembers all those years ago, the same hair, the same eyes, the same face that asked for what he needed, sickly and pale, nerdy-looking glasses over her nose, perched high like how she held herself.
'Zen'in?'
"You... know each other?"
"I know him. I just want to know if he knows me." She says, straightening up, satisfied at his silence. Her tone screams satisfaction, while Naoya feels like throwing up on her shoes.
"What's Zen'in?" How convenient for Yuuji to step in the very moment he wants no one around. His mouth is dry, and his hand spasms over the cup he's holding, barely there, and he can barely feel it at all. It's like his nerves have been shot.
"Well? What was that about Omegas?"
"Naoya, are you—"
The chair scrapes against the floor loud enough to be heard over the music. His glass shatters to the ground, and the bartender starts cursing, but Naoya can't hear any of it; he can't hear anything at all. The very thing he's been trying to hide his entire life had to be shown, had to be revealed, and by Maki Zen'in no less. It was all his fault, his fault for speaking up like that, acting like she was below him. Haha, he was a fucking omega; no one is below him. He is the line that ends; he is rock bottom, and there is nowhere else to go.
Sweat, alcohol, scent, and pheromones everywher;, they were everywhere, he couldn't escape them one bit, he'll never escape this, the person he is, the person inside, he can hide it for as long as he'd like but it doesn't change anything, he's stuck. He's stuck, and there's no way out. Oh my fucking god, where the fuck is the fucking bathroom—
Public bathroom. He doesn't lock the door, but he doesn't see anyone else. The sink is cold to the touch; everything around him is burning up. He's burning up, and oh, god, does it hurt. The humiliation hurts, the scent glands that ache hurt, his head hurts, the bandages on his thighs hurt, and his head spins again and again, and again; he's on the ground now. Great. Why doesn't he just dig a hole now, for crying out loud...
Should have brought those goddamn anxiety pills. Should have never come here in the first place. Should have shut his mouth. Should have never looked Maki in the eye; he should have succeeded at fucking 17—
"Kurosawa? You in here?"
He's not Kurosawa, did no one hear that? She had literally exposed him, something he had been trying so hard, so well to hide, gone in two seconds, all because of a fucking woman, all because he didn't shut his mouth.
There are hot tears on his face; it burns so much. The door isn't locked, and the person outside immediately realises that when he doesn't answer. He can't breathe, and the scent of someone else worsens everything. It swings open and then locks, and Naoya doesn't know why he can hear it. Maybe he's calmed down. Yeah, he's fine, he's fine– He can just get up and leave and never come back, block Gojo and Geto, disappear, change his name again, get plastic surgery or something; he just needed to leave.
"Kurosawa, can you hear me?" Yes, but no, he does not want to. The scent is unbearable. Is it Geto? No, he doesn't even know Naoya's here. It's an Alpha's scent, and Naoya hates it. He hates it so much; it smells like Black tea and fucking... some tree. It smells like a tree.
"Kurosawa, you're hurting yourself. Come on, let's get you up-"
His arm is grabbed and pulled- that burns too. His voice is barely heard in his own head, and he grips onto the sink tighter.
"Go 'way, no—", "You're bleeding, kid, get up."
Oh, he is? He didn't notice. His eyes were kind of blurry. His heart was beating too fast, and his ears were full of the rush of blood. The hand moved over his shoulder and pulled again.
"Can you see me?"
Now that he thinks about it, the person in front of him is blurry. But the face tattoo is distinct, and it fills Naoya's mouth with a bitter aftertaste he can't name. He was rude to him too, wasn't he? Did he want an apology? Was he here to humiliate him further?
"Sorry, sorry for- just please, go away, leave me alone."
"Whoa, woah– Huh? What are you apologising for?"
Naoya sniffles, eyes finally focusing on Choso. He's so pathetic; he feels so pathetic right now, especially as the omega side of him preens for attention, for the softness Choso might be willing to give. He wants to rip that away. It's like it's trying to take control, and he hates it. He hates everything and everyone right now.
The hatred also sobers him up a bit.
"I... I'm not..." He sniffs. "Kurosawa. I'm Zen'in."
"I know that, but you told me your name was Kurosawa."
"Does it matter? I know you think I'm some ass; what are you even doing here?" The panic must have sobered him up, though his speech was still slurred. Choso was still holding his arm up, where he could see the cut he got from apparently who knows what, freshly bleeding. Choso raises an eyebrow.
"You're apologising for that, then?"
"What? No, no, I–" The scent grows stronger, and Naoya growls under his breath. "Can you just-" He rips his arm away, looking at Choso as disgusted as he could be.
"What are you trying to do? Go be with your brother or friends, or whatever. I'm leaving." He mutters, standing up all wobbly and almost crashing into the sink. Choso must have been kneeling too, because he rises with Naoya, steadying him.
"Uh, are you sure you're okay to go on your own? You were downing a lot of alcohol, and I think you've been here earlier than me..."
"None of your damn–" His voice stutters, feeling the air around him thicken. It's horrible, but familiar, the stuffiness in the air. The way his limbs lock into position, and the heat in his stomach grows— it's uncomfortable, but it's familiar. He hates that he knows what this is.
"I-I'm sorry, I have to leave," Naoya says, getting a hold of his bearings and starting to leave the bathroom, not before Choso grabs his hand and stops him.
"L-Look, I know it's not my place, but do you want me to drive you home? I came with my brother, and I can go home by a taxi- I don't think you should be driving in the state. I can smell the alcohol off of you."
"No, I don't want you to drive me home. I don't want anything to do with you after tonight. Please leave me alone."
"Really, I insist..."
"Well, I insist you leave me alone." He mumbles, taking his hand out of his grip for the umpteenth time. "And stop standing so close— what is that fucking cologne you have on? It's so damn strong, it's making me suffocate."
"I'm not wearing any cologne. Even if I did, it would've been gone by now. Are you... What are you smelling?"
He doesn't care for the sudden shift in tone. Choso looks... worried. He shouldn't be worried in a time like this, for a person like him. Naoya should leave, not indulge.
"I don't know, something that smells like... tea? Weird choice of perfume, bro."
"Oh, my God."
His eyes widen, and Naoya wants to smack the expression right off.
"What? What's with the face?"
Okay, of all things Choso could have said, Naoya did NOT want to hear those words. The only thing he could do was stare at him with his mouth gaping open, resisting the urge to just slap him across the face.
What the fuck.
"What? How do you get that from that? I'm just... drunk." Yeah, he must be drunk… he didn’t even drink that much, but…
"No, Naoya, I don't think that smell is alcohol," Choso says, trying to step closer. Naoya steps back, already dizzy.
"T-That can't be. I took my suppressants today–"
"Are you sure they didn't expire? Maybe you needed a higher dose-?"
"N-No, I have only had one in my entire life. I have them right here, in fact–"
Naoya looks through his pockets and brings out the bottle of suppressants. It is only with his dull, addled mind that he reads the label, and his entire day goes plummeting down in front of him.
Anxiety pills.
He grabbed the wrong bottle.
...
"Naoya? Naoya—"
Naoya slaps a hand over his mouth and nose, trying to back away from the overwhelming smell of Choso. It's overwhelming, yes, but his Omega side does not hate it; in fact, it craves it. He wants to be scented- oh fuck no, he does not want to be scented. Does he? He doesn't fucking know.
"Naoya, my offer still stands. I can drive you home– If this is a pre-heat, you probably need a bunch of things, and they're probably at your house, so you can't drive while drunk AND in heat—"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up- I don't wanna hear it. I'll just go home and grab my suppressants. It's none of your business."
He finally gets out of the bathroom, unlocking the door. The minute he does, however, some idiot shoves him to the side. The way he slams into the door might have ruined whatever fragile control he had over the situation, sending his senses into full overdrive.
Sure, they'd been hogging the bathroom for a while. It was still a public club. He just needed to go home. He'll go home and disappear.
The club is as stuffy as ever. He's glad he hasn't bumped into Maki or anyone else. He'll literally crash his car on purpose if he sees Gojo in this state. He can't know. It's been 6 months of him lying about being a Beta; he can't show him right now, not ever.
People keep bumping into him, and honestly, after the night he's had, he needs a good cry. (No, he's not actually going to cry, shut up.) Just home, that's all. And he'll think about upping the dosage of those suppressants and buying those hella expensive patches too.
His brain keeps going back to the idea of finding a soft place, or a fucking nest. He can't even let himself think about it— it's fucking embarrassing. He doesn't need a nest; what the fuck is a nest!?
Maybe he's hit his head somewhere; that would be better to explain, to understand, to treat. He's far into his heat; the only thing he can do now is go through it. And then he'll destroy the world. Explode it.
Outside is cold, and God, is he thankful for it. The air bites at his flushed face, and there aren't many people around. Good, amazing, he just needs to find his car. Where's his car?
He fumbles through his pockets, and those damn anxiety pills get in the way of his keys. Frustrated at his own idiocy, he throws it behind him, fuming in a drunk haze.
The bottle does not hit the ground, however. The scent of black tea and stupid trees fills the air, and he whips around, covering his nose once again as the blurry figure of Choso approaches him, seemingly on the phone.
"Yeah, I'll take a cab home. No, no- it's not like that– I'm just helping someone, you know, taking them home—"
"I am not going home with you." Naoya growls, hand tightening over his keys. Is this dude stalking him? What is his deal?
"You're drunk, Kurosawa. I'm definitely not letting you go home like this." He says, covering the speaker when he says his name. Naoya feels stupid.
"I'm not Kurosawa, and I’m not drunk. Don't call me that."
Choso looks at him for a moment longer, ignoring the quips he gets from the phone before shutting it off and hesitating.
"I can order you a cab? Unless you need your car tomorrow?"
"Of course I need my fucking car tomorrow; it's my car!" He yells, ignoring the scents just to show Choso how mad he is.
"Right, right... And your heat? Was it just a fake-out?"
"... No." He admits, need and humiliation fusing into acceptance, the alcohol beginning to start coming out of his system. His face is hot, and he's sweating despite it being so cold out. It had been raining these last few days. The smell was too much.
"... Naoya. Do you- maybe I can call Gojo? Have him drive you-"
"No!" Naoya bursts out, eyes wide. There's nothing but fear in his heart at the mention.
"Okay, okay— I just... You shouldn't drive drunk. Or in... heat."
The way he says heat like it's embarrassing makes Naoya wonder whether Choso is disgusted with him. He's an Alpha. Naoya's below him. And he disrespected his friend too, didn't he? He should be disgusted. Naoya doesn't blame him.
"... I'll walk." He grumbles, heading for the pavement. He hopes it starts raining ice and he'll die of pneumonia.
"Whoa, hold on—"
Naoya ignores him. He wishes it were as easy to do as he thinks. Choso is still so close, still so loud, his smell is strong, and Naoya's Omega doesn't fucking hate it, which makes Naoya hate him even more.
"Naoya, please. Let me drive you home." He finally says, with a tone that doesn't ask for arguments. His fingers slip around his wrist and stop him, and Naoya turns around.
Looking at him, Naoya just wants to drop.
Choso drops the bottle of anxiety pills into Naoya's limp palm, replacing his keys, and Naoya holds onto it, his grip tight, barely enough to ground him at all. Why's he doing this? Why is Choso here? What is going on?
"Will... you let me drive you home? Or at least help?"
His hand is still in his, and it's warm. Everything around him is burning, but Choso is warm, and stupidly enough, Naoya lets the Omega in him speak.
"Okay."
His hand is squeezed and then let go; Choso smiles and nods politely.
"Okay. Thank you. Where's your car?"
No one he knows has ever seen his apartment. The outside is plain; the paint starts to peel off due to the rain. It looks and is built like any other apartment in the area, which is far away from any local areas. It's far from the college he went to, so he'd never risk bumping into anyone. He was normally out of any formal clothes he normally wore, no patches or suppressants, messy hair and eyebags— He wore concealer to hide them anyway.
Today, if he lived, would mark the first time he's ever let anyone in. Why did he let Choso in? He has no idea. It was only as polite as he could be, holding the door open a little bit more than a second and giving him the hint to come in.
Choso unfortunately takes the hint and follows in.
"You have a nice place."
Naoya hums, dropping his keys onto the counter. The idea of being back home is pleasing; his inner side preens at the thought. He wants to grab clothes and pillows and sleep somewhere, but he can't. Not while there's an Alpha around.
That's what Naoya thinks, though. He feels like he can trust him.
Naoya pushes open the door leading to his bedroom and sighs. Having someone in his home, so close to everything he holds so personal and secret– it's overwhelming. Everything's been nothing short of overwhelming. He takes off the jacket and throws it to the side. It smells like everything he hates.
"... —any supplies?" Comes from behind him as Naoya fumbles with his shoes. Who wears laces to a club? He doesn't know. He just wants them off. What did Choso say again?
"—ya?"
"Mm?" He looks up, seeing Choso in the doorway of his bedroom. He's tall. Way taller than when he first saw him- oh, nope, he's just on the floor.
"You probably need a nest or something— got anything that can be used for that?"
Naoya looks back at him again, eyeing him up and down as far as his blurry eyesight can let him. Choso looks confused, maybe worried. Or disgusted. Whatever the case, he no longer feels shame. Naoya blinks.
"Your jacket looks nice."
"Huh? M-My jacket?"
"Mm."
Choso blinks slowly before it hits him. Naoya doesn't know what Choso was thinking, but the man takes off the article of clothing and drapes it over Naoya.
It smells... nice. He feels calmer, if that is correct. His shoes are still all tight over his feet, and he's on the fuckass floor. He needs to get up.
Choso kneels in front of him, holding out a hand.
"Come on, you're better off on the bed." He mutters, taking Naoya's hand and pulling him up, which he lets him do so.
Then the idiot kneels again and... helps him take off his shoes. No, wait, he's already done them. They're off. How'd they get off so fast?
"You have anyone you'd like to call? You know, for your heat...?"
"No." He mumbles, pulling the jacket over him tighter, putting his arms through the sleeves too.
"You... normally go through these alone?"
"Mhm. I got suppressants."
"Ah."
Naoya holds the hems of the sleeves to his face and buries it in the fabric. He doesn't know why he's doing any of this. The scent has a bit of sugar in it too. He likes the sweetness.
"Naoya?"
"Mhm?"
"I'm going to leave now. You'll be okay on your own?"
Wait, he's leaving? Finally! No, he can't leave! Why's he still here? Why's he leaving?
"Huh...?" He lets out, looking up at Choso, who starts to stand up. The corners of his eyes are already blurry, a bit red, if he's honest. "Why?"
"H-Hah? I assumed—"
"Don't leave... Please."
Choso doesn't agree immediately, and that makes Naoya emotional. He's really emotional. For what reason? Choso not staying?
"Please?" He repeats, looking up at him. Choso's been so nice. He's been kind and patient, and Naoya's really fucking tired. Offering him the place for the night is good enough, right?
. . .
"... Okay. What do you need?"
"I don't know." Naoya sniffles, more confused than anything. "I don't have heats."
"Huh? You don't have heats?"
"I mean... I do; I don't... I don't have..."
"Alright, alright, it's okay; I'll get you some water, hold on."
The presence is gone. Naoya hates it. Once again, he hates everything. The burning heat is back, and he whines, feeling it settle into his stomach again. He doesn't want to take the jacket off, though; he wants it on him. It's like... hugging Choso.
Why does he want to hug Choso?
"I brought a cold compress too." He looks up at the voice, watching Choso enter. "You want a change of clothes or —?"
"No, no, it just hurts..." He mumbles thoughtlessly, happy to see that Choso is faster to arrive.
"Where?" He asks, placing the compress against the back of Naoya's neck. The sudden temperature change has him gasping, leaning heavily into Choso's space.
"Hng... Head... stomach, and..."
Obviously, he's hesitant to say the last thing. It's fucking embarrassing- everything about this was, and Choso's a stranger! Who says that to a stranger you just met!?
But Choso's an Alpha, right? Aren't they supposed to help?
"It's okay, it— You don't have a nest yet... Is that why it hurts?"
"Don't need one, I just..." He swallows thickly, mouth dry. "I..."
"Water? You want water?"
"Mhm."
The cold compress comes back after he's drunk his fill. It helps with all his jumbled-up thoughts. But it's still not enough; he wants Choso on him, his hands around him; he wants to smell Choso forever, he wants him to scent him— he has never been scented before. How does it feel?
"Ch'so..." He mumbles, waiting for Choso's hum before continuing. "D'you have an Omega?"
He must have one. He's soft and kind and knows what Naoya needs. Choso should have already had one he loves, cares for, and cherishes...
"Hah? An Omega? No. Why?" Never mind. The hand over his neck leaves, and Naoya grumbles to himself. Is it that hard for him to keep touching him?
The hand comes back, and he leans into it further.
"I don't have an Alpha," Naoya says, finally looking up at Choso, who pauses.
"Ah. Yeah. Are you... What do you mean, then?"
Naoya shrugs. "You gotta stay." Like it's normal for strangers to stay the night and help with heats. "I don't know what to do."
"Yeah, I can tell... Those pills you take are too strong. You're not even having a proper heat right now."
"I'm not?"
"Yeah, you didn't need a nest; you're not— Well..."
Naoya swallows down the dryness in his mouth and turns over, finally sinking into the bed.
"Well, what?"
Choso sighs. "As ssimplyas I can say this: horny."
"Mm. I don't get... horny." He says, turning around to look at Choso again. He likes looking at him. The tattoo looks pretty, almost. The eyeshadow just makes him look tired. Maybe he isn't. But Naoya is.
"It's probably because you spend them alone. When was your last one?"
"Mm... May."
"May- May!? What?" Naoya shuts his eyes. He can't see Choso's face, and his eyes burn.
"Naoya, you do know that these heats are like- important for your body?"
"I'm okay."
"You're literally not. You're probably burning up from the inside-"
"Yeah."
"God, are you sure you can't call anyone to help?"
His eyes open and look at Choso's worried, blurry face. He shrugs, looking at the jacket now, feeling the sleeves.
"What about you?"
Eyebrows raise, and Choso splutters, face turning red. It's a nice sight.
"Me? You want me to help?"
"You've been helping all this time." Shut up, God, why does he keep talking? He's going to fuck this up! Shut up, Naoya!
"Well, yeah! As a concerned individual— Helping you with that would-"
"I've done it before, if you think I don't know anything."
"No, it's not that! I-I- Don't you- Wouldn't you have wanted someone you know better than me to help?"
Naoya shrugs. His head hurts. "Does it matter? Strangers are strangers, people are people."
"..."
Choso is... contemplating. Naoya's happy for that. He's more than happy to see Choso consider the offer. It's not like Naoya's disgusting or unclean. He's been tested. A lot of times. He's fine, right?
"... You really want me to help?"
Naoya sits up again, nodding. That also makes his head hurt. "You wanted to anyway."
"Not like this!"
"So, no?"
"No! I mean, yes! No, I mean yes to- ugh..."
...
"... Will you help me...? Please?" He tries a second time. Choso sighs, but the bed dips on Naoya's left side. He's being eased into the bed, and his face heats up, looking up at Choso, who's still blurry and still so warm.
"Tell me if you want to stop."