Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had started with a fight. Really, it had started with Uruha having a bad day, a stress headache, and Aoi making a snide comment at an inopportune moment, which had led to said fight. And while Aoi apologized, the damage had already been done.

It was Uruha’s fault in the end, and he knew it. For all of Aoi’s flaws, he was the one who was on edge, and he was the one who kept pushing his boyfriend away. While Aoi was no saint, Uruha knew him, his traits and his quirks; they were part of the man he had fallen in love with, but lately Aoi seemed to do nothing but step on his already frayed nerves, and though he surely wasn’t doing it on purpose, Uruha had no patience for it anymore. Not with the way he felt stressed or exhausted on a constant basis, fatigue clinging to him even on days he had done nothing to achieve it, plagued by headaches and stomach pain seemingly on the daily. All his energy and effort was spent on simply trying to keep himself together and working efficiently with everything the band had coming up, refusing to be the weak link, the stereotype, the useless omega in a group of men.

It had gone on for weeks. And it had taken another big argument—their biggest yet, one involving the band and a great deal of yelling until finally Aoi was brought to the point of tears and Uruha broke down, seeing it—for them to get their act together and for Uruha to apologize. Still he didn’t explain why his nerves were so raw, too afraid to admit the truth and show weakness despite the fact that Aoi was his lover. He trusted him, yes, but that didn’t change the fact that he was an alpha where Uruha was his polar opposite; all he could do was admit to being a bitch, letting Aoi stroke his thumb softly, frown deepening while Uruha spoke, before finally interjecting, “Don’t treat yourself that way, baby.”

They had agreed to treat each other with more kindness, and that had been that, finally falling asleep in each other’s arms again for the first time in ages. And as much of a relief as it was, knowing they would be okay, it didn’t change the fact that Uruha’s health was gradually deteriorating. Despite how he missed the easy intimacy they had used to enjoy, he still found himself unable to enjoy it as Aoi’s hands drifted down Uruha’s chest, finding the sensitive places on his body that had been mapped out over and over.

Pulling away from the touch, Uruha took Aoi’s hand into his own and moved it elsewhere. “Not tonight,” he murmured sleepily against Aoi, pressing his head against the crook of Aoi’s shoulder. “Headache.”

It wasn’t the first time. Barely resisting the urge to groan in annoyance, Aoi instead said, “You know that’s like… the worst excuse for getting out of sex, right?”

"Yuu.” Uruha glared, and Aoi backed off, feeling the drop in temperature. Uruha sighed. It had only been hours since they had stopped fighting, and yet, there he was about to start again. He didn’t need to ruin their recently patched relationship just because he couldn’t help being a little bit of a bitch sometimes. That was just part of Aoi’s personality, and Uruha couldn’t hold it against him. “I’m serious, my head hurts. Some other night.”

“Sorry,” Aoi said, and Uruha settled against him again, heaving a soft sigh as he began to relax and slip into the beginnings of sleep. Aoi, however, stayed awake, arms cradling his boyfriend while his thoughts drifted, because it was far from the first time Uruha claimed he was too unwell for sex. It had gone on for so long already, to the point that he had thought he was the problem, that perhaps Uruha didn’t want him anymore but was too afraid to say it. Much as it hurt to consider, to Aoi it made perfect sense. Weeks of Uruha alternating between being hot and cold, ignoring him and snapping whenever he was even slightly bothered—which was often, lately—had brought Aoi to the conclusion that perhaps his boyfriend simply did not want him anymore. At least he had spoken his mind, finally breaking Uruha out of whatever state he was in enough to make them promise to try harder. Because Uruha did love him; he was just going through a hard time.

And he was frequently having headaches, and nausea, and generally being stressed and uncomfortable. Aoi didn’t know what was up, but it was worrying. Not so much for his own sake… sure, he missed sex, and he wasn’t about to find someone else just because Uruha wouldn’t put out, despite how he was getting sick of his only partner lately being his own hand even while being in a relationship. Perhaps the band life was finally getting the better of Uruha. It was uncommon for omegas to last in high stress environments, after all, and omega musicians were pretty much unheard of. It could be a hormonal thing. Maybe his cycle was fucked up somehow, and it was affecting his body and mood in unfortunate ways…

With that thought in mind, it was hard not to forgive him for all the stress he had put Aoi through. Especially with Uruha curled up in his arms, clinging to Aoi more than he had in weeks, soft hair tickling his neck. “Sleep well, baby,” Aoi murmured, kissing Uruha’s forehead before settling to sleep himself. Uruha only stirred slightly, giving a low, pleased hum, and then they were both dead to the world.

But come morning, Aoi couldn’t stop thinking about it. He had gotten the idea into his head, and now it wouldn’t leave, because there were certain aspects of their relationship that Uruha simply would not speak of, not unless he had no other option. Mainly the subject of his own biology, which—while far from the reason he was attracted to him—definitely had something to do with why Aoi hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of Uruha in the very beginning. Because omegas were rare, and yet here was one anyway, in the flesh, in the very band Aoi had decided to devote himself to… while also being the hottest man he had ever seen. Which was dangerous. There was always the risk of fucking up when you worked so closely together, and with Aoi being an outsider among three long term friends, he would be the first to go if something did go wrong.

Thankfully Aoi had kept it together, at least for long enough for Uruha to actually give him a chance, even if he had come close to pissing Uruha off a few times, both just by virtue of his personality and tendency to act before thinking, but most notably in Aoi’s memory, the few times he had commented on Uruha’s status as an omega. Aoi had learned quickly that anything to do with Uruha’s secondary sex (outside of sex itself, anyway) his cycles, or his gender identity clammed him right up. It was as though Uruha was determined to pretend it wasn’t a part of his life whatsoever.

It was a shame. They were compatible, after all; a rare bond, alpha and omega, except that Uruha refused to even entertain the thought. Which was fine, of course, once Aoi got over himself. At the end of the day he fell for Uruha for who he was, not what he was, even if the idea of it was a huge turn on. And here they were, a couple years down the line, Aoi having nearly convinced himself that he had managed to fuck it all up after all. Maybe not the relationship. But possibly something to do with Uruha. All the time they’d been dating, all the sex they’d had over the two years they’d known each other—flings in hotel rooms, quickies backstage, and the slow and tender sex that bordered on lovemaking in their own beds—not once had they properly mated. There had been that first time before they started dating, yes, but not once had he seen Uruha in heat while they had officially been together, and not once had he been in rut himself as a result.

Which was why he was watching Uruha pull out his pill tray, popping one out in a lazily elegant but experienced motion, like he’d done it thousands of times before. Which… well, he might have. Aoi had no idea how long Uruha had been taking suppressants for, and it was none of his business, but thinking back he could barely remember the last time Uruha had been in heat other than their first time. Their cycles hadn’t lined up then, and despite how they had barely known each other, he had still noticed the heavy want in Uruha’s dark gaze, the way he was tense and impatient, losing his cool at the slightest hitch. Once he realized what was going on, Aoi had offered to fuck it out of him, to which Uruha had agreed, and it had been a very good night for them both. It hadn’t happened again the same way; in the beginning, they were just occasionally fucking for the fun of it.

It had been a long time since then.

This was Uruha’s morning ritual. One little pill taken right before whatever he deemed appropriate for breakfast, the way Aoi saw him every morning they spent together, whether he had stayed over or they were touring. Sitting at the table in Uruha’s cramped, messy apartment the next morning—it was noon, but for Uruha, it was morning when he woke up, regardless of the hour—Aoi watched silently as his boyfriend tossed his daily pill back and swallowed it with water, before reaching for his food. “You’re not eating,” Uruha pointed out, eyeing him curiously.

“Just thinking,” Aoi muttered. “How’s your head?”

“Improving.”

“Hurts?”

“A bit.” Uruha paused. “I’ll feel better after breakfast.”

Except he didn’t get better, and Aoi could tell. He tried to extend his patience to Uruha as much as he could, but sometimes Aoi could feel it wearing thin as the day progressed, at home—Uruha’s home, but it was practically his own by this point—and at work. Uruha was far too professional to willingly let it show, but he was still notably sluggish and tired. It was about to become a much bigger problem if it continued like this, Aoi thought worriedly. It wasn’t long until they would be hitting the road again, going on a tour that would be lasting several weeks, and there would be no time to recover then. Especially if he got any worse while they were away…

“So what’s up with Uruha lately?” Kai asked him quietly during a short break, glancing towards Uruha who sat in the corner nursing a cup of water and staring listlessly at Reita and Ruki chattering. “He’s been acting weird for a while now. Everything alright between you two?”

Aoi grunted, slightly annoyed. At least Reita would ask Uruha directly rather than go through Aoi. For all their disagreements in the year they’d known each other, crossing the line of straight up violence more than once, Kai still seemed to find Uruha more intimidating than Aoi. It was something Aoi would have felt slightly offended by, had it been anyone else, but knowing how Uruha could be… he couldn’t judge Kai. “Not really,” he said, “he’s still sick.”

Kai frowned. Uruha had been feeling ill for a while, on and off, but it was getting worse lately. He risked a glance Uruha’s way, eyes lingering for a long, dangerous moment where Uruha was too busy cradling his own head to notice the stare, then turned his attention back to Aoi, lowering his voice. “Think it could have something to do with… y’know, his feminine bits?”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that,” Aoi said, and Kai’s face immediately froze in horror. It was funny, but Aoi felt no desire to laugh, and rolled his eyes. “I’m kidding. He’d kill you. But I have been wondering the same thing, actually.” He frowned in thought, mind once again drifting back to the morning, every morning he could remember with Uruha, watching his boyfriend swallow suppressants.

“Talk to him, won’t you?”

“What, afraid to do it yourself?”

Kai shrugged. “I value my life,” he said, and Aoi chuckled. “Besides, you’re his boyfriend. And you know more about his…”

“Bits?” Aoi teased.

“Yeah. Sure. You know more about omega bodies than I ever will.”

Aoi rolled his eyes again, but he knew Kai was right. Alpha and omega individuals normally got the basic rundown on the peculiars of their biology, whereas regular people generally did not. And Aoi liked Kai, despite their bickering. He didn’t want to see Uruha beat their drummer to death. “I’ll talk to him,” Aoi promised, even though he was planning to do so anyway. So he did, following Uruha home once work wrapped up later in the evening, cooking him dinner, ignoring how much it made Aoi feel like a housewife when part of him insisted it should be the other way around, while Uruha lay on the couch, face hidden in his elbow to block out the light and grant himself some relief.

“Here,” Aoi said softly as he set the plates down on the coffee table, Uruha stirring on the couch but not moving to get up just yet. “You okay, baby?”

Uruha made a noncommittal hum. Pulling his arm from his face he brushed the hair from his forehead, eyes closed against the already dim light in his cramped apartment. “Gonna be fine.” He grimaced, and then asked, “Could you bring me some painkillers?”

By the time he brought them Uruha had sat up, more interested in water than dinner, eyes half lidded as though it was painful for him to keep them all the way open. He thanked Aoi quietly and proceeded to pop a few pills in his mouth, not unlike he had that morning and every morning before it. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Aoi finally convinced himself to break the ice, “Have you been to see a doctor lately?”

Uruha glanced at him. “No,” he said, turning his attention back to the food, fidgeting with his chopsticks for a bit. “Too busy. But I’ll go soon, if I don’t get better. I can’t keep going like this, especially not on tour,” he added, quietly, and Aoi nodded. His own appetite had dissipated, at least for now.

Setting the plate on the table he gathered his courage and asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“When’s the last time you were in heat?”

For a second, several emotions flashed across Uruha’s face before he carefully settled on a blank mask of neutrality. The room had dropped multiple degrees in a matter of seconds; it didn’t come to a surprise, as Aoi knew Uruha hated talking about it, but it was important. Especially if his theory was right. “Why do you ask,” Uruha said, flatly.

“Because I think it could have something to do with it,” Aoi tried, not backing down despite the cold that had seeped into Uruha’s whole frame, the disgruntled twist to his mouth as he stirred his food before finally putting it away on the table with a loud clink despite his painful head. “I’m serious, Uruha, I can’t remember the last time you were. I see you take suppressants all the time…” Uruha gave him a venomous glare, folding his arms across his chest. “You do know you can’t run on suppressants forever, right? You need to let your body do its thing sometimes.”

“If this is your way of getting to get to fuck me again, it’s not working, Aoi,” Uruha bit out. “I’m not gonna let myself go into heat just because you wanna get your dick wet.”

Aoi frowned, choosing to disregard what would only lead to yet another argument between them. “Seriously. How long?”

“Yuu,” Uruha warned, but Aoi only pushed further.

“How long’s it been for you?”

For a long while there was only silence, Uruha glaring daggers at him, though by the way he was sitting, all tense with crossed legs and folded arms, he looked more like he was trying to protect himself than anything else. Protect himself from Aoi, from the alpha interrogating him on the physical aspects of his body that he wished didn’t exist. It was sad, really, and Aoi’s face must have revealed some of it, because Uruha finally softened a little, looking away. “I guess… two years now, probably a bit more. Since around when we started dating.”

“You…” Aoi’s jaw dropped, and for a moment he was too taken aback to really find his voice. “Wait, so you’re telling me that you haven’t— Kouyou,” Aoi said seriously, “fuck, no wonder you feel like shit, that’s dangerous.”

Uruha sniffed. “It’s my body. And you’re not my mother.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Aoi said. “Good thing she’s just a phone call away, right?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I will if you don’t give me a choice.” Uruha looked away, trying and failing to hide the pain in his eyes. Reaching out, Aoi laid a hand on Uruha’s back gently. “Baby… I mean it, you can’t go that long on suppressants, it’s making you sick. And it’ll only get worse if you continue. You could cause some permanent damage.”

At least Uruha wasn’t pulling away from his touch, though he was tense beneath Aoi’s hand, and he still wouldn’t meet Aoi’s eyes. “Maybe it’s for the best,” he muttered, so low that Aoi only barely heard it. But he did, and Uruha could tell, because then he said, “at least then there would be a medical reason to get rid of this shit.”

“Kouyou,” Aoi said, surprised at the broken note in his own voice. “Don’t think that way, please. It wouldn’t even…” Uruha jumped in his arms when he laid a hand over Uruha’s stomach, right over where he knew his womb would be. “Baby, listen. It wouldn’t even work. You would cause too much damage to yourself, shit you wouldn’t be able to recover from. You would be wrecking your whole life to get rid of something you could easily live with.”

Uruha sniffed. “It’s easy for you to say, but you weren’t born like this,” he said. “You’re not forced to go through everything that comes with this… condition, everything I’ve had to deal with just because I was put together wrong, I—” Breaking into a sob, Uruha leaned forward, finally seeking out Aoi’s arms for comfort. “I hate it, Yuu,” he said, “I really do.”

Aoi could only hold him. “I know, baby,” he whispered, stroking Uruha’s hair. Uruha was right, of course; Aoi could never know what it was like to feel like Uruha did, born into a body that didn’t feel like it belonged to him, something he could never even alter because of laws and regulations that were out of their hands. Aoi could never truly know, having been born alpha, and while he felt like a freak at times it was nothing like being omega. At least his condition was subtle, most of the time, and outside of the rare active rut, the worst thing he experienced was being subjected to fetishization—something that wasn’t even entirely unwelcome, not to him. But for an omega, it was a very different story. There were plenty of reasons why omegas often kept their condition secret.

But it wasn’t all bad either. While there were none in his family, Aoi had known several omegas throughout his life, befriended a few, slept with a few. It had been a subject that interested him enough to seek out information on his own at one point in his life, and as a result he had learned perhaps more than he had ever wanted to know, which he was honestly glad for when it came to Uruha, even if his boyfriend refused to acknowledge it. “Please promise me you’ll stop taking them,” Aoi said finally once they had both settled down, and Aoi had managed to stop crying. “Just for a little while?” Uruha sighed. The food had long gone cold, and now he was just sitting there, staring at it. He didn’t want to, that much was obvious, but it really was no joking matter. Not after so long. “Kouyou, please,” Aoi tried again. “For your own good.”

Finally Uruha gave up. “Not like I have much choice anyway… god, I really feel like shit.” He bit his lip anxiously, and Aoi could tell there was something on his mind that he was afraid to say. Laying a hand on Uruha’s knee Aoi waited, more patient than he had ever been. “I don’t enjoy the heat, I really don’t. But I guess you’re right. It’s better than wrecking myself beyond repair, I guess…”

“You know… last time we slept together when you were in heat, do you remember it?”

“You’re really gonna go there,” Uruha said. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Was I so bad to you that you never want to go through it again?”

Uruha looked mortified. It was a bit of a trap, Aoi knew, but he was going somewhere with this. And Uruha tended to build impenetrable walls around himself when he didn’t want to talk; he had to snake his way through those defenses somehow. “What? No, it was… it was fine, you’re not the problem here, Aoi.”

“It’s not me, it’s you?” Uruha’s only reply was a groan, and Aoi had to chuckle. “Baby, if you want to get it over with quickly you know I’m right here. All you have to do is ask. A couple days and you can go right back to it again. Well,” he paused. “Or maybe not. You’ve probably wrecked your cycle for a while with the suppressants. But I’m here for you.”

“Something tells me that you just want to put your dick in me.”

“Well…”

“Well?”

“We'd both come out on top, baby,” Aoi said, pleased to hear Uruha give a small laugh, despite his clear annoyance. “And, I mean… not that it’s got anything to do with it, but I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit rut myself.”

The change was instant. He could tell the moment the words left his mouth how Uruha tensed up, every fiber in his body suddenly on high alert at the idea of an alpha—his own alpha—in rut. During his own heat. Shakily Uruha said, “Can we… could we wait until it’s over before I stop with the pills?”

There was fear in his voice, Aoi realized. Something real and anxious that he hadn’t expected. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Aoi said anyway, and he meant it. “You’re only going to get worse if you keep going.”

There was a shrug. “Well, I’ve made it this far, haven’t I? I can go a few more days feeling like shit.”

“Kouyou, you’re sick,” Aoi said sternly, and Uruha sighed, “you’re getting worse every day. And it wouldn’t be a couple days. It would be more than a week, maybe two. If we waited, it wouldn’t be until after we finished the tour, and who knows how much worse you’ll be by then. I’m not letting you do that to yourself.”

He watched as Uruha’s gaze drifted down to stare at nothing in particular while his hands fidgeted in his lap, that strange fear radiating from every pore. He was already looking pale these days, but the thought of Aoi’s rut had somehow made him look even more sickly. Aoi was going to ask exactly what Uruha was so afraid of, but Uruha beat him to it, speaking up quietly, “But I’ve never…” he swallowed. “I have never done it. I mean, I never even dated an alpha before you—”

“Seriously?” Aoi interrupted, and Uruha glared. “Sorry. But really? You haven’t?”

“Not like there are a lot of them around…” Uruha shrugged. “But no. There was one who asked me out back in the day, Masahiro. Just before we left school. But I wasn’t interested, so I turned him down. And my ex sure wasn’t alpha. He just had a thing for omegas,” he recalled, scowling. “Other than him… it’s just you, Aoi.”

Aoi’s expression matched his, for a moment, but he was thoughtful. “Masahiro… sounds familiar.”

“You’ve probably met him. He moved to Tokyo a while back, so I run into him every now and then.”

“Wait, is that the guy we met at that fair last year? Red haired dude? I didn’t know he was alpha.”

“Aoi, you’re missing the point.” Uruha paused. “But yeah, that’s him.”

“Huh… guess I really am your only one, huh?”

“Wipe that grin off your face,” he said, but there was a real fondness in his voice, and his shoulders had finally relaxed. Aoi smiled. “Have you ever done it?”

“Mated in heat? Once.”

“I wish there was a better term for that,” Uruha groaned.

“Well, there is one.”

“Which is?”

“Breeding?”

“Oh god, don’t even go there,” Uruha said, covering his eyes. “That’s just mating without protection.”

“Fair enough. How about calling it what it is,” Aoi sounded smug, “which is a really good fuck?”

“Aoi.”

“Sorry,” Aoi said, despite not being apologetic at all. “I only did it once, and it’s a long time ago, but there really isn’t anything like it… it lasts a long time and it feels incredible, way more than sex normally does. Not sure if it’s the same for omegas, but the guy I was with then definitely didn’t complain. I get that you’re nervous, love,” he said gently, rubbing Uruha’s shoulder soothingly. “But you don’t need to worry, I’ll make you feel so good you’ll forget why you were ever scared in the first place.”

Uruha snorted. It was a good thing at least one of them were confident, even if Uruha had been given the short end of the stick, in more literal ways than he’d like. Not a day had passed where he didn’t wish he was normal, that he didn’t have to deal with all the shit that came with being omega. Alphas had their struggles too, but at least their masculinity got to remain intact, unlike his own. “You really haven’t been in rut since before we started dating?”

“I haven’t been close enough to anyone who could trigger it, and you’ve been on the pill all this time, so…”

“And it doesn’t even fuck with your body.”

“Well, for me it’s natural. Unlike you, chemically altering your cycle for way too long,” Aoi berated, steering the subject back to himself before Uruha could get defensive and prickly again. “Last time it happened while I was in a relationship wasn’t really fun. My last girlfriend thought I was cheating on her because I went into rut,” he admitted, and Uruha couldn’t help the surprised laugh that escaped him. “I wasn’t! Before you ask, I hadn’t. Must have been around someone in heat enough for it to trigger. It hit me pretty quickly once I got home, thought I was fifteen again with how horny I was, and trust me, she could tell. And, well… you know how it is. Gotta get off to get it out of your system, right?”

“And she wouldn’t help you out because she thought you cheated?”

“Wouldn’t put out. Wouldn’t listen either, and I mean, she knew enough to know that the rut doesn’t happen on its own, but not enough to know that it’s enough to stand next to someone who’s in heat for long enough, right?”

Uruha grimaced. “That must’ve sucked.”

“It did. I mean, but then I met you, so it was for the best, right? Life has a funny way of working out sometimes.”

“Sure,” Uruha said, seeming deep in thought. Aoi had to admit that there was something exciting and strangely romantic about knowing he was the first alpha who had touched Uruha while in heat, even if it had only happened once, even if he hadn’t been in heat himself. If Aoi was lucky, and if he played his cards right, that could change pretty soon.

He hadn’t mated in a long time. The first—and only—heat mating he had experienced happened when he had barely turned twenty, his own cycle coinciding with his birthday; he had been celebrating his newfound adulthood by sampling the local bar with his entourage of friends, where he had come across an omega who was looking for company. The guy had been a little older, and a lot more experienced, someone who knew exactly what he wanted and how. He had taught Aoi a lot of things he would never have known otherwise; it had been hot as hell, and Aoi longed to experience it again. Preferably with his boyfriend, someone he actually loved, rather than as a particularly intense one night stand.

But Uruha’s fear was genuine, and for all of Aoi’s desires, his boyfriend’s conflicted feelings about his condition was no joking matter. “You know,” Aoi began only for Uruha to speak at the same time, “I think—”

For a moment they only stared at each other, and then they laughed, relieving some of the tension between them, easing the stiff lines of Uruha’s bony shoulders. “Sorry,” Aoi said, “what were you saying?”

“I think I… I would like to try it,” Uruha said shyly. “I mean, I can’t pretend that I’m not curious, it’s just… it’s going to be a lot, right?”

For a moment Aoi could only stare. “Oh baby,” he said, barely keeping the excitement out of his voice. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m afraid of,” Uruha muttered. “What were you going to say?”

Aoi paused. He was meaning to say that they didn’t need to mate just because their cycles lined up—or Aoi’s cycle and whatever Uruha’s body would be doing once he was no longer on his years-long pill popping habit—but with the opportunity presenting itself, he quickly changed tactics, laying a hand on Uruha’s leg, just high enough for the implication to be there. “I was just thinking about how we haven’t had sex in so long,” he said, “which, I get it, now that I know what’s wrong. But thinking about us making love again…” He smirked as Uruha blushed, biting his lip in slight embarrassment. “Getting to mate you for the first time in your life… and so long after we’ve slept together, it’s just… really exciting.”

“I guess it is,” Uruha said softly. He swallowed; still anxious, but allowing it as Aoi caressed his thigh. “When does it start for you?”

“Soon enough. I’ll have to check, but probably in a few days. Why?”

“And how long until I enter heat, you think?”

Aoi had to pause to think, racking his brain for what he had learned all those years ago, about suppressants and heat cycles. From what he had learned, it normally would be perhaps a week before heat kicked in once you stopped taking the pills, and a few days after it subsided you would be able to return to the suppressants for another period. But for Uruha, it had been years. Aoi had never heard of what happened when it was suppressed for so long. He only knew the disastrous effects it could have on the body in the long term.

He really was concerned for Uruha’s health; the idea of getting to mate him was definitely a huge turn on, but at the end of the day it was the last of his worries. Much as he would be thinking with his dick in any other situation, in this case the prospect of heat sex was a bonus. Just a really big one. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “You kinda broke the rules on that one, so… sooner than normal, I can only guess.”

Uruha looked away. “Ruined my chance at being normal even at this, huh.”

“Hey, don’t be dramatic,” Aoi said as he lifted Uruha’s chin with his finger, meeting the shame in Uruha’s gaze. “You’re fine, baby. You’ll be okay. Whatever is coming, I’m gonna help you through it, okay?” He paused, and then added cheekily, “And I mean, we’ll both be coming a lot, if I have anything to say about it.”

Uruha slapped his hand away, but he was giggling. “Have it your way.”

Chapter Text

A couple days later found Uruha standing in the bathroom, stripping down for a shower. True to his word, Uruha had foregone taking the little pill a few days before, though the habit was so deeply ingrained that he had to actively remind himself to leave it out of his morning routine, and now here he was, waiting. There wasn’t a lot of preparation necessary for whatever was coming once it did hit, but Aoi had insisted they be ready anyway, which was why Uruha was alone in the apartment while Aoi was shopping. He wasn’t sure what to expect, as Aoi hadn’t divulged a lot of details as to what rut really would be like for him, other than describing it as intense. And now he was out, shopping for necessities. So lube and condoms, Uruha assumed, because there was no way Uruha would allow him to touch him without protection, after all. Which he hadn’t considered a problem, at first, because he did have plenty beforehand, sitting in his nightstand, ones Aoi had given a brief look and stated to not be enough. Not good enough, and not plentiful enough.

“These condoms aren’t enough for one night of sex?” Uruha had asked, puzzled, because the box was nearly full. He did know a few things about alphas, despite his lifelong refusal to look into it; he knew that alphas were known for their sexual prowess, that they had ridiculous stamina for one, but especially their ability to produce large amounts of sperm when the situation called for it. Uruha wasn’t sure how true it really was; he hadn’t noticed much out of the ordinary with Aoi, other than his size—another annoying alpha trait—but then again Uruha had never experienced Aoi in rut during sex.

“Hey, you said it yourself,” Aoi said, shrugging. “If we’re going to be mating and you don’t want to be bred—” he ignored Uruha’s wince at his choice of words and continued—“then I have to wear protection through the whole thing, and that means stocking up. Proper protection,” he said, tossing the condoms back into their drawer. He paused then, giving Uruha’s questioning face a long look, smirking. “You really have never seen an alpha in rut before, have you?”

Uruha furrowed a brow, more annoyed than anything by that point. “I already told you I haven’t.”

“Not even once? Not even in porn?”

“Not my thing, Aoi.”

“Right. I’m dating a man who never did his research. Well,” Aoi said. “Guess you’ll just have to see for yourself, won’t you?”

He had given Uruha a quick kiss, leaving before Uruha could even get a word in. Annoying. Uruha supposed he could have done the research. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the time, after all, and it was probably for the best if he had some idea as to what was coming. He knew Aoi would be horny and stupid, yes, but that came with the territory. It happened to him as well, so he wasn’t one to talk; the only thing he really knew was that it would be a long night. Uruha had that stamina too when he was in heat, but he had never gone on for that long. And why would he? Aoi hadn’t been in heat back when he had helped Uruha out, needing to take breaks and replacing his own cock with something else—his hands, his mouth, a dildo—until he could get it back up, and while it lasted a long time, going all night had been out of the question. And when Uruha had to take care of it himself… well, he got bored. Masturbating to get through heat quickly was a very different affair from sex with someone you loved and trusted, after all, even if the thought of what was ahead of him made Uruha wince a bit, considering how sore he would probably be after.

They hadn’t even fucked in ages. Aoi had been annoying, work had been stressful, and Uruha had been too on edge to let his boyfriend touch him intimately. Sure, he had broken out the toys a few times when Aoi wasn’t at his place, but the idea of lengthy sex was something else, something Uruha knew he was technically capable of but had never experienced. He didn’t have the stamina to keep going for so long normally, without even bothering to take breaks, but he knew from experience that the heat was going to help there, with all its smothering wetness and warmth and general urge to keep going despite the fatigue that sank into his bones as he fucked himself with no lover around to get him through it the last few times he had allowed the heat to hit him. Which had been years ago.

He really had been on the pill for stupidly long. And now it was coming, or at least soon. It was hard to tell the beginnings of heat apart from the general sickness coursing through his body, with the way he had avoided its symptoms in the years since he started taking the pills. And if Uruha were honest with himself, he could barely even remember what heat felt like anymore. He could only remember the sensations he detested, the feelings of being dizzily hot and wet over nothing, restless and uncomfortable like he didn’t belong in his own skin. He absolutely hated it; yes, he was still a man, always had been—but he was something else, too, something that perhaps didn’t make him less of a man, but definitely made him other. And Uruha had wanted to be normal, he really had, growing up in a body that sometimes only felt like half of it belonged to him, sometimes less. Puberty in particular had been hell. All the changes he went through in such a short span of time, against his will, as though his body had decided he was actually the third daughter in the family after all, and not the two-sexed son. The few short years he had to live like that had been his own personal nightmare come true, and he had compensated for his apparent femininity through dressing and behaving as masculine as he could, channelling all his rage loudly at the entire world, his friends, school, his parents. It hadn’t been fun for anyone involved.

On the night he had first refrained from taking a suppressant, Aoi had laid beside him in bed, their legs tangled as he played on his handheld, Aoi’s hand gently stroking his arm. “Can I ask you why you haven’t seen anyone yet?” Aoi had asked quietly in the dark room; for a while Uruha had refrained from answering, considering to pretend he hadn’t heard the question at all. But Aoi had a point. Normally, their health was always top priority, and getting checked out was the first thing anyone would do when they got sick, so the fact that Uruha had stubbornly refused to for as long as he had must have looked suspicious to everyone. Truth was that he simply didn’t like doctors. He hated how he was treated once his different anatomy came to light, and his experiences with doctors in the field of gynecology had been awful to the point that he had sworn to never go back.

And yes, maybe part of him had suspected that the reason why he felt ill had to do with his nature as omega. So out of shame and dysphoria he had chosen to ignore it, assuming he would get better without help as he pushed everything away until his declining health was impossible to keep hidden and he was too ill to keep functioning normally.

But Uruha didn’t tell Aoi that. It was too much, and too personal, too humiliating to admit to himself much less to someone who could never understand. So he just shrugged and said, “I didn’t have time,” and while Uruha could tell Aoi probably didn’t believe him, he left it alone.

Aoi was right about the pills, though. Uruha had known that it was a bad idea for a long time; he had simply thrown caution to the wind and ignored the instructions in an attempt to regain control of his own body and ignore everything he didn’t want to deal with. Stupid. The recommended phase for taking suppressants was five months at a time, up to seven if he was really pushing it, and Uruha had been taking them for two years. Getting off them wasn’t going to be fun, even for a short time.

Sighing, Uruha turned and stepped into the shower. One day lost to sex and then perhaps a week of this, and then it would be over; he could go back to taking the pills, and Aoi would stop heckling him about it, stop worrying for his health. He’d feel better too, once his body got used to it. Allegedly. Five, maybe six months at a time, and then a short heat period, one Aoi would help him come out of… Uruha could do that. This kind of sex was new, and though it was exciting to get to experience it for the first time, he couldn’t deny the thought of it scared him. But he had dealt with the heat for years before finally going on the pill, even if he had hated it every time; it wasn’t as big of a deal as he was making it out to be, not really. Ruki had once called him a drama queen when he’d found out—and Ruki had found out a lot of things that Uruha had preferred to keep secret—and well, maybe he was right, but Uruha had still proceeded to give him the cold shoulder for a week straight.

Lathering himself in soap, he scrubbed himself clean under the warm water, taking his time as he always did, lost in thought. He wondered when it would hit, how long he would have to walk around with sickness and anxiety before he could finally get it over with. Or maybe it would start as soon as the next morning, perhaps he’d wake up hard, and only once he reached for Aoi would he realize that he was groggy with more than just sleep, lust drowning out every reasonable thought in his head. Or maybe it would start later in the day, during the afternoon, or towards the evening… Uruha could only vaguely remember how the heat itself felt once it was there. It had been too long, but he could remember how much it had always bothered him, making him snap at everyone and everything until he was alone in private, pulling out his toys to get it over with. Slipping a hand down his front, Uruha was unsurprised to find himself starting to grow hard just from the memory; his body was weird and sensitive already, nipples more touchy than usual… and sure enough, slick between the legs from more than just the shower.

For a long moment he stood there, one hand on his chest and the other at his crotch, considering if it would be worth it to get out of the shower and to his room to get a toy out. If they were going to have sex in the coming days—and marathon sex at that—he needed to get used to being stretched again, filled out like before. He did have one alpha dildo, one that was a bit smaller than Aoi, which he had only really used to get through heat in the past, during the times when nothing felt like it was enough and he needed something bigger and thicker to fill him up. Maybe it would be a good idea to practice with it, he figured as he idly touched himself, eyes slipping shut as he let his fingers slip into his wet hole. Or perhaps it could wait. The world outside the shower was too cold to convince him to step outside as it was right now, he justified as he leaned back and moaned quietly, pinching a nipple as he slowly and deeply fingered himself.

It was good. His body was more sensitive than it had been in a long time, but it had never felt quite like this. But it was still his own touch, Uruha thought, frowning as he leaned against the wall. His fingers worked faster, hand slipping from his chest to hurriedly stroke his cock as well, closing his eyes and imagining Aoi in front of him, fingering him quickly and skilfully while he sucked him off…

Slowly, his movements came to a halt. The thought was nice, but it only served as a reminder of how much he missed Aoi. He missed it when things were easy between them, when Uruha wasn’t so tense and would welcome intimacy, when he still craved it instead of slapping Aoi’s hands away whenever they drifted too close. But all that was cleared up now, wasn’t it? They had talked it out. They were fine, and soon enough they would be fucking each other stupid for hours. Even as his cheeks flushed at the thought, it also made him smile, just a little bit. Silly as Uruha felt, standing there under pouring water, half-hard and staring at his own fogged-over reflection, not having gotten off but relaxed and satisfied despite it, in a way.

Rinsing his hands, Uruha reached to turn the water off, getting out of the shower and reaching for a towel. Perhaps he should forgo the whole toy idea and just ask Aoi if he wanted to have sex tonight. Uruha was midway through thinking of ways to word it when he found himself pressing his eyes shut, keeling over at the intense feeling of something squeezing his guts, a hand on his lower stomach; it felt like period pain for the first long, slow seconds, before it faded to become something else, settling deep in his stomach, and then he released a low moan. Halfway crouched on the floor, towel barely clinging to his hips, Uruha found himself overwhelmed by the sudden warmth washing over him, like his skin was on fire. Like a fever without the illness. With a small groan he reached down between his legs and found that he was wet, wetter than ever before, and his legs were so weak and shaky from it that he could barely stand. “Holy shit,” he groaned. “Oh, shit.”

It was heat. It had hit him sooner than anticipated, and so, so much more intensely than he could ever have imagined. He could barely find his legs, the towel slipping off as he got off the floor, taking a long second just to breathe in the air of the bathroom. Hot and moist as it was, to Uruha it felt like a fresh spring wind in his burning lungs. “Aoi,” he called as he stepped out of the bathroom, slowly regaining his strength the more he acclimated to the heat coursing through him, “Aoi, are you there?”

From the living room he could hear the rustling noise of shopping bags being emptied. “Yeah, babe?” Aoi answered. He sounded distracted. He sounded delicious, Uruha realized, somewhat horrified by his own thoughts but too dazed to care.

“Aoi, I think,” Uruha began, unable to find his tongue any more as Aoi looked up and saw him, naked, flushed and dripping wet, “I… I need you.”

Aoi only stood frozen for a second, hands paused in their task of pulling a box of something—please be condoms, Uruha found himself thinking—from the bag. It felt like forever, watching him, the way his eyes darkened and his chest heave a large breath. “Oh,” he finally said, more air than anything else. “Oh, oh wow. That’s so much sooner than I expected, you look…”

“I feel like I’m on fucking fire, Aoi.”

“Yeah, you look it, too,” Aoi said, eyes dark and wide. Desire was evident in his whole frame, but he was still hesitant to act on it, brows furrowing in concern. “It’s… really not supposed to be that soon, I’m pretty sure. What happened?”

“What happened is I stopped taking my fucking pills, and now I’m in heat and you’re standing there and asking me stupid questions instead of doing something about it, Yuu,” Uruha bit, striding forward to shove the Aoi onto the couch, climbing into his lap and grinding down, rewarding him with a deep groan. Aoi wasn’t really hard, not yet, the bulge beneath Uruha’s ass just beginning to harden. Voice hot and dripping with lust, Uruha moaned, “You said you would get me through this…”

Aoi’s hands had come up to grip his hips instinctively, holding him and stilling Uruha’s movements. “And I will,” he said, “fuck, trust me, baby, I will. Just… give me a second here.”

Gently he pushed Uruha off his lap and got to his feet, leaving Uruha sitting dazed on the couch, the blood burning through his veins, cunt probably leaking slick all over the leather of the cushion. “You got me into this and now you’re just gonna leave me?”

There was a gesture of hands, Aoi swallowing thickly, his large eyes dark with desire. “Five minutes,” Aoi said, and then disappeared into the bathroom. It was probably more like three minutes in the end, but it felt like a fucking eternity to Uruha, left there on the couch, fingers clutching the leather before drifting to his own thighs, desperate for some kind of stimulation, even his own touch. When Aoi did return it was to find Uruha, head back and eyes closed, desperately fingering himself; for a moment Aoi only watched, and when Uruha cracked his eyes open to see him he couldn’t bring himself to care, much less stop. “What, couldn’t wait for me?”

“No,” Uruha snapped. Aoi smirked; he looked refreshed, having washed himself and changed into slightly more comfortable clothing than what he had worn while going out. Not that they would stay on for long. Not if Uruha had anything to say about it. “God… Aoi,” Uruha whined as Aoi slipped away from him once again, this time into the small space that served as his kitchen. “Don’t do this to me. Come back here.”

Forcing himself to still his hand, Uruha climbed to his feet to drag his boyfriend away from the sink, or perhaps to just get down to business right there. There was nothing stopping them from screwing on the counters, after all, at least not other than Aoi himself. “Patience, love,” Aoi said, reaching into a shopping bag he’d left on the counter, pulling out water bottles, one after another. “And water.”

“Who gives a fuck about water…”

“Well, you’re sick, so trust me, you will, in about ten minutes.” Aoi paused. “And so will I.”

“I thought you said you were in heat this week, what the hell happened to your rut?”

“You’ll have to give it a minute,” Aoi said. “Right, you don’t know, do you?”

“For fuck’s sake…”

“Not my fault you never read up on any of this—wait. I said, wait.” Pushing Uruha’s hand away from his crotch, Aoi grinned. “It takes a little while before it hits, but trust me, I can feel it coming… I don’t remember you ever getting so foul-mouthed when you’re horny, babe.”

Uruha groaned as Aoi pushed a bottle of water into his hand. “If you felt like I do right now, you would be doing a lot more than swearing, trust me. And it has been a while.”

“It has,” Aoi agreed, his voice just a touch darker than it had been moments ago as he unscrewed the cap of his own bottle, raising it in a parody of their many evenings spent drinking after a successful show. “Drink up,” he cheered; at the edge of Uruha’s vision, the tent in Aoi’s pants was so obvious it made his mouth water, and so he did as told.

Heat usually didn’t make his head stop functioning; normally he was still perfectly capable of thinking and behaving normally, but this time was different, his entire system bombarded by dizzying hormones, his blood hot and burning as if he was going through an intense fever. And with his boyfriend so close, it shut his brains off completely; all he could think of was that he needed Aoi, right now, right here, inside of him… but Aoi, with his good health and stupid fucking alpha dick at least had his brains intact, knowing it was best to prepare for the sheer amount of work ahead of them. Sex in itself was already pretty draining. It was all the more worse when he was still on his cycle, and Uruha knew from his own past experiences how dehydrated he could get just from his body maintaining the heat, with all the involuntary sweat and slick it brought. And he had never had a session lasting more than a few hours at most.

He swallowed. Even with his lack of experience Uruha could tell the rut was growing, that it was about to hit Aoi full force the way heat had come to him, and soon enough he would get what he had asked for, whether he was ready for it or not. He couldn’t deny he was still afraid. Their first time had essentially been regular—albeit intense—sex, and little else, but now, with Aoi guiding him back to the couch, leaving their water on the coffee table while the hardness of him dug insistently into Uruha’s thigh, he couldn’t help the mix of excitement and anxiety that was running through his system. Anxious because it was new, and strange, and he didn’t know how he would handle taking a full alpha cock for hours and hours on end; excited because it was Aoi, and because he was hornier than he ever had been before, and as Aoi sat him down on the couch and sank to his knees, spreading and lifting Uruha’s legs to rest on his shoulders, Uruha decided that it would probably be worth it, in the end. Even if he woke up tomorrow and found himself unable to sit for a week, it was going to be worth it. If only because Aoi had promised him it would be okay.

And then Aoi pulled Uruha in by the hips and lowered his mouth between Uruha’s legs, tongue finding that wet, slick spot, and every thought evaporated from his mind as he sank into pleasure. He didn’t need it, not Aoi’s tongue considering how wet his cunt was, but the sensation of being thoroughly licked after weeks of nothing but his own hands and the occasional toy… it was mind blowing, really. He had no other word for it in his mind, and none whatsoever in his mouth, lips unable to form any words other than Aoi’s name, over and over, aside from his desperate moans.

It was incredible. It was too much and simultaneously not nearly enough, even as Aoi’s tongue moved up and the fingers that had been clutching at his thigh came to take its place, slipping inside with ease and slowly fucking him; exactly as Uruha had imagined, only so much better, because unlike his daydream in the shower it was actually real. The fantasy of it could never compare to the actual sensation of being so thoroughly pleasured. He wanted to sink into the couch and enjoy it forever, but already he could feel himself approaching the edge, Aoi sucking harder while his fingers sped up, thrusting deeper and faster until Uruha, with a loud gasp, could no longer take it. He fell off the edge and came harder than he could ever remember, all over Aoi’s hands and inside his mouth—

When Aoi pulled off, he was looking more smug than Uruha had ever seen him before. He wiped his mouth, but his eyes were dark with lust, with pure, unbridled want; the sight of it made Uruha shiver against the cushions as Aoi got to his feet, breath slow and heavy as he slowly unzipped his pants, finally pulling his cock out, huge and hard, frightening and exciting both even with the many times he had taken it. “Aoi,” he gasped, more breath than voice as he attempted to pull Aoi into position, locking his thighs around Aoi’s waist. He still needed a moment to collect himself, his brain still dazed by the pleasure as he clutched at Aoi’s arm, trying to pull him close, wanting—needing him right here, now, deep inside. “Aoi, please.”

“Wait, babe,” Aoi said, alongside a muttered curse, and then he was moving away despite the way his cock was wet and dripping precum, clearly just as desperate as Uruha was, and yet— “Condoms.”

The mere word was enough to snap Uruha back into reality. He felt himself flush with embarrassment and slight dread, because he hadn’t even thought of it. Protection had been one of the things they had spoken of ahead of time, briefly but thoroughly; they would be mating, yes, but Uruha would under no circumstances allow Aoi to breed him. Aoi had no complaints—this was for Uruha’s sake, to get his body back in check, after all, and the last thing the band needed was an accident just as their career was really starting to take off—and as much as Aoi doubted it would take even if they did forego the condoms, it was not a risk either of them were willing to take. A moment later Aoi was ripping open the box that had stood otherwise forgotten on the table, his impatience showing in the way he tore the cardboard before he pulled out a fresh latex. Uruha was equally impatient as he squirmed with want, watching his lover put it on, Aoi releasing a small sigh as he rolled it down the full length. They were specially made condoms for alphas, ones designed to be able to withstand a full rut without tearing; ones Uruha had always ignored when he’d seen them in the store, the shame he carried over his own body outweighing his own curiosity.

But now, as Aoi grabbed himself, teasing Uruha’s wet hole with his cock, he couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation. Just as he wanted to snap at Aoi to get on with it already, Aoi took hold of his thighs to hold them open and slowly started to push inside, and all thought was once again lost to Uruha, overwhelmed by the feeling of being stretched, filled to the brim, while Aoi buried his face in the crook of Uruha’s neck. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.”

Uruha couldn’t even answer. He could do nothing but lie there and feel it, slowly acclimating to being so full after so long, and though he knew he probably needed more time, all he really wanted was for Aoi to start moving. It felt better than any words could describe; he was so hot, so wet, and his own spent cock was already coming back to life. “Come on,” he gasped, arms circling around Aoi’s slim waist to claw at his back, pulling needily at the fabric of his shirt, “move.”

And Aoi obeyed, pulling out only to slam back inside, quickly setting a slow, deep pace, one that left Uruha gasping in pleasure and squeezing his eyes shut with every thrust. “Oh fuck,” he moaned, almost screaming as Aoi brushed something inside of him, his nails digging deeper into Aoi’s skin and rewarding him with a deep groan, “Fuck, fuck me, baby, oh god…” He moaned and cried until they weren’t even words anymore, and Aoi chuckled into his ear but followed through, going harder, somehow deeper and faster, pounding Uruha’s inviting body with all that he had to give, gripping his thighs hard enough to bruise. It didn’t take much more before both of them were climaxing hard, revelling in the feeling of coming together and then just lying there, Aoi on top and inside of him as they struggled to catch their breath. Eventually Aoi sat up, half-hard cock pulling out of Uruha’s dripping pussy so he could remove the spent condom. Uruha watched him, still a bit dazed, as Aoi took a sip of the water before taking a fresh condom from the box, before then following suit and reaching for a fresh bottle. He was beginning to understand now.

“Drink up, baby,” Aoi said, voice soft and tender as he ripped the packaging open, “We’ve only gotten started.”

Uruha hummed in reply, watching quietly before taking the condom from Aoi’s hands. “It’s my turn,” he said smoothly, and sank to the floor between Aoi’s open legs, taking that cock into his mouth and working it back to full hardness. With an active rut it barely took any work at all, Aoi’s hands tangling in his hair as Uruha sucked him off quickly, fingers fondling Aoi’s sensitive balls before slipping the condom on once he could no longer take it, climbing back onto Aoi’s lap to ride him. And Aoi had no complains, his hands gripping Uruha’s hips as Uruha took the initiative, sinking down with a loud groan before lifting up and thrusting back down, impaling himself on that large, rock-hard cock over and over until Aoi could take no more and thrust up into him, holding his lover close.

By the end of the night, they had fucked on practically every surface deemed comfortable enough, from the living room to the kitchenette before finally migrating to the bed, and even there it took several rounds before Aoi’s stamina finally began to run out. He was still hard, still firmly placed inside his lover, but after hours upon hours of relentless fucking all he wanted to was lie there, holding Uruha as close as he possibly could. He could fall asleep like this, Aoi found himself thinking, burying his face in Uruha’s soft hair and breathing in deeply, arms wrapped around Uruha’s thin chest.

“Hey…” Uruha’s voice was warm and similarly sleepy, even as he lazily rutted back against Aoi’s hips, enjoying the intimacy of the moment despite still having the energy to keep going. Part of him wanted to push Aoi away, to push him onto his back so he could crawl on top and keep riding until he could do no more, but for all his neediness he was starting to feel the ache in his bones. And Aoi’s slow, deep breaths against his neck were calming. Slowly Uruha allowed himself to grow tired, using the last of his energy to grab the nearby blankets and toss them over their bodies before he let himself sink into the warm, dark embrace of sleep, Aoi still inside him.

“Well, you’re looking healthy,” Ruki said, glancing from Uruha to Aoi from behind his glasses, taking a long whiff of his cigarette before adding, “someone got laid this weekend, huh?”

To his credit, Uruha didn’t blush, only glowering silently while Aoi snickered quietly to himself. “I take some days off for sick leave and that’s the first thing you’re gonna tell me once I get back?”

“Hey, I just said you look better,” Ruki said defensively. “I mean it, you know. I didn’t want to mention it, but you looked like you were just a few days removed from keeling over last week.”

Uruha rolled his eyes, muttering a thanks that was partially genuine despite it all. Ruki’s ability to read people were unmatched in his eyes, and yet he had not once in his life had the ability to read the room… or perhaps he just didn’t care to. Uruha hadn’t realized he looked that bad before, though. Felt it, yes, but not seen it. In hindsight it was obvious, now that his health was returning, the way his skin was no longer pale and his eyes were slightly less sunken, body no longer drained from trying to keep itself in working order with the hormonal interference from his suppressants. It was ridiculous how quickly the strength had returned, really; a few days without the pills, letting the heat run its course—cutting it short the natural way, through mating, though the memory still made him flush a bit—and then he had woken up feeling better than he had in a long, long while. He had been utterly exhausted the morning after, sure; that was the one downside of mating, Aoi had said, the fatigue that came afterwards. And what else could Uruha have expected, really, after how long they had gone, barely stopping to catch their breaths, spending the whole day in each other’s arms and bodies? But after a few days spent in bed, resting and cuddling, his energy had returned. It was only at that point that Uruha had realized just how ill he really had been.

He hadn’t started taking the suppressants again. He trusted Aoi, and Aoi had advised him to wait at least a week; Uruha giving himself a chance to really recover and let his hormone levels balance out again, even if it probably would be fine if he started taking them after a few days. Best to err on the side of caution. And he wouldn’t be hitting heat again for a while anyway, even if his cycle had become completely fucked up, so it was time to start healthy routines. Get himself in check and at least start to treat his body appropriately, rather than just pretending he wasn’t what he was.

Well. To some degree, anyway. Uruha could follow instructions just fine, once he actually put his mind to it, and Aoi had after all taught him that it wasn’t entirely bad to be in heat, at least not when he had someone he trusted and loved to help him through it. Actually embracing the identity the world tried to impose upon him just because of the body he had been born into… that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. But taking care of himself was important; he needed his health to do what he loved, especially in his choice of career, even young as they were. They had only just started to gain steam, and Uruha couldn’t slow the band down now just because he was too stubborn to experience heat a few times a year. And now that he had experienced firsthand how good it could feel, well—why would he?

The pleasure Aoi had exposed him to had been so intense that his mind kept drifting back even a few days later, remembering the way Aoi’s touch and tongue and cock turned his bones to jelly, Uruha drowning in ecstasy as his boyfriend fucked him again and again, everywhere, in every position he could manage, only pausing to drink water or to replace a spent condom. Sweeter yet had been the morning after—afternoon really; they had both needed a lot of sleep after that—curled up in Aoi’s arms, warm and safe and secure, still feeling the tail end of his heat clinging to his body and making his pussy wet almost as soon as he recognized Aoi’s form against him. For what was probably the first time in his life, he hadn’t even minded it. Hell, he’d embraced it, allowing the drowsy lust to consume him as he trailed a hand down between Aoi’s legs, finding his dick heavy and stirring to life as Uruha pumped it slowly.

Aoi hadn’t even been fully awake yet, but Uruha couldn’t help himself, and he knew Aoi would appreciate it as he slipped beneath the sheets and took his lover’s cock into his mouth, sucking him slowly until Aoi’s breaths were interrupted by moans, grunting as he stirred to consciousness, a hand coming down to find Uruha’s head between his legs.

“Fuck… Uru?” he groaned, fingers finding Uruha’s hair; instead of replying, Uruha’s response was to take him deeper into his throat and keeping it there for as long as he could, until Aoi’s hips involuntarily started thrusting into his mouth and he had to come up for air.

Crawling up from the sheets, he kept one hand lazily stroking Aoi’s cock, wet with spit and precum as he gave Aoi a smile that he intended to be seductive but only came out soft at seeing those warm eyes staring back at him. “Morning,” he said hoarsely, his voice having been spent the night before, lost somewhere between the bed and the living room, he was sure; Uruha couldn’t remember his voice coming clearly after Aoi had pressed him to the wall in the hallway, the only thing keeping him up being the hands on his hips and his legs around Aoi’s waist as he was fucked into, screaming all the while.

The intensity of the night was something to remember alright, enough to make Uruha blush if he lingered on it for too long, yet the memory of the morning after was one he remembered with most fondness. Because while the heat had been exhausting, neither of them had been able to turn down a round of sweet, slow morning sex. If marathon sex in heat was mating, then the slow sex they’d had the morning after was making love, Uruha thought. He could think of no better way to describe it, the way Aoi made him feel. Taking care of him, fulfilling his needs, making him feel like no man ever had before…

For all Uruha could turn his hands on autopilot while his mind drifted elsewhere, he was still in the studio, surrounded by his bandmates and friends, Aoi stroking his shoulder. Quietly he asked, “Baby, you good?”

Even as Ruki smirked at them from the other side of the room Uruha could say, “Never better,” with complete honesty, giving Aoi a fond smile that he hoped the others wouldn’t see. He meant it, and hoped Aoi could tell; that he could tell they would be okay for everything that was ahead of them. No more dragging himself through day after day while his body was wrecked by hormones and nausea, no more snapping at Aoi as he lost his patience. No more going weeks without sex because he felt too ill, or he couldn’t stand the idea of being touched, despising his body to the point of letting it slowly break down. And as the days went by he only got better, until Uruha could no longer remember the illness he had carried in himself for months on end.

Eventually rehearsal came to an end and their tour started up. Behind the disguise of a handshake Uruha held onto Aoi’s hand for just a moment longer than he would anyone else, a secretly intimate gesture no one would care to notice as they wished each other good luck. Beside him, Reita buzzed with nervous energy, unable to stand still as their fans waited for them just outside the doors.

“We ready?” asked Sakai, and Kai gave them each a quick look, running through the list in his head as he always did, making sure they had everything in order. He nodded, and their manager gave Kai a big grin in return. “Good luck out there.” The first man to walk on stage was Kai, slipping out the door and into the darkness, signalling the start of their tour. As the fans screamed, Uruha smoothed down his outfit, making sure everything was in place, the pleated skirt sitting correctly on his hips. And then he too was out the door, walking onto the stage to greet the crowd.

Chapter Text

Uruha loved performing. While on tour, each night on the stage felt like the best night of his life, even if he missed the quiet days at home sometimes, missed having the chance to sleep in every morning when they didn’t have a meeting or rehearsal… most of all, though, he missed Aoi. Which was silly, because Aoi was literally at his side for the whole tour. Most nights Uruha had roomed with Reita, rather than his boyfriend, and most nights he and Aoi did get to share a hotel room, they had been too exhausted to do anything more than collapse into bed and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Every morning he took his suppressants, and Aoi had no arguments ever since he had recovered from the ordeal. Some months later he would quit them for long enough for his heat to hit and Aoi to get him through it. Uruha wondered idly if he should let their cycles line up again; if perhaps he should stop the pill in time for Aoi’s own heat, triggering his rut so they could mate. The euphoria of the experience was something he honestly longed for, at times, especially now.

He missed sex. Sure, they had found time to fuck each other here and there, between shows, but they hadn’t had time or energy for their usual passion, and their mating session had left them both wanting for more than touring allowed. He knew Aoi missed it too; they had found each other backstage after the main set—finding a small room away from prying eyes and locking the door, they’d spent the short time they had available to just touch and feel each other’s bodies, feeding the hunger they shared, Aoi’s hands tracing the hem of the skirt—Uruha sighed, mourning the fact that they had neither time nor opportunity for so much as a quickie, much as he wanted to wrap his legs around his boyfriend’s waist and beg to be touched. Even if they could have done it before, it was the night of the finale. The fans were calling for encore, the show was being filmed, and management would absolutely murder them if they didn’t return soon. Assuming Kai didn’t skin them alive first.

“Come on, Aoi,” Uruha said, lifting his head from its comfortable spot on Aoi’s shoulder, “we should go. Before someone starts looking for us.” He paused, releasing a small giggle as a hand reached down to squeeze his ass below the skirt, “Come on.”

Slowly Aoi released him, but there was the playful look of a bad idea in his eyes. “I was just thinking…”

“Me too. But we don’t have time.”

“Let me finish,” Aoi said. “I was just thinking that you should keep the skirt on. After the encore.”

Uruha blinked. Getting out of his costume had honestly been the one thing he was looking forward to the most, other than the prospect of getting into bed with Aoi; it was revealing and, frankly, he was tired of being on display after three weeks on the road. Even if Aoi’s appreciative gaze had been a plus, his sneaky hands often playing with the skirt every time he had the opportunity. “What for?” he asked anyway, though he knew exactly where Aoi was going. “Because you like it?”

“It’s hot,” Aoi explained simply, and Uruha rolled his eyes. “Babe, you have no idea. I’ve gone the whole tour dreaming of fucking you in it.”

“Aoi…”

“You’re cute when you blush.” There was a smirk on his face, but his eyes weren’t unkind, and he reached up to brush Uruha’s cheek tenderly. “Keep it on for me?”

“Aoi, I don’t know,” Uruha said hesitantly. The idea wasn’t terrible, not really, but he didn’t enjoy the idea of wearing it in front of people outside the venue. They still had the afterparty to get through, and then they actually had to get home, and despite the way he flaunted himself in front of fans Uruha had always been shy. Context and expectations mattered. The persona he presented to the crowd was a very different one from the person he was in private, and being dressed in a skirt and thigh highs was a very different experience when in a public space. Not to mention everything to do with his secondary sex… while it was true that one couldn’t tell an omega from a regular man at a glance, there was little comfort to be found in the knowledge when he still felt like anyone could look at him and know when he was on display like that. Worse yet knowing what strangers might think of him, because no matter what, people’s expectations and prejudices were still in place. There were countless arguments against it, plenty of reasons to say no. But at the same time, Uruha couldn’t deny that the thought was a hot one, so instead he went for the first viable excuse he could think of and simply said, “Management’s gonna kill me if I ruin an outfit that way.”

Still, Aoi was insistent. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. And I’ll make it worth your while. No one will even look at you twice, Uru. I know Kai and Ruki are going to wear their outfits for the party, so you won’t stand out that much.”

It was a bad idea, but Uruha eventually gave in. He couldn’t deny it was hot, getting to spend the whole night teasing Aoi with his mere presence, even if he had been looking forward to retiring the costume afterwards. He wouldn’t need it, after tonight… it’d probably get stuffed in a warehouse along with the rest of their older outfits, once it had been cleaned. And there was nothing scheduled for the first few days either. With the tour over, they would finally be able to rest, which for Aoi and Uruha meant fucking each other stupid while they were at it. But first there was the party.

For Uruha, alcohol was a regular part of his day. He liked to enjoy a glass of something alcoholic in the evening even when he wasn’t working, and usually had something to drink before a gig. It was a way to rid himself of the anxiety that came with his stage fright, even after several years; it relaxed him, balancing out his nerves while also giving him energy he sorely needed. And it was fun, being tipsy. Especially when Aoi was around, although he had to keep his hands to himself while they were out and about, even in the bar they had booked for the party in advance.

True to his word, both Kai and Ruki had kept their costumes alongside Uruha, the slight bit of revealed thigh that Ruki was showing off making Uruha a little less alone in feeling like a whore out on town, even surrounded by their staff and fellow musicians. But no one was paying attention to him, or his bare skin, and if Aoi was enjoying the view he was being too subtle for Uruha to notice. He had ended up on the opposite side of the bar alongside Reita, while Uruha stayed near an overly chatty Ruki, nursing his second drink—a rather potent cocktail—and listening to his friend talk to the small crowd that surrounded him, voice only slightly hoarse from singing all night. Crossing his legs, Uruha snuck a glimpse Aoi's way, wanting to see if he was paying attention and seeing the promised skin on display for him… only to be disappointed to find Aoi not even looking his way.

Whatever, Uruha thought dimly as he casually righted the skirt to cover his bare skin once more. His loss. Uruha would make up for it later. Until then he could keep enjoying the atmosphere, jumping into the conversation whenever the subject veered into his interests, and the night went on. The crowd steadily got drunker, except for a few staff and Ruki, who was content with a childish fruit drink in spite of his bravado and ridiculous outfit, and when Aoi slid up next to him Uruha didn’t even notice until his boyfriend tugged at his shoulder, forcing his attention. Finally, Uruha wanted to say, but Aoi’s expression didn’t share his excitement. He looked apologetic. And exhausted. “What’s up?” he asked, suddenly much more sober than he had been just a second ago, following Aoi as he took them a little bit away from the crowd where they could talk privately.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Aoi said. “I know we had plans, but…”

Uruha frowned. “But what?”

“But I don’t think I can last any longer. I didn’t realize sooner, but I’m like… this close to falling asleep on my feet. I gotta call it a night, babe.”

“Really?” he said, wanting to be mad but finding himself strangely upset instead, standing there in the corner of a dim bar, still in full costume. For nothing. “You couldn’t tell me this earlier?”

“I couldn’t tell, earlier.” Aoi grimaced, a little ashamed; he was playing with his lip ring, Uruha noted, a nervous tick, and he felt himself softening just slightly. “I’m sorry, Uru. They’re gonna drive Reita home and I’ll catch a ride with them, I wanted to ask you to come home with me. We can still curl up in bed, yeah? We can leave the rest for another time.”

“Reita is leaving?”

“He had too much,” Aoi said, and Uruha sighed, entirely unsurprised. “Kai left earlier, found some girl, I think. It’s just you and Ruki left.”

“And the other bands,” Uruha snidely added, gesturing to the bar and the people that filled it, “and the rest of the staff, and the girls. And I was in the middle of a conversation, so no, I’m not going.”

Aoi looked about ready to say something, but he stopped himself. He tongued the lip ring momentarily before he nodded, clearly disappointed. “Sure. I’ll see you later, then. Tomorrow?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Good night, baby.” A subtle brush of Aoi’s hand against his own, and then he was leaving, giving Uruha one last look over his shoulder before he disappeared down the hallway. Uruha fumed slightly for a moment; his plans had gone down the drain, and he hadn’t even realized. But Reita’s table did indeed stand empty, the glass his best friend had been drinking from sitting there, abandoned, half drained. Uruha sighed; Reita really should have followed Ruki’s example and stuck to what he could actually handle. Not that him drinking himself unconscious was to blame for Aoi being tired. It had been a very long day; they’d woken up at an ungodly hour to get everything ready, and while the show had been good, it had also been exhausting. But Uruha wasn’t tired, not really, and judging by the life at his table, neither was Ruki.

It was easy to blame it on Aoi’s age and return to the table, mood significantly soured by the news, Ruki glancing over at him as he took a seat. “What’s up?”

Uruha shrugged. “Eh, the others left,” he said shortly, reaching for his glass. The news had sobered him up, and now he just wanted to sit in good company and drink himself stupid before inevitably going home. Which turned out to be a bad idea. Uruha was in the middle of a long winded discussion about the best food stands in the city when he started to feel ill; it hit him slowly, a mild headache wrapping around his skull while nausea built up in his stomach, like a premature hangover. Ruki noticed it before he did himself, pausing mid-speech to give him a concerned look. “Dude, you alright?”

“Sure,” Uruha lied, resisting the urge to cover his eyes from the light; it wasn’t the kind of nausea that meant he was moments away from throwing up, at least. Small mercies. One of Ruki’s friends reached out to rub his back, a welcoming gesture despite the fact that he had only met them a few hours ago.

“Uruha,” Ruki said firmly, and Uruha sighed, knowing what was coming. “I think you should probably go home, man. Get some rest.” He paused, and then added quietly, “And lay off the drinking for a while, alright?”

Uruha nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m gonna call it a night,” he said, unable to keep that disappointment out of his voice. Less so because he wanted to stay, although he had enjoyed the party, but because he would go home to a cold bed and sleep until the next day instead of the night with Aoi he had been looking forward to the whole evening. Aoi wouldn’t be there, choosing to go home to his cat rather than waiting up for Uruha. “Are you staying?”

“I was planning to,” Ruki said, hesitant. Pulling away from the crowd he leaned into Uruha’s space enough to ask in a hushed voice, “will you be alright to get home on your own?”

“I don’t need to be escorted to my door.”

“You know what I mean, Kou.” There was a downward glance, however brief, toward Uruha’s bare skin beneath the skirt. He couldn’t blame Ruki for being concerned. He knew it had more to do with how he had dressed for the night than the physical aspects of his body—Ruki did know what Uruha was, after all, even if he hadn’t found out in the most conventional of ways—but Uruha still found it annoying. He was a man. He could take care of himself, even if he didn’t really look it right now, dressed up like he was.

“It’s fine. I’ll just catch a cab. What about you?”

“Yuta here offered me a ride later,” Ruki gestured to one of his new friends, who perked up at the mention of his name but was too preoccupied to respond. “Maybe you should stay for a while longer. We could go home together.”

Uruha shook his head. “Thanks, but no,” he declined, bidding Ruki a good night. Stepping out of the bar, he took a deep breath; the late spring air was so cool and refreshing, after hours of breathing the stuffy air of the bar, recycling oxygen from a couple dozen or so people with the poor ventilation. Already his headache was subsiding. Maybe it really had just been the stuffy air, Uruha figured, tugging his jacket closer around his shoulders as he made his way down the street to find a taxi.

It was a beautiful night out, really. About as crowded as one would expect, for a Saturday night, despite the late hour; though the air was cool and crisp, Uruha felt pleasantly warm, and while he could feel eyes on him as he went, he found he didn’t care. He was in high spirits, confident and still feeling the afterglow of the concert high, alongside the alcohol in his system, even if he wasn’t really drunk anymore. Unfortunate, but probably for the better, especially since he was alone. It really was a shame Aoi wasn’t with him. They could be having such a good time… he imagined it, in vivid detail, eyes scouring the street for an available cab while his mind was elsewhere, thinking about enjoying walking with Aoi in the night, feeling rejuvenated and young before finally calling it a day and going home and to bed, spending the last of their energy in each other’s bodies before falling asleep in each other’s arms…

It was a good image. It was a shame it wouldn’t come true, not tonight, Uruha thought regretfully; he wasn’t even that tired really, despite the long day he’d had. But he did enjoy sleeping. And with nothing else to do and no one to spend the night with, it was best to give his body the rest it had earned, Uruha decided as he finally spotted a taxi queue. He was just about to approach the cab in the front when he was pulled out of his thoughts by what he could have sworn was—

“Kouyou?”

“Huh?” Snapping out of his thoughts, Uruha spun around to follow the sound of his name, the voice familiar but his attention too focused elsewhere to register where he had heard it before until he found himself face to face with— “Masahiro?” he uttered, surprised. Of all people he expected to run into in town at night, Masahiro was pretty far down on the list; still, his wasn’t an unwanted presence, and it had been a while since the last time they’d seen each other. “Oh man, it’s you. What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask the same thing,” Masahiro said, gesturing for them to walk and pulling Kouyou away from the queue. “Finished work late, so we went out for a few drinks. Next thing I know it’s midnight and I’m running into you, of all people,” he said, eyes momentarily drifting down Uruha’s frame not for the first time, “What’s with the outfit?”

Had he been sober, Uruha would have felt embarrassed by how he was currently dressed; he would probably have done what little he could to try and cover up the conspicuous amount of bared skin, but as it was, he was just tipsy enough to not care. And Masahiro’s appearance had distracted him from thinking of Aoi or what could have been, or how lonely and empty he would feel once he sank into his cold bed and the last of the concert high finally left him. Instead, a soft smile graced his face as he fell into step with Masahiro, not really caring to pay attention to where they were going. “Same as you, I guess? We had a live today. Last one for a while, the finale actually. And there was a party after, I was just about to head home.”

“Oh, the band is still a thing?”

“We’re doing really well,” Uruha said. “You should come see us sometime.”

“Maybe.” His eyes drifted down once more, but Uruha didn’t notice, too busy enjoying the refreshing air and the company. “Guess that explains it. You guys all dress like this?”

“No… well, sort of? We get different costumes. I guess they look a bit weird to an outsider…” Plucking at the edges of the skirt, Uruha paused. “What are you laughing at?”

Masahiro grinned; his dyed hair fell into his eyes, and he brushed it away. “Sorry. I was just imagining Suzuki in a mini skirt.”

Uruha gave a dramatic huff, but the thought made him giggle. “It’s not that short… but yeah, that’s funny. You’d have to do a lot of convincing to make him wear one.”

“Hey, you want to go get some drinks? Since we’re out.”

“Um…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know… I was going to call it a night.”

“Just one? For old time’s sake. We don’t run into each other that often, we have stuff to catch up on,” Masahiro insisted. “Besides, I can drive you home after.”

It was a bad idea, Uruha knew. He was still slightly feverish, even if the nausea and headache had eased up, replaced with a strange warmth throughout his entire body. But Masahiro was right. They barely ever saw one another, these days; he hadn’t seen Masahiro in nearly a year, and considering everything that had happened since then, he had much to tell. And he was curious, so he agreed. “Sure,” Uruha said. “I can do one more drink.”

“Knowing you it’ll be more than one,” Masahiro teased. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t go too far.”

He led Uruha to a nearby bar, a small place, not far from where his car was parked, Masahiro explained, and while Uruha did break his own word and got more than one drink, he at least sipped them slowly as time started to run from them both. Masahiro’s career had stood mostly still since last time, unlike his own; the alcohol in his system had loosened up his tongue enough that he didn’t feel awkward as he spoke, and Masahiro’s attention was directed solely on him. The little bar was cozy, soft music playing from a speaker system while a small disco ball lit the interior up in bright colours, accentuating Masahiro’s handsome face. For a moment, Uruha was struck by the feeling of being a teenager again, at one of their stupid school events, sitting in a quiet corner with Masahiro. Just enjoying the company, the music, and the stupid, coloured lights, plastic cup of something sickeningly sweet and melon flavored in his hand.

That had been the last moment of real friendship between them, as Masahiro had asked him out that night, and Uruha had said no. They didn’t really speak after, not until after Uruha had long since left school and they ran into another on the streets of Tokyo some months after Masahiro had graduated. Uruha had missed the easy friendship they used to have, before he had ruined it just by being omega. Looking back at it, the memory was a sad one, despite how he remembered enjoying himself most of the day, if only because he knew that if he were normal, Masahiro would have had no reason to think of him that way. He wouldn’t have asked him out, and they would never have drifted apart the way they had.

He had become somber and quiet, lost in thought with the sudden melancholy that had come over him. “Sorry, Masa,” Uruha said, glancing down at his empty glass. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Drive me home?”

“Of course,” Masahiro nodded, but there was that disappointed slant to his mouth, the one Uruha remembered vividly from years ago.

Masahiro had his car parked in a nearby parking lot just as he’d said, and while the walk was brief, it was also chilly, Uruha feeling both hot and cold at the same time, fever boiling beneath his jacket while the naked skin of his exposed thighs made him shiver under the short skirt. Aoi wasn’t even there. He was wearing it for nothing, letting himself be dressed like this in the cool weather, in public no less. And people did stare. He had felt their eyes on him ever since stepping out of the bar, though he had been in too high spirits to really care to notice, then. Now, as he got into the car, Masahiro eyeing him when he thought he wasn’t looking, Uruha could only think of how much of an asshole Aoi was for doing this, making him wear the costume and then just leaving. When they were face to face again, Uruha would have a lot of things to say, and none of them would be good.

In the driver’s seat, Masahiro shifted uncomfortably, and Uruha sighed. Being bitter about it wasn’t going to do any good, especially not in front of Masahiro, who had nothing to do with it. “Look, Masa, I’m sorry,” Uruha muttered, unzipping his jacket in an attempt to cool down slightly, focusing his attention out the window, on the quiet street outside rather than meeting Masahiro’s eyes. “This was probably a mistake. I think I had a little too much, I feel a bit sick, honestly…”

He didn’t see Masahiro’s eyes glancing down at his bare skin, only heard his soft hum, voice warm and deep as he muttered, “I see.”

The air in the car was thick and heavy as they drove, and even with the window scrolled down, Uruha couldn’t get comfortable, his body swimming with fever until suddenly, it hit him. He shifted, pressing his thighs together, resisting the urge to claw at the skirt in an attempt to pull it further down, hands in his lap as dread flooded his system with the realization that it wasn’t the alcohol; it wasn’t the concert, or a fever, or anything else. It was heat. Heat hitting him out of nowhere, only a month after he had gotten his cycle back in check, while he was still taking suppressants… it wasn’t supposed to happen. God, fuck, it wasn’t supposed to happen, his body wasn’t supposed to betray him like this, much less when he was out among people, Masahiro sitting just a few feet away, an alpha who had shown interest in him before.

Uruha swallowed, forcing himself to relax in his seat even as he felt the place between his legs slowly grow sticky and wet, trying to conceal his own horror as the heat wreaked havoc upon his body once again. It was so much stronger than it was supposed to be; normally it crept up on him, affecting his mood first and making him irritable and melancholy before the ridiculous horniness took hold. But never did it assault all his senses at once, or with this amount of intensity… that had only happened with Aoi, when he dropped the pill intentionally. It had been insane how much it affected Uruha then, and now it was just as strong, if not more so. Except this time he wasn’t in the safety of his own home; this time Aoi was not there to help him as his body went into overdrive, growing wetter and wetter for nothing.

Thank god for the shorts he wore beneath the skirt; without them Uruha was sure he would be soaking the car seat within minutes. Masahiro couldn’t tell, right? Sure he was alpha, but he would only notice if he was in heat himself. There was no way for anyone to know, after all, not unless Masahiro was to reach down and feel the slick for himself, press his fingers against Uruha’s wet cunt and push inside, just as Aoi had done before. They had fucked for hours just to get Uruha through it, just so he could go back to a regular cycle, and he wasn’t supposed to feel this for another few months at least. And yet it was hitting him now, full force, while in the presence of someone he hadn’t really known since they were still in school. Masahiro had been a good friend, once. Now, he was little more than an acquaintance, a man Uruha only saw a few times a year, their friendship lost. A missed chance.

And as Masahiro pulled away from the main road, driving in silence before coming to a stop in a deserted parking lot, Uruha felt a sticky-sweet dread crawl down his spine. “Why are we stopping?” he asked as Masahiro leaned back in the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition. “What’s going on?”

There was a sigh. Masahiro’s breath trembled slightly, Uruha realized, and everything about him seemed to radiate the same desire and fear that was freezing Kouyou to his seat, even as he caught sight of the heavy bulge tenting between Masahiro’s open legs. Masahiro grimaced, unable to look at him, one hand clutching the steering wheel and the other his own knee, so hard his knuckles turned white. “I’m sorry, Kouyou,” he said finally, sounding just as desperate as Uruha felt. “I don’t know what came over me, I can’t…” He licked his lips, looking up through his dyed hair to finally meet Uruha’s gaze, his eyes heavy with want, with a triggered rut; Uruha’s doing. “I can’t control myself like this, whatever you’re doing to me, please stop. I feel ill.”

Uruha couldn’t reply for a long few seconds, only clutched his own hands tightly in his lap. “I haven’t done anything,” he said, the wet heat coursing through his veins battling the chill of dread creeping down his spine, settling in the pit of his stomach as Masahiro exhaled slowly before he finally moved, undoing his seatbelt before pushing the door open. “Masa?” Uruha tried, but if Masahiro heard him he made no show of it even as he came around to Uruha’s side of the car, opening the passenger door. He wasn’t there, Uruha realized with horror as Masahiro reached out, wrestling with Uruha’s seatbelt despite the hands that struggled to push him away; he wasn’t there, dark eyes consumed by lust and heat, just as he himself was about to be.

Uruha’s small apartment was dead silent when he stepped inside, locking the door behind him before quietly removing his jacket and boots, not even bothering to empty his pockets for his phone and keys before softly pulling the door to the bedroom open, finding it just as he had left it. Empty and cold. There was not a single sign of life in the flat, no one on the couch, no one in the bathroom. Just as expected, Aoi wasn’t there.

Uruha knew he wouldn’t be, but it was still a relief. Sighing, Uruha finally let his shoulders drop, moving to the bathroom and starting the arduous task of getting cleaned up. The top half of the costume had mostly been left untouched; the faux corset, with all its zippers and buckles proving too much effort to deal with even if the fabric around the throat had been easily pushed aside for access to the bare skin of his neck and collarbones. The rest of the outfit had not been as fortunate, even as the thigh highs stayed more or less in place alongside the skirt.

Something wet slid down his legs as he pulled the shorts off, and Uruha cringed, closing his eyes in favor of seeing it. He didn’t want to look at what he had done, turning his back to the mirror and tossing the spent clothing into a pile in the corner to be dealt with later.

Pulling the pins out of his hair, Uruha set them down on the counter by the sink with a pale, shaking hand. Even in this state, defiled as he was, the hormones were still interfering with his systems. His body felt as though it was no longer his own, the horribly incompetent reproductive system in his belly ripping away his control and making him feel things he didn’t want to feel; the heat was still keeping him wet, cunt open and ready for any alpha, any man to stick his hands into, his dick, fucking him full and making Uruha cry out like some needy whore despite how much he wanted to hate it. It didn’t matter who or what he was. It didn’t matter that he was supposed to be Aoi’s and no one else’s, not when he was at the mercy of his own genetic failure. Horny in a way words couldn’t describe, full of shame and slick and cum and yet still not sated.

All his life Uruha had hated this part of his body. All his life he had fought, tooth and nail, to be taken seriously by those who knew, his dreams fading further out of reach each time he was outed as omega; he was a man and would be treated as such, keeping the truth a secret to everyone who absolutely didn’t need to know because of what would happen if they found out. He was a man. He was in a stable, happy relationship, he was living out his dreams with his closest friends… he was someone. Someone of value. Not some breeding bitch who thought with their pussy and nothing else. And yet here he was, clutching the sink while seed dripped from his hole, tears burning in his eyes as his body cried out for more, to be touched again, filled again, to continue being pounded into as though his sole purpose was to be bred… it was hardly his body anymore, all agency ripped away from him by his own hormones. Furious, Uruha reached down, violently stuffing himself, his long, slim fingers easily fitting into the cunt that had been stretched over and over again earlier. It was so easy. It wouldn’t be enough. And he sobbed as he fucked himself, leaning his weight onto the sink while he searched for relief, everything between his legs, his thighs and hand soaked in cum. And despite his own revulsion and horror, it felt good.

It was disgusting. He was disgusting as he stood there, breathing hard and heavy, his blood still boiling, cunt still wet, still dripping and wanting. It didn’t matter how many times he came, he still wanted more, and more, and more…

Slipping into the shower, Uruha washed it all away, all the sweat and slick and semen that coated him before he turned the water on full pressure and sank to the floor, curling up as the shower pounded against his back. He stayed there for a long while, long enough for the water to run cold and he was shaking from something other than his own hormones, only putting in the effort to throw the soiled costume in a hamper and out of sight before hastily rubbing himself dry and crawling into bed. Curling up, he focused on his breath, on his heart hammering in his chest, anything to avoid thinking of the desire that still flooded his systems, screaming out for something, for someone, the box of toys under his bed, Aoi’s number in his phone, his own hand…

He curled up tighter, pulled the blankets over his head and exhaled slowly; breath trembling with grief, Uruha finally gave up, resigned to simply lie there. And as the heat continued to ravage his body, he allowed himself to cry.

It was late in the afternoon by the time that Aoi finally showed up at Uruha’s place. He had intended to come by earlier, but the combination of a full-body ache, a hangover and his cat sleeping on his legs put an end to those plans, which he figured was probably for the better, considering Uruha had stayed at the party longer. Sure, Uruha wasn’t as prone to being hungover as he was despite his ability to easily drink Aoi under the table, and but Aoi was sure his lover was feeling the effects of their long day nonetheless. And he knew better than anyone else how much Uruha enjoyed sleeping in.

He already expected Uruha to be worn out from the long night he’d had. Aoi wouldn’t be surprised if he decided to put their initial plans off for a while longer, nor would he mind, his own muscles tense and tired even after the relaxing bath he’d taken before leaving home. Now he was mostly just looking forward to spending time together, maybe curl up on the couch and watch whatever was on the TV. Eat dinner together, and so on. And if things took a turn for it, well. Aoi wasn’t exactly the person to say no to good sex.

But the Uruha that greeted him in the doorway wasn’t the lover who was happy to see him, warm and inviting as he let Aoi into his home. Instead, Uruha looked tired. Aoi had expected that, but not like this, hell, he looked exhausted. His eyes were dark and empty, and his sweet face pulled into a slight frown as he stood there, wearing sweats and one of Aoi’s too-large hoodies and nothing else, hair tangled and unbrushed… and he was just standing in the doorway, staring at Aoi. He didn’t even return his greeting. Aoi shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, feeling strangely unwelcome and unable to read whatever signals Uruha might be sending him. “You don’t look too good,” Aoi tried, as he followed Uruha into the apartment. “Did you stay behind and party all night?” he added, hoping to lighten the mood. “You look like you’ve barely slept, babe…”

“Something like that.” Uruha diverted his gaze. “I just got up.”

“Now? It’s like four in the afternoon,” Aoi said, quickly glancing at his watch. “When did you come home?”

“Eh…” Uruha’s voice, strangely hoarse and worn, drifted into silence. “I don’t know. Early morning sometime. I didn’t really check.”

Aoi frowned as he shrugged his outerwear off, watching Uruha, the way his shoulders drooped, facing his living room rather than Aoi. He jumped when Aoi touched his shoulder, even as gentle as the touch was, and took a shaky breath as he put some distance between them. “Sorry,” Aoi said, tonguing his lip ring momentarily. “Baby, are you sick?”

“I think… yeah, I probably am,” Uruha said, his voice scratchy, “I’m all over the place right now, I just… I don’t know. I’m tired.”

“You sound like you’ve been yelling for hours,” Aoi commented, and immediately Uruha’s eyes shot up, strangely alarmed. Aoi paused for a moment, before continuing, “what were you even doing all night?”

There was a grimace, one quickly hidden as Uruha turned away again, moving to the kitchen on shaky legs, opening his cupboard to pull out a glass for both of them. “Drinking, I guess. Talking… talked with those guys for hours, you know, I guess that’s why… plus this, this cold, or whatever. I don’t know.” His entire body slouched in exhaustion as he stood there, back turned to Aoi. “I’m so tired…”

This time when Aoi touched him, Uruha didn’t flinch, only sagging against him and welcoming Aoi’s arms around his waist, Uruha resting his head on his shoulder. “Go sit down,” Aoi murmured. “Are you hungry?”

“Yeah…”

Aoi patted his shoulder gently. “Get some rest. I’ll make you something.”

There was a small nod. “Thanks,” Uruha said, and this time he had no voice at all, just a hoarse breath. Aoi eyed him as he went back to the couch, sinking down on the cushion with a soft groan before settling to lie down instead, closing his eyes. Not too unlike how he had been before Aoi had convinced him to stop taking suppressants for a week, when chemicals and hormones were still messing with his body. They had dealt with that. Then again, it had only been about a month, and it wasn’t unrealistic to assume that it was still affecting Uruha in some way, Aoi figured, especially since he was back to taking his pills again. Not to mention the day he’d had. The show and the accompanying party had sapped Aoi of all his energy, so it wasn’t out of the question that it had caused a bit of a relapse.

A while later he was sat on the couch with his lover’s head in his lap, slowly staring to dozing off as they idly watched TV, Aoi’s fingers gently brushing through Uruha’s hair. While not exactly the way he had imagined his evening going, it wasn’t too far off, Aoi supposed.

Truth was, Uruha had woken up much earlier than he claimed. He had probably only slept a few hours at most, roused from sleep by his own heartbeat hammering in his ears, some kind of nightmare slipping away the moment his eyes snapped open. Water, he had found himself thinking, his first conscious thought. He was absolutely dying of thirst. Not surprising, considering the way the night had gone, everything his body had produced with nothing to replace it. And he was feeling the effects of it vividly, needing to take a moment to collect himself as dizziness overtook him once he tried to stand.

He’d walked, still naked, to his kitchen and filled a glass with water, drinking so fast he almost choked and then filled it again, pressing the cold glass to his forehead as he willed his pounding headache to subside. His body had cooled off enough for him to be able to think and breathe, but the heat wasn’t gone, not yet. Now it felt less like the feverish nightmare of last night and more like it normally did when he was just coming down from it, still uncomfortably warm and wet, still turned on for nothing, but nowhere near the intense desperation from earlier. Enough for Uruha to focus on his own guilt and misery, rather than his own carnal desires. He’d betrayed Aoi’s trust. Cheated on him by allowing himself to get fucked by another man, another alpha, for hours. Just after he had assured Aoi that he was the only one Uruha had ever wanted and desired, perhaps even loved, in his whole life… now he was just some worthless fucking slut, letting himself be taken, and without protection.

The thought dropped like a stone in his stomach. There hadn’t been sufficient protection, a realization that didn’t hit Uruha until now. Eyes wide open, he stared into the dim space of his own kitchen, his head starting to pound harder as he imagined himself going through every horrible scenario his mind could conjure up. Despite his pills acting as a preventative alongside a heat suppressant, Uruha made sure that Aoi always wore condoms because he couldn’t afford an accident. And while he would probably be safe during regular sex… for all that omegas were known for their low fertility, an alpha rut was there to make up for it. That was something Uruha had gotten to experience over and over just hours ago, the sensation of being flooded by cum when the condom finally tore still sticking in his mind as something dreadful and horrific, only made worse by how fucking pleasurable it had been. He hated it. He hated himself, this body he was born in, that he was trapped in. He hated that he couldn’t do shit about it. Fumbling, Uruha nearly spilled the water as he sat the glass down and pulled out the drawer where he kept his pills, popping a suppressant and swallowing it.

With Aoi, he had intentionally stopped taking the suppressants. This time he hadn’t. Aoi wore protection because neither of them wanted to risk an unwanted pregnancy, as unlikely as it was. He was safe. Despite the lack of condoms, and despite the fact that he was somehow in heat, Uruha was safe; even with everything he had been given, there would be no danger of actually being knocked up. The pills were taking care of it.

Now he only had to deal with his own guilt and grief, with the betrayal he had committed. And the soiled outfit in the bathroom. Cursing quietly under his breath, Uruha rubbed his temples to will the headache away. They had plans. Aoi would be coming over, and considering the reason Uruha had worn it for so long in the first place, he would probably want to see the costume… either way, it couldn’t stay in the apartment in its current state, not where Aoi could see or smell it. He’d know. Gripped by a vague panic, Uruha swallowed the rest of the water and went to throw some clothes on, tossing the costume in a bag and grabbing his keys. He needed to get it clean, or at the very least out of the house, and fast.

By the time Uruha returned, he truly felt like digging himself into a hole and staying there. The staff at the dry cleaners had been polite, but he knew what they would think of him once they saw just what it was he wanted cleaned. There was no mistaking that smell or those stains for anything else, after all, and it didn’t help that the heat was still plaguing him, the effects faint compared to earlier but still enough to make him uncomfortable. Enough to soak through his underwear while he drove back home. Sighing, Uruha locked the door behind him; he just wanted it all to be over so he could pretend none of it had happened.

Angry, Uruha stripped his clothes off, tossing them carelessly on the floor before crawling into bed, pulling out the box he kept underneath. He grabbed the first toy within reach—a moderately large vibrator—and without even bothering with lube or warm up, flipped it on, proceeding to push it into himself. Keeping his eyes closed, Uruha groaned as his body slowly allowed the intrusion, no longer as eager to take a dick as it had been before he’d gone to sleep, but Uruha didn’t care. This wasn’t for pleasure, it wasn’t for fun, if anything it was to punish himself. That, and he just wanted to get it out of his system.

Turning the vibrator on the highest setting he gasped, covering his mouth with his hand as the toy finally hit home, pushed in all the way and pulsating inside of him; despite the ache, it felt so good to the point that tears burned in his eyes as he lay there, just feeling it before he finally started to move the toy, harshly thrusting it in and out. It was an intense mix of pleasure and pain, too rushed for it not to hurt, even as his body accommodated the toy easily enough and providing the lubrication for him to fuck himself smoothly. He kept going until he came hard, walls clenching around the vibrator, yet he didn’t stop. He kept going, fucking himself harder and faster until he came again, and again; he didn’t stop, not until he was too sensitive to be able to withstand it, pain outweighing any and all pleasure he might feel as the vibrator continued to throb within his sore, wet cunt.

He deserved to suffer this way. Not even bothering to clean up, Uruha turned the toy off and tossed it aside, pressing his legs to his chest and promptly falling asleep, too exhausted for anything else. It was finished. He would sleep off the remaining heat and never have to think of last night again, and then he would finally be able to face Aoi. But he wouldn’t owe up to what he had done, not ever, because he knew Aoi would never be able to handle the truth, and Uruha couldn’t stand the thought of what might happen if he knew.

He slept for hours, only waking up in the afternoon at the sound of Aoi at his door. Shoving the vibrator out of sight, he threw on the nearest clothes and went to greet his boyfriend, ignoring the soreness between his legs as exhaustion clung to him.

Chapter Text

Aoi couldn’t stop tonging his lip ring, lately. The nervous tick had gotten worse in the weeks since the finale, and he often found himself fidgeting idly with the metal in his lip while he racked his mind for what he could possibly have done to upset Uruha this time.

And it had to be Aoi’s fault. Because Uruha was normal when they were at work, and as far as Aoi could tell, there was no difference in how his boyfriend interacted with the others, just as relaxed and laid back with their band members and staff as he always had been, still pushing Kai’s buttons whenever he had the chance, still bickering and laughing with Ruki and Reita. But once it was just the two of them, things got strangely awkward. It was concerning, especially since they had only just gotten over their problems a couple months ago… but now, it seemed as though all of that had been undone, the only difference being that Uruha was no longer sick. He was himself again. Just not with Aoi.

He couldn’t fathom why. Trying to talk about it didn’t help, either, not when Uruha was content with pretending that nothing was wrong, seeming to take offense whenever Aoi brought attention to how cold their relationship had gotten. Whatever Aoi had done to piss his lover off, he had no idea. He had clung to him the day he came over after the finale, allowing Aoi to take care of him, but then he had gradually turned cold. And yet Uruha still refused to admit anything was wrong, instead lying and acting like nothing while he continued to push Aoi away, refusing to let him close, complaining every time Aoi made any attempt at intimacy… he didn’t know what to think of it.

For Uruha meanwhile, slipping back into his daily life had been easy enough. But for all that things had returned to normal, Uruha was very much locked in a quiet struggle with his own demons, and he was not fighting them so much as trying with all his might to ignore that they were there at all. The memory of what he’d done, the nightmares he had of something growing inside of him, of Aoi discovering the truth… Uruha didn’t want to acknowledge any of it. He just wanted to forget, to move on, and preferably never see Masahiro again. But he couldn’t deny that it was affecting him.

The truth was that right now, Uruha could hardly stand the thought of being intimate. And for all that he longed for Aoi’s company and touch, as much as he wanted to curl up in his boyfriend’s arms at night, to feel safe and warm and content, he knew Aoi too well. He knew that Aoi rarely kept his hands to himself, sliding a hand between Uruha’s legs until Uruha stirred awake. And he had no reason not to. After all, Uruha had rarely minded it before. Ever since they’d started sleeping together, morning sex had been a staple of their relationship that they had both enjoyed—at least before he started getting sick—but he could hardly stand the thought of now. It was conflicting. He wanted Aoi, wanted him more than anything, but it was as though the sexual aspect of his life and his love for Aoi had been corrupted, ruined by Uruha’s guilt.

Worse yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Despite how much Uruha wanted to simply forget, he found that he couldn’t. It crept up on him when he least expected it, the ghost of hands on his skin showing up to ruin every intimate moment whether he was alone or with Aoi. It made the war with his own body so much worse, with the way it had betrayed him, giving in to the carnal pleasure despite how much he had hated it, wanting to fight but being too feverish, dizzy and overwhelmed to really fight… every time Uruha remembered, all he could think of was the moment he felt himself sink into the treacherous pleasure. How he had ended up giving in and let it happen.

It had ruined everything. He had ruined everything by choosing to stay out that night, rather than going home with Aoi or Ruki, and now he felt too broken and guilty to even allow Aoi to touch his bare skin. And it had been days. Days that turned to weeks that Uruha spent pretending he was okay, bottling up his fears and constant anxieties, struggling to eat and sleep as the memories and guilt haunted him. Waiting for enough time to pass so that he could finally do something to put his mind at ease.

At the two week mark since the incident, Uruha couldn’t wait any longer. Setting his alarm unusually early for a day off, he got up, showering quickly to shake off the memory of the nightmare still clinging to his body, the one that kept coming back again and again. The real sting wasn’t so much Masahiro turning on him as it had been the betrayal of his own body; much as it hurt, Uruha knew he had little right to blame him. It wasn’t Masahiro’s fault he had been in heat that night, but Uruha couldn’t forgive his own treachery as his body went into heat out of nowhere while he was out, ultimately triggering Masahiro’s rut and causing him to lose control of himself… Uruha knew he was to blame for going two years on the pills and fucking himself up, but this wasn’t supposed to happen. A small part of him blamed Aoi for it too, for making him wear the costume even after the show and then leaving, for convincing him to stop taking the pills and making his body resume some semblance of a heat cycle again despite the hormones he was ingesting specifically to avoid it, but Uruha knew that was foolish. If Aoi hadn’t convinced him, this wouldn’t have happened, sure… but only because he would still have been sick.

In the end the blame was left with Uruha himself, and he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle the memory of the moment he had stopped struggling, giving his cunt what it wanted as his systems flooded him with pleasure, rewarding him for his infidelity. And then the panic that bloomed deep in his mind as he felt something wet dripping out of him, something hot and thick that wasn’t his own slick… he recalled how Masahiro still had a hand curled around his wrists though there was no force behind it anymore, the grip pressing him against the car slack enough for Uruha to slip away if he’d only tried. Which he hadn’t. All he had been able to do was stand there with shaky legs as he felt Masahiro pull out, hearing him curse in a low voice, finally daring to throw a look over his shoulder to see Masahiro pull away the torn condom. Uruha had wanted to say something, then. He had wanted to do something other than just stand there, legs still open and spread, but he couldn’t. The only thing Uruha had been able to do was shift, pushing away from the car and wincing as more of it came out of him, running down the inside of his thigh, giving a whine that sounded more like a moan than anything else.

He hadn’t been able to see Masahiro’s face, then. He didn’t know what was going through his head, or if there was anything in his head at all other than the rut. If perhaps some part of him knew that it was wrong, what he was doing—that Uruha didn’t want this, that the condom breaking was a sign that he needed to stop—but either that didn’t happen, or Masahiro disregarded it. It was too late, Uruha supposed; it had already torn, he had already come inside, so whatever argument he could make was rendered meaningless compared to the pleasure in store for them both if they were to continue. So they had. Masahiro had discarded the torn condom and, not bothering with a new one, had pushed him back against the car, not even caring to hold Uruha’s hands down anymore as he pushed back inside, fucking the cum back into him. And Uruha had done nothing. He’d let it happen, finding himself barely able to think, much less fight, not anymore. Because there was no point. It was too late.

The memory of it still clung to him as he stepped outside of the shower, but at least he had washed away the sweat and—much to his shame and horror—the wetness from between his legs. Rubbing himself dry, Uruha threw the towel around his shoulders as he pulled open his wardrobe, considering his options. He didn’t want to put on his regular clothes for this; he didn’t want to be himself for this, much less risk being recognized, despite how unlikely it was.

He had a few pairs of jeans that he had never gotten around to discarding, ones he never wore because they were too large, perfect for what he intended to do. They rendered his shapely legs unrecognizable, hiding what was underneath even if he needed to tighten his belt just to keep the pants from slipping from his hips. And for all his guilt, one of Aoi’s forgotten hoodies ended up as the immediate choice. It smelled of something comforting and safe, and it wasn’t his; it was something for Uruha to hide in as he grabbed his keys and left the apartment, not even bothering to so much as drink anything before he got in the car. The local place wouldn’t do; the staff there might know him, so he kept driving until he was in a part of the city he barely recognized, parking near a pharmacy and pulling the hood over his head before stepping inside.

There was nothing for it. He needed to know, needed to be able to put his mind at ease or he would never sleep soundly again, even if he had no idea what to do if all his nightmares came true. Swallowing what little remained of his pride, Uruha found the section dedicated to sexual health, reproductive care… he needed a test specifically made for omegas, even if they were more expensive and, as the box informed him, apparently less reliable than regular ones.

Grabbing two, Uruha hurriedly paid for his purchases and left the store, only allowing himself to relax once he was back home in his own apartment. He pulled the oversized pants off in exchange for something soft but left the hoodie on, giving himself the comfort of Aoi around him as he pulled open the first of the two boxes and skimmed over the instructions. Not that he needed to read closely to know what to do, even if he had declined the pharmacist’s offer for advice. Getting the tests was one thing; now he just had to use them, and then wait. That was the difficult part. Waiting.

A glass of water and a daily suppressant was all he managed to swallow while he waited for the results to show, raw nerves leaving him on edge as time slowed to a crawl, barely passing at all. Fifteen minutes spent unable to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time, opening and closing cabinets, his fridge; plucking dirty laundry from the floor with shaky hands as the timer slowly ticked down. He kept the hood pulled up as he sank back onto the couch, legs pressed to his chest while he pushed the front up to cover his nose, breathing in the warm scent of Aoi that still clung to the hoodie. It was his only comfort as he sat there, waiting, until finally—finally—the timer rang.

Exhaling slowly, Uruha forced himself to find his feet again, walking the short distance to the bathroom to face the potential consequences of his actions. He stuffed his hands in the pockets of the hoodie, nervously clenching and unclenching his hands, fingers plucking the soft fleece lining as he stared at himself in the mirror, pale and wrecked by anxiety. He hadn’t even let his hair dry all the way before he left the house, and though it was hidden by the hood, Uruha knew it was a mess. Just like the rest of him. Closing his eyes he gave himself one final moment before he dared look down at the counter before him, a single symbol showing the result of his infidelity, a single symbol that would decide his fate, whether he could take this to his grave and never speak of it again or if it would ruin him. If the tests were positive, he would have to tell Aoi. He would have to tell the band, his mother, his father; he would risk everything he had strived so hard for, all because of a simple mistake.

Looking down, Uruha released a slow, shaky breath, one bordering on a sob; the tests were both negative.

The relief was so palpable that he nearly cried.

“Uruha?”

Blinking awake, Uruha lifted his head from the table he’d fallen asleep on, skinny arms providing just enough cushioning for his fatigued body to relax. He hadn’t meant to doze off, really, he’d just wanted to rest his head for a moment, close his eyes to relieve his headache. Next thing he knew, he was staring groggily up at Reita’s concerned face. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah,” Uruha yawned, “yeah, of course. Did I… did I miss the meeting?”

“Looks like it.”

“Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep.”

Reita was frowning slightly but nonetheless gave his shoulder a reassuring pat. “Don’t worry about that. Look, if you need to leave early…”

“No,” Uruha shook his head. “I’m fine. Where are the others?” he asked, getting up from his seat, holding onto the table to prevent the slight wave of dizziness from overwhelming him. “What’d I miss?”

As it turned out, the answer to that question was not much. Reita had gone out to check on Uruha, leaving the rest of the band with the manager, mainly to go over the upcoming schedule. There was a video shoot alongside planned rehearsal dates, recording sessions and the like, all of which were important for Uruha to know but nothing he wouldn’t be told over and over again later regardless. Sakai liked to drill all the important dates into their heads, as did Kai, at least as long as he remembered to. He was getting better at that, Uruha found himself thinking, mind drifting towards a welcome distraction. For as scatter-brained as Kai tended to be, he seemed to be really settling into the position as leader lately, now that he had spent a year with them and gotten to know his fellow members. Uruha liked him, really; he was still a little tightly strung, making him a fun target to poke and prod at, while still being laid back enough to allow it… but they didn’t really talk one to one, not outside of band activities. Kai was someone he struggled to find common ground with.

Tossing an arm over his shoulder, Reita drew Uruha out of his musings, nudging his hip with his own. “Wanna go get lunch?”

Uruha gave him a questioning look. “What about the rest of the meeting?”

“The others can handle it,” Reita said simply, and Uruha rolled his eyes. “Seriously, I’m starving, and I bet you are too.” He poked Uruha in the ribs, who quickly jerked away from him at the motion, protectively folding his arms over his chest with a huff. Reita smirked, but it wasn’t without fondness. “So let’s get out of here, yeah?”

“... sure,” Uruha said hesitantly and moved to gather the few of his belongings that he’d scattered about the table. He felt a little guilty about missing the meeting, and even more so for allowing Reita to skip it as well, but it wasn’t as though they would be missing out on vital information. And now that Reita mentioned it, he really was starving. So he followed his best friend out the door and into the warm sun, letting Reita lead the way to a nearby ramen place they often frequented on long days in the studio. The whole way there Uruha considered what to get, chatting idly with Reita as they walked down the street, hunger a constant gnawing sensation in his belly. He knew most of the food items by heart after all the times they’d gone; it had quickly become Reita’s favourite place after he had discovered it at some point a year ago. Uruha had no arguments; the food was good, the staff pleasant, and the prices fair… and yet, once he found himself seated at the table with Reita, Uruha found that hunger had been replaced with another bout of nausea, one that left him wanting to do no more than go home, curl up on his couch and sleep it off.

Whatever was wrong with him this time, it was really kicking his ass, Uruha thought with disdain as he glared a hole through the menu. He couldn’t seem to get enough rest no matter how much he tried, he didn’t enjoy food when it was right in front of him, and there it was again. That fucking headache.

“Shima?”

Glancing up, he found Reita watching him carefully, and he resisted the urge to grimace. Reita knew Uruha far too well to miss the troubled look on his face, his uncharacteristic broody silence; Uruha sighed, drumming his fingers on the laminated paper. Finally, he pushed the menu away. Despite how he had felt earlier, the idea of eating anything had become entirely unappealing in a matter of minutes. “I don’t know,” he muttered, seeing the concerned look in Reita’s eyes. “Thought I was hungry. Guess I was wrong.” He flipped the menu over, skimming over the familiar dishes presented to him, the few desserts. “Think I’ll just have a drink instead.”

Reita didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue either. He did, however, order two dishes instead of one, as well as a few sides—sure Reita had a big appetite, what with all the energy he burned through on a daily basis—but it was a little ridiculous for a single person. And Uruha could see right through him. “What?” Reita said defensively as Uruha raised a brow. “Maybe you don’t want anything, but I’m starving.”

To his credit, he worked his way through most of it pretty quickly, Uruha slowly sipping his beer as Reita ate. Neither of them said anything as Uruha reached across the table and grabbed a few of the appetizers every now and then, and while he couldn’t manage a whole meal, he did make off with a bit of ramen as well. The alcohol seemed to settle his stomach somewhat, though he wasn’t really as hungry as he knew he should have been. But he felt better. And Reita was relieved, though he made no mention of it, finishing the last of the ramen once it was clear that Uruha was done with it, proceeding to complain the whole way back to the studio about having eaten too much. Uruha could only roll his eyes. “Don’t look at me, you’re the one who ordered like five different things off the menu,” Uruha giggled as Reita trailed behind him on the steps to the studio building. “I probably saved your life, you know.”

“Probably. I would be in a food coma if not for you, Shima,” Reita whined. “You’d have to call an ambulance. They’d declare me dead on the scene.”

“Well, are you dead or in a coma? Make up your mind.”

“Hmm. Dead. Definitely.”

“If you say so,” Uruha said, holding the door to their studio open. “Float on inside, then.”

Reita grunted and slapped his arm, but he was smiling, and so was Uruha. The meeting had long wrapped up, but the others were still there, their manager nowhere to be seen. “Hey guys,” Reita called out, “sorry we left. Got lunch.”

Ruki gave a brief glare, but he softened quickly and returned to the folder spread open in front of him. “Why’d you even bother coming back?”

“Because we are responsible adults,” Uruha added as he joined Aoi’s side, “and also because I left my guitar.”

Slipping an arm around his slim waist, Aoi leaned in to murmur into his ear, “I’m your guitar?”

And for all he was still tired, Uruha had to giggle, ignoring the way Kai glanced at them. “Shut up,” he said quietly, slapping Aoi’s arm before turning his attention to Ruki and Kai. “Sorry about the meeting, I just kind of… dozed off.”

“On the table,” Reita added.

He grimaced. “Yeah, on the table.”

“That doesn’t sound very comfortable.” Aoi frowned. “Babe… do I need to take you home and take you to bed?”

“Gross,” Ruki said.

Uruha chose to ignore that comment, sighing as he let himself sink into Aoi’s arms more than he normally would outside of home, the studio too public a setting for Uruha to be comfortable despite the only people present being the band. “Yeah, that sounds good actually,” he replied, ignoring Ruki’s teasing from the other side of the room as they proceeded to pack up. “See you guys later,” he called out as he followed Aoi out the door. Once he found himself in the passenger seat of the car, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily, once again weirdly tired. “Ruki’s in a good mood,” he commented idly as he watched Aoi strap himself in. “Reita filled me in on what the meeting was about… was there anything other than scheduling?”

Aoi drummed his fingers on the wheel before he pulled out of the parking lot, taking a moment to think. Then he shrugged. “Costume stuff? We were going to ask you about ideas for the next release. And Reita too, he didn’t come back.”

“Oh,” Uruha said, picking on a hole in his jeans. “Yeah… again, sorry about that.”

“So? What’s your next look going to be, babe?”

Uruha didn’t even have to think about it. “No skirts.”

There was a snort. “What, had enough already?” Aoi said, amused, to which Uruha didn’t reply. He only glared at his boyfriend once, before leaning back in his seat to watch the sky, even as Aoi chuckled. “Too bad… and I never got to have you for myself in that costume,” he said, resting his free hand on Uruha’s thigh. “Too late for it now, I guess. You sure? We could always get another chance…”

“You have no idea.”

Judging by how the amused look faded from Aoi’s face, his voice must have betrayed his exhaustion, or at the very least the depression he felt whenever he thought of the subject. The rest of the drive was spent in silence, Uruha dozing in the passenger seat while Aoi focused his attention on the road until they were pulling up outside Uruha’s apartment building. Knowing he would only be content once he found himself relaxing with his boyfriend, Uruha pulled his guitar from its case to place it on its proper stand, before following Aoi into the living room. It was only afternoon, far too early to sleep. The perfect time to take a nap, though. While he had regained some energy on the ride, the idea of curling up in bed with Aoi for a few hours was a tempting one, and he lazily began undoing the buttons of his shirt. “What are you doing?” Aoi asked, catching sight of Uruha’s hands working their way down the front of his shirt.

“You said we would go to bed,” Uruha said, as though it was obvious. “And I want to be comfortable when we do.” He shrugged the shirt off, tossing it to the floor as he entered his bedroom, looking over his shoulder to find Aoi still standing there, a puzzled look on his face. “Come over here?”

Aoi glanced at his watch. “I mean, I was mostly joking…”

“Not to me you weren’t,” Uruha said, pulling his jeans off and disappearing under the covers. There was a resigned sigh from the hallway, but there was a genuine fondness in Aoi’s soft smile anyway as he pulled the covers aside to slip in beside Uruha’s bare frame, pulling him close. The good thing about Aoi’s fashion sense, Uruha thought, was that he preferred to wear clothes that were soft enough to comfortably curl up against, unlike his own thin cotton and denim. Exhaling slowly he felt himself start to sink into the beginnings of sleep, relaxing completely in Aoi’s soft, warm presence, even as his boyfriend remained awake, distracting himself with his phone. It felt like it had been so long since he was comfortable with having Aoi in his bed. So long since he had fallen asleep feeling safe, protectively curled up in his lover’s arms… and even if he wasn’t intending to, sleep has always been something he has enjoyed perhaps a bit too much, and so he did nothing as he felt his consciousness start to slip away.

It didn’t last long. It wasn’t a nightmare that pulled him away from the silence this time, however. This time, the touch was viscerally physical, familiar hands on the bare skin of his inner thighs as something warm and soft traced his neck—just Aoi, he reminded himself, it was just his lover, the man he trusted and loved, the man who was in bed with him because Uruha had invited him—Uruha had to fight the urge to flinch beneath the touch, even as familiar as it was, as Aoi slowly trailed kisses down his chest. He could obviously tell that Uruha was awake, by his rushed breathing before his eyes finally snapped open.

It wasn’t that bad, really. Uruha missed that touch, he really did, and he knew he was depriving Aoi of it too, but he didn’t want it. Not now, anyhow. So he pressed a hand against Aoi’s shoulder, pushing him away lightly, murmuring in a voice still heavy with sleep, “Mmm, no.”

“No?”

“No,” Uruha repeated, voice slightly clearer this time as he met Aoi’s dark, disappointed eyes. “Sorry.”

Above him, Aoi sighed loudly, pushing his forehead against Uruha’s chest. “Uruha, I love you but you’re killing me,” he said. “Do you even know how long it has been since last time?”

He did know. That only made it worse. Shifting slightly, Uruha tucked a strand of Aoi’s long hair behind his ear, trying to mask his growing discomfort behind something that wouldn’t worry his lover. “Listen, I’m sorry but…”

“More than a week, baby. Fucking… weeks since last time we had sex, do you know what that does to a man?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I do,” Uruha said, trying not to be offended but unable not to feel the sting from Aoi’s words, however unintentional. And it wasn’t as though there had been no intimacy at all. Plenty of times Uruha had been on his knees to take Aoi into his mouth, or slipping a hand into his pants to jerk him off slowly and tantalizingly, though he hadn’t been enthusiastic about letting Aoi give him the same treatment, Uruha either feeling too squeamish or too guilty to get in the mood. “I just don’t feel well, okay? Some other time.”

Aoi must have heard the hurt in his voice, judging by the way he stared up at Uruha with dark eyes, the conflict in them obvious before he seemingly gave up and let his head fall back down onto Uruha’s bony chest. “One of these days I’ll have my way with you,” he murmured, one hand idly tracing a map of Uruha’s inner thigh. “When you feel better…”

“Sure,” Uruha chuckled slightly, relieved to have gotten out of it even as Aoi continued to murmur all the filthy things he wanted to do against his skin in a low voice. Uruha allowed it, finding himself enjoying it even, somewhat amused and undeniably aroused by the suggestions—to a point. The moment Aoi’s finger wandered too high up his leg and intentionally brushed against his clothed cunt, he found himself losing his patience, closing his legs and pushing Aoi away. “I meant it,” he said, even as Aoi gave a resigned sigh. “Yuu. Seriously, keep your hands to yourself for once, okay?”

The sharp note in his voice left Aoi staring, concern replacing the frustration in his eyes, and for a moment all Uruha wanted to do was to just hide. Pull the covers over his head and escape the way his lover was looking at him, like Aoi could see everything wrong with him, everything he had done. “Alright,” Aoi said. Then he said, softly, “I’m sorry.”

Slowly Uruha dragged his gaze up from the sheets to meet Aoi’s worried eyes. He was tonguing his lip ring again, troubled by whatever was running through his head. “Me too,” Uruha murmured.

“Do you think it’s the pills again?”

“... could be. But we agreed on five months, right? And it has only been a couple.”

“True, but you did go a really long time on them before… so it would probably be for the better if we tried a more frequent cycle, I think? Or maybe you should stop taking them at all for a while,” Aoi suggested, and once again Uruha diverted his gaze. “Baby, I mean it. If it’s making you ill you have to stop, even if it was okay before.” He paused then, though he gave no indication of what he was thinking. “It was okay before, right? After we mated—”

Uruha sighed, rubbing his temples; the word itself was enough to make his headache worse, and he really didn’t want to think about where this conversation was heading. “Aoi…”

“Hey, don’t do that. Look at me,” Aoi said, laying a hand on Uruha’s shoulder, and Uruha had no choice but to give up. “You seemed like everything was fine. Is there anything you didn’t tell me about?”

“No,” Uruha shook his head. “No, I just…” He couldn’t admit to what had happened. Even if he wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find the words to speak them aloud, straight to his boyfriend’s face… the way his body betrayed him, going into heat out of nowhere before he had been able to be safe and alone in his own bed, with his own hands and toys to take care of himself. He sighed, gnawing on his lip as Aoi squeezed his shoulder gently. There was nothing for it. Uruha wouldn’t forgive himself, but the moment he had realized that the tests were negative, he had decided to put all his thoughts and fears surrounding the incident with Masahiro to rest. After all, there was nothing he had to worry about, so there was no point in letting it eat away at him. “I don’t know,” Uruha replied. “It just started happening, and it hasn’t let up yet.”

“Stop taking suppressants for a while? Just to see if it helps?”

Really, he should have known to do so long ago on his own. He felt like shit, sure, although it wasn’t as bad as it had been before they had mated the first time. Now, the fear that gripped him at the mere memory of his heat far outweighed the memory of how sick he really had been, two months ago, but Uruha knew that Aoi had a point. It was most likely the suppressants fucking with his body again, so he nodded slowly. “I guess it’s worth a shot.”

The first few days, just the idea of skipping his daily suppressant was enough to make Uruha’s heart work a little harder, anxiety wrecking his body and making his hands shake as he slipped the box back into its drawer. It was ridiculous, really, this fear of his own body and its functions; heat was perfectly normal, at least for an omega, but Uruha wasn’t looking forward to it. Not after last time.

As the days passed, he did feel better, at least. The headache subsided, relieving his body of much of the stress that plagued him on the daily, but the nausea only seemed to get worse. And it was always there early in the day, leaving Uruha unable to really eat anything until at least noon, even when they were working.

So when he slipped away from rehearsal to run to the bathroom he had expected Aoi to be the one to follow him, but the voice calling out to him from the doorway was Ruki’s, uncharacteristically cautious. “Uruha?” Ruki said, stepping closer to Uruha who brushed a sweaty lock of hair out of his face. “You alright?”

He stayed at a safe distance as Uruha nodded slowly, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, sure,” he muttered; it could have been worse. He hadn’t actually thrown up this time, unlike the previous day. And the day before. Uruha sighed, getting to his feet with a small curse as a wave of dizziness momentarily overcame him, Ruki closing the distance in quick strides and stabilizing his friend with small, steady hands. “Fuck… okay, maybe not.”

“This has gone on for too long.” Ruki’s face was thoughtful and concerned, even if he sounded more annoyed than anything else. “Seriously, man. You really should be seeing someone.”

Uruha hummed in lieu of answering as he pulled away from Ruki, moving to the sink to splash water in his face. He still felt ill, but it seemed his stomach had calmed down. “It’s fine,” he muttered half-heartedly. “If it gets any worse, I’ll go. This is manageable.”

“You said that last time, and then Aoi fucked it out of you,” Ruki said snidely, “and now you’re behaving like a pregnant woman, so—”

“Well I’m not,” Uruha snapped as he crumpled the paper towel in his hands and tossed them in the bin with more effort than was necessary, allowing the sudden flash of white-hot anger to show as he gave Ruki a venomous glare. “I’m going back. Are you coming?”

“... ‘course,” Ruki said, wide-eyed. The startled look on his face was the only thing keeping Uruha from slamming the door as he left the restroom to return to their studio, and he could practically feel the way Ruki was staring at his back as they walked. He chose to ignore it the same way he ignored Kai and Reita’s worried looks as he silently returned to his hastily abandoned guitar, picking it up from where he had left it—he had at the very least made time to place it against the wall before he ran—and pulling the strap over his head.

“Uruha…” Aoi’s voice was low, eyeing the nearby technician before settling his attention on his boyfriend, though Uruha didn’t look back. “You good?”

“Yeah, fine. Can we get back to work?”

His tone made it clear that he wasn’t going to talk, not now. So Aoi dropped it, despite the worry gnawing at all of them, leaving the questions for later. Preferably when they were alone, or at the very least without their staff nearby. Privacy was important considering what he had in mind, the question gnawing relentlessly at Aoi’s mind every time he thought of the times Uruha acted strange as of late. Aoi had thought that things would get better after he convinced Uruha to stop taking his pills, but honestly, he could barely tell the difference between before and after. Part of him wasn’t sure he trusted Uruha to have quit them at all. Which was why he followed his boyfriend down the hallway once they called for lunch break, cornering Uruha as he stopped by a vending machine for a bottle of water and pulling him by the arm into an empty meeting room, “Can we talk for a minute?”

It wasn’t really a question, and Uruha could tell as much by the door closing behind him. “Sure,” he said, unscrewing the cap and swallowing his building anxiety with a gulp of water. Truth be told he already had an idea as to just what Aoi was about to say, steeling himself for the inevitable interrogation. At least he knew what to expect, this time. They had already gone through this once.

But Aoi was hesitating, playing with his piercing before he glanced down towards Uruha’s hips, and Uruha squirmed slightly in discomfort. “Still nothing?”

“No,” Uruha said. “Nothing yet.”

“Shit.” For a moment Aoi looked lost in his worry, and Uruha fumbled with the bottle for lack of anything to do with his hands. “Babe… please go see someone about this…”

“It’s only been a week, Aoi, I think I’m going to be fine.”

“You’re throwing up.”

“I feel better,” Uruha insisted, “really, I do. I said I would get help if it got worse, but it hasn’t, okay? You don’t need to worry.”

“And you’re still not feeling any of the symptoms yet?”

Uruha sighed. “No,” he said. The nausea usually was one of the things announcing an incoming heat, but it was never to the point of actually throwing up, nor did it last that long. But the dizziness and the headaches had mostly stopped once he stopped taking the pill, so really, he had no idea what was going on. Sure, Uruha knew he should see a doctor, hell, he should have done it long ago, but if there was anything he hated, it was being on display before a gynecologist. Not only because he hated everything to do with his reproductive system, but also because seemingly every one he had ever seen in his life only confirmed his awful feelings about being a freak of nature. Granted, he had only been to a few, and the last one had been years ago, when he finally got prescribed his suppressants, but the whole experience had left such a bad taste in his mouth that he never wanted to go back.

Which was probably how he had ended up in this situation in the first place, abusing his suppressants to the point that his body started breaking down, all because his previous doctor had treated him like something less than human. Even when his period seemed to briefly return he hadn’t gone, quietly dealing with the spotting in his underwear and trying not to think about it. And then it was gone, replaced with the general illness that plagued him for weeks. “It’s probably nothing, but… can I ask you something?” Aoi said hesitantly.

“Yeah?”

“I’m just thinking that maybe…” he trailed off, taking a moment to chew on his lip before continuing. “Kouyou, could you try taking a pregnancy test?”

And Uruha’s mind went blank. For a long second he could only stare, tongue going numb in his mouth, unable to form any words. Aoi only looked back, his eyes big and nervous, just as scared as Uruha suddenly felt himself. He wanted to answer but found his mouth too dry to even try, unscrewing the bottle and taking a sip that he found himself almost unable to swallow. Shit. “Um, I…”

“I know we were careful, but you can never completely trust a condom, you know… please, Kouyou? You’re throwing up, your heat is late, and I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about it. Just take one so we can be sure, okay?”

“No, I mean, I—” Uruha frowned, keeping his attention on the water bottle once again, playing with it instead of seeing the concern in Aoi’s eyes. No way to get past this other than the truth. “I already did,” he admitted, and when he dared to look up at his boyfriend, he found Aoi’s expression strangely blank.

“... when?”

“A couple weeks ago.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

Uruha sighed. “No. It was negative.”

“...why?” Aoi said. His voice was small, wounded with betrayal. “You could have told me…”

“Because I felt sick, and it made me scared. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry, okay? If it was positive I would have. But it wasn’t. It’s fine,” he insisted, carefully offering his hand to Aoi, “we’re fine, honey, I swear.” For a moment Aoi eyed him, hurt still obvious in his expression, but he still took the offered hand and entwined their fingers. Uruha stroked Aoi’s palm gently with his thumb, a gesture meant to soothe his boyfriend and served to calm his own nerves as well. Maybe it was the slight weight lifted off his shoulder, one less secret to keep. “I love you, okay? You don’t need to worry.”

Aoi gave in then, leaning forward to press his forehead against Uruha’s, closing his eyes. “If you say so,” he murmured, allowing himself to enjoy the quiet moment, the intimacy of their hearts and hands together as one, even here, in a meeting room in their studio building. “I trust you,” he said, pulling away but not letting go of Uruha’s hand, not yet. “You’ll see someone if anything happens?”

“I promise,” Uruha said, squeezing Aoi’s fingers, glad for the relieved smile he got in return. He meant it, too, and as time kept passing by—flying by, really, days gone in the blink of an eye with their crammed schedules—he was glad that his condition only seemed to improve. The nausea was still there, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle, even though the heat never seemed to return.

Perhaps his body had somehow become normal after all the shit he’d put it through, going back to how his heat cycle had been before the suppressants had come into the picture. Either way, Uruha was glad for it, finally comfortable enough to crawl back into bed with Aoi at night, smiling against the soft cotton of his pillowcase as he felt the unmistakable touch of his boyfriend’s hands drifting up his thigh, one that was no longer unwelcome. He was lying if he said he hadn’t missed the feeling of being pushed into, properly filled and fucked for the first time in so long.

He didn’t break his promise. Technically, Uruha didn’t lie to his boyfriend; the nausea didn’t go away, but it became easier, manageable, another part of his daily ritual as he continued to live free and loose, most evenings that he wasn’t working spent with his friends and bandmates, or out having fun, drinking, playing games. With his twenty-third birthday quickly approaching, he was still young, and despite the extra minutes spent hovering by the toilet each morning, Uruha felt like he was ready to conquer the world. All of them would; they were stronger together, after all, and in the best shape of their lives.

His birthday was similarly pleasant, first on the stage celebrating his own and Reita’s birthdays in one, and then later going out to party. While Uruha couldn’t shake the thought that he’d run into Masahiro again, he refused to let the fear rule him. And there was no reason to be afraid, not really; he wasn’t alone this time, nor was he dressed up like a hooker—no matter how Aoi had pleaded, claiming it was their chance to catch up on what they’d missed last time—and by the end of the night he was too drunk to even care about what happened last he was out on the town after a show. Riding the pleasant buzz of a good night and too much alcohol, he let an equally drunk Aoi drag him out of the taxi and into his apartment, pausing only to fumble with the keys. It seemed to drag on for several minutes, standing outside his door with a key that just wouldn’t slide into the keyhole, too impatient and horny, the touch of a hand on his backside too distracting as he struggled too unlock the door. “Shit,” Uruha cursed as the key slipped from his fingers, quickly bending down to grab it.

“Very nice,” Aoi said from behind him, and Uruha had to giggle as he felt Aoi draw closer, grabbing his hips.

“Aoi…” It was more a moan than anything else, despite how they couldn't do this here, where his neighbours could see, where there was no privacy. He clutched the key and leaned against the wall as Aoi grinded against him lightly with a groan. “Aoi, not here…”

“It’d be hot, wouldn’t it? Me fucking you where anyone can see us… letting everyone know that you belong to me…”

“Yeah,” Uruha admitted, biting his lip. “That’s why we can’t.” Aoi let him go without complaints, though, but there was a satisfied curl to his lip just from making Uruha say it. Finally unlocking the door they slipped inside, Uruha barely having removed his jacket before Aoi was on him again, pushing him against the door and pressing a knee between his legs, and even with how hard and wet he felt that moment, he couldn’t help but smile against Aoi’s lips, happiness overpowering the lust. He had never been happier than tonight, Uruha decided, never felt more on top of the world than he did after playing music and drinking, finally ending the day with alcohol flowing through his veins and his boyfriend on top of him, just as eager and in love as he himself was. It was something Uruha was sure he could never lose, and it was a feeling that didn’t leave him even the morning after when they woke up groggy, sore and hungover.

He had no idea how wrong he was. Uruha hadn’t broken that promise he made with Aoi. He hadn’t lied, and he hadn’t gotten worse, but young and foolish as he was, he did not put in particularly much effort to cover his own needs, either.

Maybe it was the fact that he hadn’t felt well enough in the morning to eat enough; maybe it was the alcohol he had drunk on an otherwise mostly empty stomach, Uruha didn’t know. He didn’t have time to worry about it during a live, however, so he pushed his fatigue and dizziness away all throughout the show, doing what he could to sustain his energy to see it through till the end of the encore. He was sure the others noticed his lack of activity. Not that it was that uncommon for Uruha to be a little withdrawn even on stage, preferring to focus on what he was doing rather than having fun, bouncing around and interacting with the fans. Drinking normally helped with his stage fright, but this time it only served to make him feel worse.

Under the blinding stage lights Uruha was barely aware of the look Ruki shot him when he messed up his part; he wanted to play, but he couldn’t. Everything was too bright and hot, his skin too cold, and he found himself losing control of his legs as something reached a clawed hand into his guts and squeezed. It hurt. It was too much and too sudden; for a brief moment he felt an overwhelming fear at the memory of the last time something had clenched in his belly, thinking that it was going to hit him now, during a show, heat grabbing him kicking and screaming and pulling him under the same way Masahiro had pulled him out of his car that night—

He didn’t want it. He couldn’t stand the thought, stumbling backwards to catch himself, reaching out towards nothing as his vision blacked out. There was only the vague, brief feeling of someone reaching him just in time to catch his fall, his guitar tech that he couldn’t see as his eyes rolled back into his head and consciousness slipped away.

Aoi didn’t realize what was happening, at first. He had glanced over when he heard Uruha stumble on the notes, but he was too busy focusing on his own sound, trying to cover for his fellow guitarist to notice, not until Uruha’s guitar cut off entirely. It was too late when he finally saw his boyfriend, a hand clamped over the fretboard to quiet the strings as he simply fell, crumpling as though his body was unable to support him anymore. For one long, horrible moment there was nothing but the steady beat of Kai’s drums, before the commotion started.

As he followed the small crowd backstage, Aoi tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that there was nothing he could have done. He was too far away to do much more than stare, trapped on the other end of the stage, a decision he had supported in the beginning but now found himself cursing as he watched his boyfriend be laid out on a couch, suppressing the urge to run to Uruha’s side only because he knew he would be in the way. It could have been worse, Aoi told himself; at least Uruha hadn’t hit the ground. A staff member had evidently done his job well and kept an eye on Uruha, and had been close enough to catch him when he went down… even if Aoi himself had completely failed to even notice before it was too late.

Still, part of him felt betrayed and hurt. Uruha had promised that he would get help if he needed it, and now here they were, having to cancel a show mid encore because apparently he had lied and let himself get so ill that he had fainted, on stage, in front of people. Their manager was out there, trying to placate the crowd, Kai slipping out as well, probably feeling equally useless backstage watching Uruha stir back to life on the couch, groaning as he tried and failed to sit up, Ruki pushing a hand against his chest. “Don’t move, Kou,” Ruki said quietly. “Don’t get up. You passed out.”

For a second Uruha only blinked blearily up at him, before his eyes drifted through the room, finding Reita, several staff members, and then finally settling on Aoi. He closed his eyes, then, letting himself sink back down onto the couch. “I… shit, what happened with the show?”

“Kai’s out there right now with Sakai. We’ll have to cancel the rest.”

“What? No,” Uruha protested, moving to sit up again only to once more be pushed back down. “We can’t do that, I can still—”

“It’s fine, Uru, we were almost done anyway,” Ruki said, but it was clear he didn’t believe it himself, saying it more for Uruha’s sake than because it was the truth. Not that Uruha believed him anyway. “This has gone on for too long. We’re taking you to a hospital.”

His tone was final; no matter what Uruha said, the decision had already been made for him, and everyone had agreed on it. They hadn’t even needed to discuss it among themselves; after weeks of Uruha being sick on and off, yet refusing to see a medical professional about it, now leading to this… the look on Ruki’s face had been enough. He had been the member who stood closest to Uruha when he fell; Kai had nodded sharply and followed Sakai out, and that had been that. Get him some help.

Lowering his eyes, Uruha fell slack against the couch, resigning himself to his fate. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

Chapter Text

“It’s gonna be fine, you know that, right?”

Next to him, Aoi sighed, tonguing his piercing for a moment. “Sure,” he said quietly. “I’m just worried.”

The waiting room was mostly empty, save for them; good thing too, with how tired and stressed they all were, and the privacy meant that Uruha could allow himself to reach for his boyfriend’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You know me, I’m tougher than I look.”

“Good thing too, knowing how pretty you are.”

“Oh please,” Uruha snickered, slapping Aoi’s thigh playfully. The ride to the hospital had been an awkward one, Aoi’s presence his only comfort as they stepped out of the van, Aoi briefly resting a hand on his waist as they left the parking lot; a small gesture of love and faith that Uruha recognized for what it was—I’m with you, no matter what.

The band filled the small waiting room with chatter and complaints alike, Reita agreeing and giving his ten cents on the matter while Uruha could do nothing but wish he’d brought something to help kill the time. At least staff and management weren’t with them, most having stayed behind at the venue, and once the paperwork had been filled out, Uruha’s soft-spoken request for Sakai to leave had been met without protest. Stressed as he was, Uruha just wanted to be with as few people as possible, if he could; he was high strung enough having to call his parents and inform them of the situation, and enough energy had been expended just trying to get his mother to calm down and insist that they didn’t need to come, that it wasn’t anything that serious. Reita had ended up taking the phone over for a few minutes. It was enough to make Uruha simply want to sink into the chair, close his eyes and pretend he wasn’t there.

He was grateful it was just them, in the waiting room. He’d been able to turn to Aoi and hide his face in his boyfriend’s neck, exhaling deeply until the world righted itself and he was less overwhelmed by everything, the memory of dizziness still clinging to his bones, the betrayal and fear on Aoi’s face, the failed show. All of it.

“I’ll call you again later, okay, mom?” he spoke into the receiver, his voice betraying his exhaustion. “Once I know what’s going on, yeah. Probably not today. Yeah, I love you too. We’ll talk.” Flipping the phone shut, he closed his eyes, relieved to at least get that out of the way. It was another twenty minutes before his name was called, and Uruha got to his feet, Reita giving him thumbs up for good luck. “It might be a while,” Uruha warned. “If you want to go home, just go, alright? I’ll message you, or something.” And then he paused, giving Aoi a blank stare. “What are you doing?”

“You can’t refuse me,” Aoi said sternly when Uruha told him to stay and wait with the others, “if it’s serious, I have to be there, okay?”

Uruha sighed. “Yuu…”

“Please? I need to hear it from the doctor myself. It’s important to me.”

“Fine,” Uruha sighed, giving in mostly because he didn’t have the will or energy to argue. “But don’t do anything inappropriate. And if the doctor asks you to leave, then go.”

“Who do you think I am,” Aoi muttered from behind him as Uruha stepped into the office, Aoi following and shutting the door; the doctor sat at her chair, several documents spread out on the desk in front of her, and she called out a polite greeting, eyeing Aoi with a look of slight surprise. She did not ask him to go, however, and Yuu introduced himself just as politely, as a friend. They went over what happened. Uruha explained himself, thankful that the filled out documents did enough of the talking that he didn’t have to confess to his biology at least, the doctor nodding and taking notes as he spoke. Telling the story of his prior illness was embarrassing, somehow made worse by the fact that Aoi was there, prompting him to keep going and divulge details he would never have told anyone, not even a medical professional. By the end of it, both Aoi and the doctor were looking pensive, and Uruha found himself staring at the document, upside down as it was, at the little symbol next to the word Male, the one indicator that he was omega and not a normal man.

“We’ll run some tests, check your levels. It might take a few hours. We were told to prioritize your results as much as we can, but I can’t work miracles. Also…”

Her eyes drifted towards Aoi, if only for a moment. “Also?”

There was a shrug, and her attention focused back to her notes, before putting her pen away. “I’m not a specialist in omega bodies, Mr. Takashima. We don’t have any on staff here at the moment, so if there’s anything unique to your biology, I might have to refer you to someone else.” She pursed her lips, then said, “I think it best if we start by taking some blood samples. Are you ready?”

Uruha took a deep breath to steel himself, and nodded. “Sure,” he said, and Aoi’s hand came up to gently rub his back.

Less than an hour had passed in the office by the time Uruha was sent out to wait again, the doctor putting an energy bar in his hand and telling him that they would do what they could to get results quickly. Reita waved them back, eager for news; ones that Uruha didn’t have, beyond his newly aching shoulder and the way he wavered slightly as he walked back to the seat, a little dizzy with the drawn blood on top of everything else. No one had left yet; then again, it hadn’t been that long, despite how bored Ruki looked. “So what’s the news?” he asked once Uruha had settled back into a chair, Aoi taking the seat next to him.

“Talked about some stuff, took some blood. Won’t know anything until they’ve checked it.” He frowned, glancing between his friends, eyes landing on Kai. “Sorry. It might take some hours… if you don’t wanna be here—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Reita said, waving him off. “You already said it’s fine if we go, don’t worry about it, Shima.”

“You really wanna spend the night in a hospital chair for nothing?” Uruha said pointedly, “Seriously, all of you?”

Ruki rolled his eyes. “It’s not for nothing, dumbass, it’s for your sake. And the next show isn’t in a few days anyway, we have time. Otherwise I would be crashing at the hotel across the street.”

He didn’t have the money for that, and they all knew it, but Uruha appreciated it nonetheless. “Of course.”

By the time he was called back in, a few hours had indeed passed, Uruha finding himself dozing using Aoi’s shoulder as a pillow, albeit an uncomfortable one. The crick in his neck was worth the few minutes of rest he’d gotten, at least, shaking Aoi awake as he climbed to his feet, Aoi rubbing his eyes and looking at his watch. “Already?” he said, halfway caught in a yawn, before following Uruha back to the doctor’s office.

“Most of the lab results aren’t ready, and probably won’t be until early morning,” the doctor said once they had settled back in their chairs. “However, I asked to prioritize a few things, just to check my suspicions. Here.”

Uruha swallowed, nodding at the doctor as she pulled out the documents showing the results of the blood test, a long list of words and values he didn’t understand, many left blank, some not. Uruha clutched a fist over his stomach, willing the nausea away, for the anxiety to subside. It didn’t, naturally, but Aoi’s warm hand on his back was a comfort. “Now, most of these results look pretty normal,” she began, Aoi skimming the documents from over Uruha’s shoulder, “however…” She scrolled a finger down the list before stopping, pointing at an acronym, and the large number attached to it.

Uruha furrowed a brow, unsure whether he should know what it meant or not. “This is a hormone that exists in the blood, normally in very small amounts. This number…” she tapped the document again. “This is very, very high, Mr. Takashima. In men, high levels usually indicate some very serious issues. For—”

“Such as?”

She glared at Aoi, annoyed at the interruption. “The most common being testicular cancer. However, for omegas…”

Uruha’s blood went cold at the word, opening his mouth but unable to say anything, and on his back, he felt Aoi’s hand gripping the fabric of his jacket tightly. Aoi was the one who actually moved, turning their attention back to the documents, pointing to the number once again and cutting her off for the second time, “But if he’s omega, what does this mean? Is this a normal level, or could he really be sick?”

“If you would let me speak, Mr. Shiroyama,” she said, frowning. “However, no. It is typically only found in high doses in two situations. Cancer being one of them, as I said, for the testicles or ovaries. But with levels this high, and for… someone like you, the far more likely scenario is a pregnancy.”

“A—what?!” Uruha said, his stare wide-eyed and full of fear, and next to him, Aoi had gone dead still. “I can’t be… that’s not possible,” he said.

She blinked, her face blank. “As I said, I am not specialized in this field, but—”

“How could this happen?”

The doctor paused, Uruha turning to find Aoi’s eyes downcast, his entire frame completely shaken with the news, the implications. “Yuu…”

“Mr. Shiroyama, let me ask you something,” the doctor said flatly. “Are you by chance an alpha?”

Aoi looked up, twirling his lip ring for a moment, and then nodded. “I am.”

“Then you yourself probably know the answer to that question. Are you two a… mated couple, if that’s the correct term?” Uruha winced, but nodded nonetheless. “I would congratulate you, but both of you seem to be a bit shocked.”

That was one word for it. Uruha could barely breathe, much less think about what this could mean, even as all the pieces fell in place, weeks of nausea and all the horrible mornings where he had been unable to keep seemingly anything down, running on junk food and alcohol most days… shit, and he had been drinking a lot, hadn’t he. For weeks. Of course he had, it was his lifestyle, and there had been parties and live shows and birthdays… “Baby?” Aoi said softly, squeezing Uruha’s shoulder, Uruha pulling his hands away from his flushed face. “Are you crying?”

Shit, he really was. “I can’t…” he tried, unable to get any further as his voice was strangled by stress, a tear slipping down his cheek. He couldn’t be. Pregnant? Him? Now? Cancer would be preferable. Hell, anything would be.

“With all due respect,” the doctor said, sounding for a moment just as tired as he felt, “you’re a mated omega, passing out from exhaustion, sitting in my office and describing to me all the classic pregnancy symptoms. I don’t understand why this is such a shock to you at all, Mr. Takashima.” Then she swirled around in her chair, going through files and pulling out a sheet of paper. “I will be referring you to a specialist.” Uruha didn’t look at the document she was filling out, hell, he could barely see through the growing headache and his blurry vision, but he could tell when she paused, watching Uruha sit and quietly cry, Aoi too stunned and shocked to do much more than simply stand there. She reached into a drawer on her desk, pulling out a small box of tissues, pushing it toward him. “Listen,” she began as Uruha pulled out a tissue, sniffing as he dabbed the tears from his face. “This is clearly a lot to take in. Go home. Get some rest, and I will send you their information as soon as I can.”

“Okay,” was all Aoi could say as he pulled Uruha to his feet, halfway to the door when the doctor spoke up, her hands folded on the desk.

“I hope that the specialist will be able to get back to you quickly, but… listen, I can understand if this was unexpected for you. But omegas being known for their low fertility does not mean it’s risk free to have sex without protection,” she said, and glanced to Aoi, “especially not with an alpha.”

The words stung. Uruha tensed further as the hurt coursed through him, feeling as the pain and shame that came with being omega hit him harder than ever before, and the silence was palpable in the brief moment he stood there, digesting the words. But the pause in Aoi’s breathing pattern was enough for Uruha to recognize the brewing storm behind his stunned silence, one that would hit hard if he didn’t stop it. “Come on, Yuu,” Uruha said, tugging at Aoi’s hand. “You promised to be good. Now let’s go.”

“But we didn’t,” was all Aoi could make out before Uruha pushed the door open and pulled them both out, closing it behind him, softer than he wanted to with the thrum of hurt and anger pulsing beneath his skin. He couldn’t slam the door, though, not here. And the shock was still too great for him to even want to do it, a crumpled paper tissue in one hand and the other empty as he let go of Aoi, moving back to the corner of the waiting room where the others were waiting, the concern clear as day on Reita’s face once he saw the tears still in Uruha’s eyes.

“What happened in there?” he said. “Are you really dying? Oh god, you are, aren’t you?”

“No. Well, probably not. Kinda wish I was.” Uruha slumped in the nearest chair, grateful that there were nobody else in the room but them as he was given an alarmed look. “It’s not good.”

“Well, what did they say, then?” Ruki asked, but Uruha shook his head.

“... they hadn’t finished running everything. They’ll send the rest of the results over in the morning.”

“You’re avoiding the question,” Kai pointed out, looking at Aoi who stood shock still, hand over his mouth, brows deeply furrowed— “If it’s so bad you won’t tell us… Aoi, what’s going on? What did the doctor say?”

“Um,” was all Aoi said for a moment, pulling his hand away from his face, finally. The other hand was clenched into a fist at his side. “Well, at first she started talking about cancer—”

“What?!”

“Aoi,” Uruha said quietly, barely audible over the others’ outburst, but Aoi heard it, however small his voice was. He heard it enough to look Uruha’s way, to see the pleading in his eyes to not tell them, at least not yet; not here.

“—I said at first, Reita, calm down. But turns out she doesn’t know shit about omegas, apparently—” he cut himself off, gritting his teeth; behind the shock, the rage was still alive at the sheer audacity the doctor had shown. “So we’ll need to see someone who actually knows what they’re talking about.”

“... then what could it be?” Kai said, puzzled. “Did she say anything about the other possibilities, or…”

Uruha answered before he even finished speaking, getting to his feet, “No, she didn’t,” he lied, “and if she did I wouldn’t be telling any of you here, anyway.”

“Uru, seriously, man, what. Are you pregnant or something?”

Ruki’s voice was light, clearly meant as a joke to lighten the atmosphere, but instead, Uruha felt his cheeks flushing again with embarrassment and shame, and he froze halfway to Aoi’s side. “What? No—”

But it was too late, Ruki’s eyes widening in shock; next to him Reita looked similarly disturbed, as Ruki burst out, “Oh my god, you are!” before looking to Aoi, still processing the rapid information, and then back to Uruha. “What the fuck man, I know you can be dumb sometimes but you seriously let him cum inside?”

Next to him, Reita sputtered just as Kai cringed back at Ruki’s crass words, but for Uruha’s sake, he wanted to die more than anything else. Melt into a puddle on the floor, seep into the cracks of the tiles and disappear, somewhere his shame and embarrassment and hurt couldn’t reach him. But instead he simply clenched his fists tightly at his sides, every fiber of his being working to resist the urge to just deck Ruki there and there, right in the face. God. He couldn’t deal with this. Not now, not ever. “Fuck you, Takanori,” he said sharply, taking hold of Aoi’s upper arm so tightly it hurt, judging by the surprised hiss. “I need to get out of here,” he said, pulling his boyfriend with him and leaving their stunned bandmates behind, still crowded in the corner of the waiting room, shocked and disturbed.

Uruha just wanted to cry. But he couldn’t, not here, not until he was somewhere safe and private. It was only once he found himself in an otherwise deserted hallway on the way out of the hospital that it all finally hit him full force. He was, in the doctor’s own words, most likely pregnant. Despite everything he had done to prevent this from happening, the pill he had taken the morning after the party, the tests he had taken to be sure he was safe—it had been weeks. Months, really. If it were true, then he truly was screwed.

“Babe…” Aoi’s voice was quiet, soft more with his own choked back tears than for comfort as Uruha quietly sobbed. “Kouyou, you said… I asked you to take a test, and you said you already had,” Aoi said, and though he sounded just as broken as Uruha felt, there was an edge there, raw and dangerous. “Did you lie to me?”

Uruha could only shake his head, but he didn’t turn around, didn’t face his boyfriend. “No, I— god. Fuck, I didn’t lie. I got tested. Twice. I swear, I got two tests and they were both negative, I don’t understand what happened or how…”

“Well, were they the ones intended for omegas, or regular ones? Because—”

“I’m not stupid, Aoi.”

“Then… oh, what the fuck,” Aoi said, slamming his hands against the nearest wall, despite Uruha fliching sharply at the sudden motion. “Okay,” he said, taking a moment to calm himself down from the relentless rage Uruha knew he was capable of, even as Uruha’s eyes fixed on his boyfriend, wide and scared despite himself. “Okay. We wait until we’re sure, and then we figure it out from there. I want to trust you. Hell, I do trust you, it’s just…” he rubbed his forehead, face softening as he finally looked at Uruha, finally seeing the tension running through his entire frame, the fear in him. “... I’m sorry,” Aoi said gently. “Let’s just go home, okay?”

Lowering his shoulders, Uruha nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s probably for the best.”

The message came much sooner than either of them had anticipated, in the early morning hours. Roused from his fitful sleep, Uruha checked his phone fully intending to slam it down on the nightstand, thinking it was a message from Ruki, some shitty apology that Uruha was in no state to think about, much less accept. But rather than Ruki’s familiar name, there was a strange number greeting him. For a moment Uruha found himself simply staring at it, frowning, before opening it. An appointment. In just a few hours. It specified that it wouldn’t be a problem if it was too short notice, that they could reschedule if it was a bad time, but still, Uruha couldn’t do much more than simply stare at the words for a long moment. When he forced himself out of bed to check, he found the same message sitting in his inbox, although with more information provided. “Aoi?” he called, motioning for Aoi who was fast asleep on his couch.

It took Aoi a minute to orient himself, staring up at Uruha with some sort of sleepy melancholy that Uruha was too tired to really worry about. “Yeah?”

“The specialist mailed me,” Uruha said, and Aoi looked up. “I got an appointment.”

“When?”

Glancing over to the screen again, Uruha eyed the time frame with dread. “... in less than three hours.”

“... are you serious?” Aoi blinked at him, that look on his face like he was trying to tell if Uruha was joking or not. “Jeez. Well,” he said, getting to his feet, laying a hand on Uruha’s shoulder and providing him a small smile that lacked its usual humor, despite his efforts, “the earlier we know, the better, right?”

“Right…”

“Look on the bright side, baby. I don’t have to drag you out of bed this morning.”

Uruha sighed,his exhaustion all the more apparent just at the thought of having to go somewhere so soon, although it was more to do with the day he’d had, and his shitty night in general. Then again, he’d been feeling shitty more often than not lately. Which made sense, if it turned out it was all because of morning sickness… “At least there’s that,” Uruha muttered, unable to put a finger on how exactly he was feeling, thinking about it. Revulsion was definitely a word for it, but there was something else too. Something too vague for him to pinpoint, melancholy and yet… he didn’t know. It wasn’t a good feeling, that was for sure, especially not coupled with the already terrible sensation like his skin wasn’t his own, now intensified by the thought that he wasn’t even alone in his own body anymore—

“Uruha?”

He looked up from where he had been staring vacantly into space, worrying at his lip, meeting Aoi’s concerned eyes, the sadness in them reflecting his own. There was a similar uncertainty there, fear, anxiety… alongside some sort of other emotion. Something almost like excitement at the prospect, only shadowed over by doubt and terrible timing. “Yeah?” Uruha said, voice smaller than expected. For a brief moment Aoi’s eyes flitted down to his lips, then further down still to his stomach, before he looked back up to meet Uruha’s gaze, tongue nervously twirling his piercing. “What is it?”

“Do you really think that…” he started but trailed off, as though the thought was too indistinct to put into words. Or perhaps too dangerous for where they were now. Clearing his throat, he said instead, “Do you want to beat Ruki’s ass?”

Despite his dreadful mood, that prompted Uruha to laugh, however briefly. “Oh, for sure. First thing we do when we see him.”

“He won’t make it out alive.”

Aoi would be lying if he said he’d gotten enough sleep during the night. Spending the night on Uruha’s couch was never a particularly comfortable affair in its own right, and despite the long day and the concert, he still found himself unable to relax, tossing and turning while his mind was plagued by thoughts. He had only fallen asleep a few hours before Uruha woke him up. Much as he would rather go to bed—Uruha’s actual bed, rather than the couch—he wouldn’t miss out on the doctor’s appointment for the world, even as unexpected and early as it was, not when he needed to know. Not when Uruha needed him.

They were too nervous for breakfast, Uruha especially, but Aoi didn’t blame him. The supposed morning sickness explained a lot, at least; even for all the stress weighing down on them, they had some answers, which was good. Even if they didn’t know for sure, even if Uruha wanted to deny it. After a cup of coffee strong enough to wake him up they were off, Aoi stealing glances at Uruha every now and then where he sat slouching in the seat of the car, lazily staring out the window.

For Uruha’s part, while he felt the pull of sleep during the ride and probably looked halfway to dozing off, in truth, his mind was at war with itself. All the pieces falling in their places and creating a picture he had no choice but to look at despite how much he didn’t want to, because while he had made the decision to move on from what had happened and never so much as think of it again, his body had entirely different plans. More than anything else, he felt betrayed. By his own skin, his own actions, as well as his own inaction… there was so much he could have done differently in order to not have ended up in this situation, after all. If the doctor turned out to be right. If it was true, and his body had accepted the seed and given it a home against his wishes, leaving him to deal with the consequences of a night he didn’t want to remember.

And Aoi didn’t know. Worst part was, Aoi couldn’t know. No matter what happened. If he did… well, he wouldn’t be so loving, driving him to an appointment at a hellishly early hour in the morning… not that it was actually that early. For Uruha, it was. And not just because he had barely gotten any sleep; anything pulling him from his bed earlier than ten on a day he didn’t have to work was just evil. And the nausea didn’t help. At least they didn’t have to spend hours in a waiting room this time; Uruha had barely announced himself by the time someone called his name, a nurse gesturing for him to follow. Aoi, who had only just sat down, quickly climbed to his feet and followed, staying as close as was appropriate.

Unlike the hospital doctor, the specialist he had been referred to was a man, which Uruha thought would put him more at ease but only added to his discomfort, unable to shake the nerves as he introduced himself as doctor Moriyama Minoru, specialist in omega biology, obstetrician and gynecologist. Uruha only nodded politely as he and Aoi introduced themselves; Moriyama made no show that he was neither omega nor alpha himself, but the possibility of it made Uruha anxious. If he was a fellow omega, sure, at least that would be reassuring, if anything. But if he happened to be alpha… “Again you’ll have to excuse the short notice,” Moriyama said, “the doctor’s message came in a little late, but I could make time to see you pretty much right away, if it were possible. And from how I understood it, you were pretty anxious.”

Uruha tried a polite smile, but it felt false even to him, with his discomfort. “That’s right.”

“I understand you may be pregnant,” Morimaya continued, his attention alternating between his papers and Uruha, “and that you would like to confirm your condition as soon as possible. You don’t seem too happy about this predicament,” Moriyama added, “I take it you weren’t attempting to conceive?”

Gods, no. “We used protection,” Aoi explained, sounding almost as hopelessly lost as Uruha felt. “We don’t know how it could have happened.”

Moriyama didn’t seem surprised. “Well, there is no such thing as a hundred percent safe preventative, especially when it comes to alpha-omega-breeding. Heat suppressants may decrease the chances for successful conception, lowering fertility during your heat period, but that doesn’t mean the chances of conceiving are nil. Especially considering that regular condoms can’t take the strain of a full rut. There are specialized condoms designed for this—”

“That’s what we used.”

“—but even those can’t guarantee that accidents won’t happen, Mr. Shiroyama.” He paused briefly, then turned to Uruha. “Well, before drawing any conclusions, we should confirm what we are dealing with. So Mr. Takashima, please,” he gestured to the nearby examination table, “please lay down. And lift your shirt up. I’ll be right back with the equipment.”

Never in his life had Uruha expected that he would be examined with an ultrasound, yet there he was anyway, squirming in discomfort as the doctor spread a cold gel on his bare skin, Aoi’s presence both reassuring and not at all. He seemed just as nervous as Uruha did, sure, but Uruha could tell that he also found the entire experience weirdly exciting. He kept fiddling with his piercing, and he seemed unable to keep his hands still, constantly fidgeting with his clothes or accessories until Uruha finally just grabbed his hand and squeezed it. The constant motion was only adding to the anxiety—but more than that, he wanted the touch of something safe and grounding as the screen sparked to life and a tool was pressed to his flat stomach.

For a moment the doctor only stood there, observing the screen as he moved the tool about on Uruha’s skin, as if he was searching. And then he stopped, finding what he was looking for— “There we are,” Moriyama announced, and Uruha felt every part of him freeze as he stared wide-eyed at the monitor, at the small, grey blob of movement he could observe; next to him Aoi had similarly stilled, inhaling sharply as he watched the… thing on the screen move on the screen, inside his belly— “Congratulations, Mr. Takashima,” Moriyama said, “you’re pregnant.”

He sat on the examination table, pressing a hand against his stomach as he stared emptily out into the air; nearby, Aoi had taken to pacing the small space of Moriyama’s office, arms crossed. Uruha knew he was upset, but he was in no state of mind to care, not right now. All he could think of was the thing inside of him, the parasitic creature the monitor had shown growing inside the womb he had been cursed to live with. He imagined if he held his hand against his stomach long enough, he could feel it against his palm, feel the tiny, living… thing moving inside of him.

He couldn’t, of course. It was likely too early to detect any movement, Moriyama had said as he packed up the equipment, but Uruha had made no motion to remove his hand. His thoughts, which had at first been racing a mile a minute, had come to a complete standstill. He felt numb. He felt dry and exhausted and lost, only snapping out of it as the door opened and the doctor returned. Even as soft as it was, the sound of the door was still enough to make him flinch, pulling his hand from his belly to clutch the seat. It wasn’t Masahiro’s car; it wasn’t an alpha in rut coming for him as he sat there, trapped and waiting while the heat set his veins on fire, Masahiro dragging him out and shoving him against the vehicle as he rutted against him, skimpy outfit barely providing any protection.

Uruha cringed at the memory but tried not to let it show as Moriyama settled back behind his desk, gesturing for them to come take a seat. “Alright,” he started, “now that we have confirmed your condition—”

“What can I do?” Uruha interrupted, his voice surprisingly even considering how broken he felt, completely flat and unwavering.

“Well, considering the results of your blood work, you should start taking prenatal vitamins immediately. Some of your values are a little low. And you need to rest and eat better—”

“No, I mean… I don’t want this,” Uruha clarified. “I don’t want to keep it. What should I do? Where do I go?”

“You want to get rid of it?” Aoi asked quietly, entirely tinted by hurt. Uruha didn’t look at him, only closing his eyes and exhaled slowly, before nodding. “Oh.”

But across the desk, Moriyama pursed his thin lips. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question,” he said, and Uruha stilled where he sat, once again finding himself coming face to face with dread and anxiety as Moriyama spoke. “Listen, Mr. Takashima. Normally in cases where the mother wishes to terminate an early pregnancy, I would be happy to refer her to a clinic that could perform it, so long as the father of the child consented to the termination of his child,” he said, glancing to Aoi. “However, for you, things are not that easy. You have to be aware of the low numbers of omega individuals in the world, and the laws that have been put in place to protect that minority.”

Uruha swallowed thickly, hands clutching his own knees so much it almost hurt; he wanted to reach for Aoi, grab his hand and squeeze it for comfort, but he didn’t dare to, not now. “Meaning?”

“Meaning there is no clinic that will be willing to perform the procedure. And while I’m not certain, it looks like you’re too far along for it to be legal even if you weren’t omega. So I’m sorry, Mr. Takashima. Unless you meet some very specific criteria, you have no choice but to carry your child to term.”

“But—” Uruha started, unable to find the words to keep going, unable to wrap his head around the idea. His instinct was screaming at him to find a way to get it out of him, no matter what it might cost, because he couldn’t afford a pregnancy. Not now, not ever. He swallowed again, gathered himself, and jumped only slightly at Aoi’s hand coming to rest on his thigh in an attempt to reassure him. Or maybe to assure himself. “Okay,” Uruha said after a moment. “What criteria are those?”

Moriyama glanced between them. “Well, an omega could apply for abortion in extreme scenarios where termination of the pregnancy would be considered necessary. In cases of incest, for example, wherein the father of the child is a close family member. Or when the health of either the mother or child is deemed too poor to safely carry to term.” Aoi looked up then, meeting the doctor’s eyes, frowning deeply at the idea, but Moriyama’s focus was firmly on Uruha. “Aside from some minor vitamin deficiency and an unconventional lifestyle, you’re strong and healthy. And I’m guessing that the two of you aren’t related, so none of these are applicable.”

Aoi’s incredulous huff was answer enough, but Uruha replied anyway, “No, we’re not related.”

“Unless complications arise during the pregnancy that cause significant risk to the mother’s—your—health, then there really is nothing that can be done.” Giving Aoi a cautious look over, Moriyama turned his attention fully to Uruha, he said firmly, “The laws are a bit convoluted regarding this, but it likely won’t apply to your situation anyway. There is also the case of conception through rape…”

“No,” Aoi cut in, shaking his head violently at the thought. “Gods, no.”

Uruha looked down, letting his hands go limp in his lap. Moriyama was right that none of those criteria applied to him, even if the truth was far removed from what he knew. From what Aoi knew. But it hadn’t been rape, had it? Couldn’t be. He had simply been in heat. He had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and so had Masahiro; if anything, Uruha was the one who had raped him, setting his blood and hormones on fire with his presence alone, even if it wasn’t intentional. It hadn’t been what he wanted. Of that Uruha had no doubt, as much as his body wanted him to think differently, his stupid fucking cunt hungry for dick regardless of whose it was, wanting, needing to be filled over and over by cum and bred like it was the sole purpose he was born for. To be someone’s breeding bitch.

“Of course not,” Uruha said, resigned, “Yuu would never hurt me.” And that was the truth.

He chose to stare somewhere above Moriyama’s shoulder as that numbness overtook him once more, even as Aoi grabbed his hand. As Aoi’s thumb gently stroked his fingers, Uruha found himself wondering if it would be worth it to bring up Masahiro. Even if he didn’t believe it himself, it could be argument enough to convince someone that he needed an abortion. But Aoi… Aoi would know the truth. He would be able to see straight through that lie, see Uruha for the whore that he was, and he would never forgive him…

“You need to understand how lucky you are, Mr. Takashima,” Moriyama said gently, breaking through the fog, “I have had countless omegas in my office over the years, broken up over their inability to conceive. There are reasons the laws are what they are. I understand you’re afraid,” he said, and Uruha only barely resisted the urge to scoff at that statement. “And that’s okay. But we’ll make sure your pregnancy goes smoothly. Even if you at first did not want this child, it will be okay. You’re not the first omega in this situation, Mr. Takashima. I firmly believe things will work out just fine.”

It wouldn’t be fine. Uruha knew as much, and Aoi did too, even if he couldn’t seem to decide how to feel about it. At the end of the appointment Moriyama had offered a photo of the ultrasound, which Uruha had adamantly refused, but Aoi had not. He had taken the photo, stared at the greyish blob, the inhuman shape of the parasite that had inserted itself within his womb, and stared at it with something almost akin to awe. Fear, too, and dread, and anxiety. But the adoration in his eyes was obvious.

He wasn’t sure how Aoi would react if he found out that there was a different man who had put it there, and the—child, as Moriyama kept referring to it as, the fetus—wasn’t actually his, and nothing could change that. Sitting on his bed deep in thought, Uruha stared off into space as his mind raced, processing everything that had been said and done. Abortion wasn’t an option. Not at the moment, anyway, not unless something happened to him or the fetus, or if he could somehow tell the doctor about how he really had conceived in the first place, somehow painting the incident as rape.

It was such a brutal word, rape. Uruha knew it didn’t apply to what happened to him, not with the way he had given up so quickly, and it hadn’t affected him that much, in hindsight. He had been ready to put the whole incident behind him. And now he had to deal with the fact that the breeding took, that Masahiro had managed to put something inside of him that he was stuck with. It had only been a few months. Uruha knew the exact date when the conception had happened, yet he still had played the fool when the doctor asked questions trying to accurately pin down the date of conception.

As if there wasn’t enough on his plate already, he also had to deal with being interrogated about it, all while his boyfriend to whom he was supposed to be loyal was right there, clutching his hand in reassurance as though Uruha hadn’t allowed another man to fuck him for hours while Aoi was sleeping soundly.

“Basic questions then,” Moriyama had stated, and then pulled out a form. “When was the last time you menstruated?”

As if the humiliation wasn’t enough. Uruha fidgeted, picking idly at the fabric of his jeans with his free hand. “Um…”

“I understand you’ve been on suppressants for a while, so this question probably won’t go anywhere. It’s just routine.”

Next to him, Aoi shifted uncomfortably. “But why does that matter?”

“Because normally, a pregnancy is calculated from the day of your last period. That often doesn’t work for omega individuals, however… again, it’s routine.”

Uruha sighed. “For me… it’s been something like two years. I was on suppressants for a long time.”

“Way too long.”

“Yeah, I know,” Uruha muttered. “But… I don’t know if it matters, I did notice I was bleeding a little bit some time ago. Not enough for a period, but it hasn’t happened to me in years, so…”

Moriyama nodded, turning to take his notes; that must have been significant somehow, Uruha guessed, but he wasn’t about to ask, not that he got the chance as Moriyama commented, “That was likely implantation bleeding. It’s normal. Judging by your hormone levels and the shape of the fetus, it’s at least been three months, by my estimates. Do you know approximately when conception could have taken place? Any breeding sessions?”

Uruha winced at the word, but Aoi spoke for him, a little embarrassed himself. “We did mate some months ago… I can’t remember when, can you?” he asked, but Uruha shook his head, staring at the floor. “But I mean, we used protection for the whole thing. None of them broke, and he swears he took a pregnancy test…”

“I took two, and they were negative,” Uruha added, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to think of the idea of torn condoms any more than he already had, of Masahiro’s seed spilling into him as the condom broke, the way he had paused as he realized what had happened and then proceeded to simply pull it off and continue, going in raw and flooding him again and again… “I started feeling sick for a while, and I didn’t get any heat symptoms after pausing the suppressants again, so I got tested. I don’t understand how this is happening now.”

Moriyama pursed his lips in thought, then wrote another note to himself. “Could be any number of reasons. Omega tests are known to be less reliable in general, although they’re preferable over a regular pregnancy test. My guess is that it was just too early to take one when you did. If you had waited perhaps a week…”

But he hadn’t waited, and now he was screwed. He’d gone into heat having left the afterparty alone, while wearing a slutty costume, and then found himself trapped in a car with an alpha whose rut he had triggered by his presence alone. That was what had happened. But he couldn’t say that, so he remained quiet, letting Aoi speak for him, “It was some months ago… but we have had sex since then. Just regular, no heat or mating involved. And I always wear protection.”

But no condom was completely reliable, just as Moriyama had already said, and he repeated that statement despite how much Uruha didn’t want to hear it, how he felt himself tune out the whole situation. At least he didn’t find himself forced to recount his misadventures with heat suppressants again; Moriyama already knew, although he would probably have to divulge the details sooner or later. In the end they had left the office, Uruha carrying a prescription for prenatal vitamin supplements and advice that he knew he wouldn’t be able to follow.

“Babe?”

Snapping out from his daze, Uruha found Aoi standing in the doorway, watching him where he was sitting on the bed, listlessly staring at nothing. “Yeah?” he said, softly, pulling his hand away from his stomach finally. Aoi followed the motion of his arm, a troubled look on his face.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Everything,” Uruha said. It was true enough. And he had to call his parents, tell them what was going on, if he were anywhere near that brave. He grimaced. “And I’m wondering what the hell we’re going to tell management.” That was enough to make Aoi curse under his breath, coming to sit next to him on the bed, and Uruha lowered his head, hair falling into his eyes. It would be so much easier on everyone if he could simply terminate it, to not have to deal with it at all, but according to Moriyama that was impossible.

“Kouyou… did you ever want to start a family?” Aoi asked gently, after a moment of silence. Uruha sighed; while the idea did appeal to him, but he had never come to terms with the part his own body would have to play. Carrying any man’s child was a thought that turned his stomach violently as it was, and now that he actually was pregnant, the knowledge that it had been placed there against his will only made him want to tear it out all the more. Had it actually been Aoi’s child… well, he doubted he would ever be comfortable with it, but at least it wouldn’t be the nightmare he currently found himself in.

“Sort of,” Uruha said vaguely. “I mean, not like this. Definitely not now. Maybe in a few years, but right now… no.”

Aoi hummed in thought. “Well, it’s not that I disagree, but you know… you’re not gonna get any younger than you are now,” he said, pausing at the incredulous look Uruha gave him. “Not like that, I just mean that it’s not going to get easier the older you get. Becoming pregnant, I mean. The chances will get smaller, come on, you know what I mean, baby.”

“Yeah, I do,” Uruha sniffed. “You’re telling me you want to keep it?”

“I’m just saying it’s a chance. One we might not get again.” Uruha sighed; he knew Aoi had a point, but it wasn’t his choice to make. Hell, it wasn’t even Uruha’s choice—it had been made for him, by his body, by Masahiro fucking him relentlessly while he pinned Uruha against his car—the laws simply said no. Still, Aoi continued, even how it broke Uruha’s heart to hear the hope in his voice, “We could take it, love… maybe we even should.”

“I don’t want to,” Uruha snapped, “it’s too early for this, Yuu, and it’s not gonna work out with the band, and it’s not— we—” losing steam, he stopped, suppressing the urge to vent his frustrations or say something he would regret later. “And we’ve only been together two years, it’s too soon either way.”

Aoi only looked disappointed, Uruha thought, for the long moment he fell silent. Disappointed, and sad, and a touch angry, but eventually he merely asked, “So what are you going to do?”

Uruha laughed bitterly. “What can I do?” he said. “If the doctor is right and no one will help me get rid of it and I’m—stuck with this…” His voice died halfway, unexpectedly strangled by oncoming tears. “If… I don’t know,” he managed. His hand was closed in a fist over his stomach, long hair hiding his face, but his breath was too unsteady and broken to hide how upset he was. “I don’t know, Yuu. I just don’t.”

Part of him had expected Aoi to do something to comfort him, like he usually did when he needed it. But Aoi’s touch was absent, even if he was right there, and through the tears Uruha found a troubled look on his face, anger, grief and guilt congregating into one. And then, finally, there was a small noise; a sob, Uruha realized. Brushing the hair out of his face, Uruha wiped his cheeks clear, saying gently, “Yuu…”

But Aoi shook his head, pulling away as Uruha tried to reach for him. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said through his own tears, “fucking shit, I’m… I’m so sorry for doing this to you.”

For a moment all Uruha could do was allow himself to feel the way his heart broke further. Because here was Aoi, feeling the weight of guilt that wasn’t really his, here was Aoi thinking that he was at fault, when in reality it was Uruha’s doing. Aoi had been so good to him, so kind; he had taken all the precautions, given him the time of his life, he had opened up a whole world of fun and pleasure. And what had Uruha done to thank him? He had taken it all for granted, throwing Aoi’s love away by letting himself get taken by another man, one who wasn’t caring or careful or loving, only as selfishly desperate as Uruha himself had been that night.

Aoi didn’t deserve to feel the blame. And Uruha didn’t deserve him. He couldn’t even tell him that it wasn’t his fault, not really. Not unless he wanted to break Aoi’s heart and lose everything they had built together in one fell swoop.

He needed a drink. Badly. But with the thing growing inside him, he couldn’t, at least not with anyone around to notice. Sighing, Uruha reached out for Aoi, allowing himself to be selfish enough to ask for the comfort they both needed even if he knew he didn’t deserve it. “Come here, honey,” he said softly, opening his arms for Aoi; and Aoi only took a second to consider the offer before he was there, burying his face in the crook of Uruha’s neck, soaking his shirt through with tears. “We’ll be okay,” Uruha said as they held each other. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is,” Aoi all but sobbed. “We wouldn’t be in this situation if I hadn’t insisted on mating you…”

“It’s going to be okay,” Uruha repeated, even if he didn’t believe it himself. As much as his heart ached, he knew that right now, Aoi was hurting far more than he himself was, and so he wiped his own stray tear away, closing his eyes as he searched for the courage to tell his boyfriend what he needed to hear, further pushing away a truth that would break them both, if he were to say it out loud. Combing his fingers through Aoi’s smooth black hair, he said, “I forgive you, Yuu.”

Chapter Text

Uruha had never enjoyed being the center of attention. Which was ironic considering the life he had chosen to live, but that was why he was in a band, content with sharing the spotlight with the other members, particularly Ruki who was growing comfortably into his role as front man by the day. It had only been a few days since the world had come crashing down, and with the parasite growing in his belly, there was no longer anything Uruha knew that he could resort to in order to calm his nerves before going back on stage, anxiety coiling around his heart as he bowed deeply before the crowd. Ruki had handed him the microphone, and despite rehearsing the words over and over in his head, he still felt his mind blank out as he stood there, preparing to speak to the fans.

In short, there was a reason why he stuck to the guitar. Words were not his forte and never had been, and without a drop of alcohol to soothe his nerves and ease the tension, he felt himself clam up even more than before. Still, he had to push ahead, finding comfort in the knowledge that he wasn’t alone. The rest of the band was there, his closest friends; his lover was there; he had their staff on his side, should it come to that. And the fans, more than anyone, deserved to know that he was okay.

So he clutched the microphone tighter and spoke, however nervously. Apologized. Assured them that he was fine, that he was unhurt, thanking the staff for rescuing him once again. It had been unfortunate and frightening for everyone, himself included, but they didn’t need to worry.

He bowed again, handed the microphone back to Ruki, and hid behind his long hair as he exhaled slowly, relieved to get it over with. The rest of the tour would go as planned; it would be some time yet before his body started to show its changes, and when it did, they would have to prepare for it. A different costume, for one, one that could hide a slowly growing belly, for as long as possible… and then he would simply have to take time off.

The thought made him uneasy. He hated the knowledge of what was happening inside of him, and he hated the idea of needing to leave the band, even if only for a few months. Every night after a show, Uruha found himself standing in the dressing room, staring at his own stomach. Beneath his clothes it was barely noticeable, his stomach seemingly just as flat as it always had been. To another’s eyes, maybe. The differences were small but unavoidably stark to him; once he was out of his outfit, standing there and watching himself, he couldn’t stop seeing it. The slight curve over his belly that only got bigger and bigger with each passing day; he wondered how long it would be until anyone noticed, before people started talking. He wondered what he could do to slow the progress. Buy himself more time.

Shrugging on the encore tee, he self-consciously tugged at the hem despite how large the shirt was compared to his skinny frame. “You good, man?” Reita asked, unable to stand the tension anymore, and Uruha nodded, despite it obviously being untrue. His nerves were already high strung as it was, and he wasn’t allowed to drink to relax anymore. He knew. He’d tried, once, out of habit, and immediately had the cup pulled out of his hand, along with a sharp reprimand from Ruki.

Like he had any right. It had only pissed Uruha off, and it kept pissing him off, the more he thought about it. Not only because he needed it to feel more at ease before each show, but because his condition only served to make him feel worse, even if he knew it was stupid and Ruki was right to stop him. “Yeah, fine,” he said, even though Reita didn’t look very convinced.

Closing the door to the otherwise empty dressing room, Reita turned to face him. “Shima, can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you tell your parents about…” he shrugged, and Uruha felt that dread plummeting in his guts once more; he could barely resist the urge to clench a hand over his stomach. “You know. All of this.”

Uruha sighed, feeling shame wash over him once again, because he hadn’t; he’d spun a lie instead, saying it was a freak incident, nothing to worry about, he was fine, really. But he wasn’t. And despite how he knew he was only digging his own grave deeper, Uruha found himself unable to tell them, even though he knew this was something that he couldn’t hide for much longer. So he shook his head, “No, I didn’t.”

“Shima,” Reita said firmly.

“I know.”

“You gotta tell them, man.”

“I know, okay?” Uruha snapped, and Reita’s mouth fell shut. “I know, I just—I don’t know where to begin. What to even say. What do I do, waltz up to my parents and go hey mom and dad, guess what! My life’s purpose has been fulfilled and I’ve officially been knocked up by—”

“Dude,” Reita interrupted; he’d only looked more and more uncomfortable as he went on, and he grimaced at Uruha’s choice of words. “Shima, you and I both know that that’s not how it would go. And they’re not gonna judge you for what happened,” he insisted, even as Uruha turned away, refusing to look him in the eye. “You know them. I know them. Come on, man…”

Finally, Uruha sighed, turning his suddenly watery eyes to the ceiling, watching the ceiling fan spin. “It’s easy for you to say, Aki,” he said. “You weren’t… you haven’t…” he couldn’t find the words, sentences trailing off into silence as he swallowed thickly, and Reita’s hand coming to rest on his back was welcoming, comforting. Unable to help himself, Uruha let out a small laugh, a broken little noise. “When I first hit puberty, dad was just so—”

“Angry?”

“Disappointed,” Uruha corrected, and Reita winced slightly, making a sympathetic noise. It wasn’t a memory that Uruha liked to think of often, or ever at all. “Those years were hell,” he muttered. “I mean, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what would happen. We were all prepared. But I guess that actually seeing it for himself… he never really got comfortable with it. Maybe he still sees me like that, secretly. Like a third girl rather than a man.”

“Shima.”

Uruha shook his head. “I never asked him about it. But I know my dad doesn’t accept that about me, he just prefers to… pretend that I’m normal and that it never even happened.”

“So he’s the same as you,” Reita said. “You were so angry back then.”

It was honest but true. Uruha lowered his head. “Yeah,” he agreed. “You don’t need to worry, okay? I’ll call them. Not now. I can’t now, but I’ll do it. Not like I can hide this forever anyway, so…” he trailed off. He meant it, too; he knew he had to tell them at some point, much as he wanted to put it off. But this was an actual, god fucking pregnancy. And they knew Aoi. Even if the first introduction had been with Aoi as his friend and bandmates, colleagues first and romantic partners later despite the fact they had technically been dating by that point. Or sleeping together, anyway; the attraction had been there, and Aoi had been just what Uruha had needed at the time, but the lines between friends with benefits and actual lovers had become blurrier and blurrier to the point that he didn’t actually know when Aoi had become his boyfriend. Regardless, their relationship was one of the dearest things to him, alongside the band and his family, and while the bond he shared with Aoi was not one he was willing to give up easily, Uruha knew it was fragile.

Because Aoi was a lot of things; rash, emotional, impulsive. At times violent. For as strong their relationship had become over the two years they had been together, Uruha knew the secret he harbored would break it, possibly beyond repair.

It was not a risk he wanted to take. “Hey,” Reita said gently, pulling Uruha out of his head again, the touch to his shoulder just firm enough to ground him. For a moment, Reita only regarded him quietly, and for all their time together, Uruha couldn’t read what he could possibly be thinking. And then he said, cautiously, like he might be treading on thin ice: “Listen… does Aoi treat you right?”

“What?”

“I’m being serious, Shima, did he make you do anything you didn’t want, or something? I mean, I know you a lot better than I know him.” He glanced down towards Uruha’s hips, Uruha only barely holding steady even as he felt the urge to shift in discomfort. “I know that you wouldn’t let this happen to you if you could help it.”

Uruha sighed. Reita was right, of course, he just wasn’t aware of the truth. “It was an accident,” he said. “And it’s not his fault. This wasn’t… we were careful. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s more my fault than his anyway,” he admitted. “You don’t need to worry about him.” But Reita’s eyes hardened at that, doubt and suspicion prominent in his expression, and Uruha gave him a soft, trying smile. “I mean it. You don’t have anything to worry about when it comes to Aoi, alright?”

“... alright,” Reita said, but Uruha could tell he wasn’t going to let it go, not really. “I’ll just worry about you, then. You know you can tell me anything, right, Shima?”

“Of course,” Uruha said, denying himself the urge to swallow his words and anxieties, instead opting for nodding slightly. “Thanks, man.”

“Anytime. I mean it.”

“I know.” And he did, and he was endlessly grateful for it. But this… this wasn’t something Reita could know. Not only because Uruha didn’t know how he would react if Uruha were to tell him what had happened, but because it would be a pointless endeavor. Reita couldn’t do anything to get Uruha out of the hole he had dug himself into. Neither of them could.

The ride to the clinic was quiet, Uruha dozing off in the seat as Aoi drove, but he was awake and alert by the time they arrived, invigorated by the short nap as they stepped into the office. Moriyama took his usual seat behind his desk, and Uruha and Aoi did the same as Moriyama began their meeting. “Normally appointments aren’t this frequent, but with omega pregnancies we are always extra careful to keep track of how everything is going in the beginning, just to make sure,” he explained. “Hopefully it’s not a problem. You should be past the point of risk by now, so I won’t call you in as often. And I understand you two have something of an irregular work schedule.”

“We sure do,” Uruha said, but his polite smile was sad as he continued, “it’s not going to be a problem for long. I can’t keep working once it becomes obvious, so… it’s not really supposed to happen in our business at all.”

Moriyama was gracious enough to not mention work much beyond that, at least. “Have you noticed any changes to your body lately?” he asked eventually, in the middle of taking his notes. “Any tenderness or pain? Cravings, changes in appetite, increased or decreased libido?”

Aoi glanced over at Uruha, slightly alarmed, but Uruha gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before folding his fingers in his lap once again, voice somewhat detached as he spoke, “I’ve been more tired lately… there’s some pain in my hips that comes and goes, but it’s not really bad. Just annoying,” he said, deliberately avoiding Aoi’s gaze and staring straight ahead at Moriyama instead. “I still get nauseous in the morning most days… and, um.”

“... what pain?” Aoi asked, but instead of answering Uruha only gave a small sigh, like he was too tired to even think about explaining. “You’re hurting?”

The doctor cleared his throat to get Aoi’s attention. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, Mr. Shiroyama. The omega body has to go through a lot of changes in order to carry and deliver a child, and those changes can be somewhat painful,” he said. Uruha’s eyes were low, glued to the desk as Moriyama spoke. “It’s natural, but uncomfortable. If you ever go through pregnancy again, it will be a lot easier on you, since your body will have made the adjustments already. As for your lack of energy, Mr. Takashima, you’re probably still not getting enough food and rest.”

Uruha chose not to comment on that, ignoring the shudder that ran through him at the thought of having to go through all this a second time. “You said that last time.”

“And I’ll have to keep saying it so long as you don’t take care of yourself and the baby. Again, there are reasons why omega pregnancies are so closely monitored. And since your lifestyle is already rather hectic and your body type is naturally thin, you need a lot of energy throughout the day, especially since you’re still young. So try to put in a bit more effort. It’s not just your own health that is at risk if you don’t.” He made another note, then shuffled his papers. “Back to the question, then.”

“... I can’t get comfortable talking to you about my sex life,” Uruha muttered.

“Well, your sex life is why we’re all here, isn’t it?” Moriyama joked, giving a professional, polite smile when Uruha only tensed further. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Mr. Takashima. It’s completely natural. Would it make you more comfortable to talk about this without your partner present?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Uruha shot in, giving Aoi an apologetic look, willing himself to just get it over with. “I’ve been very up and down, I guess, sexually. We haven’t really had sex, not since we found out. Either it’s not been a good time, or…”

Aoi twirled his lip ring nervously. “It’s been weird? With the baby,” he elaborated, a little embarrassed himself. “Not knowing what’s safe and what isn’t, and, well… knowing there’s a kid in there…”

Next to him, Uruha was trying very, very hard not to roll his eyes, and Aoi flushed a bit in embarrassment. “That’s also a normal concern to have,” Moriyama said, looking over his papers rather than at them. “But you don’t need to worry. So long as you don’t do anything extreme, everything will turn out just fine. Well,” he paused, looking towards Aoi for a moment, “perhaps be a bit gentler than you’re used to, especially once you’re in heat. And try to avoid going into rut, Mr. Shiroyama. Since alphas do tend to be rather sizable, it’s important that you take your time. The last thing you want is a bruised cervix while pregnant.”

This time Uruha really was blushing. “Yeah,” he grumbled, glancing over at Aoi one more time. “Um… this may be a stupid question, but I’ve been wondering…”

“No question is stupid, Mr. Takashima.”

“Sure.” Uruha looked down again, his hands tightly folded in his lap. “Is it… at all possible for an omega to go into heat while pregnant?” he asked, quiet and careful. “Even if it’s at the very start of the pregnancy, or…”

He trailed off. Even for as relaxed Aoi was about the subject matter, Aoi’s own cycle wasn’t something they often brought up. Uruha normally didn’t notice Aoi being in heat, not unless he was really losing his composure, but he knew that it would probably creep up on him soon. If it wasn’t already there, filling his systems with hormones that would be ready to light his whole body on fire in the presence of an omega in heat.

Uruha swallowed at the thought, horror clenching something in the pit of his stomach at the memory. Or maybe it was just the thing in his belly. “I don’t believe it’s likely,” Moriyama said, a tilt of curiosity in his voice. “Your heat is there to encourage conception, after all, and it normally occurs during the height of your fertility, so it wouldn’t make much sense for an omega to go into heat after conceiving. But I can’t say it’s a total impossibility. Perhaps it could happen, shortly enough after conception…” he was tapping his pen on his desk, trying and failing to meet Uruha’s downcast eyes. “In theory, anyway. But if you’re wondering if you could trigger a rut in your partner during your pregnancy, then the answer is no.”

“Okay,” Uruha said. His smile felt more like a grimace than anything else, before it slipped from his face entirely. “I haven’t really looked into most of this stuff… there’s a lot I don’t know, I guess.”

“No such thing as a stupid question,” Moriyama reminded him. “It’s alright to ask, and you’re not the first to ask me something like that. After all, your partner will still be experiencing his regular heat even while you don’t. And as I said, sex is completely fine, so that’s not something either of you need to worry about. Now, please lay down, Mr. Takashima, so we can have a look at how your baby is doing.”

It was nearing evening by the time Aoi left the apartment to go home, leaving Uruha alone with his thoughts. It had been a calm day, in all, comfortable aside from the appointment in the morning. They had relaxed together, cooked and eaten together. Watched stupid reruns on TV, Uruha pointedly ignoring the informative pamphlets Aoi had insisted on bringing home, preferring to close his eyes and doze on the couch while Aoi flipped through them. But now his boyfriend was gone, and Uruha was alone once more. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, Uruha found himself staring at the screen, hesitating. Because he had lied; he hadn’t called home to tell his parents what was going on, like Reita had insisted, like he had told himself he would, time and time again, because it was a conversation he was dreading. But Uruha wasn’t stupid, and despite how much he hated everything that was happening to his body, they needed to know. And the longer he waited, the worse it would get, the harder it would be to break the news.

Pressing a hand flat against his stomach, Uruha took a slow breath, steeling himself. Forced himself to ignore the curve, small but so obviously there to him, and the distant ache at his hips. The sooner the better. Biting back the sudden urge to cry, he made the call and pushed the phone to his ear, and waited.

It didn’t take long before she picked up, and Uruha closed his eyes, feeling some of the unease let go at the sound of the familiar voice, despite how uneasy he was about the news he was about to break to her. “Hey, mom.”

It would be far from the easiest conversations he’d ever had with his mother. She was happy to hear from him; Uruha had always been bad at keeping in touch with his family, usually leading to them calling him more than it being the other way around, sometimes contacting him when he was far too busy to talk. He had called after the fainting spell, sure, but he had lied about the results from the hospital, and it had been rather quiet ever since. But he did have to tell her, even as much as he dreaded it. “How have you been? How is everyone?” Uruha asked instead, not brave enough to break the news yet. And he did want to know, listening to his mother speak, feeling some of the tension in his frame slip away as she told him about her life lately, her current knitting project, how his father was doing and the trouble his nephews had gotten into. It made him smile, despite himself. Despite the mental and physical exhaustion that clung to him after his second appointment with Moriyama, the awe and sheer love in Aoi’s love as he stared at the monitor. Unable to look away from the child he thought was his own.

Uruha swallowed, and he must have been unable to quite hide his grief judging by the way his mother asked, “Is something wrong, Kouyou? You sound upset.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Uruha said lightly, but he knew this was as good an opportunity as any. “But yeah, it’s been a bad day. I actually have to tell you something, mom, it’s…” he trailed off, not knowing where to start, not without saying it as straightforwardly bluntly as possible. Rip the bandage off. Placing a hand on his belly, he stared down, lowering his voice somewhat as he said, “I’m pregnant.”

His mother knew him better than anyone else, other than perhaps Reita; she knew how much he hated being omega, and while his family knew about Aoi, they didn’t think Uruha would allow something like this to happen. And it wasn’t like they were wrong; it was an accident, and he told her as much, but once the initial shock wore off he could hear the way she paced, restless energy leaving her unable to stay still while she talked endlessly. He pictured her fiddling with things, with knitting supplies or the things in the kitchen, maybe, the way he remembered her. She always got that way when she was faced with a situation she wasn’t sure how to handle. “I bet Yuu must be thrilled,” she rambled on, “how far along are you? You should have told me as soon as you found out, Kouyou, honey. Something like this isn’t something you can keep to yourself, are you eating well? Getting enough sleep? Don’t let the band wear you out, Kouyou, times like these it’s important to prioritize your health.” She was ranting, more anxious than truly excited, and Uruha bit his lip.

“Yeah, about that,” he said softly, interrupting her spiel. “I… it’s not Yuu’s.” He didn’t know how she would take it. He didn’t know what she’d think of him, if she knew, but he couldn’t stand the thought of letting his mother get excited by the prospect of grandchildren, of him starting a family, not when it was built on a lie. But for a long while, there was only silence, and if he hadn’t been able to hear her breathing, Uruha would have assumed that she wasn’t even there. He bit his lip nervously. “Mom?”

And then, “I’m here,” she said, and Uruha braced himself. “What do you mean, it’s not his?”

“It’s not, um…” he trailed off. He didn’t know what to tell her, but he wasn’t able to tell the truth, painful as it was. A white lie, then, settling on, “I don’t know who the father is.”

It wasn’t true. But it was kinder than admitting what had really happened, somehow. Yet the silence on the other end was stifling, and he felt that dread once again pool in his stomach, his chest, his arms. He pressed his hand harder against his stomach, trying to ground himself, preparing himself for her reaction, waiting for her to come out of her stunned state. He heard her take a sharp breath. “Kouyou,” she said, and he could hear the fear in her voice. “Did something happen?”

He closed his eyes, unable to bring himself to say it, the horrible truth. He hadn’t wanted it. But it wasn’t Masahiro’s fault. He was simply acting according to what Uruha’s mere presence had done to him that night, giving in to his instincts to breed and take, and Uruha had let him.

“Honey, you know you can talk to me…”

“It’s not what you think,” Uruha interrupted. “It’s not… you don’t need to worry about that, about me. I— I made a mistake. It’s my fault. But I just… I didn’t think this would happen, I don’t know what to do, mom.”

“Kouyou,” And she sounded just as shocked and betrayed as Uruha feared she would. “What are you saying? What about Yuu? I thought you were serious about him, are you no longer together?”

Uruha swallowed. “We’re still together, it’s just that I…”

“You cheated on him?” Her voice wasn’t quite accusatory, still disbelieving. “Kouyou. I thought I raised you better than that, I thought— I thought you knew better, what do you mean you don’t know who the father is— what have you done?”

“Yuu doesn’t know,” Uruha said quickly. His face felt oddly numb, even with the panic he could feel crawling up his spine. “He still thinks it’s his, I don’t have the heart to tell him the truth.”

“I thought you were better,” she said again. “I thought you were better than this. That the stereotype wasn’t true, that it couldn’t be for you, not ever. I thought,” she cut herself off, baffled, “how can you not know?”

“… I was at a party—”

“And at this party, you let a bunch of strangers touch you?” she said, her words sharp but voice tinged by hysteria, and Uruha couldn’t help the small, wounded sound that escaped him. He held his breath, his mind going blank at the accusation. “Kouyou.” There was that parental tone, the one she only ever used when he was in trouble and knew it, when she was deeply disappointed in him; Uruha hadn’t heard it in years. It hurt. “Answer me.”

“Something like that,” he relented, feeling an unbidden tear run down his cheek. The hand on his stomach had clutched into a fist, and he sat down on the sofa, unsure if he would be able to have the strength to have this conversation standing. “He can’t know. I mean it, he can’t. I don’t know what would happen if he found out, how he’d react, just… don’t tell him, mom. Please.”

There was a small noise, a huff in disbelief. “You cheat on him. You let yourself get knocked up by a stranger and then go home and lie to him?”

“I didn’t know what to do, okay?” he said defensively, his voice sounding just as broken as he feared. “I didn’t want it to happen. I thought I was safe, I really did, but it happened anyway. And the doctor told me I can’t get rid of it…”

“Of course you can’t,” his mother said, sounding suddenly sad. “You’re omega. Kouyou… honey, are you being honest with me?” For a long moment Uruha said nothing, only staring at his own lap, watching his fingers curl and uncurl in the rough fabric of his jeans. When she spoke again, her voice was hesitant, careful like it had been before. “Listen, Kouyou. If someone hurt you…”

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to the urge to sob, suddenly. He knew what she was hinting at; he remembered the doctor’s speech when he had first brought it up, but he knew it wasn’t possible. He hadn’t been raped. He’d just gone into heat unexpectedly. It wasn’t Masahiro’s fault that he’d acted on the rut, pulling Uruha from his seat and pushing him against the car. The cool air around his bare thighs, his thoughts consumed by terror despite the unbearable fire in his loins as Masahiro reached for the skirt. It was Uruha’s fault, and he knew it. For fucking his own systems up with the suppressants. For turning down Aoi’s offer to go home, just because he was moody. For getting in that car.

Carefully, Uruha took a deep breath to settle his nerves, before he dared to speak. “No one hurt me, mom,” he said softly. “I’m just… sorry I disappointed you.”

“Okay,” she said finally. “I trust you, Kouyou. But… what about Yuu? Did you consider how much this is going to hurt him?”

“That’s why he can’t know the truth.”

“Kouyou…”

“He can’t know. He’s… mom, despite what I did, I love him. And I love the band. It’s my everything, okay? And if he finds out… I just know he’s going to freak, and then we’ll be one guitarist short because he’d leave or maybe they’d kick me out because I cheated and I’m pregnant and then— and then…” he trailed off, sniffling as he wiped angrily at the tears that ran down his cheeks. “Just, please. Promise me.”

There was a sigh. “Alright. I won’t tell him,” his mother said slowly, her voice sad. “And I know that this is difficult. Especially with the band. But… Kouyou, I don’t think I can ever forgive you for what you have done.”

“... I’m sorry, mom,” Uruha said. “I really am.”

At the studio Ruki was, unsurprisingly, the last person in the door. Uruha honestly wasn’t paying anyone much attention, lost in thought instead, torturing himself with everything he had seen and read up on after his fainting spell on stage a while ago. Embarrassing himself in front of their fans like that didn’t sit right by him, and it made it even worse knowing that he wouldn’t be allowed back on stage in a few short months.

A pregnancy was a shitty secret to keep for a whole slew of reasons. The nightmare his body would be going through was one thing, but another of those reasons was something that was both very loud and difficult to hide; another thought that kept plaguing him regularly. What to do with it, once it was over. Halfway occupied by doodling mindlessly on a notepad, Uruha barely noticed that Ruki had arrived, placing a takeaway cup on the table in front of him. “And this one’s for you,” he announced, before pulling a brown paper bag from his bag, “plus, your share.”

Glancing up, Uruha eyed the bag warily. “What is it?”

“Something salty.”

“Salty?”

“Yeah, salty. Thought you might be hungry. I mean, not because of…” Ruki knew better than to finish that sentence, settling for a shrug instead as Uruha glared. “I’d have finished them myself but I figured you probably wanted some. So, enjoy, They’re pretzels. They’re good, I already ate half the bag.”

“Is this why you’re half an hour late on a day you know we have a meeting?” Kai chimed in, which Ruki proceeded to ignore entirely, Uruha peeking inside the crumpled paper bag with piqued interest. They really were pretzels; still warm, too. And the coffee. “Or are you just trying to keep Uruha from kicking your ass again?”

“Well, haven’t you taken on your new leader role?”

“Hey, what about us?”

“What, are you pregnant, too?”

Biting into a pretzel, Uruha decided to ignore the mild commotion as he felt himself melt into his seat; he’d really needed something salty to settle both his mood and his stomach. And caffeine to wash it down. “I could kiss you,” Uruha said, incoherently, however Ruki had already glued himself to Reita’s side on the other side of the room and couldn’t hear him over the small argument that had broken out.

Aoi, meanwhile, was watching him with a look of concern. “Um… Uruha, are you sure you should be drinking that?”

“What?” Uruha said, the heat of the coffee seeping through the takeaway cup and warming his hands lovingly. He wanted to relish it, but the way Aoi was looking at him… “What do you mean?”

Reita glanced between them, actually voicing what Aoi was utterly failing to communicate. “Oh, he thinks that maybe coffee is bad for the baby. I think.”

Aoi grimaced, muttering a slightly embarrassed ‘yeah’, but Uruha felt his good mood slip away as quickly as it had arrived, because seriously? “Oh come on. Just let me have some fucking coffee, Yuu.”

“Well, is it?” Ruki said after a moment, breaking the awkward silence that had begun to settle. “Lots of pregnant people drink coffee, don’t they? It can’t be that bad.”

Aoi shrugged. “I don’t know. Better safe than sorry,” he said, and Uruha rolled his eyes. He knew these people well enough to know that this kind of conversation would probably keep popping up again and again over the course of the next months. He couldn’t really blame any of them for it, but that didn’t make it any less annoying.

Uruha sighed, reaching into the bag for another pretzel. “Come on, we were at the obstetrician just a couple days ago. Didn’t you take home a whole book on that stuff?”

“It was for you. Didn’t you read it?”

“Oh, is that what the pussy doctor is called?” Ruki cut in, and Uruha gave him a stony look. “What?”

Kai cleared his throat. “I think that’s more of a baby doctor,” he corrected.

“And where do you think babies come from?”

“It’s really more like the doctor you go to when you’re pregnant…” Aoi trailed off as he glanced at Uruha, finding him staring hopelessly at the ceiling. “Babe?”

“You’re all morons.” Crumpling together the now empty bag, Uruha climbed to his feet, drinking the rest of the coffee in one go, before glaring at Ruki. “Thanks for the snacks. I would probably have murdered you otherwise. Can we get to work now?”

Ruki just gave a shrug, finding his stacks and sheets of notes so they could get started, as there still was a while before the scheduled meeting, Uruha finally able to relax once the subject switched from his personal humiliation to their upcoming single, and the attention was no longer on him.

It was later in the day, halfway through a meeting with their manager about their upcoming plans—or rather how to deal with them, now that Uruha’s condition had ruined the schedule for the foreseeable future—that there was a knock on the door, and a moment later, a tired staff member peeked her head in. “Sorry to interrupt,” she said apologetically, mostly to Sakai, then turned her attention to Uruha, “but Uruha, there’s someone looking to speak with you? Said his name was Takara. We asked him to leave, but he said it was important, so I said I would see if you’re available. I can just say it’s a bad time otherwise…”

Uruha’s thoughts immediately came to a halt, and he found himself unable to say a word even as she stared at him, waiting for an answer. “Takara?” came Reita’s voice, questioning. And then, “Wait, you mean Masahiro? The hell does he want from you?”

Across the table he felt Aoi’s eyes on him, and Uruha had to remind himself to breathe, to behave somewhat normally where he sat in his seat, to not come across as shell-shocked despite how he felt. “Well, it’s probably about time we take a break anyway,” Sakai said, dropping his pen to the table and leaning back in the chair to stretch his legs. “If it’s important, you should probably go down. Don’t keep your friend waiting, eh?”

“Okay,” was all Uruha managed to say.

His thoughts were far too scattered to come up with anything else. But it was enough for the girl in the door, who nodded. “I’ll tell him you’ll be there soon, then. Thank you.” And then she was gone before Uruha could protest. If there was anyone he didn’t want to see right now then it was Masahiro; hell, if he never thought of him again, it would be too soon, but as luck would have it, Masahiro had found him, and he wanted to talk. To Uruha. Who was carrying his child.

He swallowed, taking with it the urge to press his hand against his stomach again, perhaps protectively, perhaps not, and got out of his seat. They hadn’t seen each other since that night. They had no means of contacting each other, for which Uruha was glad, because it had allowed him to pretend that the incident had never happened at all. At least, until the news broke of his pregnancy. And if Masahiro found out, or perhaps if he suspected it himself, and that was why he had come… she did say it was important. Maybe he did know. If that were the case, Uruha didn’t know what he would do, other than pray that Masahiro wouldn’t make a scene. Bringing something like that to where Uruha worked, especially considering the business Uruha was in; then again, that kind of knowledge could very easily cost Uruha his livelihood if it got out. And maybe that’s what Masahiro wanted.

He swallowed, pulling his jacket tighter around himself, heart hammering anxiously in his chest. He was halfway down the hallway when he couldn’t take it anymore, pausing to turn around and say, “Why are you following me?”

There was a startled look on Aoi’s face. “What, am I not allowed to want to know what’s going on?” he said defensively, and Uruha only frowned, giving his boyfriend a steely glare. “You said he was your friend, right? Couldn’t he just have called you?”

“Masahiro doesn’t have my number,” Uruha said through gritted teeth, casting a quick look around the hallway, blessedly vacant but for them, “we were never that close, we just… run into each other now and then.”

Aoi eyed him warily as Uruha continued down the hall, but he followed, reaching out to stroke his back as Uruha called the elevator, brow furrowing when Uruha flinched at the touch. “You look about ready to snap in half, babe,” Aoi said cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Uruha said, quickly. “Nothing, it’s just… I wasn’t expecting it, I don’t usually have my day disturbed like this, especially not by—”

“By an alpha?”

“Don’t go there,” Uruha said sharply, but the concern in Aoi’s expression only deepened, and he sighed. He was stressed enough as it was, with the meeting they had been in the middle of, and the fact that Uruha had been scheduled to speak with the company president about his condition, which was not something he was looking forward to whatsoever. Even though Aoi’s warm hand was melting through some of his tension, he couldn’t find it in him to lower his shoulders, especially not when Aoi obviously intended to follow him down. “Yuu, he wasn’t asking for you. I don’t need you to come with me.”

“Some guy stalks my boyfriend at work and you think I’m not gonna want to find out what his intentions are?”

“What? He’s not stalking me, I just don’t know what he wants. And it’s not like he’s a stranger, you know him.”

“I met him once,” Aoi corrected. “That doesn’t mean I know him. And you said he liked you, back in the day,” he said, lowering his voice. “Kouyou, with your condition…”

Ignoring the chill running down his spine, Uruha shrugged dismissively, shrouding himself in a mask of annoyance, a wall to protect his wounded heart from the situation he suddenly found himself in. Masahiro wanted to talk to him. Uruha had no idea what to expect, but hopefully he’d back off in such a public setting, with Uruha still at work. “You wait here,” he said pointedly, as the elevator doors finally opened before them.

“But—”

“It’s none of your business anyway,” Uruha snapped, and Aoi gave a withering look as he shoved his hands into his pants, waiting until the elevator doors closed before sulking towards the vending machines down the hall.

The time it took to descend to the ground floor was all Uruha got to prepare himself for the impromptu meeting, but at least he was alone in the elevator the whole way down, only trapped with his own thoughts. As soon as he stepped out, his eyes found Masahiro, waiting in the lobby; he was just sitting there, flipping through a magazine in his lap with disinterest like he had any right to be there, in the very building Uruha worked. He ignored the urge to bolt back into the elevator, the cold fear that washed over him, assuring himself that he was safe. Masahiro wouldn’t try anything. Not here.

Uruha chewed on the inside of his cheek, once, and quickly zipped his jacket up all the way in a vain attempt to hide the evidence of what Masahiro had done to him. “Hey,” he said, as casually as he could manage as he walked up to Masahiro, keeping a safe distance as Masahiro in turn tossed the magazine aside and climbed to his feet.

His face was somewhat flushed, Uruha noticed, gritting his teeth behind closed lips, seeming a little less put together than Uruha remembered. “Kouyou,” he said, “I knew you’d be here.”

Uruha crossed his arms. “Yeah, I work here. What the hell are you doing?”

“I couldn’t call you. I don’t know where you live, but I had to talk to you. Your band is big enough that I can find your company building, you didn’t give me much choice.” He looked Uruha over once, then gestured toward the door, towards the parking lot, and there it was again, that crawling sense of fear down his back; Uruha clutched the fabric of his jacket a little tighter as Masahiro said, “Come on outside, I wanna talk to you in private.”

“Hell no,” Uruha said firmly, keeping his voice low enough so the nearby receptionists wouldn’t hear. “Whatever you wanna tell me, you can say it here. I have to get back to work anyway. I was in the middle of something.” All he could do was clutch himself tightly, trying to hold himself together as Masahiro looked him up and down, taking him in like he was searching for something.

For a moment, Masahiro only grimaced in frustration, before he gave in. “... I had to know if you were okay,” he said finally. Uruha furrowed a brow, and Masahiro shrugged. “You fainted? I was worried that something was wrong—”

What? “Wait, how do you know that?”

“I was there,” Masahiro said. “You invited me, remember?”

“I… no, I didn’t. What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you remember? You talked about your band. Said I should come see you. So I did.” Masahiro paused, giving Uruha a strange look, one that made Uruha feel like he was the one in the wrong. “You fainted on stage.”

Damn it. Lowering his shoulders, Uruha averted his eyes, unsure how to feel knowing that Masahiro had been in the crowd that night. “Well thanks for your concern, but I’m fine, and there’s nothing to worry about. I need to get back to work, okay? We were in the middle of a meeting.”

He was about to leave before Masahiro could get a chance to even respond, but there was an all too familiar grip on his elbow as Masahiro said, “Wait.” And Uruha froze. Even with the anger at being pulled away from work by the very man who—perhaps unknowingly—was in the process of ruining his life, he still let Masahiro turn him back to face him. He imagined himself ripping his arm free, at that moment. He imagined slapping Masahiro’s hand away, punching his face, even, but he didn’t. He just stood there, petrified as Masahiro touched him.

And then it was gone as quickly as it had come, Masahiro letting him go before he pulled from his pockets a card and a pen, scribbling something down before pushing the card into his hand; Uruha instinctively looked down, finding a number and address written on the back of a business card belonging to a bar, the logo vaguely familiar. “What is this?”

“That’s my address and phone number. If you want, you can come to my place. Or call me, Kouyou. Anytime.” He spotted something on the other end of the lobby, something flashing across his face briefly. Patting Uruha’s shoulder he said, “Guess rock stars don’t give out their numbers freely, so… call me, okay? I need to go.”

With a short wave he was out the doors, Uruha’s gaze following Masahiro down the steps, towards the car that stood parked nearby. The same car Uruha remembered being held against; it glinted in the sunlight as Masahiro unlocked the door and got in, its coat a bright, shiny red. His breath catching in his lungs, he looked away only to meet his boyfriend’s eyes on the other side of the lobby, and Uruha let a small, hissed curse slip from his lips. Quickly he slipped the card into his pocket as Aoi approached, radiating anger more than worry. “What was that about?” he said, “An argument?”

Masahiro’s car was gone the next time he looked, and Aoi was focused entirely on him. “Only because I was pissed at being pulled away from work. It was nothing,” he said, but Aoi’s brow furrowed, glancing back outside for a moment. “And I told you not to come down after me, what the hell, Aoi?” he hissed, before all but storming back toward the elevators; the receptionists had been eyeing him for a minute as it was. He needed to get out of the lobby, if nothing else.

Not unexpectedly, Aoi followed him into the elevator. “Kouyou.”

Uruha sighed, staring at the mirrored ceiling for a long moment to collect himself, because he knew Aoi wasn’t going to stop nagging until Uruha told him. “He was at the show where I passed out,” he said quietly. “So he wanted to check up on me, I guess.”

Aoi raised a brow.

“And like I said, he doesn’t know my number. He couldn’t message me or anything.”

“Well, tell him to stick to the fan mail next time, like any other concerned fanboy of yours,” Aoi grumbled, and this time it was Uruha’s turn to glare at him.

“Are you jealous?” Uruha asked, and immediately regretted it; bringing Aoi’s attention on his relationship with Masahiro was probably the stupidest thing he could have done, and quietly, he cursed himself. Aoi, however, only grunted, giving a small shrug.

The elevator dinged. “Don’t be stupid, Uru,” Aoi said as they walked out into the hallway. “He’s an alpha. He asked you out. He was checking you out last time I saw him, and then he shows up here to talk to you, of course I’m not gonna take that lying down.”

Uruha pressed his lips together. “… I guess,” he muttered, knowing when to let it go. “But it really was nothing.”

“I trust you,” Aoi said, his mood still sour but brushing their fingers together momentarily, a soft gesture of affection. Uruha felt his heart bruise a little. “We should get back to the meeting.”

“Yeah.”

By the time the day reached its end and Uruha was home, he found himself too exhausted for words, barely taking the time to slip out of his clothes before he collapsed in bed. His head was clouded with the day’s events, all the meetings he had attended, about the band’s future and his condition and then there was Masahiro, fucking Masahiro showing up at the doorstep of the company building and demanding to talk to him, like he had any right. Uruha hadn’t even thrown out the card he had been given, despite how tempting it was to grab a lighter and set the damn thing on fire, burning Masahiro’s attempt to reach out to him to a darkened crisp. Instead he’d stared at it, taking in the information from the bar the card came from, flipping it over to study Masahiro’s scratchy handwriting. In the end he’d slipped the business card in his wallet, in a pocket alongside punch cards and expired train tickets. Out of sight.

At least he had managed to keep himself in check the entire day; he wasn’t sure how he had managed to act normally around Masahiro when just the thought of him was enough to make Uruha want to curl up and die, but now that he was finally home, safe and alone with nothing but his own company, his skin crawled. The place on his elbow where Masahiro had grabbed him, preventing him from leaving. The hands that had touched his own, when he gave him the card. His mere presence. The thing growing in his stomach, evidence of their coupling despite how much Uruha wanted to forget about it.

Grimacing, Uruha dragged himself out of bed, too anxious and disgusted to rest, much less sleep. He needed a shower, badly. He also needed a drink, and a cigarette, and something to smash with a baseball bat. Preferably Masahiro’s face.

God. If only.

Aoi had been in possession of Uruha’s spare key for a while. It had been a gift, a symbolic show of trust and love; an invitation that said plainly and honestly, my home is yours, if you want it. Because Uruha had never been very good at expressing himself with words alone, and as their relationship progressed, he’d wanted them to be closer in every way he could think. And Aoi already spent a lot of time at his apartment as it were, so giving his lover the ability to come and go as he pleased was a natural next step.

So when Uruha didn’t open the door when he rang the bell, Aoi didn’t need to wait, simply pulling his keys from his pocket and stepping inside, unsurprised to find the lights still off. “Uruha?” he called out, pulling open the door to the bedroom. “Baby, are you up?” Uruha stirred where he lay, at first only a mess of blankets until he moved, face coming into view as Aoi drew the curtains aside, Uruha’s eyes barely visible under a mess of unkempt, blond hair. “There you are. Good morning.”

“Aoi…?” Uruha said, voice heavy with sleep; for a moment, Uruha only blinked at him. Then his brows furrowed. “What time is it?”

“Little past noon.” He slipped a hand under the covers, searching for Uruha’s hand and finding it, warm and perfectly fitting his own. “Wanna get up? Or do you want to stay in bed?” he asked, despite knowing what the answer would be; it was Uruha, after all, who would always choose to laze in bed all day if he had nothing scheduled, which they didn’t.

So he wasn’t surprised when Uruha hummed and pulled him closer, dragging the covers over them both, his body molding itself to Aoi’s immediately the same way he had countless times before. With a soft, relieved sigh he buried his face in Aoi’s neck, happy to be back in his arms, and Aoi’s smile only faded once he realized how long it had been since the last time they were like this, happy and comfortable in bed together. And intimate.

God, when was the time they’d even slept together? Cradling Uruha’s head, Aoi stared blankly into the messy space of Uruha’s bedroom; all the stress since Uruha’s fainting spell on stage had definitely been… distracting, that was for sure. But he missed him. And he missed the way Uruha made him feel, like he was the luckiest man in the world, when things had still been easy between them. Pulling Uruha closer, Aoi sank back against the pillows, pressing a kiss to his lover’s head and resting a hand on Uruha’s stomach under his shirt, feeling him sigh softly, boneless and comfortable. His skin was as smooth and soft as Aoi remembered, the same as he had mapped out with his hands and tongue time and time again, but… beneath his hand, he could feel it. Sure it was only because he already knew it would be there, but once he realized, he couldn’t stop feeling it, the ever-so-slight curve of pregnancy.

The revelation made his every thought grind to a halt as he ran his hand gently over Uruha’s belly, taking in the new shape, even small as the change was, because it was there. The proof of what they had done, of what they were making together, the life they could have if only Uruha agreed on it, and once again Aoi felt his heart grow another crack.

“Yuu,” Uruha’s voice came softly, still warm with sleep but now laced with concern, too, as he pulled away just enough to meet Aoi’s eyes. “What’s wrong…?”

Aoi shook his head. “Nothing,” he said, looking away as he blinked away the tears that had welled up in his eyes. “Nothing. I missed you.”

Uruha watched him quietly for a moment, then he sighed. Gently he pushed their foreheads together, resting his hand over Aoi’s, still on his belly; whether he realized the weight of the action or not, Aoi didn’t know. “I missed you too, you know,” Uruha said softly, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Aoi’s mouth. “I missed us.”

For a long moment Aoi could only stare deep into those dark, tired eyes; he could see the love that Uruha held for him when they were together, the stress Uruha was constantly under as of late quelled by the calm morning, and Aoi felt himself overcome with the need to remove every negative emotion from his lover’s life, to burn away his own grief alongside all of Uruha’s anxieties in the flames of his embrace, in that same passion and intimacy that had brought them together in the first place. So he pressed his lips to Uruha’s in a deep kiss, then another, and another, Uruha’s gasp against him first one of surprise as Aoi’s hands trailed down to his waist, sneaking to his hips and pushing his legs apart. Uruha had no complaints, just as hungry for affection and that easy, carefree lust as Aoi himself was, soft and pliant beneath Aoi’s hands as he was pressed down into the bed, pulling at Aoi’s clothes as he went.

When Uruha reached out to touch him, Aoi could only moan, allowing himself to let go of his own worries as he leaned forward and grabbed Uruha’s legs, pulling them up to wrap around his waist. Uruha only sighed softly, sinking into the pillows, his hair splayed around his head in a gorgeous, golden mess as he waited for Aoi’s next move. Completely relaxed, eyes half-lidded and hungry as Aoi slowly grinded his hard cock against Uruha, still clothed, the small wet spot in the fabric of his briefs betraying his lover’s excitement.

And yet, he was hesitant. Gripping Uruha’s thighs, Aoi found himself momentarily struck by the thought that maybe this was a bad idea, because after all, Uruha was pregnant. He could hurt him. Worse yet, he could hurt their child, couldn’t he? Moriyama had said it would be fine, and he knew that expecting couples were far from exempt from enjoying sex, but for all that he knew and had learned the past few weeks, he still couldn’t help but worry. His mouth twisted, betraying his nerves as he hesitated, and the blissful look on Uruha’s face was replaced with mild alarm. “Aoi,” he breathed, cautious but expectant as Aoi reached beneath the shirt to touch his stomach again, palm flat against the slight curve, barely there but still notable to him. It was all Aoi could see and feel as he kneeled there, between the open legs; the life Uruha carried inside of him.

Uruha closed his eyes, momentarily; he took Aoi’s hand, moving their entwined fingers away from his stomach. “You don’t need to worry, honey,” he said, pressing his legs against Aoi’s hips in an attempt to spur him back into action, Aoi’s dick rubbing against him again. “Trust me.”

Aoi considered it, but only for a second. And then he obeyed, moving down to finally pull Uruha’s clothes off once and for all so they could do this, so he could sink into Uruha’s inviting body and forget all his worries and fears, if only for a moment; Moriyama had said to be careful. Sex was okay, so long as he treated Uruha with care, preparing him diligently, carefully. He’d reach for the lube if he had to. But despite the soft gasps he elicited as he gently worked his fingers in and around his lovers, he could tell something was wrong, that Uruha’s thoughts were drifting, a faraway look in his hooded eyes as he stared off to the side.

Leaning over, Aoi kissed him deeply, curling his fingers inside the soft, wet heat, swallowing the surprised moan he was rewarded with. Uruha leaned his head back against the pillows, his hands on Aoi’s biceps. “What’s wrong?” Aoi asked, pulling his hand out to rub Uruha’s inner thigh in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. “You seem distracted.”

There was a small sigh. Beneath his fingers, the muscles in Uruha’s thigh flexed as he sat up somewhat, hands sliding down to Aoi’s elbows instead, then his waist, just holding him. “I’m sorry,” Uruha murmured, sounding a little guilty. “Yesterday was just… a lot.”

It had been a long day, that was true. Between the meeting, their upcoming single, and rehearsal for the ongoing tour… Uruha had been called to speak with the company president about his condition, a meeting he had returned from visibly upset but that he had refused to talk about. And then there had been his surprise visit, from Masahiro, of all people. The one alpha Aoi knew had shown interest in Uruha before, despite how he had rejected him. Showing up to interrupt them, apparently out of the goodness of his heart.

Aoi didn’t buy it for a second. He trusted Uruha, yes, but not Masahiro, nor his intentions. And for as much as he adored and respected Uruha, Aoi also knew he could at times be oblivious to what was going on around him. “Hey,” Uruha said, alarm visible on his face through the flush of arousal, and it was only then that Aoi realized how hard his grip had become, undeniably from jealousy. Not that he would admit to it.

“Sorry,” Aoi said quickly, lifting Uruha’s hand and kissing his knuckles apologetically. “And that was my question. Something is bothering you. What happened yesterday that you’re still thinking about it?”

Uruha shrugged, but didn’t deny it. “The meeting. I mean…” he looked away, staring out the window, stroking Aoi’s hand with his thumb. Then he grimaced slightly. “With the president. She wasn’t happy that I’d lied to the company about what I am, and now that it’s potentially forcing us to suspend activities soon…”

“Wish they’d let me come with you.”

There was a twitch to the corner of Uruha’s mouth, but despite how it was clearly affecting him, he didn’t want to talk about it, instead reaching down to stroke Aoi’s still hard cock, and Aoi couldn’t help but shudder. “It’s probably for the best that you weren’t there. But it’ll be okay,” Uruha said lowly, almost to himself as he pulled his thighs up to Aoi’s waist again, forcing him to follow as he laid back down against the pillows. “We’re going to figure it out. For now, just fuck me?”

Aoi huffed in response, but he couldn’t say no to Uruha, and they both knew it. “Gladly,” he said, fingers slipping back inside that velvety heat again so he could keep working his lover open. “If you’re ready for me.”

“Always,” Uruha smiled. And then he was pushing Aoi momentarily away, long arm reaching out to the night stand and pulling out a condom, pushing it into Aoi’s hand. Aoi, however, only stared at him, questioning. “What?”

There was a beat. Aoi blinked, unsure if he really had to point out the obvious as Uruha lay beneath him, expectantly before his expression gave way for confusion. “Um, I really hope I don’t need to tell you that you’re already pregnant.”

“That’s not—” Uruha flushed in embarrassment. “I know that, obviously. Don’t be stupid.”

“Then what am I wrapping up for?” Aoi said flatly, but Uruha didn’t respond, his face twisting in an emotion Aoi couldn’t put a finger on. Reaching out he grabbed the condom out of Aoi’s hand, moving to open it himself, but Aoi stopped him. “Uru, seriously.”

“It’s just…” He was chewing on his lip, refusing to meet Aoi’s eyes, instead fiddling with the condom wrapper. “I just prefer the feeling, that’s all. It’s what I’m used to.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but I only wrapped up to protect you,” Aoi pointed out, pulling the condom away and tossing it to the side. “I’m not going to do it now. Not when I can fuck you raw with nothing between us, without us having to worry about the consequences.” When Uruha still seemed hesitant, Aoi gave him a gentle smile, stroking his cheek. “Know what I think? You’ve probably been worrying about this your whole life and never gotten the natural experience. Am I right?”

Uruha sighed. “Well, maybe…”

“So shush, babe,” Aoi said, revelling in the soft moan Uruha made as he touched him again, “just trust me. It’s going to be amazing, okay?”

For a long moment Uruha wasn’t meeting his gaze, his dark eyes looking off somewhere to the side, hesitant to agree even as his hips rocked alongside Aoi’s fingers, chasing the touch as Aoi’s other hand trailed a path up his chest, Uruha’s eyes falling closed as he reached a nipple. Finally he nodded, biting his lip as he reached out to pull Aoi as close as he could, burying his face in Aoi’s neck. “Okay,” he murmured, whimpering as Aoi pulled his fingers out and lined up his cock instead, slowly, gently pushing inside.

There was the fluttering of eyelashes against Aoi’s throat, tickling slightly as Uruha squeezed his eyes shut, breathing in deeply as Aoi lost himself in the sensation. Because it was amazing; it was everything he had longed for and more, all of his lover bare beneath and around him, something he thought he would never get to experience with Uruha. And while the position didn’t allow him to go anywhere beyond a slow, steady pace, he didn’t care, not with how Uruha clung to him, moaning and murmuring his name over and over against his skin. He clawed at him desperately but never pushed him away, tensing up and shuddering visibly when Aoi finally came, deep within his body.

There were tears clinging to his eyelashes when Aoi finally pulled out, and he stroked Uruha’s cheek tenderly in a show of affection, Uruha’s hand coming to cover his own. “Yuu,” he whispered into the quiet of his room. “I love you.”

Chapter Text

His body was changing.

That was an undeniable fact, one that Uruha had known from the moment the doctor confirmed what was wrong with him; it was housing something else now, something that would morph his body to suit its needs. Stretching his hips, flooding his whole system with hormones, making him sensitive both physically and emotionally. For Uruha, it was his own personalized hell come to life, haunting and punishing him for his mistakes. And as he was only halfway through the pregnancy, it was only going to get worse from here on out. Not just because of the obvious, his once-flat stomach showing itself and his pants beginning to get uncomfortably tight, if they even fit at all—there was also the tenderness. As if the constant hunger and bad moods weren’t bad enough, it was probably the tenderness of his chest that was the worst. That area had always been pretty sensitive to touch, but now the hormones were only making that sensitivity ramp up tenfold. It wouldn't be so much of a problem if it weren’t for the fact that he knew exactly what was going on.

He’d gone through it before, in his teens. It had been one of his strongest sources of hatred for years before his hormones had levelled out and they had disappeared with time, and now, thanks to Masahiro’s gift, here he was, pregnant. And in the early stages of developing breasts. It was infuriating. Maddening, hideously ugly; as a result, Aoi’s once-forgotten hoodie had quickly become Uruha’s favorite piece of clothing to wear, both at home and outside, Aoi’s preference for oversized or flowy clothing making it the perfect choice to hide the new curves of his body, even if it also left him to suffer in the summer heat. Even if Ruki insisted that it wasn’t obvious enough that anyone would notice, it felt better to hide himself away than to feel the judgmental eyes of strangers on him.

He would have to leave the spotlight, soon. There was nothing for it.

He only wished he had more time. Uruha had done what he could to stay on the stage for as long as he possibly could, which was why he preferred to ignore his body’s needs most of the day, mainly his appetite. Because feeding himself meant feeding Masahiro’s bastard, and the more it grew, the more it would show. It wasn’t a plan that was healthy, Uruha would be a fool to pretend that it was, but he didn’t care, even if his mother would absolutely flip if she knew the thoughts running through his head. Not to mention Aoi, poor, sweet Aoi who really thought he was going to be a father.

It was a cruel thing to keep the truth from him, when Aoi wanted to keep the child that he believed to be his own, but Uruha knew that telling him would be too painful for him to handle. He simply wasn’t that strong, or brave. Not when so much was on the line.

Worse yet, he still had no idea what to do with the damn thing once it was born. It wasn’t a conversation they had really had yet, mainly because Uruha dreaded the subject as much as he did—Aoi wanted to keep it, but Uruha was adamant on denying him, perhaps to spare him from the pain of the slow realization that the kid wasn’t his after all—but it was inevitable. Ideally he could just send it away, have it adopted immediately; Moriyama had mentioned the possibility briefly, at his last appointment. Suggesting getting Uruha in contact with the right people, get the ball rolling, before Aoi had shut him down because he couldn’t stand the thought of giving the baby away. But Uruha didn’t see any other solution. Not when abortion was out of the question, anyway; he sure as hell didn’t have it in him to raise a child that had been forced upon him in every way, when it wasn’t even Aoi’s, and the fact that he was forced to carry it to term was bad enough.

As a kid, Uruha had always had a complicated relationship with his father. Nowadays they didn’t speak too often, Uruha preferring to relay news to him through his mother most of the time. When they did talk, Uruha rarely, if ever, spoke of subjects regarding his relationship with Aoi, much less the state of his body. He remembered how his father had treated him when he had first gone through puberty, remembered being looked at with disappointment and shame for months that bled into years until his hormones levelled out and Uruha finally started looking like the man he was supposed to be, instead of the girl his body had presented itself as.

It had been difficult to be home through his teen years. Not just for him, but for his family as well, with the way he had behaved, loud and angry, sometimes to the point of violence. He had mellowed out, as he neared adulthood; he had mended his relationship with his family somewhere along the line, but now, with the newfound pregnancy, Uruha knew it was likely that history was about to repeat himself. Even with his costumes and makeup, even knowing he was in a relationship with another man, his father had accepted him for who he was, because above all else he was his son. It wasn’t about Uruha’s hobbies or interests, his sexuality or career; the thing his father had never been able to accept was the fact that Uruha was omega. Just as Reita had said, it was something Uruha and his father had in common.

So when his mother had insisted he come home for a while, there was little that could convince Uruha to say yes, as much as he knew it upset her. Besides, the idea of looking at his mother and seeing that shame and disappointment reflected in her eyes as well, after what he had told her, knowing what she now thought of him… Uruha couldn’t stand it. So he stayed in Tokyo, despite how it would only serve to make matters worse with his family.

It was for the better, though. He didn’t want his mother fussing over his health, becoming attached to the thing inside of him. If Uruha let them, he knew his parents would grow to love it the same way they loved their other grandchildren, and he couldn’t stand the idea of it. He didn’t want to break their hearts any more than he was risking Aoi’s, so it was best if his parents never got the chance to get attached. Maybe he shouldn’t go home at all, not until it was gone. He wasn’t sure if he could face them like this, anyway.

The only thing Uruha was grateful for was that the changes to his body were at least gradual. The nausea never really went away, and fatigue was setting in more and more the further he got, but despite how obsessively he would stare at himself in the mirror every day, the changes weren’t really noticeable. But it was after another restless night, after he’d woken up from the same nightmare and moved to get out of bed, he had realized how tender his skin was; the phantom of Masahiro’s touch on him still lingered from the dream, and no matter how much he scrubbed himself in the shower it didn’t go away, every part of him tender and sensitive. His hips hurt. His chest was sore. And it was standing in the bathroom, towel loosely wrapped around his frame that he really, truly saw what he was becoming.

He’d already known. But something about that morning just made it all so much more real, so much more horrifying, and with the memory of the night Masahiro had bred him fresh in his mind from the nightmare, it left Uruha only a few steps removed from a complete meltdown. But even here, alone and in the comfort of his own home, he refused to allow himself to break down; instead he reached for the phone, staring longingly at Aoi’s name for a moment too long before scrolling down to the number he’d received from the clinic, crossing his fingers that he wasn’t interrupting something.

Moriyama picked up quickly, and he sounded just as calm and put together as Uruha needed him to be. “I’m sorry about calling like this,” Uruha said after his brief greeting, a little embarrassed. “I know it can wait until the next appointment, but there are some things I just— can’t get off my mind, and I don’t know if I’m comfortable asking them with my boyfriend in the room… so I just wanted to know if you had a free moment? Just to answer some stupid questions?” He was ranting, his anxiety obvious to them both. Embarrassing. “I mean, no rush, I can call again later if there’s a better time.”

There was some rustling of papers on the other end, and after a moment Moriyama replied. “Like I said last time, Takashima. No such thing as a stupid question. You sound stressed,” he said mildly, “listen, I have a free slot in my schedule this afternoon. If you’re able, would you like to come to the clinic in a few hours? We can discuss things in person.”

Uruha paused. “Really? I mean, it’s nothing serious, just… some things I wanted to ask about…”

“It’s my job to make things as smooth for you in regards to your pregnancy, and you sound like you need it, Mr. Takashima,” Moriyama said gently.

And so, Uruha found himself back in the doctor’s office some hours later. Moriyama was a keen listener, focusing all his attention on his patient; too much of it, really, for Uruha’s comfort. He had never been good at talking in the first place, and he couldn’t hold the doctor’s gaze, even as kind as his eyes were. “How do you feel?”

“Tired. Nauseous.” Uruha sighed, first clenching on either side of him where he sat on the chair in the doctor’s office. “Angry. I woke up feeling really sore today, everything seems to hurt for no reason.” Really, he was stressed more than anything, constantly worried with his secrets bottled up and no bottle to reach for as an easy stress reliever. And the worst part was that he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do with the baby once it was actually born, either. Baby. Jeez. The word made him want to bite his tongue despite only thinking it. He clutched his hands in his lap, staring at them; his body ached. “And my hips still hurt now.”

Moriyama only nodded, none of it unexpected to him, his whole demeanor calm and understanding. “The pain is nothing to worry about,” Moriyama said steadily. “As I explained earlier, your body is going through some sudden changes to accommodate the fetus. I understand it must be a lot for you, since it’s your first pregnancy, but it is completely normal.”

Uruha chewed on his lip momentarily, not quite soothed by the information. “But… it hurts. It hurts to the bone.”

“Yes, the pain comes from your hips stretching to make room for the baby. This happens during regular pregnancy as well, but as an omega your body is primarily masculine, so you’ll experience it earlier and for a longer period of time. I can recommend some exercises to deal with the pain and make it easier—”

“My hips are stretching?”

“Well, yes,” Moriyama said, only slightly taken off guard by being cut off. “As I’ve explained earlier, your body will be going through a lot of changes as it goes through the stages of pregnancy. It’s only normal.” And he was right, of course he was right.

Something awful was clenching Uruha’s guts, tightening his throat and making it hard to even breathe for a moment as he saw himself in his mind’s eye, curved like a woman; he saw himself as a young teen again, back when he experienced his first round of puberty, when his body filled out in all the wrong ways, embarrassing, feminine; he saw himself, pregnant with Masahiro’s child and for a moment his vision blanked out with stress and terror and rage, because how dare Masahiro do this to him, how dare his body trigger heat in them both and curse him with this nightmare he was now going to have to live through—and then Moriyama spoke, breaking through the haze. “You’re concerned that the changes to your body will be permanent,” he stated, and Uruha breathed through it, finding it in him to nod weakly as the anger evaporated and left him feeling drained instead. “Well… yes and no. Your hips will become wider, yes. That’ll be permanent, since it’s the bone itself. But it won’t be significant.”

“Really?” Uruha said, unsure if he could allow himself to hope, and Moriyama nodded.

“You yourself will probably notice, since it’s your own body, but it won’t affect you more than at most going up a pants size. The people around you won’t know the difference. I mean, your partner might tell, if he’s intimately familiar with your body. I can’t make any promises, because everyone is different, but that’s the most likely outcome, yes. Any other changes will, with time, dissipate. It might take a few months, depending on some variables, and what you choose to do… but in time, the majority of the signs will only be obvious to a medical professional. No one will know just from looking at you.”

Closing his eyes, Uruha gave a heavy sigh of relief. “Okay,” he breathed. “Gods, you have no idea how good that is to hear… there really is no way out of having this kid?”

Moriyama nodded, looking down at his documents again. “Outside of the exceptions I explained before, I’m afraid not, Mr. Takashima.” Moriyama frowned. “Remember, as your doctor I am here to help you with what I can, but no matter your wishes, the law does not allow me to do anything that would terminate the pregnancy. If it had been the first weeks after you conceived there would have been options, such as pills to prevent implantation. But it’s too late now, so all I can do is make sure you and your child are healthy,” he said, “and to give you advice to prevent this from happening again.”

“I don’t… I don’t know how it happened at all,” Uruha said honestly, voice coming out just slightly broken despite his efforts to keep it together. “I did take something, just in case. The prescription I have doesn’t just suppress heat, they’re supposed to prevent pregnancy entirely. I took one the morning after, just to be sure, I… I really thought I would be safe,” he admitted. When Moriyama prompted him to elaborate, Uruha lowered his head in shame. “I know I didn’t really follow the instructions… you’re supposed to take them five months at a time and then stop. Let the heat and period run its course, and then start again. But I was so relieved to finally be rid of it that I ignored it and kept taking them. For two years.”

The doctor was not without sympathy as he spoke. “And as a result, you got sick. I have seen this happen before. Your systems were starting to shut down due to the interference of the pills, which, may I add, most likely weren’t even functioning as intended anymore,” he said, and Uruha gave a questioning look; clearly they must have worked, since he hadn’t gone into heat at any point during that time. “Over time, you probably built up a tolerance to the suppressants, but they’ve also overwhelmed you over a long period and led to you becoming temporarily infertile. That’s part of the reason why you shouldn’t take them for longer than five months at a time. Once you stopped taking them, you gave yourself a chance to recover.”

“But…” Uruha trailed off. “I went into heat really quickly. Sooner than Yuu thought I would, it was only a few days…”

Moriyama paused, but he tapped the documents on his desk with a pen as he thought, seeming puzzled. “You’ve likely become immune to the suppressants. That’s why they didn’t work as a preventative. But if you went into heat immediately and mated with your partner, how did you conceive during a time when you shouldn’t have been able to…” He seemed to be talking more to himself than Uruha, trying to find some way to make it make sense. “Mr. Takashima, say. You didn’t menstruate during that period? Or experience any signs of fertility at all?”

“No. Just the heat,” Uruha said quietly. “I haven’t had my period in more than two years.”

Moriyama tapped the papers again, rhythmically, before shuffling through the documents and skimming his notes. “Unless your body went into overdrive once you recovered, I doubt that’s what happened. In the cases I have seen in the past where an omega abuses heat suppressants for a long time, their fertility is dramatically lowered, not increased… at that point the only chance they would have to conceive would be an intense breeding session.” Pushing the documents away, Moriyama leaned back in his seat. “No matter how it happened, it seems you’re especially lucky to be carrying a child, Mr. Takashima.”

The words made Uruha grimace. “I sure am,” he muttered. Staring at his lap, Uruha let his fear and anxieties strangle the urge to tell the truth, because while he knew the exact date he had been—bred, that was the correct term, after all—he couldn’t bear the thought of speaking it out loud, much less the risk of Aoi finding out. “Is it possible for an omega to conceive from regular sex? Outside of heat, I mean.”

If Moriyama could tell something was amiss, then he didn’t let it show. Good. Uruha didn’t want to see it, if he could. “Typically, no,” he said. “After all, omegas experience heat cycles with increased periods of fertility specifically because it’s difficult for them to conceive otherwise. Not to say it’s completely unheard of… but it is rare. And as you know, omega individuals are already uncommon enough. But it’s not entirely impossible, if that’s what you really wanted to ask.” He paused once more, considering the words. “Your partner did express some concern that you conceived at all, despite using protection. You really haven’t had any mating sessions outside of the one you mentioned?”

Uruha forced himself to breathe normally, but his hands were clutching at his knees, fingers digging into the rough fabric of denim. “’Course not,” he said evenly. “Can I ask a different question?” Uruha added, changing the subject quickly. “Is it… common for people in your field to be like me? I mean, not gynecologists in general but, you know. Specialized.”

“Are you asking me if I’m an omega, Mr. Takashima?” Moriyama asked, smiling gently.

“That. Or… if you’re alpha.”

“Ah.” There was a beat—only a few short seconds, but long enough for the dread to creep up Uruha’s spine and twist his stomach with a sudden inexplicable terror—before thankfully, the doctor shook his head. “No. I’m not omega, and having an alpha in this field, especially one focusing on the sexual health of omega individuals… is a tremendously bad idea. I’m sure you can imagine why.” And he could. Hell, Uruha didn’t need to imagine, he had already seen what it was like, triggering the rut in an alpha without intending to. Masahiro hadn’t been able to control himself, and the idea of an alpha going into rut in such an intimate, doctor-patient setting was even more of a nightmare. “Is this something you’ve wanted to ask for a while?”

“Maybe,” Uruha said vaguely. “I mean. Maybe I was freaking out about it a little bit. I’m… not really myself, lately.”

“That’s to be expected.” Again that gentle smile. “After all, there are two of you now.”

“Yeah.” Uruha sighed. “What am I going to do with it? I’m not ready to have children. I never planned to have kids, not like this.”

“It’s a rare opportunity, Mr. Takashima. I’ve met many omegas over the years who would give much to be where you are now.”

Uruha clenched his jaw, denying the angry tears from even reaching his eyes; if Moriyama knew the truth, he wouldn’t be so optimistic, but it wouldn’t change anything, not unless he could convince both himself and the doctor that the rut he had triggered in Masahiro that night could be considered rape. “It doesn’t change anything,” he said tersely. “I don’t know what to do with a baby. I don’t have the resources, or the time for one, I just…” pressing a closed fist over his belly, he focused his eyes on the framed diploma on the wall, unable to look Moriyama in the face. “I don’t know what to do.” He sighed. “In my line of work… we’re not really the kind of people who can easily start a family, but I know that Yuu wants to keep it. He probably would, if it were up to him.”

“Well, as the father, his say in the matter holds just as much weight as yours,” Moriyama said, and Uruha groaned. “What options do you have?”

Yeah, what could he do? Give it up for adoption? Send the kid off to be raised by his parents so he could continue living his own life and build his career? Ideally something would happen to make the damn thing die in the womb so he never had to deal with it at all, before the fetus altered his body any more than it already had… fist clenching, he sighed again, knowing it wasn’t an alternative. Not unless he got really lucky. Or unlucky, he supposed. And the idea of taking it into his own hands was a terrifying thought that he wouldn’t consider as anything other than a last resort.

Moriyama did not have any viable alternatives that he hadn’t already thought of himself. He could set up the paperwork to prepare for having the baby get adopted once it was born, but he would need the father’s consent. Uruha already knew Aoi wouldn’t agree to it, not with how cautiously excited he was, despite how much he tried not to let it show; Aoi wouldn’t give up his supposed child for the world, not unless he knew the truth. And Uruha wasn’t about to go to Masahiro to make him sign those papers. Hell, after the surprise visit at the studio, he’d only become more certain that he never wanted to see that man’s face again. “Thank you for taking the time in your day for this, doctor. Just one last thing…” Uruha said, hesitating for a moment. “When I come in for my appointment and Yuu is with me… can you refrain from mentioning this meeting to him?”

Moriyama’s attention was on him in an instant, eyes observant and attentive to the point that Uruha struggled not to shift uncomfortably. “Of course,” he said firmly, and then, “Is everything alright at home, Mr. Takashima?”

“Yeah, everything is fine, it’s just…” Uruha bit his lip; he could understand why Moriyama would consider it a red flag, but he had to ask. He couldn’t bear the idea of Aoi looking at him with betrayal any more than what he already dreamed of every other night. “I just don’t want to worry him, that’s all.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Uruha said honestly, as he loosened the buckle of his outfit a little bit more, letting it hang off his frame in what he hoped would be a more flattering way. He had gotten to the point where performing was beginning to become a problem, the pregnancy showing itself physically both in how he looked and felt, fatigue soaking his bones every night they had a show. It wasn’t without reason that there was a folding chair set up on his side of the stage. No one wanted a repeat of what happened last time something went wrong. “Bore myself to death, most likely. I’ll figure it out.” He sighed, fiddling with the straps again before realizing that it was a lost cause; he was never going to convince anyone he was as flat and skinny as he used to be beneath the coat, so he gave up, turning away from the mirror and facing Reita. “I’m gonna keep working on what I can from home, at least. What about you? What are you going to be doing for the next few months?”

Reita shrugged. “Same thing, probably. But that’s not what I meant,” he said, lowering his voice, and Uruha averted his eyes, seeing where this was going. “Shima, with the baby… do you have a plan? They’re not gonna give you time to take care of it, are they?”

Uruha sighed. While he didn’t want it, he knew he would need some time to recover from the whole ordeal, once it was over—which was something he preferred not to think about, when he could help it—but the president had made it very clear that maternity leave was in no way part of the contract. Hell, they weren’t supposed to be in relationships at all, much less having kids, and Uruha hiding his secondary sex had really messed up everything. The good news, at least, was that she had agreed their band was too promising and too popular to be let go, even if they would need to take a break for a few months, due to Uruha’s supposed health reasons, which was supposed to be an excuse but was becoming more honest by the day.

“They didn’t really take the news well, you know that. But it doesn’t matter, I mean, it’s not like…” he trailed off as a staff member stepped inside the room. It wasn’t as though their staff didn’t know about his condition by this point; it would be near impossible to keep this secret from the people he worked so closely with, especially the people whose job was to dress and style him, but it was still hard for Uruha to deal with that fact. While no one had outright said it to his face, he knew they had their own opinion on the matter, and it wasn’t a positive one. Uruha cleared his throat, waiting until the staff member left the dressing room before daring to speak. “I’m not keeping it anyway,” he finished.

Reita frowned. He already knew Uruha’s opinion, yes, but like Aoi he seemed certain that Uruha would change his mind with time, even if he wasn’t as adamant about it. Reita was midway to opening his mouth to reply, just as another staff member appeared in the doorway, informing them it was only half an hour left till they were supposed to be on stage. In lieu of his original reply, he gave Uruha a slightly lopsided smile and said, “You ready for this?”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be,” Uruha said. “But it’s not like I have much choice.”

It was as honest a reply as he was able to give. Leaving the stage, leaving the band was the last thing Uruha wanted, but his time was up; they couldn’t keep going for much longer without Uruha’s condition becoming obvious to their fans and people outside of the band and staff, and so the announcement had been made that the band would be going on a brief hiatus in order for Uruha to recover from his supposed health issues. His fainting spell had been good for something, in that sense.

And now the day had finally arrived. Their last show for the next half year.

Of course, it didn’t help that Uruha would have to talk to the crowd, once again making himself the center of attention. It had happened more frequently the past few shows that Ruki would hand him the microphone, if only for a minute or two, insisting that he placate the fans for a bit, but it hadn’t made Uruha comfortable with the idea. He still struggled to find his words the second all those eyes were on him, expectantly waiting for him to speak. But there was no real way out of it, especially not now as he stood under the spotlight, carefully taking the microphone from Ruki’s hand as he prepared to give some semblance of a farewell speech to their fans, littered with small apologies for having to let them down. Steeling himself, Uruha let his eyes roam the crowd, taking in their expectant faces one final time; he’d miss this. He’d miss them, and hopefully the fans would miss them enough to be willing to wait for their return, once Uruha was no longer forced to carry the parasite growing inside of him, Masahiro’s bastard a burden he would never have to think about again.

Except, as he stared at a familiar face in the crowd, Uruha found himself unable to think, much less talk, every carefully constructed sentence evaporating as his eyes met with Masahiro’s once more. He was only vaguely aware of his fellow member’s questioning looks as stood silent, staring at the sea of faces, and Uruha had to quell the urge to drop the mic, pull his arms around his waist protectively, to flee from that gaze, anything. Everyone was looking. Uruha bit his lip, clearing his throat, finding his words; he apologized again. Promising he’d do his best to recover quickly, for the fans, he handed the microphone back, ignoring the worried look Ruki gave him as he sat back on his chair with a bottle of water, suddenly overcome by a wave of dizziness.

Masahiro’s eyes were firmly fixed on Uruha the whole rest of the show.

Aoi had always known he wasn’t a particularly good person. For every good trait he possessed, there was a bad one to make up for it—he knew as much, because he could be selfish, jealous, vindictive—and yet despite all of his flaws, Uruha had decided to stay with him. There were moments when Aoi could hardly believe his own luck; what he had done to deserve Uruha, he had no idea. Perhaps a good deed in a previous life. There surely wasn’t anything he had done in this life to earn the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on, and an omega to boot, even if Uruha came with his own set of issues.

And now, although the timing was as far from ideal as could be, Uruha had bestowed upon him the greatest gift imaginable. A child. Even if it was accidental, and even if Uruha was far from thrilled about the situation, Aoi’s love for him and their unborn child only grew by the day. He kept the pictures from the ultrasounds in his wallet, and brought it with him everywhere he went; sometimes, when he had a free moment, Aoi would simply take it out and look at it, at the slowly growing miracle inside Uruha, the one they had made together. Even though Uruha had made it very clear he didn’t think he wanted the baby, Aoi was sure he’d change his mind eventually. There was no way he wouldn’t. It wasn’t as though Uruha would be alone in parenthood, after all, and even though the idea of becoming a father so suddenly scared the shit out of Aoi, he would be there. It was part of his responsibility as a man.

Regardless of how he felt now, even if he didn’t change his mind in the months to come, Aoi was certain that Uruha would understand once the child was born. Because how could he not love something that they had come together to create? Something so pure and innocent as a baby, their very own, even. God. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t anxious—hell, thinking about it was enough to make his heart race—but the sheer excitement and love overshadowed any fear he might have, the idea that anything could go wrong, or that Uruha would turn the child down even after birth, god forbid. Aoi hadn’t even told his family yet. Uruha had insisted he didn’t, practically begged him to keep it quiet; and while Aoi knew he couldn’t keep the secret forever, he had obliged. He would have to tell them at some point, though, or they would be in for one hell of a surprise next time he went home.

“Dude, are you even listening to me?”

“Mmm,” Aoi only hummed, ignoring Ruki’s annoyed glare where he walked next to him, instead closing his eyes behind the sunglasses, taking a brief moment to bask in the summer sun. “No, not really.”

If Ruki was rolling his eyes, Aoi didn’t see it, but he was very obviously annoyed when he muttered, “What the hell does Uru even see in you, I don’t know.”

Aoi only grinned; he didn’t even care. “Sure you want me to answer that question?”

Despite the band being put on hold, life was good. Even on a day like this, when Ruki had insisted on dragging him out, probably because Reita was too busy to go and Ruki knew better than to risk Uruha’s wrath these days. Ruki grimaced. “God, please don’t,” he said, turning his attention to the nearest store, dragging Aoi inside. They hadn’t even been out for an hour, but already Aoi was tired of Ruki’s current shopping method, the way he kept picking up seemingly random pieces of clothing, studying them before putting them back, not showing any real interest in anything. It had been going on for a while, and he hadn’t even bought anything.

“So are you going to stop being secretive now? What are we actually here for?” Aoi said, finally voicing the question that had been left unanswered ever since Ruki woke him, demanding that he come shopping with him that day, regardless of whatever Aoi’s plans might have been.

For a moment Ruki seemed to ignore him, still going through the wares, still as dissatisfied as he had been when they had first started. He seemed to weigh the question in his head for a moment. “A gift, of sorts,” he said, finally. “For Uruha.”

“A gift for Uruha,” Aoi repeated back at him. “What for?”

Ruki shrugged. “Why not? He seems to need some cheering up, but I also know him well enough to know he’s not gonna be putting in the work to expand his wardrobe on his own. Even though he obviously needs to,” he said, giving Aoi a pointed look. “So I was thinking some clothes that he can grow into.”

It was a good idea. And surprisingly thoughtful for Ruki, who preferred to hide his soft heart behind bad jokes and an even worse attitude, but he did love Uruha. Even if he seemed incapable of understanding what Uruha thought about the whole thing. “Mmm,” he agreed, “he’ll appreciate that.”

“Not that he’ll tell me,” Ruki said. Then he paused; a smirk had crept onto Ruki’s face, a clear sign of an idea that he was about to make Aoi’s problem, since Aoi was the only one present to deal with it. How Reita dealt with this on a regular basis, Aoi had no idea. “Speaking of which, come. I know what you could get him.”

Oh lord. Whatever Aoi thought Ruki had in mind, he wasn’t prepared for Ruki to drag him down the street and to a lingerie shop. For a moment he only stared at the display, slightly flustered, and then he turned to Ruki’s clearly amused face and said, “What the hell, Ruki?”

“What?” Ruki said, although it was obvious he had expected this reaction. “I just thought we might as well get something for that special man in your life.”

“I hate to break it to you, but just because Uruha is omega doesn’t mean that he enjoys wearing—” he gestured back to the display, at the lacy undergarments, “that kind of stuff.”

“He’s pregnant, Aoi,” Ruki said. “You realize what that entails.” But Aoi only blinked. He glanced back to the store window, and then back to Ruki, some sort of understanding bubbling in his consciousness, but then Ruki rolled his eyes, as though the joke had dragged on for too long and it was starting to wear thin. “Breasts, Aoi,” he said, a little too loudly for how public they were. “I’m talking about breasts. You do realize we’re mammals?”

His cheeks were burning; Ruki’s grin only widened, so Aoi looked away, pointedly walking in the opposite direction of the store. “I’m not stepping foot in there,” he muttered, and he could practically hear Ruki rolling his eyes. He wasn’t sure if Ruki was serious or if he was trying to pull off a practical joke at Aoi’s expense, but Aoi knew better to fall for it either way. If only because Uruha would absolutely kill him if Aoi presented him with a bra. Especially a lacy one.

As if reading his mind, Ruki said from behind him, “You know I’m not kidding about this, dude,” and his voice was heavy with mirth. “You’re the alpha here, aren’t you supposed to know these things?”

Ugh. “Maybe,” Aoi groaned, slipping away from the crowd and into a lone alley, if only to collect himself. And reach for his pack of cigarettes. It was true that he had done his research on omega biology, yes—when it came to heat cycles, mating, and the like—but pregnancy was a subject he had not read up on. Not because he figured it wouldn’t be relevant to his life; Aoi did plan to have a family someday, after all. He just didn’t think it would be so soon. His face still a little red, Aoi lit up a stick and smoked it quickly, mostly as a means of distraction than anything else. “Sure you’re not pulling my leg?”

“You’re not the only one who’s put the time in to figure out what’s going on with omegas, Aoi,” Ruki said. “Except unlike you, I got curious about more than just their fucking capabilities. With no disrespect to Uruha, of course,” he added quickly, “I love that guy. It was before I met him.”

Aoi paused. “You mean it,” he stated. “They really do…”

“Again, we’re mammals,” Ruki raised a brow. “Tits are part of the package. Just because omegas don’t have them before they get knocked up doesn’t mean they don’t need them. Plus,” he added with an uncharacteristic bit of hesitancy, catching Aoi’s attention. He shrugged. “I mean. Years and years ago, before I dropped out of school, there was an omega in my class.”

“So that’s where your special interests come from.”

“Shut up. You know, for a while I thought he was teen pregnant, but turns out they just have tits for a while as teens. Part of their weird double puberty shit.”

“Huh,” Aoi uttered. He’d known that, of course—not that he would admit it to Ruki, but he had fixated on it for a bit when he first did his research, and then kind of forgotten about it when he realized they weren’t going to be permanent—but somehow he had never made the connection that Uruha had gone through exactly that in his teens. The mental image did something to his head for a moment, and he glanced in the direction of the lingerie shop, considering. “I’m not getting him something like that,” he said finally. “Uruha would actually kill me.”

“He’s moody enough with the hormones as is,” Ruki agreed. “Give it a few months, though. He’s probably going to need one.”

Aoi chose not to reply, but he was thinking about it. It was hard not to, and he knew Ruki was doing it on purpose, finding Aoi’s embarrassment hilarious. “Maybe,” he said again, staring at the cigarette between his fingers; he couldn’t really smoke as much as he was used to, these days, not around Uruha. One of the things that the pregnancy had led to was that nobody smoked in the studio, or backstage in the venues anymore, no one wanting to be the asshole to contaminate Uruha’s air when he was quite literally breathing for two. For a moment Aoi was struck with a thought; what if he quit altogether? It wasn’t the most responsible thing to be doing when he was about to be a father. One of his alpha friends from back in the day had a kid with his omega a while back, successfully quitting every vice in order to be the best parent he could be for his kid. A real hero.

He put the cigarette to his lips again and took a breathful of smoke. Then again, maybe not. Aoi wasn’t like Daisuke, able to drop everything at a whim when the opportunity presented itself. And Aoi had long nurtured his nicotine habit; he didn't know how Uruha was doing it, going for so long without cigarettes, considering all of them were smokers. “He keeps stealing my hoodie,” he said, slightly out of the blue.

“Maybe it’s a sign that you should get him his own.” Ruki paused; “Or maybe you should get yourself a new one, and then strategically forget it at his place. I guess there’s something about taking your alpha’s clothes for yourself.”

“I think that’s a thing outside of omega behavior.” Dropping the cigarette to the ground, Aoi stubbed it out on the pavement. “Well, now that I know what we’re actually here for, I’m sort of excited about finding him something.”

“Maybe you’re good for him after all,” Ruki joked as they stepped out of the alley to resume their shopping. Aoi only hummed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as they leisurely made their way back to the main street. As he was adjusting his sunglasses, a nearby woman caught his eye for a moment; it was hard not to watch her long legs as she walked by, wearing just a light summer dress, but instead of taking in the view, Aoi found his gaze instead drifting to focus on a young family nearby, a young woman with a baby stroller, her husband by her side.

That would be him one day, Aoi found himself thinking; his own little family.

“Man,” Ruki commented lightly, patting his back, “You’ve got it bad.”

By the time Aoi let himself into Uruha’s apartment, hours had passed since Ruki first dragged him out to shop with him. Despite the fact that it was late afternoon, Uruha’s place was quiet and dark; Uruha must be out, Aoi thought at first, but as he shrugged off his outerwear he noticed that Uruha’s shoes were still by the door, so maybe not. “Babe?” Aoi called out as he set his shopping bag next to the couch, “Are you home?”

He was met mostly with silence, except for a slight noise, barely noticeable, coming from the bedroom. Pushing the door open further, Aoi found Uruha in his bed, sleeping, although not as soundly as normal. Used to be that when Uruha slept, he was dead to the world, almost completely still in Aoi’s arms the whole night, and most of the day if he could help it. It was one of the things that had changed, lately—he would sometimes be sleeping restlessly, shuffling and murmuring every now and then like now—and he didn’t respond when Aoi called out to him, too deep to easily wake even like this.

Aoi let out a long breath, before approaching. When he touched Uruha’s shoulder, it seemed to at least calm him, Uruha falling still against the sheets with a soft sigh after a few moments. Aoi had figured it was another unexpected side effect of the pregnancy, that perhaps the hormones were causing him to have particularly vivid dreams, but when he’d tried to bring it up Uruha had been quick to change the subject, saying he couldn’t remember what he was dreaming about. But he did complain about being tired more often than not, as a result of his restless sleep. At least he usually relaxed when Aoi reached for him, just as he did now, murmuring something; this time, it was Aoi’s name, coming soft and sweet, like he recognized Aoi’s touch even without being conscious.

Brushing Uruha’s hair out of his eyes, Aoi smiled. The covers slipped down from his shoulder when Uruha moved, and suddenly Aoi found his eyes drifting down and his mind drifting back to what Ruki had told him earlier; he’d never entertained the thought before, never had much reason to—despite how he loved women and their curves, he really did love Uruha, and him being omega was enough to settle most of Aoi’s urges—but now that the thought was in his mind, he was struggling to let it go. Pulling the sheets further down Uruha’s form, he exposed him to the warm summer air, and for a moment, Aoi paused, just to see if Uruha was going to wake up or not; when he didn’t Aoi continued, rolling his boyfriend to lie on his back as he gently ran his hands under his shirt, feeling that slight curve under his palms again. Uruha sighed beneath him, eyes still firmly shut, and Aoi took it as a sign to continue, pulling the shirt up until his chest was exposed, a slight softness there that was new and unfamiliar to Aoi’s fingers.

Damn. Ruki was right. It wasn’t much, at least not yet, but he was only, what? Four, five months along now? Aoi found his breath getting a little heavier as he studied Uruha’s sleeping form, splayed on the bed beneath him. He hadn’t intended to do anything, but now he found his hands itching to run across the familiar skin, to take in the new curves and map out every inch of Uruha’s body like it was new territory. Because in a sense, it was. Uncharted and constantly changing; there was something about it that was such a massive turn on that Aoi had to resist the urge to let his hands keep roaming, to slip into bed and do with Uruha’s unconscious form as he pleased. For all it was tempting, Aoi knew it wasn’t a good idea, not with the pregnancy and Uruha’s state of mind being weird more often than not. Because while they had long since agreed that waking each other with a bit of fun was more than welcome, sex had become a touchy subject between them, lately. It was best to stop before he got ahead of himself.

Withdrawing his hands, Aoi tugged the shirt back down Uruha’s torso, only to pause as Uruha murmured something again; keeping as still as he could, Aoi tried to make out the distorted words over the rustling sheets and his own breaths, Uruha’s closed eyes squeezing shut, his brows furrowing, and even with Aoi’s touch he returned to that restless state. Less like he was enjoying it and more like he found himself deep in a nightmare he couldn’t escape from. And the words Aoi could make out were not pleasant ones; brushing the loose strands of hair out from Uruha’s eyes, he found his skin hot, unusually so. “Babe?” Aoi said softly, stroking Uruha’s cheek, trying to rouse him, “Wake up, Kouyou.”

For a moment Uruha’s eyelashes fluttered, caught in that strange half state between sleep and wakefulness, and then, “... no—” in a strangled voice as he began to writhe under Aoi’s touch as if to escape from some invisible force.

“Uru,” Aoi said, grabbing Uruha’s hands and holding them as Uruha fought weakly against him, half awake but still stuck in the nightmare. “Babe, Uruha,” he tried again, “calm down, it’s me. Uruha, it’s me.”

Uruha drew a shaky breath, his eyes open but not really seeing him. And then things slowly seemed to come into focus as he blinked up at Aoi, his whole frame tense. “Yuu?” For a moment he only lay there, staring and breathing shallowly, and then he said, “Oh.”

Aoi frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. No.” He closed his eyes for a bit, sighing, and Aoi released him, sitting up to give him some space. “Bad dream.”

“I can tell. What happened?”

“Um…” Shuffling back, Uruha sat up, leaning back against the headboard, pulling at his shirt to make sure he was covered as he stared at seemingly nothing for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I wanted to sleep off a headache,” he admitted, changing the subject, “didn’t work. I don’t feel too good. Did you…” Uruha trailed off, chewing on his lip, seemingly unable to look Aoi in the eye, “did you touch me? As I was sleeping?”

“A little,” Aoi admitted. “I mean, I didn’t do much… figured you didn’t seem up for it.”

“Yeah.” Uruha buried his face in his hands, pulling the hair away and sighing. “I think… maybe we shouldn’t do that anymore. I think it was… an influence,” he settled on, “sorry, I don’t feel too good right now.”

“Mmm.” It was awkward; Uruha uncomfortable and Aoi feeling strangely guilty, neither of them looking at one another. “What were you dreaming about?” he asked after a few seconds, but instead of answering, Uruha only looked away, brow furrowing in thought. Like he was recalling a particularly bad memory.

“I don’t remember,” Uruha said. He laid his head in his hands, exhaling slowly. The glass of water on the bedside table was drained. “Could you get me some painkillers? My head is killing me… I’ve got a box in the bathroom…”

He found the painkillers easily enough, flipping the package and scanning for instructions intended for pregnant people just in case—one could never be too careful—popping a few pills out, he was about to put the box back and close the cabinet when he spotted something. Aoi paused; he’d only seen the bottle in passing, once, at the pharmacy, but he’d been at Uruha’s place enough in the past to know the usual contents of the bathroom.

For a while, Aoi just stared at the bottle where it stood, shoved into the furthest reaches of the cabinet, its label barely visible behind hair product, deodorant and makeup, before he slowly and carefully moved the things aside. His eyes weren’t tricking him; those really were the prenatal vitamins Uruha had been prescribed, the bottle still full and apparently untouched, put away and out of view to be forgotten about. Perhaps intentionally.

There was a moment where Aoi tried to quell the emotions stirring inside him, the rage at the revelation because while he knew that Uruha did not want the situation they were in, it was too late and he couldn’t do anything about it, and now he was outright refusing to take care of himself when it mattered. And it had never mattered more than it did now. He was pregnant. It wasn’t just himself that he was putting at risk by living as wildly and freely as he had until now, it was also his child. Aoi’s child.

The fear was almost as overwhelming as the fury, but only almost.

When he returned to the bedroom, Uruha was still sitting there, except this time instead of sympathy and worry, all Aoi could feel towards him was a deep sense of anger, one that felt different than usual. It was something more. It came from a different place now, somewhere more raw, the new, adult fear that revolved around his own unborn child. And Uruha was failing to do his part, judging by the way his prescriptions had been pushed out of sight and mind. He nodded his head in thanks when Aoi set the water and pills down on the nightstand, but paused at the sight of the bottle, his face going carefully blank at the knowledge that he had been caught. And then he reached for the painkillers and swallowed them with the water, staring listlessly at the bottle as Aoi took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“So pills, huh,” Aoi said, letting Uruha finish that thought himself, and probably all the guilt that came with it. He saw it in the way Uruha fiddled with his hands, chewing on his lip; in the way he didn’t know what to do, despite the answer literally being right in front of him, in the bottle of vitamins that he had refused to touch. “Mind telling me what those were doing so far back in the cabinet, unopened?”

“I forgot about them,” was the unconvincing reply. Uruha’s eyes drifted from the bottle, to Aoi’s angry face, and then back to his lap. His lip twisted with something like resentment. “They’re just vitamins, anyway,” he muttered, “you don’t need to make a big deal out of it.”

“You forgot about them,” Aoi repeated, “you didn’t even open it. You’re supposed to take these every day, and you put them away and forgot,” he said. Uruha rolled his eyes, exasperated, and Aoi felt something flare up inside his chest, rage growing by the minute. “Kouyou—”

“Damnit, they’re just vitamins, Yuu! Supplements! It’s not like they’re important!”

Uruha was glaring at him, but Aoi wasn’t convinced. Because he’d been there; he’d heard and seen enough to know, he remembered the doctor making note of a vitamin deficiency, and he knew Uruha had never been good at eating well before all of this. “Taking care of our child isn’t important?” Aoi said, as slowly as he mustered, suppressing the urge to raise his voice, to grab Uruha by the shoulders and shake him. “Kouyou, I know you’ve always lived fast and loose, but it’s not just you anymore. You have to put in the effort, hell, it’s barely effort at all, a pill a day—” the bottle rattled in his hand when he shook it, but the way Uruha looked at him was pained as Aoi said, “—you can’t be this selfish.”

The wave had subsided, if only because of the way Uruha was staring at his lap, hands gripping the sheets hard enough to turn white. And then he stood from the bed, moving to his disorganized closet to dress himself, refusing to look at Aoi. He didn’t say a word, but his breaths were labored, like he was holding back tears. Aoi frowned. “Kou…”

He was interrupted by the slamming of the drawer. “You don’t get it,” Uruha said. “You don’t fucking get it, Yuu. I said I didn’t want this. I never did, I still don’t.”

His shoulders were shaking, Aoi noted. “I know,” he said, gentler this time. “But it’s happening. We can’t do anything other than to get through it—”

“We?” Uruha’s voice was terse. “You don’t have to do shit. It’s just me. Just me. I’m the one who has to deal with this, I’m the one who is forced to carry this thing I never wanted, to give birth to it, you have no idea, Aoi, you never will.”

It. His eyes stung, and yet Aoi had to bite his tongue before he said something vicious in retaliation, because that was his child Uruha was talking about, their baby, not some thing, something worthless and inhuman to be discarded like yesterday’s garbage— “I’m right here,” Aoi said instead, “you know I am, and I’m trying so hard to help you, just let me, will you?” Uruha’s shoulders were shaking slightly, head bowed where he stood, but he didn’t flinch when Aoi laid his hands on his waist, holding him. “We’re gonna be family, Kouyou, I wouldn’t abandon you for the world.”

For a moment, Uruha let himself be held, allowed Aoi’s touch to wrap around his stomach; and then he sniffed, breaking out of Aoi’s arms. “No,” he said. “No, we won’t be.”

“Kouyou…?”

“We won’t be, because I don’t want it. I won’t let it.”

Facing the doorway, he was staring into his living room instead of even so much as looking at Aoi, and while his voice was quiet he might as well have pushed a knife straight between Aoi’s ribs. “But,” was all Aoi could manage, “but babe, it’s— it’s us,” he tried weakly, desperation growing in his chest, but Uruha only shook his head. “It’s us,” he said, grabbing Uruha and turning him around, meeting Uruha’s teary, downcast eyes, “you, me, our child, you can’t. You can’t do that to me, it’s right here—”

“Don’t touch me, Yuu,” Uruha said softly, but he didn’t move away. “I said I didn’t want to keep it. I told you.”

“But…” A tear slipped down Aoi’s cheek; he couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help it, couldn’t believe what he was hearing, rage mingling with despair in his chest, and yet he couldn’t act on it as he stared at Uruha’s wistful face. Unconsciously, his fingers dug in a little deeper. “Okay,” he said brokenly. “Then I’ll do it myself, since you don’t want to.”

At that, Uruha looked up, his sad eyes questioning. “Do what…?”

“Raise it. Since you don’t want to do it, I can—” he choked on a sob, momentarily. “Even if you don’t want the baby, I do, so I’m going to step up, okay?”

Uruha was staring, disbelieving for a moment, before something hardened in his expression. Carefully he removed Aoi’s hands. “No,” he said, stepping away. “No, you won’t. I refuse.”

“Kouyou…”

“Please just leave,” Uruha said. “I can’t do this right now.”

He wanted to stay. He wanted to scream and yell and argue, he wanted to hit something, but there was something so broken in Uruha’s voice that Aoi didn’t find it in him to do more than stand there, heart shattering as he digested what Uruha was telling him, the reality of Uruha refusing to let Aoi raise his own child, the sheer cruelty Aoi didn’t think he was capable of. And then he said, “Okay,” numbly leaving the bedroom. He glanced at the abandoned shopping bag where it sat on the floor, wondering if it would be at all worth trying to give Uruha the gift when he was in this mood, or if he should simply take it home with him.

In the end Aoi did neither, slipping his shoes on and letting the bag sit there, the gifts Aoi had bought him still inside. If Uruha even cared to notice it, he could do whatever he wanted with the contents. He didn’t care about their unborn child, so why should Aoi give a shit about what Uruha did with Aoi’s attempt to comfort him?

Stepping outside, Aoi had to brace himself against the wall as sobs racked his body, covering his mouth to muffle his cries.

Chapter Text

Sitting at his desk in his own brightly lit apartment, Aoi found himself unable to focus. He had sat down in his makeshift home studio meaning to work on a song he had been piecing together for a while, one he had promised Ruki that he would bring in as soon as it was ready, the band having agreed that they would keep doing what they could even during their official hiatus. Usually, Aoi’s songwriting process was—while not exactly what one could call hyper efficient—somewhat streamlined, and he and Uruha both had something to bring to the table more often than not, but with everything going on, it had ended up taking longer than expected. Ever since their argument, Aoi had been unable to focus his attention on much of anything for a long period of time, mind constantly shifting towards his lover, to the meetings in the doctor’s office, everything he had seen and heard and worried about for the past weeks. Everything he was excited about, and that Uruha was determined to keep from him.

Aoi propped his chin up on his hand. He was staring listlessly at the monitor, and even with the unfinished track playing through his headphones, he kept thinking about it, feeling the urge to pull the newest photo out and look at it again. Every time he did, he was unable to tear his gaze away from it for a long time, even as early as it was. For as unrecognizable the little blob in the photo was as a human, he still found himself overwhelmed by love whenever he looked at the picture from the last ultrasound. Nothing could compare to that feeling, the sheer intensity of it… except perhaps the heartbreak that crept in whenever he remembered how differently Uruha felt about it. It seemed nothing Aoi could think of was enough to convince his lover that keeping the child was a good idea, even for as much as he wanted it. Their baby. Their family. It was a big step to take, sure, but the opportunity had come to them. And it wasn’t like they had much choice in the matter. All they needed to do was grasp it. All Uruha needed to do was agree on keeping the child, on letting Aoi have it.

A child. His child, even, the photo from the ultrasound burning into his corneas. This exhilarating, new thing was coming into their lives, and Uruha’s first instinct was to get rid of it. Aoi couldn’t help but be resentful, seeing his boyfriend being so selfish, but as much as he wanted to he knew he couldn’t judge him too harshly for it either. Uruha already despised being omega; to him, being pregnant was pretty much the worst thing that could happen, so it wasn’t surprising that Uruha would rather get an abortion and move on with his life. Especially now, at such an important turning point.

But an abortion was out of the question. And for Aoi… the idea of having kids wasn’t something he had ever needed to consider, because he had simply taken it for granted that he would one day have them, or at least it had been before he had met Uruha. And while he had hoped, deep down, that Uruha would get over his issues so they could be happy together, he had chosen to put the idea aside, at least for a while. Because he hadn’t expected or even wanted it to happen so soon, and there was the band and their budding careers to think about, but it had happened anyway. It was their child; possibly the only chance they would ever get to have one, and it hurt. Aoi couldn’t pretend otherwise.

Silence rang empty in his ears as the track came to an end, and still Aoi was just sitting there, eyes fixed firmly on the blurry photo instead of the song he was supposed to be working on. He was too pained and overwhelmed to focus on work; it was starting to become painfully clear that trying would only be a waste of time, because he couldn’t keep going like this. Sliding the photo back into its pocket, Aoi took the headset off and went to recline on the couch instead, the cat making herself comfortable next to him.

He didn’t know what to do. He needed to talk to someone, that was for sure. More than anything he wanted to call his family, tell them the news, but he knew he couldn’t. His parents were too sharp for him to talk in hypotheticals, which would mean more pressure on Uruha, potentially trapping his boyfriend into something Aoi knew for a fact he didn’t want… no matter how much he wanted the child himself, Aoi couldn’t do that to him.

Twisting the piercing, he found himself deep in thought as he idly scratched Ibu behind the ears. Then again, it wasn’t like he was the only alpha experiencing the consequences of a breeding session. Omegas might be rare, but Uruha and Aoi were far from the only mated pair. And he had friends, fellow alphas he had befriended when he came to Tokyo, some of whom had paired up and started their own families since then, either with women or omegas. Daisuke in particular came to mind.

It had been a while since Aoi had spoken to him, longer still since they’d seen each other, Aoi having been busy with the tour, and then everything with Uruha had gone down… far as he knew, Daisuke was busy with his new family, but Aoi figured that after all these months he would probably be able to make some time to meet up. Pulling out his phone, he scrolled down his contact list until he reached Daisuke’s number. If he remembered right, Daisuke’s omega had also been skeptical about the pregnancy in the beginning; Daisuke had already been through it, and a bit of advice went a long way, Aoi figured, pressing the call button and pushing the phone to his ear, hands continuing to pet Ibu while he waited, the phone beeping steadily.

“Yeah, hello?” a tired voice spoke into his ear, Daisuke sounding just a tad bit gruffer than Aoi could remember. “Yuu? Is that you, man?”

“That’s me, your friendly neighborhood rockstar,” Aoi said cheekily. On his lap, the cat stretched out lazily, eyes closed in enjoyment. “Hey, it’s been a while. Are you free to talk?”

It was only a few weeks since their last show, and already Uruha was losing his mind from the boredom. While it wasn’t as though he was trapped in his own home, it did feel that way to an extent, because without work or social activities that had become unavailable in his current state, he had no idea how to spend his time. Going out to drink or party was out of the question; going out in general had become difficult, with the way he felt uncomfortable in his own skin, the ways in which he felt like all eyes were on him, staring, knowing, recognizing the unmistakable curves of his body for what they were… and as for the band, it had become his life for the past few years. Without anything concrete to work towards, Uruha found himself restless and bored, unable to focus, feeling like a trapped animal pacing in its cage. And he was lonely.

Aoi hadn’t come back after their argument. He hadn’t called or texted, and Uruha had made no attempt to contact him back, either. One of them needed to break the ice before it got worse, apologize, do something, and the sooner the better. Uruha did regret how things had turned out, but much as he knew he should pick up the phone and talk to his boyfriend, it was a situation that was too difficult for him to even want to think about, Aoi insisting that he wanted the child despite how Uruha had tried time and time again to explain that he wanted nothing to do with it.

The guilt had only become worse when he discovered the bag Aoi had left behind for him, and its contents—a box of chocolates and an oversized hoodie, something for Uruha to slip into and hide in. The way it swallowed every curve of his body when he wore it, he was overwhelmed by a sense of normalcy. Looking at himself in the mirror, he could hardly see a trace of everything he hid underneath; he looked like himself again, despite his slightly flushed face, eyes red from crying.

He missed how things had been, before Masahiro had come and wrecked it all; he missed the easy, comfortable love he’d shared with Aoi, the casual intimacy both on stage and off, the sex. All of it. He missed feeling like his body belonged to him, rather than the fertile, oversensitive vessel it had become, as though he had been remade for the sole purpose of birthing Masahiro’s bastard.

Uruha couldn’t stop thinking about him. The way he’d stared at Uruha throughout the entirety of the last show, unrelenting. He hadn’t been hard to see, a man standing shock still in a sea of girls, refusing to look away from him, not too unlike a security guard or the way Uruha’s tech would worriedly watch him, making sure that nothing was about to go horribly wrong. There was the urge to find the business card Masahiro had given him, dig it out and call him, ask what the fuck he wanted, why he kept showing up—but Uruha didn’t dare to call. He was afraid, there was no denying it; afraid of hearing Masahiro’s voice again, seeing his face, finding out what his intentions were. He already dreamed of Masahiro’s hands on him every few nights. It was enough.

His skin still crawled at the memory of those eyes on him, at the way Masahiro had looked at him when he came barging in at the company building, and Uruha had no idea what exactly he wanted. What he knew. If he suspected that their unfortunate coupling had any consequences beyond the mess they had made on and inside his car that evening… biting his lip, Uruha took a deep breath; the whole line of thinking made him shudder. Masahiro couldn’t find him again now that the band was on hiatus, anyway. He wouldn’t be performing any time soon, and there would be very little reason to be in the studio regularly, aside from occasionally using their studio space.

Much as it pained Uruha to be away from the work he loved doing, at least there was a silver lining to it. So long as he didn’t go out of his way to make the first step and contact Masahiro, or seek out the few places he knew as Masahiro’s old haunts, they would have no more encounters. The next time Uruha saw him, he would be free of the child he had never wanted to carry. Masahiro would never even need to know. Even if it meant breaking Aoi’s heart in the process, letting him think that it was his. Selfish as it was, trading one heartbreak for another, if only so he wouldn’t have to face the difficult conversation that would be admitting the truth of the kid’s parentage and the night he’d spent pinned under Masahiro’s weight.

God. Covering his face in his hands, Uruha let out one more shaky breath; keeping the secret was starting to really take a toll on him. The few days he had spent cooped up in his apartment after their fight, he had started to find himself overcome with the impossible desire to tell someone, even knowing that he couldn’t, because there was no one he trusted enough not to judge him for his actions, no one he could explain it all to without suffering some tremendous loss in the process.

He’d already let his mother down. Aoi was long out of the question and Kai he neither knew nor trusted enough to even consider. As for his best friend… having Reita look at him with disappointed eyes would well and truly break him, Uruha was sure. But there was no one he trusted enough to keep the secret, really, other than perhaps Ruki. Reita would definitely struggle to keep it, knowing his temper, and while Ruki wouldn’t tell anyone if he knew what was best for him… he was not about to take Uruha’s side, he knew. Because Ruki enjoyed Aoi’s company more often than not, and it was clear as day who was in the right, and who was not. Should Uruha wind up telling anyone, they would judge him for his actions, and rightfully so, because it was his sin, his betrayal. There was no one he could talk to; he was alone in his pain. He had no one.

Moriyama kept his promise. By the time Uruha’s next appointment rolled around, the doctor didn’t breathe a word of their talk to Aoi, even if he did give them both a concerned glance every now and then; for the most part, Aoi was quiet. The ride to the clinic had been tense and silent, Uruha spending the whole drive staring out the window. In lieu of some violently emotional outburst, Aoi had chosen to give him the cold shoulder, and Uruha understood, really. He did. Even if it had been days and it was becoming more than he could really handle, Uruha knew he deserved much worse than this. The least he could do was be grateful that Aoi had shown up at all that morning, even when Uruha hadn’t done anything to remind him of the appointment.

The bottle of supplements still stood untouched on the bedside table where Aoi had left it, gathering dust. Lowering his eyes, Uruha waited for the inevitable as Moriyama went over the results of his latest test, that mild disappointment stinging all the more with Aoi’s silent presence at his side. “I don’t see any improvement,” Moriyama commented, “your values are still pretty low. It hasn’t been long enough for there to be any significant change, but even comparing these to the results from your first appointment…”

“The reason they’re not improving is because he hasn’t been taking his vitamins,” Aoi said coldly, and Uruha flinched. “He didn’t even open the box.”

Moriyama paused, looking to Uruha who only averted his eyes again, refusing to say a word. “I see,” he said lightly, then cleared his throat. “You were prescribed the prenatal vitamins for a reason, Mr. Takashima. Please take them, for your own benefit. That aside, I think that’s all for now,” he said, once again gesturing to the now familiar setup against the wall, “take a seat and we’ll check on your progress in a minute.”

Uruha had come to hate the ultrasounds. Every time they went, Aoi would get that look in his eyes again, and it only made Uruha feel worse each time. The longer he let this carry on, the more time Aoi had to get attached to the idea of fatherhood, of the child he thought was his own, and the harder it would hurt him once Uruha confessed the truth. The sooner Uruha told him the better, but fuck, it was so hard. Just the idea of Aoi’s betrayed face was enough to make him lose all his courage, every tentatively gathered word of confession; he dreaded to think of what Aoi would do to him once he did know. Especially when he knew that the most likely outcome was Aoi leaving. His life, the band, everything, and then Uruha would be left with nothing but the bastard the world had forced him to carry.

Frowning, it took every ounce of Uruha’s strength to not crumple the paper in his fist. Every time he went, the doctor insisted he take a picture with him. Reluctantly, Uruha accepted it every time, shoving it somewhere out of sight the second Aoi’s eyes weren’t on him. It was selfish. Certainly immature, maybe even evil. It wasn’t the child’s fault that it had come into existence in such a way, but the fact that it was there at all was enough for Uruha to resent it. He figured Moriyama thought the ultrasounds would help form some sort of bond, especially as the thing started to look more and more like the baby it supposedly was. Uruha sighed, folding the picture; it wasn’t helping. If anything, it made him feel worse as time went on.

Innocence. It was something he longed for himself, the one thing that would allow Aoi to forgive him, to prevent him from disappearing once he knew the truth. And it was hopeless. Little more than wishful thinking, because he couldn’t undo what had happened, couldn’t erase his mistakes. There was no going back to that night and taking Aoi up on his offer of going straight home, rather than wandering the streets, unaware of his rapidly approaching heat, brainless and drunk.

“What were you staring at?”

Pulled from his thoughts, Uruha shoved the folded piece of paper into a pocket as he met Ruki’s curious eyes. “Nothing.”

“You looked like you wanted to light it on fire by glaring at it, didn’t look much like nothing,” Ruki said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Hey, not that it’s any of my business.”

“You’re right. It isn’t.” Uruha stood from the couch in their small studio, adjusting the hoodie as he went, despite having nothing to really hide from Ruki. Their vocalist had invited them to come to the studio to go over some songs and see if they could get some work done, and for as much as he feared getting a surprise visit, Uruha had agreed because he knew that it was a better alternative to going home and boring himself to tears. Reita and Aoi both already had plans, so it ended up being just three of them. When he had first arrived, Uruha had to fight himself to even exit the car, staring across the parking lot for a long time before he convinced himself to get into the building. It was stupid, but ever since the surprise visit, every time he was at the studio he half expected to find Masahiro waiting for him in the lounge all over again; it was the only place he knew Uruha could be, after all. Thankfully neither Masahiro nor his car were anywhere to be seen, and for as much as he was nervously checking the window every now and then over the course of the afternoon, it was still better than being home and alone with his thoughts.

And despite their hiatus, there was still work to be done, songs to get out of their heads. Uruha’s brain never stopped finding music in everything, even when he was supposed to be on break.

Now, though, they had wrapped things up. Kai had already left, and while Uruha had been in the middle of getting ready to leave, he’d gotten distracted by his thoughts again. Ruki had disappeared for long enough for Uruha to think he wasn’t coming back, and for a while he had simply sat there, on the couch, enjoying the space in a rare silent moment when there were no band members, staff or management making noise or fussing about with equipment. He had sat there for long enough for his thoughts to drift, for his hand to pull out the picture and unfold it, thinking he was alone; safe.

But it wasn’t the case. For as much as he considered Ruki one of his closest friends, he also made it to the top of the list of people Uruha would like to strangle with his bare hands the last few months, with how he kept trampling all over Uruha’s frayed nerves. And that included the times he was very obviously walking on eggshells around him. This time, however, he seemed to be feeling particularly courageous, judging by the knowing look in his eyes as he glanced towards the pocket Uruha had haphazardly shoved the picture into. “Hey, the thing you were looking at. It’s the baby, isn’t it?”

Uruha sighed. “Like you said, none of your business,” he said, and Ruki threw his hands up defensively at the sharp note in his voice. Uruha cringed a bit at his own pointed tongue, but he wasn’t about to apologize for being a shitty friend. Not when Ruki seemed to jump from intentionally bothering him to avoiding him entirely, like he couldn’t seem to decide whether he considered Uruha’s bad moods to be free entertainment or a ticking time bomb about to go off at any time. It seemed that Uruha’s relationships were another thing that his unwanted pregnancy seemed dead set on ruining, friendly and professional both.

“Can I ask a personal question?”

Like now. “I hope not,” Uruha answered dully.

“Great.” Ruki took a second, perhaps considering whether it was worth risking his life asking whatever he wanted to know, eyeing him up and down; staring pointedly at his hoodie for a moment too long, Uruha barely resisting the urge to self consciously tug at the fabric. “Do you guys have some sort of plan?”

“For what?” Uruha asked, only for Ruki’s eyes to flit down; it was brief, quick enough that he could easily have missed it if he did so much as blink, but it was answer enough. “Hm,” he uttered momentarily, averting his gaze. It wasn’t the first time he had been asked that question, and yet he still didn’t have a good answer. “It’s a… work in process.”

“That doesn’t sound like a very good plan.”

A sigh. “You’re telling me,” Uruha said, refusing to give into the urge to fidget nervously under Ruki’s gaze. Instead he walked over to the window, staring pointedly outside instead.

Ruki’s voice was oddly gentle when he spoke again. “I’m worried about you, Kou,” he said. “This is a big deal, and you don’t really seem like you’re prepared for it.” When Uruha only scoffed, his tone sharpened minutely; “You need to take it seriously, even if you don’t want to. For Yuu’s sake, at least. I’ve seen the picture, you know… he practically shows it to me every time I see him.”

“Oh I’ve noticed how he shoves it in everyone’s faces after an appointment, trust me.” His eyes had trailed from the streets to the parking lot, searching unconsciously for that car even in the dimming light as day turned to evening. There was always the possibility that he could show up when he least expected it. “It’s always about Aoi,” Uruha muttered bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut so hard the image of the parked cars below branded themselves into the back of his eyelids; at least none of them were red. He was safe, at least for the time being, regardless of what his head kept telling him. “No one thinks about what I want.”

Ruki only watched him, one brow furrowed, as Uruha left the window and returned to the corner where he had left his guitar, moving to clean it in what was a poorly concealed attempt to avoid the subject. “Look,” Ruki started, pausing when Uruha’s motions only grew more aggressive. But he didn’t let up, approaching carefully like Uruha was some wild, trapped animal, “I know how you feel about this whole mess, okay? I do. But you gotta think about him too, Kou,” he said, ignoring Uruha’s humorless chuckle. “It’s his kid too, you have no idea how much you’re hurting him with how you’re acting.”

“Of course I know it’s hurting him.” He wanted to laugh, but it came out sounding more broken than anything else. “Of course I know, I think about it all the time. I can’t think about anything else, but I can’t— there’s no way to— fuck,” stilling in his motions he growled, staring hopelessly at the ceiling, hand gripping the neck of his guitar so hard it dug painfully into his skin. “I can’t deal with this.”

“You have to.” Ruki sounded uncharacteristically gentle, wisely giving Uruha a wide berth. “But that doesn’t mean you have to deal with it alone. We’re your friends, Kou, we wanna help you, you know that, right?” It wasn’t that easy, but Ruki didn’t know that. He couldn’t know that, but he could still feel Ruki grow more irate with him when he only scowled in lieu or replying, moving to pack his guitar back in its case. “Seriously?” Ruki said. “You’re not even gonna listen to me, are you?”

Uruha’s exhale was slow and shaky, but for all it probably sounded like he was on the verge of crying, his eyes were dry. He wanted to apologize; he wanted to explain himself, to say something to remove that prissy look from Ruki’s face, but under the weight of the burden on his shoulders the only thing that came out was a bitter half-laugh. One that didn’t help matters. “I don’t want to hurt him,” Uruha said weakly.

“Well it’s a little too late for that, isn’t it,” Ruki pointed out. “Unless you decide to man up and actually talk to him instead of whatever it is you’re doing—”

“I can’t,” Uruha snapped, interrupting him; Ruki’s brow only furrowed. “I can’t, okay?”

Ruki crossed his arms. “Why?”

“Because it’s not…” The word got stuck in his throat, only trapped further by the way Ruki was looking at him, worried but curious; the fact that he knew that the concern wasn’t entirely reserved for him. But the weight of the secret was so heavy he couldn’t bear it, not anymore, and his eyes flitted from Ruki’s face to the white ceiling once again, the despair that came with secrecy threatening to crush him. Ruki wouldn’t take his side, Uruha knew; but he wouldn’t tell anyone either. To hell with it. “Because it's not his, okay? That’s why.”

Aoi didn’t feel bad about running a little late. He had prepared himself for potentially having to wait a long time for his friend, figuring Daisuke would probably arrive late himself, considering his life as a family man, but when he showed up at the bar that evening it was to find Daisuke comfortably seated in a booth surrounded by smoke, halfway through a glass already, clearly having been there for a while.

The sight of it made him pause momentarily, because it was far from the image of the cleaned up family man he remembered Daisuke being for the past year or so. Aoi had been a bit surprised when Daisuke suggested they meet in a bar at all, since he had—albeit jokingly—said he was swearing off drinking entirely last time Aoi saw him, but then again he was the kind of man whose jokes could be difficult to distinguish from his genuine statements. And everyone enjoyed a night on the town every now and then, right? Especially someone who was usually so straight edge. But it sure was Daisuke in the booth, stubbing his cigarette as he spotted Aoi, a big, friendly grin on his face as he waved for Aoi to approach. “Man, Yuu,” Daisuke said, “it’s so good to see you.”

"You too,” Aoi nodded, taking a seat, gesturing to the half-emptied glass on the table. “Been waiting long?”

“Nah.” A shrug. “Just figured I would enjoy myself.”

“Yeah, I get you,” Aoi hummed. “How’re things? How is the family?”

For a moment Daisuke only focused on the swirling smoke from the ashtray, and then he shrugged. “Let’s get a beer in you, first.” And then he left the table, Aoi left puzzled for a moment as he watched his old friend head to the bar, considering pulling out his own cigarettes for the few minutes it took before Daisuke returned to the booth with fresh drinks, setting them down on the table. “You didn’t invite me here to play catch up, did you,” Daisuke said as he sat back down. “‘Course not, I know you better than that. What’s up?”

“Hmm.” Aoi swallowed his worries with a gulp of beer, only reaching for the cigarettes once Daisuke did the same. “I wanted to ask you some advice, face to face,” he admitted, lowering his voice just a touch, “from one alpha to another.”

It was designed to catch Daisuke’s attention, and it did the job, judging by the way his eyes shot up from the flame, the box of matchsticks mirroring the bar’s logo. “Don’t tell me,” he said, cigarette hanging between his lips. “You’re still banging that omega?”

“He has a name,” Aoi interjected, Daisuke grunting in acknowledgement, “and I told you, we’ve been dating for a while.”

“Yeah, yeah. So what’s happening? Trouble in paradise, or what?”

Aoi paused. He wasn’t sure how much he should tell; it was a complicated situation, and a long story, more than he knew Daisuke had the patience for. He tended to be short on empathy when he was drinking, too. The bar had probably not been the greatest choice, but he hadn’t argued against it, so it was too late to have second thoughts now. He had figured it would be like the old days. Seemed it was turning perhaps a bit too much like the old days now, back when they would drink themselves stupid and talk shit about anything and everything until the early hours of the morning. “You could say that,” Aoi said finally, twisting his piercing before deciding to lay it out, “he’s pregnant.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Dead serious.”

“Damn.” A pause. “Do I say, my condolences? Or congratulations? Can’t imagine that meshes well with the whole thing you guys have going, or if it’s even yours.”

Aoi could only stare, for a second. “Excuse me?” he said. “It’s mine. Obviously. We’re committed.”

“Oh.” There was that odd look in his eyes again, disappearing only as he took a deep gulp of his beer, a drag of his cigarette to go along with it a moment later. “Congratulations?”

“Obviously,” Aoi repeated.

“You’re trying to tell me that you want it, aren’t you?”

Daisuke sounded oddly astonished, and Aoi pressed his lips together. “Yeah, of course I want the baby,” he said, “but look, the thing is… he doesn’t.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Daisuke said after a moment’s thought, his mouth full of smoke. “Can barely believe it. I never thought that you would wanna settle down, have kids. You, of all people, our favorite rockstar. Here I thought you would be fucking groupies for the rest of your days, with the omega on the side…”

“Hey, I’m not—”

“It’s a joke,” Daisuke waved it off. “It’s just the rockstar lifestyle, man, you know how it goes. Figured fucking every other girl you see is part of the package.” His grin was wide; too broad for his bitter tone, the dull look in his eyes. “So how did that even happen, man? Things get a bit too wild with your boy?”

Aoi pressed his lips together; the piercing cut into his mouth, but he gave a mild chuckle, choosing to laugh it off. “Yeah, something like that,” he said, a wary note in his voice as Daisuke chugged the remainder of his glass. “Is everything alright with you? You seem kinda…” he hesitated, Daisuke meeting his gaze as if daring Aoi to call him out on his weird attitude. “Upset,” he settled on. “I thought you were enjoying the family life.”

“Mmm, wife, kids, the whole shebang. Didn’t pan out like I imagined.” He paused. “Well, maybe if he were my actual wife and not an omega, then it would have turned out good. But you know how omegas are, Yuu. Expecting them to stay faithful, that’s wishful thinking.”

It did not come to a surprise to Uruha that Ruki’s first reaction had been disbelief. Awkward, mirthless laughter had filled the room for all of two seconds before it really sank in and he realized that Uruha was, in fact, not joking. Now he was pacing, running his hands through his dyed hair, hissing curses through his teeth.

Uruha, for his part, was still on his seat in the corner, nervously running his hands along the guitar, the familiar weight of the instrument his only real comfort as he said, “You can’t tell him.”

“No shit I can’t tell him, he’s gonna flip the fuck out,” Ruki snapped in response, and Uruha flinched. “What the hell were you thinking? No, hold on. Were you even thinking at all?” He paused, seeming to hold his breath for a few moments, and Uruha wondered if he was counting down in his head, an attempt to keep relatively calm in the face of what was sure to be a disaster. “I don’t even think I want to know how this happened. I know you’re an airhead sometimes, but even you aren’t this stupid.”

Biting down on his lip, Uruha let the physical hurt numb out the stab in his heart. He knew Ruki had a vicious streak. He had known better than to trust him to handle the news well, but Uruha still hadn’t expected him to reach for insults as a knee jerk reaction. “Taka…”

“No, seriously. What the hell, if it wasn’t Yuu, then who the fuck is the father? How did that even happen, you, of all people?” Spinning around he turned to the window like Uruha had done earlier, fingers drumming anxiously on the windowsill. “This is just… what are you going to do, Kou? He’s so excited about the whole family thing, but if it’s not even his, he’s going to completely lose it on you. You know that, right?”

Uruha just wanted to cry. He loved Aoi, he really did, and he couldn’t stand the thought of losing him. He was grateful that Ruki didn’t look at him directly beyond the worried glimpse over his shoulder, because he couldn’t stand the attention right now. “Of course I know,” he murmured once again. “I wish I could just get rid of it and not have to worry about it at all…”

“And just why haven’t you done that yet?” Ruki’s lip curled into a wry grimace. “Was it too late when you found out, and now you can’t?” When Uruha only gave a solemn nod, Ruki sighed, giving Uruha a long look, a wary pity in his gaze Uruha couldn’t see with his eyes downcast. “Kouyou… look, I’m freaking out,” he admitted, all but falling onto the sofa. “I don’t mean to be an asshole here. I’m sorry. But, just. How? And more importantly, who? If it’s not Yuu, then… I know you. You’re not like that.”

There was a dry, mirthless chuckle. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hm.” Ruki was fiddling with his rings restlessly. His mind was working overtime, Uruha could tell, his brow furrowing deeply in thought, but despite how much he dreaded whatever Ruki was going to say, he didn’t have the heart or mind to do anything to stop him, much less pack his things and leave. Ruki probably wouldn’t let him, anyway, not until he’d gotten some answers. “Did you…” he trailed off again. “Did you think it was Aoi’s, at first? I remember you two had a whole session some months ago, that’s why none of us were that surprised when we found out. Is that why you didn’t get rid of it?”

“No.” Uruha put his head in his hands, eyes fixed on Ruki’s feet if only to avoid his scrutinizing gaze. “I mean, if he really were the father… I’d at least consider keeping it, but it’s not. If I could, I would have already gotten rid of it. The only reason I still have this—” bastard, parasite, horror; he almost let the hatred roll off his tongue again, reining it in just in time before his true feelings let slip, “—thing inside me, is because it turns out that omega abortions are illegal.”

“Shit,” Ruki cursed. Then he crossed his arms, leaning back on the couch, his foot tapping on the floor impatiently as he thought. “Okay, so we’re screwed,” he said.

“Yeah.”

There was a beat. Lifting his chin, Ruki gestured to Uruha’s belly, his face carefully neutral as he asked, “How did it happen?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.”

“Much as a demonstration would be hot in any other scenario…” Ruki trailed off, shrugging as Uruha only gave him a deadpan look. “Okay, no. Look, I’m not asking you to give me a sex ed lesson. You’re carrying some unknown dude’s child, all I’m wondering is how you, of all people, ended up in that situation. Especially with Aoi in the picture, when I know how serious you are about him. So tell me, Kouyou,” he said, “how?”

“I didn’t…” He didn’t want to answer. He wanted to gather his things and flee, but with the way Ruki was looking at him, expectant and stubborn, it was obvious he wouldn’t get out of this. And even if he ran now, Ruki would only corner him again later. Uruha crossed his arms across his chest, curling into himself just slightly, the curve of his stomach pressing against his forearms. “It’s not like I planned it. I was downtown. I was in heat, and I made a bad decision. I was stupid. But it wasn’t…you don’t know what it’s like,” he murmured, daring a glance up to meet Ruki’s deepening frown, “when you go into heat, you lose so much control. It’s like your body barely belongs to you anymore, it’s hellish. It’s one thing when you’re home and can deal with it there, but because it happened while I was out, one thing led to another and… now I’m living with the consequences, I guess.”

For a long time, Ruki only watched him. Finally his shoulders lowered slightly, perhaps in acceptance, hopefully taking Uruha’s word as truth. “Who was it?” he asked again, and Uruha sighed. When he received no answer, Ruki tapped his foot impatiently. “Did you… ugh, fuck, I don’t know how to say this so I’m just gonna say it. Did you just hook up with a stranger,” he said, and Uruha couldn’t help the way he flinched, despite how Ruki was trying to not make it sound like an accusation, “or is it someone you know?”

“He’s… an acquaintance,” Uruha said slowly.

“Who?”

“You don’t know him.”

“Then introduce me, so I can kick his ass.”

“... for what reason would you want to kick his ass?”

“For doing this to you,” Ruki said, raising a brow. “Obviously. It’s a shit situation he’s put you in, and I don’t see him around, taking responsibility.”

Uruha looked away. “I didn’t tell him.”

“You didn’t?”

“I don’t need this to get any worse than it already is, and Aoi can’t know what happened. Hell, I didn’t want to keep it… I still don’t, but…”

“So I’ll say it again. Introduce me. So I can kick his ass.”

That, at least, brought Uruha a small laugh. “Sorry, but I would prefer it if we didn’t lose both our vocalist and guitarist in one go, thanks.”

There was a small scoff, but at least the atmosphere felt a little lighter, less stifling than it had been a few minutes ago. “You know you’re not going to be let go, Uru, no matter what comes out of this, no matter what the label or Aoi might say, I’m not going to stand for it. Neither is Reita.”

Uruha cracked a sad smile. “I wasn’t talking about me.”

“Shit.” He made no argument; they both knew Aoi well enough that they could imagine how he would react to the news. “Well, this is going to come crashing down on you sooner or later, and it's gonna suck when it does. Do you have any idea what to do?”

“Other than praying Aoi never finds out?” Uruha shrugged, his gaze distant. “I don’t. I haven’t got the faintest clue on how to get out of this.”

The air in the bar had become too stifling, somehow. It wasn’t so much about the cigarette smoke in the small space, nor the dimmed lights in the bar, so much as it was the way Daisuke kept looking off to the side, his mind clearly elsewhere, face set in a perpetually slightly pissed off expression. He had always been cheerful and laid back for as long as Aoi had known him. This side of Daisuke was new to him; strange and unfamiliar, and much as he knew it didn’t make him a good friend, he also found it tremendously annoying. Because this was not why he had asked Daisuke to meet with him; he had come seeking advice from a family man, from another alpha who might know a way to deal with Aoi’s current predicament, something Aoi could tell Uruha to convince him that the path that lay before them was the right one; that he should lower his shields and let Aoi take care of him instead of pushing him away alongside the idea of their child. But instead, Aoi had walked into a bar and found himself face to face with someone who had lost a fight with his demons, and what stood before him now was a bitter, angry man he could barely recognize.

And the worst part was that Aoi had no idea what had even happened. He hadn’t been there, hell, he had barely managed to keep in touch with any of his old buddies beyond an occasional text, a rare call; he hadn’t seen any of them in ages, too busy with work, with the band, with music and touring and meetings; with Uruha. Last time Aoi had seen Daisuke, he had been stressed, excited despite his nerves, putting in effort to cut all his vices for the sake of his family, staying sober the whole night despite how much of a heavy drinker he had always been.

Getting out of the bar had been Daisuke’s idea, at least, even if he had at first scoffed at Aoi’s suggestion he slow down. It wasn’t even that late in the evening, far too early to be halfway to shiftaced already. “The hell happened?” Aoi said, as bluntly as he could, but he couldn’t help the accusatory tone that slipped into his voice. “I thought you were going straight and narrow because you wanted this. Did having a family not work out the way you planned or something?”

“You don’t get it, Yuu, I did want it. I do. I put in all this time and work and effort to give them everything, all while he had me dancing along to his little tune for months—” snarling, he kicked a nearby rock, his whole frame trembling with barely suppressed rage as he watched it fly into the grass, and Aoi watched him silently, nervously fidgeting with his lip ring at all the pent up aggression and grief Daisuke was barely keeping in. When he spoke again, he at least sounded more miserable than he did angry, his broken heart carelessly put on display. “I really thought this was it. Everything I had dreamed of, right there, with him.” Daisuke sighed as he sat down on the bench, leaning his head back to stare up at the lone tree in the park they had wandered into, smoke still swirling from the lit cigarette between his fingers. “Guess I should have known better.”

Cautiously, Aoi took a seat next to him. “Daisuke…”

Daisuke didn’t give him room to even try to comfort him. “You have no idea how it feels to have all that just, just ripped away, your whole life pulled away from under your feet. He lied to me,” he laughed mirthlessly, “kid was never even mine to begin with.”

“Shit,” Aoi swore in sympathy, “how’d that even happen?”

“It’s obvious, ain’t it? He went out and fucked some other guys. Got knocked up. That’s how it goes.” Daisuke took a drag of the cigarette, sighing contentedly while the smoke filled the air around him. “Found out a few months ago. The other guys already know. Don’t judge you for not having time to see us, by the way,” he added, “we get that you’ve got a whole thing going. But yeah, that’s the story.”

“Damn.” Aoi fidgeted in his seat, keeping some distance from Daisuke and the dark halo of smoke and grief that emanated from him. “I’m sorry, man. That’s horrible. You guys broke up, I take it?”

“Yeah. Baby’s with her grandparents now, he didn’t even want to keep it once the news broke. Can you imagine,” Daisuke spat, “having a child, lying—lying for so long about something so important, and then when the truth comes out, just tossing her aside like trash? Fuck,” he tossed the cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his heel, grinding it down with far more force than necessary. “I’m not trying to ruin your thunder or anything, I want to be happy for you, man, really. But take my advice, be careful with omegas, and don’t let ‘em push you around like it’s their right. You gotta put them in their place so you don’t let their real nature wreck your whole life.”

Aoi frowned. “Real nature?” he repeated, and Daisuke nodded, already in the process of lighting another stick.

“Gonna get myself a real wife. A woman who knows who she belongs to, not some… they’re hot as hell, yeah, but at the end of the day omegas aren’t good for much more than a good fuck and a rut, you know? There’s a reason why you don’t go to omegas if you want yourself a family, but when they go into heat—”

“Dude,” Aoi cut in, knowing he didn’t want to hear where Daisuke was going, feeling a flare of rage starting to grow in him at the accusation. “Listen, Daisuke, I’m sorry this happened to you. Really, I am, but I think you’re letting a bad experience colour your whole world. They’re not all like that.”

Daisuke just scoffed. “That’s naive of you. But so was I.” He stretched out his legs, fiddling with the cigarette rather than smoking it, and Aoi crossed his arms, his glare almost challenging his friend to continue this line of conversation. Daisuke clearly didn’t care, or he didn’t notice, too deep in his own misery to bother. He sighed. “End of the day, I guess it’s my own fault. I mean, I should have expected it. They’re biologically engineered to be sluts, you know, just walking cum dumps, all of them…”

“Alright, that’s enough,” Aoi snapped, that steadily growing bubble of anger becoming too overwhelming for him to sit there and listen. “This sucks, dude, but you gotta open your fucking eyes for a minute,” he said, getting to his feet, “just because your boyfriend was a whore doesn’t mean that all omegas are.”

For a second Daisuke only eyed him, watching the wave of anger roll, but then he shrugged as though he had not a single care left to give. “Then why do you think they’re so bad at making babies when that’s all they’re supposed to be good for? Tell me, Aoi,” he said sharply, “do you remember your birthday party? That night we went out, all of us?”

Aoi paused. Of course he did; his twentieth birthday, when he had barely been in Tokyo for a few months, the day he’d gone drinking with the friends he’d made since he’d arrived, the alphas he was slowly losing contact with due to his busy work schedule. “Why?”

“Remember that omega you went home with? ‘Course you do, it was your first mating, no one forgets that. They’re all like that, deep down, that guy was just open about it. You know he would have hooked up with any one of us, and only chose you because you were the one who was in heat, right? Now think about it. The whole point of their heat is for fertility, because they’re half chick, half man, ones able to make babies, but most of the time they can’t. Now look at us, you and me, we’re baby making machines. But omegas? You could pump them full every day and it still wouldn’t take. Now why do they get so cock hungry? Because they’re whores.” He took another drag of his cigarette finally, ignoring the way Aoi’s fists clenched at his sides. “I’ve seen your omega, by the way. What’s his name, Uruha? Seen your pictures, some videos, you gotta admit that everything about him the whole way down just screams whore. All I’m saying is, don’t be surprised if it turns out he really is one.”

“You fucking—” Aoi was only a heartbeat removed from putting his fist straight through Daisuke’s face, but something about Daisuke’s attitude stopped him from acting on the rage. Because for as much as Daisuke was spewing bullshit and insulting the man Aoi loved above all else, he was also just sitting there, ranting, venting. He was very much in a bad place, his heart broken, his dream having been built on a lie, and now the man before him was barely recognizable, a far cry from the fun, caring, charismatic alpha Aoi knew him as. “No,” Aoi said, letting go of Daisuke’s shirt where he’d grabbed it. He exhaled slowly. “You’re wrong,” he said finally. “And I’ve had enough. You used to be a cool dude, Daisuke, but you’re not worth this bullshit. I’m leaving.”

With that he turned and walked away from the bench, from Daisuke, only pausing when he heard Daisuke’s voice calling for him, but not caring to look, “Listen,” Daisuke said, but trailed off. For a moment Aoi only stood there, tensing as rage and thoughts and doubt ravaged his mind before Daisuke spoke, his voice a little cracked and broken, “I hope things turn out better for you than they have for me, Yuu, I really do.”

Aoi clenched his teeth. “Me too.”

To say that things hadn’t exactly gone as he’d expected was an understatement. He felt more torn now than he had before, but one thing was for sure. He needed to be with Uruha, as soon as possible. Just for the comfort of his presence, the warmth of his body, his love; even if the question of the unborn—unwanted—child still hung between them, he could put it aside. Pulling out his phone, he found Uruha’s number, sending a quick text to ask if it was okay if he came over; normally he wouldn’t need to ask. The key in his pocket was invitation enough, proof that he was welcome whenever he wanted, but lately he wasn’t sure if his presence was wanted the way he had been, before.

He didn’t have to wait long. Only a few minutes later, the phone buzzed again, and he paused his leisurely walk down the road to check the message.

Of course. I miss you too.

Aoi wasn’t sure why he felt as relieved as he did, seeing Uruha’s reply. Smiling privately to himself, he snapped his phone shut as he sped up, getting into his car and setting course for Uruha’s place.

Evening had turned to night by the time Aoi rang Uruha’s doorbell, choosing to wait rather than using his key to let himself in. Uruha’s hair was a bit mussed, and he was pantless and wearing the hoodie Aoi had given him, looking like he was in the process of getting ready for bed. “Hey,” he greeted quietly, stepping aside to allow Aoi to slip inside, closing and locking the door behind him.

“Hey yourself, baby,” Aoi said softly. “How was work?”

Uruha shrugged as he made his way into the living room, reaching for the half-empty glass of water he’d left on the counter and taking a sip. “Pretty alright. Didn’t get as much done as we planned, but it’s not like we don’t have time. Be there next time.” He watched as Aoi took a seat on the couch, and then asked, “What about you? I thought you’d be out all night with your friends?”

“Yeah…” Aoi sighed. “That was the idea, but I guess you could say it didn’t go as planned.”

“What happened?”

Aoi played with his piercing for a second, considering what to say. Considering the pregnancy, and Uruha’s unfortunate relationship with his own body, it probably wasn’t the best idea to tell the whole story. He hummed quietly. “He’s changed,” he settled on. “I guess… his life has kind of crumbled since last time I saw him.” Uruha frowned in concern, taking a seat next to him and quietly resting his hand on Aoi’s thigh in comfort. “He said some upsetting things. But I don’t know how much of it he really meant… it’s just that so much happened to him without me even knowing about it. I thought he was living out his dreams, but when I got there he was already halfway drunk.”

“Yuu…”

“I don’t know,” Aoi said, playing with Uruha’s fingers idly. “He’d stopped smoking and drinking, last time I saw him, but now it’s like that never even happened. He used to be the responsible one in our group, too.” He shrugged, taking Uruha’s hand in his own, entwining their fingers. “I don’t know. I feel like I should have been there for him, but at the same time he was being such an asshole…”

Uruha didn’t ask him to elaborate, only squeezing his hand gently, his warm weight against Aoi’s side comforting. Aoi leaned his head against his shoulder, closing his eyes as he let himself sink into the sofa. “I almost punched him,” he admitted.

“Did he deserve it?”

“I don’t know. Probably, he was talking some real shit. But at the same time, I don’t know, he was just so low. Can’t kick a man when he’s down, you know.”

“Yeah.” Uruha sounded tired.

“Sorry to be such a downer,” Aoi said, a teasing note in his voice despite how drained he felt. “It’s been a long day. Let’s go to bed?”

“Sounds good.”

A few minutes later Aoi stepped out of the bathroom, finding Uruha sitting on the edge of the bed, looking pensive. He glanced up as Aoi entered, giving him a small, soft smile. He was still in the hoodie, playing with the drawstring idly. “I never thanked you, you know,” Uruha said. “For this. I wear it all the time.”

He didn’t want to acknowledge their argument and sour the mood any further, already emotionally exhausted from the day’s events. Daisuke’s accusations still echoed in the back of his head, much as he wanted to shake them off. “I can think of a few ways for you to thank me,” Aoi teased, taking Uruha’s hand as he climbed into bed, pulling Uruha into his arms. “But I don’t think it’s great to sleep in.”

“No.” Uruha fiddled with the fabric for a moment, glancing at Aoi briefly before he sat up, pulling the hoodie over his head and tossing it to the floor, revealing his bare torso. Facing away, his long hair and naked back the only thing Aoi could really see of him, but Uruha didn’t protest as Aoi ran a hand along his hip. He wondered for a moment if Uruha wanted to talk, but he could tell that in a way, he was just as emotionally drained as Aoi himself felt. And despite the sleep that was creeping across his skull and pulling him under, he felt no need to protest when he felt Uruha leaving feathery kisses along his jaw, neck, moving in a slow and steady trail down his bare chest.

“Mmm,” Aoi hummed, burying a hand in Uruha’s long hair, keeping his eyes closed if only to enjoy the sensation of those lips on his skin all the more. “What are you doing, babe?”

There was no reply, only the hot air of a sigh against his bare chest, fingers slipping into his briefs. And then Uruha was pulling him in for a needy kiss, one Aoi didn’t see coming, his naked chest pressing to Aoi’s, “I meant it when I said I miss you.”

After, when they laid together, Uruha’s breaths deep and slow in sleep, Aoi found himself staying awake, quietly watching his boyfriend sleep beside him. The sex had been good, even if it had been unexpected, and for as much as he had enjoyed being able to just let go of all his worries and focus all his attention on the passion and love that came with being intimate with Uruha, now that it was over, his mind was wandering. He should be sleeping instead, he knew; close his eyes let himself become blissfully unaware of all his worries and fears for at least a handful of hours. But he was thinking, and he couldn’t stop it, much as he wanted to. Because of how his day had gone, from Uruha’s apathetic attitude in the doctor’s office, and later, the ruin that had become Daisuke’s life and all his angry, venomous words. The fact that Aoi was no closer to figuring out a solution to it all, despite specifically having gone to seek advice on the matter from an alpha who had fathered a child with an omega. Or so they’d thought, anyway.

Daisuke had said a lot of shit, very little of which was true. The fact that he had brought up Uruha by name, insulted him straight to Aoi’s face was bad enough, and despite how he could tell it all came from a place of pain, Aoi couldn’t stop thinking about it. He couldn’t stop thinking about Uruha, about the child he carried, or about how soft and eager he had been beneath Aoi only minutes ago.

The last time they were intimate like this, Uruha’s mood had shifted when Aoi had refused to wear protection, despite how obviously pointless it was. Aoi had figured it was to do with expectations; Uruha didn’t deal well with change, so when something happened that he wasn’t prepared for he could become upset, despite how he tended to try to hide it. This time he knew better than to think Aoi would pull on a condom for nothing, but this time… the accusations that echoed in his head wouldn’t leave, no matter how much Aoi tried to push them aside. Because with the way Uruha had been underneath him, spread open and moaning as he allowed Aoi to take him…

Daisuke had become an asshole, that was for sure, and unless he woke up to some very sincere apologies first thing in the morning, Aoi wasn’t about to forgive him for what he had said. But at the same time, he couldn’t deny that his fellow alpha had a point.

Sighing quietly, Aoi pulled Uruha against him and buried his face in Uruha’s neck, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into sleep as seeds of doubt quietly started to take root in his head.

Chapter Text

With the way things were, there was no real reason to stay anywhere but together. After all, work had been put on hold for the foreseeable future. What work they did have was voluntarily and could easily be done from home, unless there was something they needed to show the band as a whole, or that required studio space. It left them free to do whatever they wanted, and so Aoi ended up staying at Uruha’s place for a few days. They spent most of their time in bed or curled up on the sofa together, and other than the occasional quick pit stop back home to make sure his cat had food and water to last, their time in each other’s arms was only broken up by mundane household chores.

Some kind of peace had settled between them in those days. Uruha took his vitamins every day without complaint, no longer able to ignore it with Aoi there, and Aoi refrained from mentioning it; hell, touching on any subjects related to the pregnancy felt strangely dangerous, like it would somehow topple the delicate balance, crushing the normalcy that had returned between them once more.

Uruha shifted, lifting his legs to wrap around Aoi’s waist again. Aoi hadn’t done a good job at keeping up with his own cycles, but his whole body did feel especially touchy lately, the way he did when he was in heat. It was nothing compared to a triggered rut, of course; for Aoi, heat mostly just meant he was a little more horny, a little more sensitive, often half-hard without even noticing. Not that it wasn’t welcome right now. This time spent with Uruha felt like they were reclaiming just a bit of themselves, and the last time they had spent days like this, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company, was after that first mating session. And that had been months and months ago. Back then, Uruha had spent the majority of the days after sleeping it off. It was a time Aoi looked back on with fondness, a precious memory that had been slightly sullied after everything that came after, the pregnancy, their fights, Uruha’s refusal to listen to him… and now, with Daisuke’s accusations still echoing in his mind.

All of it was just a mess. It was good to forget, if only for a few moments; to lose himself in the pure, carnal sensations of getting to push inside his lover’s warm body once again, now with nothing to separate them. The little whimpers Uruha made when he released into him was worth it every time, the way he would flinch and shudder slightly against Aoi, his hands coming to grip Aoi’s forearms as Aoi mindlessly rode out his orgasm. Sometimes they would find enough awareness in those moments to entwine their fingers as they came, others not.

Beneath him, Uruha gave a deep sigh, his eyes closed in exhaustion. It was difficult to resist the urge to stay inside him, Aoi letting his eyes rove across that beautiful face, his lover’s naked form; to run a hand across his cheek tenderly, then down to the new curves, mapping out and exploring his rapidly changing body and pulling Uruha halfway from the sleep that had already begun to make its claim on him.

Uruha often fell asleep after sex. So long as they weren’t in a public space, or had snuck off to find some private space for an inappropriately timed quickie, intimacy usually led to him drowsing. Historically it had been somewhat dangerous, especially with their fondness for morning sex on days they had somewhere to be. Because once Uruha was asleep, he was dead to the world, and it didn’t help that Aoi tended to lose his ability to keep track of time when Uruha was involved. Although Uruha usually had been the one to initiate it, often slipping under the covers and waking Aoi with mouth alone, like he was hungry for it, biologically engineered to want an alpha cock in him, not caring much as to where.

Blinking, Aoi shook the thought off. He really must be halfway through heat, considering how much he was thinking with his dick, he figured, grimacing slightly as he got out of bed and proceeded to get dressed, leaving Uruha to curl up on the bed, content to sleep for a while longer. He meant to button up his shirt and go get something to eat, but his fingers slowed on the buttons as his eyes traced the shape of his lover on the bed, roving across every curve, every expanse of skin. He knew Uruha didn’t enjoy the way his body was developing with the life he was carrying, and for as much as he knew Uruha hated them, it was hard to not appreciate his new curves, especially when he lay like that. Especially now, when Uruha’s walls were down and he had permitted Aoi to touch and feel every part of him, even with how he supposedly despised it, his body more sensitive than ever before.

Standing there, Aoi watched him for a long while thoughts rolled about his head.

“Something wrong?”

Across the table, Uruha glanced up at Aoi before shaking his head; he sighed, staring listlessly at his phone. “Nothing,” he said quietly, “just my mom trying to persuade me to come home again.”

Aoi hummed softly. “Well, why don’t you? It’s not like we have anything lined up anyway, and it could be good for you to get away from the city for a while.”

The words didn’t help; he knew Aoi meant well, but he also knew what he wanted, and Uruha could feel his face twist further and further into a grimace. Sighing, he flipped the phone open, because he knew that if he didn’t reply it would only get worse. “Maybe,” he murmured as he typed his message.

A few moments later, his phone vibrated again, his mother’s worried words staring back at him: Don’t be afraid to ask for help.

But he was afraid. And no matter how his mother pleaded with him, Uruha couldn’t forget what she had told him when she first learned of what he’d done. The sheer disappointment in her voice still cut deep, and the idea of facing his father again was worse.

He couldn’t blame Aoi for not getting it. From Uruha’s understanding, Aoi had been cherished and spoiled as a child, and since he was born alpha he never had to deal with the baggage that came with omega biology. His relationship with his parents was still strong without the strain that Uruha was currently suffering, which was a problem, because Uruha had to deal with the fact that Aoi wanted to tell his family.

They had argued about it the first time Aoi brought it up, and again the second time. The only reason they hadn’t fought the third time it came up was because Uruha had finally broken into tears at the thought and Aoi had learned to leave it be. Much as it pained Aoi to keep something so big from his parents, Uruha knew it would only make things so much worse. The fewer people involved, the better, and he would rather keep secrets than to set anyone up for pain later down the line. Uruha still regretted that conversation with his mother, even if it did feel good to get some of that weight off his shoulders, and the same was true for when he had told Ruki, but at least Ruki had clearly put in the effort to avoid being judgemental, despite his initial shock. Shit happened. Sometimes people screwed up, sometimes there was no one to blame; it was just part of life, and Ruki knew that better than most of them.

Except that when Uruha screwed up, he wound up risking their very livelihood, and he knew very well that Ruki didn’t forgive him for what he had done, not really. None of them would, once they learned the truth, Aoi least of all.

At least he could trust Ruki not to tell anyone, Uruha thought just as his phone vibrated in his hands to alert him of another message from his mother, and Aoi eyed him curiously as Uruha sighed, reading it. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to face that parental disappointment again, his father’s cold shoulder, his mother’s worry and quiet resentment; Uruha didn’t want to find himself going to his childhood bed and struggle to fall asleep while a bastard child grew inside of him; he didn’t want to be able to slip a pair of his mother’s knitting needles into his bag when no one was looking to bring with him back to Tokyo, a thought that entered his mind every time his mother invited him to come home.

It would be so, so easy to make off with one, and if there was anything Uruha had learned lately, it was that he could not trust himself.

Somehow, the days spent in each other’s company felt more precious than their intimacy had ever been, as though there would never be another time when Aoi would hold him tenderly as he slowly slipped into sleep. Which was going to be true at some point during the pregnancy, Uruha knew; there would come a point when Aoi would ask questions that had no easy answers, the truth being the hardest of all, and once it was out of the bag there would be no going back. Uruha was intent on keeping that secret from Aoi, taking it to his grave if he could, but he knew the chances were high that Aoi would find out sooner rather than later. He just didn’t know how soon.

It felt as though he was running out of time.

He had been vague about it at the clinic when Aoi was present, but Uruha knew exactly what day the breeding and subsequent conception had taken place. That cursed night after the finale, the memories horrid; parts of the session had been seemingly blocked out by his brain, with only bits and pieces there for him to grasp and look back on, but the images that stuck were so vivid that it felt as though he was still pinned beneath Masahiro’s hands, held against his car; every time Uruha remembered it, it was as though he were still stuck in that parking lot in the dead of night with no one around to hear him.

And while he never wanted to think of it again, the memory would still haunt him when his guard was down, especially in his sleep. Aoi’s presence managed to chase most of those terrors away, at least; held in his arms, wrapped in the familiar scent and warmth of his lover, Uruha felt safe. Masahiro couldn’t get him when he was claimed and loved by another alpha, not even the memory of his hands on Uruha’s skin, his fingers digging into his hips or burying themselves in his hair. Uruha was Aoi’s just as much as Aoi was his, and so long as Aoi didn’t know that the thing growing in his belly had been put there by someone else, Uruha would remain safe and sane.

But the future was still looming over them. And since Aoi believed the conception to have taken place a month before it actually had, he was starting to grow suspicious of the baby’s seemingly slow growth. It was inevitable that he would start asking questions, and Uruha could do nothing but accept that, as much as it was a hard pill to swallow.

Time flew by so quickly when Aoi was at his side, and evening had once again fallen. They had watched movies, played games, cooked and eaten and then done the dishes together. The night was too young to go to sleep, but it was the perfect hour to settle down and watch a bad movie, and perhaps get distracted by each other somewhere along the lines once again. With that in mind, Uruha stepped into the living room, only to instead pause at the sight of Aoi, phone in hand, clearly going about getting ready to head out for the night.

“You going somewhere?”

Aoi looked up at the sound of Uruha’s voice. “Oh hey, I was just about to find you,” he said, giving him what could be easily interpreted as an apologetic smile. “I just texted the guys to see if they would be available to hang out sometime soon, you know, since I haven’t seen them in ages. And turns out they’re out right now.” Grabbing his keys from the counter, he pocketed them before turning his attention back to his phone. “So I’m going to be out tonight.”

“I thought things didn’t work out. Did you patch up already?”

“Oh, no,” Aoi shook his head. “No, that was just Daisuke, he’s not going to be there. Doesn’t look like he’s that social anymore, but the rest of the guys are still around.”

“Oh. That alpha gang you used to run with?”

Either Aoi didn’t catch the venom in his tone, or he simply chose to ignore it. “Mmm. Since we’re not working right now I finally have time to catch up,” Aoi said, his voice softening despite the questioning, skeptical look Uruha was giving him, “don’t wanna make the same mistake twice. They are still my friends, even if we haven’t seen each other in a while.” He fell quiet, and there was a moment where he and Uruha simply looked at each other, Uruha lowering his gaze slowly in understanding and just a touch of guilt, of shame. Bitter as was, he did remember what Aoi had said after the night he’d met with Daisuke. He remembered Aoi’s feelings of failing as a friend, of losing people due to work. And besides, none of those guys didn’t know about Uruha. He had nothing to be angry about. He was building up the courage to apologize when Aoi flipped shut his phone, pocketing it and giving him a soft smile, saying, “Don’t wait up for me, baby, I gotta feed the cat. Can I have a kiss?”

Uruha giggled quietly. “Of course. Come here.”

The goodbye was brief but intimate, Aoi’s hand coming to rest on his belly for those short few seconds before they parted, and there was a slightly troubled look on his face that disappeared behind a gentle smile, Aoi grabbing for his jacket as he said, “Good night, Uru.”

With that he was gone, leaving Uruha standing in the hallway, his pleasant mood vanishing with the closing of the door.

“Yuu, my man!” Sho called out as Aoi stepped into the club, the group of alphas gathered around the bar greeting him with enthusiasm, clearly already having alcohol running through them already. The whole gang wasn’t there, as there were a few people missing—most notable was Daisuke’s absence—leaving five of them with Aoi, hovering around the bar, chatting and drinking like the young fools they were. “Feels like it’s been years, man,” Sho said, throwing an arm around Aoi’s neck, “how ya been? How’s the rockstar life?”

“Rockstar life’s good,” Aoi laughed as he greeted the rest, seating himself on a bar stool that looked to have been reserved for him. “Been a while, huh? How long have you guys been at it tonight?”

Kenji raised his mostly empty glass as he called the bartender over. “Oh, for hours.”

“He’s lying. He was the last to arrive before you,” said Norio, elbowing Kenji in the side. “I’m designated driver tonight, so no fun for me.”

“Yeah, because you’re such a killjoy when you’re sober,” Aoi smirked, turning to order his first drink for the night. It didn’t take long for him to loosen up, spending a while catching up on what his friends had been up to since last he saw them—half a year and then some, he realized; time really flew when he was working—much as he loved his job, Uruha, his life, there was something to being in a group of friends who could understand who he was if not what he was, where he didn’t have to pretend, able to lower his shoulders and relax. Leaning back in his stool, Aoi lifted his glass in the air; “Man, I missed you guys more than I thought,” he said, “cheers to you all.”

“Sappy,” Norio said as he took a sip of water, but he was stifling a laugh just as well as the rest of them. “So Yuu, did they finally let you loose for a night? Didn’t think a time would come that you would get to hang out again.”

“Well, someone didn’t hear the news,” Akio slurred. “He’s on break, y’see.”

“Well earned holiday?”

Aoi shook his head. “Just a brief hiatus.”

Kenji’s hand paused halfway to his mouth. “Something happen with the band?”

“I heard about that, wasn’t it health reasons?”

“I think I remember what they said—”

“Wait, you guys follow the band?”

“Of course,” Sho said. “Not like you’re here to tell us yourself, so we gotta know how things are going.”

“Fair.” Aoi shrugged, ignoring the way he could practically see Kenji’s drunken mind working. “Yeah, we’re on hiatus. But I said it’s brief, he’ll be back on his feet soon enough. We just needed to—”

“No wait, now I remember! It was your guitarist, right?” Sho said, catching Akio’s puzzled brow as he glanced over to Aoi. “No, dumbass,” he said, “the other one, there’s two. Wasn’t he… what’s his name again? Sorry Yuu, you know I can’t keep track of those fancy stage names of yours…”

Aoi eyed Sho warily for a moment, grateful at least that he only ever confessed the truth about Uruha to Daisuke, even if it had come back to bite him in the ass. Daisuke had been trustworthy, or at least seemed to be, the most mature out of all of them, and when he announced he was turning sober, Aoi had trusted him with the information. “... it’s Uruha,” Aoi said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Right, him! He needed to step down for health reasons, that’s what they said, wasn’t it?” Sho said enthusiastically, and Aoi shifted a bit in his seat. “I mean, it’s not like I was there. You know I like to keep up with what’s going on with my favourite band man.”

“You’re being embarrassing,” Aoi groaned. “But yeah, you’re right actually, we’re on break because he needed some time off.”

“Not that I haven’t missed your company, but why not just get a temp? I mean, bands like yours have to work all the time to stay relevant, right?”

Norio glanced between them, his voice barely audible over the music. “Until you’ve built enough of a brand, anyway… how big are you guys now?”

Aoi flushed a bit under the attention. He was used to basking in attention, but being talked about by this group of alpha friends was very different from standing before a horde of screaming girls. It was rare they brought the band up at all, usually just asking a couple questions just to be polite before moving on. That suited Aoi just fine, but he figured he should have expected that they would want to know. “We’re getting there,” he muttered behind his glass. “You’re right, but the thing is that Uruha is one of the founding members,” Aoi explained, “him and our bassist have basically been together their whole lives, so replacing him is kinda out of the question, y’know?”

Next to him, Kenji grunted in acknowledgement. “Ohhh, yeah that’s not gonna fly…”

The conversation thankfully moved on from that point, no one really bringing the band up again beyond saying to tell Uruha they wished him good health, a message Aoi was absolutely not going to remember by the morning. But as the night wore on and they got gradually drunker, he found himself not really giving in to the wish to drink and have fun, like he’d come for; instead he found his mind wandering back to the night he’d spoken with Daisuke, and all the small thoughts and questions that had been gnawing at him since.

Catching Norio’s eye, he leaned toward the single still-sober individual between them, not thinking to lower his voice as he asked, “Hey, what’s up with Daisuke not being here tonight?”

Norio blinked. “Daisuke, uh, he’s…”

“Dai’s a miserable shithead,” Akio finished from where he stood behind Aoi, his voice loud enough for the whole group to hear.

“Yeah, that. We don’t really invite him out much these days.”

Aoi nodded. “I went to see him the other day…”

“What, you went to see him before the rest of us?”

“Picking favourites’ a bad sport, Yuu!”

“And he seemed a bit… different,” Aoi finished, choosing to ignore the complaint, “Did he tell you guys about it?”

“His whore of an ex?”

“Yeah.” Aoi frowned. “That one.” Norio eyed him warily before taking a long sip of his water. “Did you guys ever meet him?”

Norio shook his head. “If we were ever introduced to Daisuke's omega? We never met him, even when we insisted,” he said. “Daisuke said he didn't really jump at the idea of being in close quarters with a bunch of stupid alphas.”

“Yeah, but after what happened, we can see why, right?” Sho smirked. “Look, I get it, he probably wouldn't be able to stop himself. I mean, who can resist this?” he gestured to himself, running his hands down his own front, and Aoi rolled his eyes. “Any omega would jump at the chance to get with me.”

“Uh huh,” said Kenji. “And when’s the last time you actually got with one?”

“Shut up, when’s the last time you got with one?”

Kenji flushed. “Not my fault there are like ten alphas for every one omega out there, it’s hard to find ‘em, is all!”

“And we gotta put in the work to earn their interest…”

“Man, guess it’s no wonder they’re all sluts if there are so many alphas to go around in comparison.”

Aoi remained quiet as the talk went on around him, but he listened to every word, hiding his discomfort behind his beer. There was the urge to speak up, to mention his own lover, his intoxicated brain wanting to show off, but something was holding him back, something other than common sense and decency, because those were often the first to go when he got drunk. Instead, his mind wandered back to Uruha once again, to their past few days spent together, the numerous times he had invited Aoi into his body. How openly willing and wanting he used to be, before he got sick, only putting up the slightest fight whenever Aoi would touch him at inappropriate times, like when they were in public and could get caught at any moment should someone walk in… he was Aoi’s. And Aoi was his, that much was long established between them, and yet the conversation he had unintentionally kickstarted was making him oddly uncomfortable.

It was true omegas were rare, and that there were plenty of alphas for every omega born, and it was something he had been reminded of every time he considered Uruha’s pregnancy, and the abortion Uruha wanted but couldn’t get.

He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so odd all of a sudden. The idea that Uruha could easily have gone out and met another alpha, maybe even fucked someone else… it was absurd to him. Especially considering Uruha hated being omega in the first place. But that didn’t change the fact that he was a man, or that they’d had relationship troubles on and off—mainly due to Uruha’s issues with himself, and the sickness his own dysphoria had led to, but still—the very idea had seemed unthinkable. It still was, but now that it had sprung to mind Aoi couldn't stop imagining it. Seeing his lover, his omega, Uruha spread out and being claimed by another man just because he could… absurd. And infuriating.

He pushed it aside, refusing to entertain the thought at all; finishing his glass he slammed it on the counter, calling for the bartender to order another drink and distracting the others from the subject of sluts and whores and omegas, and Daisuke’s ex, the very topic he himself had brought up because he had asked.

He’d missed his friends. He had missed being able to drink himself stupid in the company of people who had nothing to do with his band or day-to-day life, getting to act like the young man he was instead of someone with a life changing event hovering over his head, one that he wanted to grasp but couldn’t have. For just one night, he wanted to forget it all, put his worries aside and stop thinking about all the little things that didn’t add up, like the way it seemed so small despite how Uruha had to be halfway through the pregnancy, even though the doctor said it was all going well. The picture in his wallet burned a hole through his pocket as he ordered another beer, but he refused to give the whole ordeal another though tonight. And so he stayed in the bar, drinking and talking and having fun until far into the night, only stumbling through his door sometime in the early morning hours.

Ibu only came out of hiding when he filled her empty bowl, and after a quick stop to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Aoi found himself knocked out asleep, every worry wiped from his mind as the cat curled up by his feet.

Uruha knew the peace would not last. He just wasn’t ready for it to fall apart yet; he wasn’t prepared to lose Aoi, to be alone, and he would never be ready, but the fallout felt inevitable. Despite how the thought constantly occupied space in his mind, weighing down his shoulders with the knowledge that one day Aoi would either mourn the child he thought was his own when Uruha found a way to get rid of it, or burn all they had when he learned the truth… despite the ticking of the clock, Uruha had failed to come up a plan. He was stuck in the system with no clear way out; he would need Aoi’s consent to get the baby adopted, and he’d need something going horribly wrong to get rid of it by legal means, and the only alternative he could think of was to find someone who would be willing to help him out illegally, which not only meant putting his own health at risk, but could also lead to legal action against both himself and the second party.

Not that it mattered. It wasn’t an option, because even if it meant he was a coward, the idea of letting some back alley doctor perform such an intimate procedure was too much, and Uruha didn’t want to think about it. Carrying the child to full term and birthing it was a nightmare, but at least the system prioritized his safety, much as he wished he could just get the thing removed…

While the pregnancy had been forced on him, Uruha couldn’t find it in him to truly hate the child. Part of it was ignoring the fact that it was a child at all, instead thinking of it as a creature, a parasite, as the thing eating away at him as it grew, rather than the human life coming together in his belly.

It was often he found himself stunned by his own cruelty. It was a thought he wanted to distance himself from, because if Uruha started thinking of the thing ruining his life as human, the guilt would set in. And the baby was innocent, its existence its only crime, and Uruha was at fault for its conception. He didn’t hate the child. What he truly hated was what it represented, the potential loss of everything he had come to know and hold dear; the stability of his life, his career, his relationships with his friends, his family, with Aoi. It represented Masahiro’s hands grasping his hips as he pinned Uruha against the car in an abandoned parking lot, a living reminder of the memory that haunted him day and night.

And to make matters worse, Aoi was becoming more and more distant lately. Something seemed to be taking hold of his mind, staring at Uruha’s stomach when he thought Uruha wasn’t looking, a pensive look on his face.

Folding his hands in his lap, Uruha leaned back against the headrest, staring out the window. Other than humming along to the radio, Aoi was quiet as he drove, just as he had been since last night, keeping his thoughts to himself. Aoi’s silences, unlike Reita’s, were rarely pleasant; more often than not they indicated that something was wrong, and no matter how Uruha had tried he couldn’t bring Aoi to open up about it. He’d stayed the night at Aoi’s place, curling up comfortably in Aoi’s bed and falling asleep after mere minutes, the pregnancy leaving him in a constant state of fatigue.

After the past few months, the appointments with Moriyama had become somewhat routine. It was both a blessing and a curse; it meant Uruha was comfortable enough in the office simply from the time he’d spent there, and there was enough trust built up with Moriyama that he was able to go through with it without too much anxiety. But it also meant that he had to be confronted with the reality of the pregnancy more explicitly than he’d like on a regular basis, only made worse by Aoi’s longing eyes staring at the screen every time there was a new ultrasound, always asking for a picture to put with the others. And each time they went, Moriyama would ask questions Uruha couldn’t answer, such as what he wanted to do with the baby, and when he brought up the few options available, Aoi would shut the conversation down.

Moriyama wouldn’t argue. It wasn’t his place to try to reason with Aoi, even when he agreed that Uruha’s opinion and wellbeing was the priority; nothing was viable without the father’s consent, after all.

“Everything seems to be going at the right rate for the current phase of the pregnancy, even if you had a bit of catching up to do for a while. You’re doing good,” Moriyama noted, giving Uruha a short smile, “keep it up, Mr. Takashima.”

Uruha only gave a brief nod in response, Aoi fidgeting beside him as he had done since the moment he sat down. He didn’t seem to be able to sit still, fiddling with his piercing or twisting his ring, shifting back and forth in his seat, crossing and uncrossing his legs like he couldn’t get comfortable.

While he’d had thoughts on and off about potentially starving himself into a miscarriage, Uruha had not been able to stick by his tentative plans. It had been too difficult when he was hungry all the time, and despite how much he tried to resist, he was not that strong willed. And Aoi’s constant presence hadn’t helped, not when he was right there, always trying to make sure Uruha was taken care of even when he didn’t want to be; Uruha wasn’t a strong man, neither physically nor mentally. That much he had been painfully made aware of in the past few months, both by the strain he felt from being pregnant and the initial encounter that led to this in the first place.

“We’re around halfway now, right?” Aoi said, twisting his fingers together. Uruha suppressed another sigh as he finally took Aoi’s hand in his own, if only to stop the motion, and Aoi glanced at him briefly, something in his eyes Uruha couldn’t place before he directed his attention back to the doctor. “When should we be expecting the baby to come?”

“Right.” Moriyama tapped his pen against the paper on his desk, catching Uruha’s pleading look before he turned to answer the question. “It hasn’t been easy pinning down an exact due date, as I said previously. The baby will likely be born in winter, with the estimated due date being in December, right around the new year if it all goes to plan,” he said, keeping his answers as vague as was sensible, “but that is a big if. Again, you have to know that omega births, more often than not, are premature. Not to the point of risking harm to the child, but with everything going on inside the body during the pregnancy, everything the omega body has to adjust to and prepare for, it’s not uncommon to go into premature labour. And without knowing when the breeding took place, it only makes it more complicated to determine the date.”

Uruha squeezed Aoi’s fingers, mostly searching for comfort as he pressed a hand almost subconsciously against his belly, a mixture of horror and relief stirring in his head. “How premature are we talking?”

“Most omega births tend to be around a month premature, give or take. It’s well within the safe zone, so you don’t need to worry,” Moriyama said, eyeing Aoi as he spoke, Uruha’s gaze firmly on the desk before him. “Of course, the longer the baby gets to develop the better. Three months premature or more presents a serious risk to the child, but again, it’s unlikely so long as you take care of yourself and your child.”

Aoi was playing with his hand, still channeling that restless energy even if it was calmer now than before. “It’s so small…”

Uruha looked up, then. “What?”

“The baby, right now. You say it’s developing right, but it’s so small,” he said quietly, “we’re about five months, right? Over twenty weeks. We’re more than halfway there, shouldn’t it be bigger by now?”

Uruha swallowed, dread flooding his systems as he helplessly looked to the doctor, and Moriyama paused, glancing between them briefly. “The growth you’re thinking of takes place in the last four months of gestation, Mr. Shiroyama.”

“Yeah, but…”

Aoi fell silent, but his brows were furrowed with some conflict that Uruha wasn’t privy to, and Moriyama took that as his cue to speak. “Keep in mind that your partner is building another human being from scratch. A baby takes a long time to develop, and will remain small until the third trimester as it nears the end of gestation, but it’s growing gradually.”

“Right,” Aoi murmured, and Uruha squeezed his hand. “We’re still in the second trimester. I guess that makes sense.”

“Also, keep in mind that everyone’s different,” Moriyama added, “not everyone will show the same during pregnancy, so that also plays a factor. Again, don’t worry about it.”

Aoi nodded slowly, and Uruha felt the tense coil in his belly start to unravel and fade just as Aoi turned to him and said quietly, “Babe, when was it the tour started again…?”

“Uh,” Uruha uttered, taken completely off guard. “April?”

“Right.” Aoi sighed, free hand picking at a hole in his jeans. “I feel like I’m missing something.”

“You’re fine, honey.”

Aoi only hummed in response, and while he didn’t bring up anything else the worried look in his eyes remained all through the rest of the appointment. He kept most of his focus on the road on the way back, only nodding and humming in response when Uruha talked to him, tapping the steering wheel in beat with the music, but even so Uruha could see the way he twirled the lip ring as he drove, a clear indication that something was on his mind. Whatever it was he didn’t say, turning to give Uruha a playful but slightly off smile as he parked next to Uruha’s car, “Well, here we are.”

He pulled the door open for Uruha as they stepped inside, Ibu coming to greet them, twisting around their legs as they put aside their outwear, Uruha leaning down to stroke the cat, his growing belly still only slightly in the way for him to bend over. In a few weeks that would be another part of his mobility gone, for months. He wasn’t looking forward to it. Nor was he excited about his already sore feet getting even more tired from all the extra weight he was forced to carry. At least Aoi’s place was a comfortable home to be in, and his couch was good, even if his apartment had an ungodly amount of stairs. Still, laying down on Aoi’s leather couch was always a good idea, putting his feet up on the arm rest and closing his eyes, already fatigued despite the fact he had only been up for a scant few hours. Aoi’s presence put him on edge just enough for his energy to run out whenever they went in for an appointment, Uruha always worried Moriyama would say something suspicious that would catch Aoi’s attention. At least the doctor had saved him today, waving the concerned questions off with explanations that were distracting and indirect.

Because Aoi was right, Uruha thought as he laid a hand on his stomach. It was smaller than it should be, if he’d conceived during their mating session; a whole month off, in fact, so it was no wonder Aoi was concerned. He had done plenty of research in the past weeks, after all; Uruha had seen him countless times with his nose buried in a pamphlet or book, reading up on everything he possibly thought he needed to know, so even if Moriyama’s vague explanations weren’t untrue, Aoi had an idea of what it was supposed to look like. Giving a small sigh, Uruha chased the thoughts away, reaching out to gently stroke Ibu as she walked by, tail raised and brushing against his hand.

Somewhere in the hallway he heard Aoi. “Baby, are you…” he trailed off, before saying, “are you hungry?” And Uruha hummed softly, nodding, his eyes remaining closed. There was a beat of silence, Uruha unable to see the way Aoi studied him, brows furrowed, before muttering, “I’ll get us something.”

His footsteps disappeared from the doorway, and Uruha didn’t hear any more from him as he found himself sinking into sleep once again.

The nap was brief but rejuvenating, the stress from the morning and the meeting with the doctor all but melted away by the time Aoi’s soft voice stirred Uruha back to consciousness, a quick glance at his watch telling him it had been about twenty minutes or so. There was the smell of food in the air; after a few minutes of convincing himself to get up, Uruha followed it into the kitchen where he found Aoi idly stirring a pot with one hand, staring at his phone. “Hey,” Uruha called gently, catching Aoi’s attention. “Smells good.”

“You’re up quick,” Aoi replied, eyes flitting between Uruha and the cell like he couldn’t decide whether to put it away or not. After a second he flipped it shut, pocketing the phone, twirling his lip ring once before turning to the food. “It’s almost done. Here, I’ll set the table.”

“You’re such a housewife,” Uruha teased, glancing at the half-full ashtray in the middle of the table, feeling the pang of nicotine withdrawal for a brief moment, albeit one far weaker than mere weeks ago. “Sure you’re not gonna quit smoking next?” It was meant as a joke, but Aoi only frowned, his hands pausing momentarily where he was pulling the plates from the cupboard. “What?”

“... nothing,” Aoi muttered, returning to his task, leaving Uruha feeling awkward in the silence that was only broken by the clinking of china and glass.

Chewing on his lip, Uruha grabbed the ashtray, moving to empty it in the trash. “I was just kidding, honey,” he said softly, and in response Aoi nodded, saying no more. There was a twist to his expression, a look in his eyes that had been there since the appointment, and it was making Uruha uneasy. “You seem upset,” he remarked as he was carefully taking bites of his food, resisting the instinctive urge to wolf it all down, to satisfy the hunger of the thing growing inside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Do I?” Aoi murmured. He, too, was picking at the food more than he was actually eating, mind too occupied to enjoy the meal. “There was just something I needed to know. So I made a few calls. Did you know that it’s impossible for omegas to conceive when they’re not in heat?”

Uruha’s blood froze, and he stared wide-eyed at Aoi across the table, but Aoi didn’t even look at him, still preferring to keep his attention on the food, thrumming his fingers on the table while he chewed. “It isn’t, actually,” Uruha said quietly. “It’s just… difficult.”

“What, so now you’re telling me that you actually read up on it?”

“It’s my body,” Uruha said, frowning. “Why wouldn’t I, especially now?”

Aoi just shrugged, still not sparing Uruha so much as a glance, his posture eerily calm, the brewing storm only betrayed by the tight grip on his cutlery. “I keep thinking,” he said, sighing; letting go, he stood from his chair, burying his hands in his hair, and warily Uruha watched him, “I keep… wondering… but I couldn’t think that, not of you. Not when I know you the way I do. But,” he paused. “But I looked at the dates. That week in April, right before the tour, that’s the only time this could have happened,” Aoi said, gesturing at Uruha, “It’s been five months. It was over twenty weeks ago. But then I look at you, and I look at it—our child, and I think—” He finally looked at Uruha then, at his stomach, “and I wonder, is it really mine at all?”

“Please stop,” Uruha uttered as he got to his feet, unable to hide the way he flinched at the accusation, the shakiness of his voice, “you’re being ridiculous, don’t—”

“Am I?” Aoi snapped, “Am I really, Kouyou? Because I contacted your mother, and do you know what she said?”

Every thought came to a complete standstill, Uruha’s eyes wide as he stared blankly at his boyfriend—the man he loved, his bandmate, perhaps soon to be something else entirely—whatever argument it was he had been putting together fell to pieces immediately, because if Aoi had gone so far… “No,” he said brokenly.

“She said,” Aoi began, pulling his phone from his pocket, flipping it open and tossing it on the table between them like evidence, her name and number on the tiny screen staring up at them, proof that she had answered all of Aoi’s questions, despite how she’d promised Uruha not to, and Uruha’s eyes grew blurry as he stared at it. “She said you told her it wasn’t mine. Months ago, even. How long have you been lying to me?”

She’d promised. He had made her promise not to tell him, and she had done it anyway, knowingly betraying her only son. Uruha tried to swallow everything bubbling up inside of him; anger, despair, terror, but the feelings got caught in his throat, trapped beneath the tears forcing their way through his weakened defenses. “Please,” Uruha whispered, unable to do much else. “I can—”

“Explain? Please,” Aoi repeated back at him, the betrayed anger barely contained, “Because I would love to hear it.”

He didn’t know where to even start, much less how to say it. His voice was barely there when he opened his mouth, dead in his throat as he watched the storm really start to gain power when he remained mute, denying Aoi answers even now, when he was left with no way out. “I didn’t mean to,” Uruha said finally, if only to say something, but Aoi’s fury only grew further.

“You didn’t mean to lie? To cheat on me?” Aoi said slowly, and Uruha averted his eyes as the words stuck deep. “You know, I had been thinking for a while that it was weird how this—” he gestured at Uruha’s stomach once again, and Uruha instinctively covered his belly— “how it didn’t match up. That it was weeks off, and I remember how you were around me back then. Always saying you were sick or tired or whatever, the way you refused me for weeks, now I’m starting to think it’s because you had someone else on the side.”

“How can you say that?” Uruha said, horrified. “After everything we’ve been through together, Yuu, I’m—”

“Don’t touch me.”

Uruha drew back, his hand still hanging in the air where he had reached out for Aoi, wanting to touch him, do something that might offer some sort of honesty and comfort, but instead he was left to watch Aoi pace in agitation. “So how did it happen? You said it’s possible to conceive without heat, did he fuck you so much and so often that you got knocked up even when you weren’t on your cycle, or what?”

His eyes were burning. “Yuu, for the love of god, I went into heat, okay?” Uruha finally said, but Aoi only scoffed, “I… do you remember the finale? The afterparty?” He watched Aoi for affirmation, but all he was met with was a steely glare, and quickly he looked away. “When you guys went home early and I stayed behind… that’s when it happened, okay? It came to me out of nowhere, I hadn’t prepared for it and I was outside, and…”

“So that’s how it is,” Aoi said bitterly. “You go months refusing me in bed until I finally show you what it’s like to enjoy your heat with an alpha, and the one time I’m the one who doesn’t want sex, you decide to go fuck the first one you see?”

“Yuu, that’s not what I said, won’t you listen to me—”

“So now you’re carrying someone’s bastard and instead of being a fucking man and telling me about it, you just let me think it was mine? Do you even have any idea—” his voice broke, the sole tear slipping down his cheek matching the ones Uruha could no longer keep at bay. “I was so… excited, for you, for us. I thought we would have a chance, but… god, I guess this is why you wanted to get rid of it, huh. You knew all along and you never even bothered to tell me.” He wiped the tear away, fingers curled into a fist. “I guess it’s a good thing you refused to let me call my parents, huh? Good thing yours already knew. Who else knows, huh? Is everyone laughing at me being played with and made believe that I’m going to be a—” a father, he had wanted to say, Uruha could hear the word getting caught in his throat, choked on a sob before Aoi turned and slammed his fist into the wall, rattling the framed picture that hung nearby. “Why?!”

“... I didn’t want to hurt you, okay,” Uruha admitted. “I kept it a secret because I couldn’t—I couldn’t let you know. Not when you were so excited. It would hurt you so much if you knew.”

Aoi only stared at him, for a long, horrible moment. “You didn’t want to hurt me,” he repeated, slowly. “Well, I hate to break it to you, Kouyou, but you already have.”

Another tear escaped his eye, followed by another, and another, and Uruha had no control over them. “I was scared,” he admitted, struggling to keep his voice clear beneath the weight of his own tears, “I didn’t want it, I swear—”

“Yeah, you’ve made that pretty clear.”

“Yuu, please…” Uruha trailed off, completely at a loss. He didn’t know how to dig himself out of the hole he had fallen into, not without breaking something in the process. There was no salvaging this, he realized; everything between him and Aoi had just collapsed within minutes, his every fear and worry coming true once Aoi put the pieces together, and now here they were, with the truth coming to light and Aoi realizing just what a sham their whole relationship for the past few months had been. Everything it had been built on, a lie. “I’m trying to explain, just… let me.”

“I am letting you,” Aoi hissed, “and what I’m hearing is that you didn’t get what you wanted from me, so you went out and let yourself get fucked by someone else, am I right?” he said, and Uruha fell still, not even bothering to wipe away the tears that escaped. It wasn’t untrue. That was what happened, wasn’t it? “Who was it? God, no, don’t tell me. You wouldn’t just jump the first man you saw,” a chuckle, mirthless and cruel, “but then again, it turns out I don’t know you as well as I thought, so maybe you did.”

The accusation stung even deeper, somehow, and Uruha closed his eyes, unable to look at this, at the man he loved pointing fingers and pinning the blame on him, and being right. “No,” was the only thing Uruha could say with his broken voice, because while Uruha couldn’t deny that it wasn’t entirely untrue, that wasn’t how it happened, or why. “Yuu, please, I love you….”

“I told you not to touch me!”

Uruha flinched visibly as Aoi slapped his hand away, once again refusing the attempt to connect them somehow, in any kind of way; looking down, Uruha let go a shuddering breath as Aoi once again paced the room like a trapped animal, pent up with energy and rage that had nowhere to go but towards Uruha. Then he stilled, and for a moment he stood very, very still. “It was him, wasn’t it?” Aoi said slowly, and Uruha’s silent, wide-eyed stare was answer enough. “That’s why he came to the studio. That’s why you didn’t want me there. Because you and Masahiro had to talk, because you’re carrying his child. Am I right?” When Uruha still didn’t answer, something in him snapped, and he gripped Uruha by the shoulders, forcing him to look Aoi in the eye, “Am I right?!”

His whole line of sight had bleached to a shade of red, the paint shiny beneath the streetlamps. Hands on his hips, in his hair; a sweet drink in his hand at a school event, Masahiro’s hopeful face withering with rejection. Standing in the crowd, staring at him; standing in their lobby, as though he had any right to be there. The car in the parking lot. He swallowed again, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat but finding it stuck, Aoi’s face red with rage and tears. “Yuu…” Uruha tried, needing to defend himself in some way but unable to do much more but say once again, “I’m sorry…”

But Aoi only shook his head, his entire frame trembling with rage as he let go, stalking to the other side of the room to put some distance between them. “Don’t,” Aoi said. “Just stop talking. Just— go, get out of here, Kouyou.” At his sides, his hands were curled into fists. “Before I do something we’re both going to regret.”

Uruha wasn’t sure if he believed the threat. He knew Aoi was capable of violence, but it had never been directed at Uruha before, especially not in his current state. There was nothing for it, though; there was nothing Uruha could do to save them now, especially not with Aoi like this, angry beyond words and with every right to be. So he nodded slowly, wiping his tears as he left, leaving Aoi to his anger and grief; but still they kept coming, blurring his vision as he fled Aoi’s apartment, and he had to catch himself at the top of the stairs, sucking in a shuddering breath. God. It was all in ruins, Uruha thought, clutching the railing. Aoi knew, and he reacted in the exact way Uruha feared he would, with rage and fury and rejection, and now… and now—

He closed his eyes. Squeezed them shut; gasped for oxygen as he let himself fall apart just a little bit. When he opened them again, his vision had cleared just enough for him to see where he was going, where he was standing, at the top of the stairs of Aoi’s apartment building. If he ran like he had intended to, he could very well trip and fall down the stairs, he could have…

There was a cold wave of something unrecognizable washing over him where he stood. Pressing a hand to his stomach, Uruha attempted to shake the thought. It wouldn’t be worth it. Not here, not now; part of him wondered if Aoi would even care, after this, if Uruha really flung himself off a staircase, a one way ticket to an emergency room, a miscarriage; if only. Too dangerous, Uruha knew, it was far more likely he would just injure himself needlessly. Or kill himself.

He held onto the railing the entire way down, his breath shaky with crying, and when he finally found himself behind the wheel of the car, he had to stop himself from giving in to the urge and slamming the wheel, needing some kind of outlet. He needed to break something. Masahiro’s face, preferably. God, fucking Masahiro; as if it weren’t enough to make Uruha carry the burden of guilt and shame from their unwanted coupling, now he had successfully ruined the best relationship Uruha had ever had, too, and if he knew Aoi right, there was no coming back from this.

Clutching the steering wheel, his eyes blurred again, with tears from both the rage and the loss, the utter despair overwhelming him as he sat there, gasping for oxygen, his heart shattered in his chest. He sat there for a long while, grieving, until he found himself unable to keep crying anymore; his head felt like it was splitting, and everything hurt, inside and out. He had to get out of there. Aoi wasn’t going to let him back in anyway, and if he saw Uruha hadn’t left yet, who knew what he might do.

Swallowing, Uruha reached for the keys and finally pulled out of Aoi’s parking lot, his breath shaking the entire way home.

Chapter Text

Alone, the apartment was cold. It felt too big for him, like there was someone missing; someone larger than life, passionate and warm, someone who would hold him through days and nights alike the way he had been so recently, but despite how he ached for Aoi’s arms, Uruha had to come to terms with the loss.

It was harder than he thought it would be. He thought he had known what it would feel like to be abandoned in this state, but he was wrong; it was so, so much worse than he ever imagined, betrayal and longing mingling with fury and grief and turning into a pit of despair in his chest as he sat on his bed, the sole occupant of his room, other than the unborn thing inside of him. The parasite that had caused this whole mess in the first place. If he hadn’t been in heat—or at least, if he hadn’t conceived—if his body hadn’t betrayed him twice, then Aoi wouldn’t know. He could look at Uruha and never even know that Masahiro had touched him. But it was too late for that; it had happened, and Masahiro had left a part of himself in Uruha’s body, one that Aoi had finally recognized for what it was, and now, Uruha was alone.

The whole of it left him feeling horrifically empty, more than anything. Numb from the loss once he ran out of tears, the pain too much to bear to the point that the hurt all but disappeared. Or maybe the hurt had simply become his new normal and he couldn’t tell anymore. It stung enough to deceive the man he loved, but being betrayed by his own mother had hurt all the more. His own flesh and blood siding against him, despite how he’d made her promise to keep it secret, she believed Aoi deserved to know. And now that he did, all those white lies to protect Aoi’s heart, all of Uruha’s pain had been rendered completely meaningless.

He only realized his hands were trembling halfway through the motion of scrolling down his contact list, staring at his phone listlessly. His eyes seemed unable to tear themselves away from Aoi’s name, but he forced himself to scroll past anyway, because it was too late. He needed to call his mother. Ask what she was thinking when he had specifically told her not to let him know, with everything that was at stake, his relationship, the band, every friendship he held dear hanging by a thread once the truth came out because why would anyone want to stick around someone like Uruha, after what he had done—

Huh. And Uruha thought he had no more tears left to cry, yet here he was, eyes burning once again. He thought about calling Reita, the one person who had always been there for him no matter what, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t involve him in this when it might lead to his best friend in the whole world leaving him, too. He knew Reita better than anyone, and if there was anything Reita valued, it was loyalty. It was the instinctive thing to do, to call Reita for help; it was what Uruha had always done when he was lost; call and ask for help because he was at the end of his rope and had no idea what to do. But that would mean letting Reita know. It would mean seeing his eyes full of disappointment and rage. Ruki was the only one in the band who knew, besides Aoi. But he didn’t know everything, and he wouldn’t take Uruha’s side in the end, not with how close he and Aoi were. Kai wasn’t an option; he was a friend, sure, but not a close one, not yet. Perhaps never, now that the worst had come to pass. Perhaps the band really would die with his betrayal.

He flipped his phone shut, biting back tears once again where he sat on the edge of his bed. He didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Certainly not home; that hadn’t been an option before, and now, with his mother breaking her promise and cutting the delicate thread he’d been hanging onto with Aoi, there was no way he would willingly see her for a very long time. He clutched the phone, feeling it dig into his hand, the plastic groaning in protest. No. The only words Uruha had for her now, were ones of disappointment and fury, and he would rather not talk to her at all, much less see her face.

Tossing the phone on the bed, Uruha got up, wiping his cheeks for stray tears. His entire face was hot, flushed from crying, and his head was pounding. He looked as drained as he felt, ruined inside and out. His mother may have broken the last of his peace, but it was Masahiro who had put him in this position in the first place, Masahiro who had put this parasite in him, who had torn him out of his seat and pushed his clothes out of the way, plunged into his body, again and again…

With a scream and a violent motion he grabbed the nearest object and threw it against the mirror, and when he opened his eyes again, the fractured, broken pieces of his face stared back at him from the cracked glass. He panted from the exertion, his brows furrowed in rage and sheer despair; he could barely recognize himself at all, the way he looked now. As broken as the mirror before him, shards lying in pieces in the sink, gleaming in the bathroom lights. He exhaled shakily, staring at them; so sharp. The piece pierced the skin of his thumb when he picked it up, a small cut he could barely feel, too numb from the emotional pain and his own racing thoughts, the idea of dealing with it here and now, giving in to the temptation and shredding every idea of self-preservation and reason to just be rid of it—

The glass clattered to the floor. No. He squeezed his eyes shut; the fear was too strong still, his own hands trembling at the idea because he knew very well he would probably be killing himself in the attempt. He buried his face in his hands, a streak of blood smearing on his cheek from where the shard had pierced his finger. He was desperate, lost, terrified; but he wasn’t that stupid. And much as he wanted his body to be his own again, he wasn’t willing to die trying. At least, not by his own hand. Turning on the sink, Uruha washed his hands; he washed his face, hissing at the sting of soapy water in the wound. The pain didn’t matter, because he knew it was nothing compared to the hurt Aoi had to be feeling, the stab of betrayal, of having all his dreams crushed by Uruha’s uncaring hands.

Seated at the edge of his bed, Uruha stared down at his hands in his lap for a long time, trying to figure out a solution to his current predicament but getting nowhere. His friends wouldn’t take his side when Uruha was so clearly in the wrong; his lover would never want him again; his family had betrayed his trust by letting Aoi know what he’d begged them not to tell. Closing his eyes, he let himself fall into the cold, wavering embrace of despair as tears once again overtook him.

When he woke up, it was to the scream of hunger in his stomach. Outside it was dark, so hours must clearly have passed, Uruha having exhausted himself to the point of falling asleep for so long. “Ugh,” Uruha groaned, getting up from where he’d fallen asleep on his bed, placing one hand on his belly. “Shut up.”

It didn’t help. The thing within him demanded to be fed. Not surprising, considering how lunch had gone, but the thought of it did nothing for his appetite. The want to eat was completely gone, much as his stomach ached with emptiness, the memory of Aoi’s hurt and anger as he demanded Uruha tell him the truth, the one he already knew because Uruha’s mother had told him, that it wasn’t his despite what Uruha had let him believe for months…

Aoi. He was too tired to cry any further, the pain of loss aching deeply, empty inside and his heart torn to shreds within his chest. If only he could right this wrong, undo it all, remove the bastard from his body. If only he could find Masahiro and make him feel the way Uruha felt now, broken and bitter and alone.

The thought of the man brought back so many memories, each one more awful than the last, but he knew… somewhere, he had that note still, the business card Masahiro had given him the day he was in their building. He’d written his address and number down on it, if Uruha remembered right. There was a chance, a possibility open to him, to find Masahiro and make him pay, somehow. He wasn’t sure how, or even why, but lost as Uruha felt, the possibility gave him hope. And that was something he needed right now.

It was small in his hands, the familiar logo staring up at him from the front of the card, an address and number scribbled in Masahiro’s handwriting on the back. The bastard was going to pay for what he’d done one way or another; staring at the card, Uruha let the writing burn itself into his retinas before he clutched the piece of paper in his hand, searching for his phone. It was a miracle he didn’t crumple the card in his closed fist as he flipped his phone open, fully intending to enter Masahiro’s number and give him a piece of his mind. But…

But there were missed calls that greeted him as he stared at the little screen. From his mother. Messages too, ones Uruha didn’t want to read, his already broken heart aching in his chest with pain and anger, and he squeezed his eyes shut. He should have expected she would try to contact him after what she did, but it had slipped his mind entirely, and now he was being confronted with reality once more.

No. He wouldn’t talk to her. Not after what she did. Removing the notifications, Uruha felt his lip twist as he read the messages asking him to pick up his phone, before deleting them. A lone apology stared him in the face, not a shred of truth in it, because there was no way it could be genuine when she’d already ruined it. His mind raced as he typed in the number Masahiro had scribbled down in blue pen ink on the card, and then he found himself just standing there, staring, at the screen, at the numbers. Because if he called… Masahiro would have his number, too. If Uruha let him have a way of contacting him, that would be giving the man more power over him than he already had. And for as much as he needed to do something, that was the last thing he wanted.

Uruha swallowed, glancing down at the paper once again, at the address. He closed his phone, tossing it on his bed and leaving it there; he didn’t want his mother to be able to reach him, or anyone else, for that matter, not now. Not when he had business to take care of.

With that in mind, Uruha quickly got dressed, throwing his shoes and jacket on and grabbing his keys on his way out. It was going to be so easy. Find where Masahiro lived, find him, and Uruha would take it from there; his rage would carry him.

It was a small apartment complex that greeted him a few hours later. Getting out of his car, Uruha stared up at the grey building, checking the address once more just to be sure. It hadn’t been as hard to find as he had first expected, and he’d ended up recognizing the neighbourhood the closer he got; the building was a few blocks away from his first apartment in the city, right next to an old bar district he had visited a few times in his earlier days in Tokyo. He remembered the place fondly; of being young—well, younger—and going from place to place with Reita and Aoi, trying all the cheapest drinks their first few paychecks could afford them. Now, the memory of it stung, and the fact that Masahiro’s address was only a stone’s throw away…

It had gotten late. Glancing at his wrist, his watch told him it was well past ten in the evening, and rain was starting to drizzle from the dark clouds above. Uruha didn’t have an umbrella with him, or anything to shield him from the rain; he hadn’t even worn the hoodie today, grabbing the first thing he found that he knew still fit him before he left. Uruha swallowed as he approached the building, bracing himself, his previous wild rage now dormant, waiting, straining his limbs until he could unleash it upon the man who had ruined it all for him.

Takara Masahiro. Finding the name, Uruha rang the bell, and waited. He ran everything he wanted to say through his head over and over, all his anger and frustration put into words, into threats, a furious mingle in his mind as he hugged himself for warmth where he stood under the slight awning as the rain grew heavier. He rang the bell again. The door stayed silent. Uruha shivered, pulling his jacket closer around him. He wasn’t dressed for rain; he wasn’t really dressed for being in public at all, and without his jacket zipped up, there was very little hiding his body’s new curves. Part of him had wanted Masahiro to see just what he had done; he wanted him to feel guilt, and shame, and pain.

More than anything, he wanted him to agree to sign those papers. Aoi never would. Uruha didn’t know Masahiro that well, but there was no denying that this was a mistake that needed to be undone, and since abortions were completely off the table, the only legal, safe way Uruha knew was to get the father’s yes to give the bastard up once it was out of him. Or maybe he could convince Masahiro to take it himself and then never think of it again. He didn’t know.

He was cold. It was dark, late, and cold, and no one was coming, no matter how many times he rang the bell. Masahiro wasn’t home.

Fuck this shit. The anger was still there, coiled in his chest, entwining with the sheer size of his despair, and there was nowhere to release it. He needed a drink, but he couldn’t drink with the thing growing in him; he needed to break something. Someone’s face. Masahiro’s fucking face, but he wasn’t answering his door, because he was not home. Maybe he was out somewhere, getting drunk at one of the bars nearby. Covering his eyes with a hand, Uruha’s shoulders shook; he didn’t know what to do. Where to go. Everything at home was covered in Aoi, his things, his scent, his memory, and now it had all been torn away from him because his mother couldn’t keep her mouth shut, and try as he might, he once again couldn’t stop the tears. Aoi. The band. Everything he had worked so hard for, for so many years, in pieces, and once the others got to know the truth, it would be a mess—for everyone, especially once management got involved, since there was no way they’d let him stay on board after that—

The rain hit his eyes as he turned his gaze skyward, at the dark clouds above him, hand forming into a fist over his stomach. If he could just somehow undo all of it. Remove Masahiro’s bastard from him entirely, if only to prove to Aoi that he had never wanted it at all. If only he weren’t such a coward, too afraid to take matters into his own hands, steal his mother’s knitting needles, misappropriate a coat hanger, throw himself down a flight of stairs. Cut the damn thing out, if need be. Anything that he was afraid to do himself.

Releasing a shaky sigh, he leaned heavily against the wall behind him, staring down at his stomach, at his own fist. There was an idea; not a good one, but no ideas were good tonight, or ever, when it came to this whole situation. The only thing that would solve his problems would be to rewind time entirely, to go home with Aoi that night instead of venturing out on his own like the fucking stupid whore he was and letting himself fall prey to an active alpha, even one he had once considered a friend. There was nothing to do but find a way to get rid of it, no matter what it took.

Maybe he really would get that drink, after all, Uruha thought as he scrubbed the tears from his face and returned to the car, the redness of his eyes the only evidence of his breakdown with the falling rain. A plan was forming in his mind; not one he had thought through much at all, but it was better than the nothing he had a moment ago. The only downside was that he couldn’t drive after, so he couldn’t get home by his own device. Or maybe he would get shitfaced, get behind the wheel, get in a horrific accident. Or go for a walk, find a cab, run into an alpha in rut and hitch a ride. At least he couldn’t get knocked up twice, right?

The grief was really making him lose his mind. He was desperate for something, and he wasn’t even sure what; a way to punish himself, to get rid of the problem, to make himself somehow deserving of returning to Aoi’s side, even though he knew he would never be able to. Or maybe, Uruha thought as he stepped out of the car once again, he should just get so drunk that he’d be able to forget for the rest of the night. He hadn’t drunk in months, after all. It would be easy. Evil, perhaps, considering the baby, but— fuck, he couldn’t care. He wasn’t that good a person, especially not after he had been robbed of everything he did care about, everything he loved, his friends, his family, the band, Aoi. His mother.

Refusing to entertain the thought any more than he already had, he entered the bar district, staring at the signs to each establishment; some of the signs were familiar, despite the dark cloud in his mind and the years that had passed since he was here last, the memories of walking side by side with Reita vague in the back of his head. He took a shaky breath; he was alone. There was nothing for it. All he had to do was accept it and keep moving.

At least he did, until he came across a sign whose logo was eerily familiar; it looked relatively new, perhaps only a few years old, a new place that had popped up or perhaps just changed names. There was something about the sign that rang alarm bells in his mind, even as dimmed as they were, the distressed state of his mind clouding all judgment. Ah, Uruha finally realized, eyes trained on the sign as he pulled the card from his pocket, gaze flitting down to the matching logo. The note Masahiro had jotted his address down on was a business card from this very place, so it was no wonder he had vaguely recognized it.

Maybe Masahiro was a regular. He certainly lived close enough to frequent the place; maybe he was in this very bar right now.

Inside it was dim, cozy in a way that was typical for places like these, only a little bigger than he had assumed looking at it from outside. Uruha remembered the handful of bars they had gone through back then as being small locales, often with a karaoke machine in one corner and a bar in the other, without room for much else. This was larger, and louder, although not by much. And there was nothing significant about the place, just another little bar in a city that was otherwise full of them. It was just a little different, somehow, and Uruha wasn’t sure why. He couldn't put a finger on it.

He sat down at the bar, eyeing the few other clients briefly, taking it in, his gaze searching for a familiar face he couldn’t find. For the time and day, he was surprised to see there weren’t more people around. People had plenty of reason to keep milling into bars like these, stuffing into a corner in a bar district a stone’s throw from his old apartment and similarly close to Masahiro’s current one.

The bartender’s attention was shifting to him. Quickly, Uruha zipped his jacket up, hiding himself just that bit further before glancing up at the approaching man, then to the shelves of drink behind him, the beer taps, longing in his eyes. It had been months. But despite having already convinced himself, Uruha couldn’t help thinking how it was a terrible idea as he sat there, the promise of alcohol presenting itself in every crevice of the bar he had stepped into. He was so very tempted by the thought of giving in to that bad habit, of drinking until he could forget, but at the same time his stomach squirmed in discomfort at the idea, a hint of nausea burning the back of his throat. Uruha quelled the urge to lay his head in his hands, to lay a palm over his stomach, to show any sign of how torn he felt. He didn’t know what to do, or what he wanted. At least not what he could realistically want.

He should have told Reita, Uruha gloomily realized. He should have told him the truth long ago. It didn’t matter that Reita would judge him for what had happened, he’d still have his back, despite it all. He knew no one better than his best friend, trusted no one as closely, not even his parents, his mother, especially not after what she had done. Staring listlessly out at nothing, he found himself wondering just what she had told Aoi. If she had admitted to how much of a whore he must have been, or if she had been careful with her words, how much of the half-truth she had passed on. Because Uruha had lied to her; he knew exactly who did this to him and when, unlike what she believed, that he had been taken by a stranger, or perhaps by several of them—

The mental image that thought supplied made his breaths come a bit quicker for a moment, before he collected himself. There were no hands on him here, Uruha reminded himself, just the cautious, professional eyes of the bartender a few paces away, tending to another customer, glancing his way every now and then.

He couldn’t do it. He needed to be punished for his sins, somehow, but despite the hate and rage and despair running through him he couldn’t bring himself to do it, not knowingly. Not by his own hands, at least. He was still staring at the logo above the bar when the bartender finally made his way over, asking in that casual-professional voice, “Can I get you anything?”

Uruha glanced at the menu, eyeing the few snacks available for a moment too long before replying, “Sorry, I’m just waiting for someone,” Yet, as if awakened by the mere thought of food, his stomach was screaming at him, and Uruha grimaced slightly; he hadn’t had anything since Aoi, and while he had no appetite, the discomfort was reaching the point of actual pain, and he found himself reaching for his wallet.

He pulled the business card out once he’d paid, staring at the logo, the address, at Masahiro's unsteady handwriting. He wondered if Masahiro really was going to show up tonight, if he wasn’t here now. If he should try his luck at one of the other places in the area. He wondered how often Masahiro came by, how many times he had sat in the very seat Uruha now occupied, drinking, enjoying himself, talking about his conquests with a group of fellow alphas, perhaps.

He did know from past experience that Masahiro tended to be out until the early hours of the morning, from the times they’d run into each other; when they met in the city it was usually through its nightlife, around or in bars. Just like last time. And much as the memory stung, Uruha had come too far but to do anything other than face it head on, jump into this hole he had dug for himself. He took a too-long sip of the glass of water he’d asked for, his stomach finally somewhat settled with the snacks he’d ordered, even as he once more longed for the rush of alcohol in his blood.

The clock ticked on. Masahiro did not show up.

Uruha swallowed, hard; a feeling of something horrendous was curling up in his belly, a warning, a plea from his own body that left him feeling restless and anxious but couldn’t stop him from getting up and leaving, because it could never be enough, not with Aoi’s hurt, betrayed face still stuck behind his eyelids. Masahiro wasn’t going to show, and Uruha’s fists would remain clenched in his lap until the sun started creeping up on the horizon, and he was so tired, and angry, and sad.

It had stopped raining by the time he gave up on waiting. He couldn’t stop seeing Aoi’s pained face everywhere, and he couldn’t stand it. He found himself walking down the dim streets, hating the way that everything felt so familiar, hating the fact that he’d had come here for Masahiro when he had been here before, with better company, with the people he loved, Reita, Aoi; the sting of pain and regret in his heart only made him long for something horrid all the more. And something horrid would come his way sooner or later, in a place like this. It was inevitable in the state he was in.

“Watch it, asshole.”

The words left his mouth before he could even think to regret it, the stranger who had bumped into him turning to look at Uruha over his shoulder. He glanced to the sides, as if searching the dim, narrow street for anyone else, and Uruha felt a smirk slither onto his face, sick and sharp, the only thing hiding the nervous hammering of his heart as the stranger glared at him. “The fuck you want?” the man said, a telltale drunken slur to his voice.

Uruha remembered when he and Reita had once been out drinking, not too far from here. Reita had walked into someone as they went by, knocked into him with his shoulder, neither party paying attention, Reita too tipsy and deep in a conversation with Uruha to see where he was going and the other guy too drunk to see straight. One moment Reita was walking next to him and the next thing Uruha had known, the stranger had grabbed Reita by the shoulder and pushed him to the side so hard he crashed to the ground, yelling something incoherent. He barely remembered what happened next, much less how they got out of it, but the thing that stuck in Uruha’s memory more than anything was the sick feeling crawling up his spine as the drunken man laid eyes on him when he had tried to intervene.

Now, he found himself wondering why it was so easy to piss off inebriated strangers. A bump against the shoulder had been enough to set the man off back then, and while they had walked away relatively unscathed, Reita had gone home with some pretty bruises to brag about and struggle to hide under layers of makeup. And as Uruha found himself being hounded against a wall, alone with a different, drunken stranger, he wondered just how far he was willing to take this punishment for Uruha slighting him.

It didn’t take much more than a few words with this guy, Uruha thought dizzily as the back of his head hit the concrete wall. “You think y’can just treat people like that,” the guy growled, face too close to Uruha’s, “show so much disrespect without so much as a sorry, and expect to walk away in one piece?”

Uruha, for his part, held his ground; he flinched, but he didn’t turn away to escape the gut-churning smell of alcohol from the man’s breath, despite how his stomach flipped, only holding his head up higher. “Oh, so I’m the one who needs to apologize?” he said coldly. His voice didn’t even waver, much as his hands were trembling at his sides, and he clenched them into fists, pressing them against the wall. “Looks to me like you need to grow a pair.”

It was so easy. Riling him up enough to turn aggressive had been the hard part, as the man had at first chosen to simply walk away, but throwing a few choice insults his way had only been a matter of drawing from Uruha’s own self-hatred and putting it into words, speaking a fraction of what he thought of himself to a man who was very clearly not sober enough to think about it for even a second. It was perfect, really, when Uruha thought about it. And the pain was—

It wasn’t what he needed it to be. It was just the first step of many, that was his first thought; hell, for a moment he didn’t even feel it, only registering the white-hot sensation of his head cracking against the wall again, and something hot and wet on his face, the iron dripping into his mouth. Dripping, for a few short moments before it really started, and Uruha cursed, “Shit,” as the blood all but gushed from his punched nose. The alarm bells were going off in his head, screaming, deafening every sense including the pain, because there was blood, there was—so much blood, actually, it felt like his whole face was coated with it, and it was in his mouth, dripping down his chin and soaking into his jacket and shirt. “Oh, shit,” Uruha said again, only barely remembering that the drunken stranger was still there, his angry face now containing a trace of worry as he stared at Uruha, bleeding against the wall.

Uruha looked up, through the haze of confusion and blood to find the man staring at him as though he didn’t know what to make of the sudden situation. Blood stained his knuckles from when he’d struck Uruha; there were a few stray droplets of blood on his shirt, too, from the initial punch. He looked drunk, and confused, and his brows were furrowed, a fist hovering in the air like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch Uruha again or help him, somehow. Maybe he was a decent guy when he was sober, Uruha found himself thinking as he tilted his head back, letting the blood drip down his throat instead of down his face, only to cough as he choked on it. Maybe not. Uruha didn’t know him. He clutched his throat as he spat the blood out, some of it landing on the man’s shoes.

Something in him wanted to laugh, so he did. “Is that it?” he managed between coughing, glaring up at the stranger through his long hair, “Big guy like you, getting drunk and riled up and ready to go, and then you just throw one measly punch at my face like that’s all you can do?” He spat the words at him, blood staining his teeth. “Fucking pussy.”

He saw the man’s jaw working, finally settling on the only appropriate response a drunken, angry man of his ilk could give; rage and violence. It was only a moment later when he felt the stranger’s hands on him again, a fist curling into his shirt, blood still dripping from his chin, red staining his vision as he was pinned against the wall, red like Masahiro’s hair, his car, the colour seared into his vision even when he squeezed his eyes shut. He clenched his teeth, and he waited for the inevitable.

It didn’t come. There was a change in the man’s breathing, like a realization, a punch to the gut that was psychological, not physical, and then suddenly he was let go. Pushed back against the wall as the man put some distance between them, shaking his hand of the blood soaking his skin, Uruha’s blood— “Whatever the fuck’s going on in your life, leave me outta it,” he said, eyes drifting downwards momentarily. “I try not to make a habit of punching women.”

Uruha didn’t follow his gaze; he could already tell just from the brush of cool night air that his jacket had come undone, the manhandling leaving his zipper to be pulled down enough to show undeniable curves to anyone who bothered to look. He would have flushed with embarrassment if he wasn’t so fucking angry, so desperate and sad and drowning in despair as his easy way out turned to leave. The man was going away. He was leaving Uruha there, dripping blood all over himself and the pavement and walking into the dark. “You come back here!” Uruha yelled, pushing himself away from the concrete, momentarily overcome by dizziness; he wiped his face dry, blood covering his hand, stumbling towards the retreating shape of the stranger. “Come back here and finish the fucking job!”

To no avail. He didn’t get so much as a glance over the shoulder, abandoned and alone in the street under the low lights once again, and blood was still running down his face from his nose, like there was an unending supply of blood in his head and his body was determined to get rid of it all in one go. “Hell,” Uruha cursed, wiping at it with the back of his hand once again. “What the fuck.” He didn’t know what to do. There were tears burning in his eyes, too, from embarrassment and shame alongside the pain, the guilt; he just needed a way out. He needed to be back in Aoi’s arms, and he needed a shower, sleep, and a proper meal. He needed the thing in his stomach to be gone, before he unraveled entirely at the seams, coming apart in the middle of the night in a lonely bar district, its streets empty and dark, and it truly felt like his sanity was slipping as he watched his chance at punishment and redemption disappear. He needed to—

“Kouyou?!”

He was losing his mind. He needed to disappear, right now. Uruha closed his eyes; he didn’t want to look. Didn’t dare to. He pressed the back of his hand against his nose again, pushed against the pain, feeling his hand grow wet and warm with more blood, blood that kept coming despite how it should have long stopped by now, or at least slowed, and yet it wouldn’t end. It wouldn’t stop bleeding, and all he could see was red, staining his vision and skin alike, the colour seared into the back of his eyelids alongside the hands on his hips and thighs and in his hair, pinning him down and keeping him in place as he was—as he was—

“Oh my god, Kouyou. What the hell are you—”

He needed to reach for that anger again. He knew it was there; he’d been able to use it just a minute ago, against a stranger who had done nothing to earn it. It had been so easy, then, to control his own terror when he felt someone’s hands on him. Uruha had wanted it. He had egged him on, needing it to go just a bit too far, preferably to the point that he lay prone on the ground, consciousness and parasite both beat out of him, but he’d fucked up. Maybe he should have let the man go. He should have been smarter about it, waiting it out and found someone else. Someone like a group of assholes who would bring out the worst in each other. A group of drunken alphas trying to prove who was the biggest man between them, taking it a step too far, and then even further, and further still, someone like Aoi’s friends, perhaps. He didn’t even know them; Uruha had never met them, only heard of them through his boyfriend—now ex, he supposed as he squeezed his eyes further shut, and the red bloodstains in his head turned white-hot and painful.

“Look at me. Look at me, Takashima,” another sting of pain, white against his cheek, and it took Uruha a long moment to realize that Masahiro had slapped him. He blinked warily, barely daring to do so much as breathe as he obeyed, staring wide-eyed up at the man who stood before him, gripping him by the shoulders. “What the hell are you doing? Fuck, you’re bleeding so much, what’d he do to you?”

There was a hand on his face, gentle, this time. Masahiro’s sleeve pushed down, trying to wipe the blood away only to realize that it was still fresh, still coming. Although it seemed to be slowing down now, at least. There was a curse, hissed under his breath, the sound of disgust at the wetness of someone else’s blood, but he was not moving away despite how much Uruha wanted him to, the way he backed away until his skull was pressed against the concrete wall again. He didn’t fail to catch the way Masahiro’s eyes kept flicking down at his chest, glancing at the undeniable proof of his work. Uruha drew a breath between his clenched teeth, tried reaching for that rage again so he could bring it out to someone who deserved it, someone who had ruined his entire life in a single night, but he couldn’t pull his hand from his face, much less throw a punch.

He couldn’t do this. “Masa,” Uruha said, his voice dying halfway through and leaving the pet name lingering between them, the name he had used for his once-friend when they were still on good terms. When they were still in school, before people had discovered what he was and everyone had started to look at him differently. The name he had tentatively taken to using again, on the rare times they saw one another, before that godforsaken night. Looking Masahiro in the eye was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Actually, keeping his eyes open at all was becoming difficult, Uruha realized belatedly, sagging against the wall, Masahiro only clutching him harder as the blood kept dripping into his mouth. “I think I’m…”

What little energy had been keeping him running finally left him, and he became dead weight in Masahiro’s arms a moment later.

Chapter Text

Aoi spent the rest of the day in mourning. Mourning what could have been, the future he thought lay ahead, the child he thought he was about to have with the love of his life. It was hard coming to terms with realizing that his future were all built on lies, and he found himself wondering just how long Uruha had been lying to him. If there were any other big, dark secrets Uruha had been keeping. If perhaps Daisuke had been right when he said what he said, that night they went drinking together, that omegas were all whores. That they were untrustworthy, cheating, good for nothing but a good fuck.

He didn’t want to believe it. It was Uruha. It was Kouyou, and Aoi respected him more than anyone else in the world, personally and professionally both. But the evidence spoke for itself, didn’t it? The information he’d gotten from Uruha’s mother was somewhat vague, but there were some things she was explicitly clear about: the baby wasn’t his. And that she was so, so, sorry.

Aoi was sorry too. He didn’t know what to do, now. The meal he’d prepared for them still stood on the table, untouched since he’d chased Uruha out of there, while the ashtray had been steadily filling up with the way he’d been chain smoking for the past several hours. He was going to run out at this rate, but the weather had soured as the evening went on, a good match for his mood as he watched the rain finally start to abate from where he stood by his open window. The television was on, a mindless bit of background noise trying and failing to fill the space with something, anything, after Uruha had left. Their food was still on the table.

Tapping the ash out on the tray, Aoi stared out at the skyline, at the drizzling rain. He felt like such a fool. Not for allowing himself to be lied to for so long, or for whatever ruin laid in store for the band once this all came to light.

Gods knew that would be a mess. Ruki and Reita would certainly stand with Uruha, long-time friends that they were. Aoi should probably start looking for a new band sooner rather than later, so he’d at least have somewhere to go when he inevitably got kicked. But the worst part was how above all else, Aoi wanted to run out into the rain, chase Uruha down and drag him back home. Not to punish Uruha for stepping all over his heart, but to make up. To just talk. For Aoi to beg—on his knees, if need be—for Uruha to stay with him, regardless of what he had done and whom he’d done it with, regardless of the fact he had cheated on him.

Aoi just wanted Uruha to come back, and he hated it. It hurt. Worse yet, he knew he was too much of a fool and a coward to call Uruha, to ask if they could talk it out despite how he had screamed accusations at him only hours earlier. Aoi had no idea where Uruha had even gone; maybe he was home, or maybe he had gone to Reita’s like he usually did when he felt lost. Or perhaps Aoi had chased him straight back into the arms of the man who had knocked him up. Masahiro. If it really was him at all, Aoi had no idea; Uruha hadn’t been particularly keen to answer, and Aoi had taken his silence as a yes. But now that the flames of rage had died down and he was left mulling it over, dwelling in regret and misery, he found himself wondering what Uruha would really have said, if he’d let him talk. If Aoi hadn’t let his damn temper take hold of him and actually listened like the adult he supposedly was.

But he hadn’t. And now Aoi was here, alone, wondering where the love of his life had fled after Aoi chased him off, all because he was afraid of what he’d might do if Uruha stayed. Betrayed and hurt, his entire body had been humming with aggressive energy that needed an outlet, and while he would never raise a hand to Uruha, especially pregnant, god… it had seemed so terribly tempting in that moment. Uruha was the source of all that anger, all the rage wrapping around his heartbreak, and so he was the perfect target, too.

Yeah. It was probably for the best that Uruha had done the smart thing and left. Because Aoi was a stupid fucking jackass who couldn’t control his temper, couldn’t tackle problems like an adult, couldn’t fucking talk. That was why. And even now, he was too much of a coward to call him. To apologize, even though he hadn’t done anything wrong. Then again, when he did pick the phone up, the number staring back at him was that of Uruha’s mother, the last person he’d called, and the conversation with her and all the feelings it stirred up hit him all over again.

The cigarette stumped out in the tray, Aoi buried his face in his hands. What the hell should he do? What could he do? Call Uruha, tell him it was okay, that Aoi would forgive and forget so long as he just came back home? He knew Uruha wouldn’t believe him. There was no way Aoi could convince himself of it, either, because he had been wronged. His heart had been torn out of his chest, shattered, the broken pieces trampled on. Even if Uruha was telling the truth when he said it had been a heat-induced accident.

Breathing shallowly, Aoi stared out the window from between his parted fingers; the rain had cleared. He almost wanted to laugh. How do you fuck someone on accident? How could he have gone into heat so quickly after last time, while back on his suppressants? How? It just didn’t make sense, no matter how he tried to think about it, to find some way to see Uruha’s explanation in a better light, no matter how he wanted to believe him. But he couldn’t. Uruha had turned down the offer to go home with Aoi at the party, then suddenly found himself in heat and conveniently ran into Masahiro. Most likely, anyway. Aoi wasn’t sure if it really was him, but nothing else made sense, not with the way the guy kept showing up, and he really didn’t want to think of Uruha as someone to throw himself at strangers just because he was in heat. Thinking of all the times Uruha had refused to even entertain the thought of letting Aoi touch him during heat didn’t make it any better.

He reached for his box of cigarettes again, this time coming up empty. Shit. He really had run out while stuck in a haze of muddled thoughts, grief, rage, and cigarette smoke. And still he hadn’t gotten any closer to coping with the day’s events, much less figuring out what he should do. He fiddled with the empty box, eyes fixed on the dark city outside his window. At least the weather had cleared. Maybe it was a sign he should get out of the house, get some fresh air, take the time to think in a place that wasn’t surrounded by Uruha, his belongings, the memories of him in every room of the apartment. The look on his face as he left.

The empty box crushed under the force of his fingers. No. No. Don’t think about it. He had to get out of his apartment, away from the cloud of smoke and untouched dishes and the rumpled blanket on the couch where Uruha had slept while Aoi’s heart broke. A trip to the nearest convenience store was as good a reason as any, right? He did need to get some more cigs, if nothing else. Besides, it was peaceful at this time, evening teetering just on the edge of nightfall, the prior rain leaving the streets wet and gleaming with the reflections from the lights of lamps, city windows, and the occasional passing car.

It did get his mind off things, if only momentarily. Aoi knew very well he was only getting more cigarettes so he could continue smoking to pass the time in his stupor while he kept thinking about what to do. It was better than doing nothing at all, and at least he wasn’t drinking while doing it. It could always be worse.

Although worse sounded rather appetizing as he entered the convenience store, finding himself staring at the small selection of alcohol. Outside of band events, he’d barely been drinking lately, and he’d cut down on smoking as well, albeit to a lesser degree. The idea of what he thought would be his future had made all his vices less appealing than ever before, but with that crushed… why not indulge? Nothing was stopping him. They barely even had any work to do for the next few months, with Uruha on his supposed sick leave. Then again, they would need to work their asses off for their comeback once that was over with, if they didn’t want the band they had strived so hard for to fade into obscurity like so many others.

He knew from experience that alcohol was good for his songwriting process. Bottles of soju and beer in hand he grabbed his cigarette packs and went to pay, mind already conjuring up images and notes for himself to pour his soul into once he got back home. He needed to direct his emotions somewhere, and music was as good a place to start as any, right? It was a nice thought. A distraction from it all, an outlet rather than the downward spiral he thought he’d escaped as he pulled out his wallet and found himself face to face with the sonogram he had slid into the pocket so he could easily look at it, and all at once, Aoi felt his heart sink all over again.

He’d taken every picture the doctor had offered during checkups. Now, staring at what he just hours earlier had thought was his child, Aoi didn’t know what to feel anymore, the little photo a stark reminder not of what he had lost, but what was never truly his to begin with. There was no longer that sense of anxiety, overwhelming love and joy, there was just a numbness. Just the loss.

Uruha blinked awake in a quiet room. His apartment was rarely so silent when he woke up, with the sound of traffic going on outside, or his phone ringing as their manager, or Kai, or Aoi called to inform him that he’d overslept again. It was nothing like this. It was uncomfortably, eerily still, as though the city that never sleeps had managed to doze off. And it was dark. Gradually, the world came into focus, as his eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and he found himself staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

One thing was clear; he wasn’t home. And at that realization, all at once the events of the day hit him—Aoi discovering the truth, telling him to get out, Uruha deciding to confront Masahiro only to fail miserably—being stupid, getting punched in the face, a seemingly endless stream of blood. Reaching up from under the sheets, he touched his nose, fingers coming away clean and dry like the memory of Masahiro staring at him was nothing more than a terrible dream. Fuck. He’d passed out in the middle of the street, and now he was… in a bed, in a room he didn’t know, and it was dark, and quiet, and he had no idea what had happened.

Despite the weight of fear Uruha kept his breaths slow and deliberate, urging himself not to panic. To not scramble out of the bed he was currently laid in and make for the nearest exit regardless of how underdressed he currently was, to find a phone and call Aoi, call his mother, tell them—tell them what? That he was sorry? That he forgave her? Aoi wouldn’t listen to him. And his mother had broken her promise and ruined everything by letting the lie slip; he wouldn’t be here now if she had kept her mouth shut, like he’d begged her to. Or maybe it was bound to come to light sooner rather than later, an inevitability that would only be made worse with time. Maybe it was a mercy that Aoi learned the truth so soon.

The memory of that night still hovered at the forefront of his brain, despite how much he willed it away. Assuming he hadn’t been seeing things, logically, he must be at Masahiro’s place, in his apartment, in his bedroom. In his bed, most likely Masahiro had taken him home, right? He must have. It was the only thing that made sense. Very, very carefully, Uruha reached down beneath the sheets to feel for his clothes; his jacket was gone, as was his thin button-up shirt and jeans, leaving him in just a tank top and underwear. Someone had undressed him. Taken his clothes off, cleaned him, and put him to bed. Masahiro’s bed. He couldn’t see the room in the dark, could only make out vague shapes of furniture and pictures on the walls with the slight amount of light from the street trickling in through the closed blinds, so he wasn’t sure, but the sheets certainly smelled used. A man’s scent for sure, gods. He squeezed his eyes shut.

Okay. He was okay. Masahiro had been an alright friend before everything that happened between them, and it was true that the rut that night had left him unable to control himself. At least the pregnancy meant that heat was off the table, so there was no danger of that happening again, Uruha told himself. And Masahiro had always been a decent guy, it made sense that he’d take him home and take care of him like this. He wouldn’t do anything to Uruha while he was out cold, right? His clothes must have looked uncomfortable, not to mention the bloodied. No wonder they’d been stripped off of him. Except Uruha was pretty sure the blood had dripped onto his tank as well. Carefully he pushed the sheets aside, set his feet on the floor, a full-body ache shooting through his whole system as he did so. His head was heavy and his face was still sore, but all of him felt tender. Almost bruised.

A wave of embarrassment washed over him as he remembered just how he got himself knocked out in the first place. But then he’d not exactly been in the best mindset after Aoi all but broke up with him, had he?

Uruha wasn’t even sure if they had broken up. The events of the night were blurry in places and painfully sharp in others, and he couldn’t remember clearly what had happened as he passed out. He just remembered standing there, bleeding from the face and seeing Masahiro in front of him, except this time he had really been there, slapping him, holding him, catching him as he fell. Gently Uruha laid a hand on his stomach; Masahiro must have seen, right? If he’d undressed him, there was no way he didn’t know. Hell, he’d probably been able to tell without undressing him, Uruha thought glumly at the hazy memory of being called—what, exactly? A woman. By whom? His mind was blank. All he could remember was pain, and blood, and Masahiro’s eyes staring straight at him, a muddy swirl of red and black.

There was the silhouette of what might be a nightstand by the bed. Uruha reached for what might be a lamp, feeling out the shape for anything resembling a light switch until he heard a click. Light flooded his vision. Reflexively he squeezed his eyes shut as the beginnings of a headache hit him, slow-adjusting eyes taking in the scene of the unfamiliar bedroom he had woken up in. It was small, with little room for more than already was present; a chair, a small closet, the nightstand. The walls were bare, a plain grey-green, the sole window covered by shut blinds. It was so quiet.

No wonder, Uruha realized as he glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was only four in the morning; usually he would be going to bed around this time, or dead asleep, not waking up. How long had it been since he passed out in the middle of the street? He didn’t even know what time it had been when he went out. Hell, the only thing he could remember was it being evening, being angry, standing in the rain and feeling hopelessly lost. Clutching his shirt, Uruha glanced down, and paused at the sight of the red tank he was wearing—not the red of blood he knew must have stained the fabric of his white tank, but a red tank top. That he’d been changed into while unconscious.

He was okay. It had been covered in blood. It made perfect sense, and he was okay, and nothing had happened that didn’t have a rational explanation. He stared blankly at the unfamiliar fabric as his skin crawled, suppressing the urge to tear the shirt off his body and toss it away. Where were his clothes anyway? He couldn’t see them anywhere in the small bedroom, eyes flitting from the small closet to the nightstand and back to the bed as he tried to keep himself from spiraling in anxious fear even further. Under the bed? In the bathroom? He didn’t know Masahiro’s living situation. This had to be his apartment, because who the hell else would carry him home, undress him, put him to bed?

Gingerly he touched his tender nose again, eyes fixed listlessly on the bruises dotting his knees. It was sore, but fine, much like the rest of him. Maybe the tenderness was just the pregnancy acting up again, hell, he had no idea; there had certainly been plenty of days where he had woken up feeling like he’d fallen off a cliff while Aoi worried over the fact that he hadn’t gotten out of bed yet. Like it was unusual for Uruha to sleep in and then just lie there for a good hour or two.

He glanced at the sole door with dread. If he walked through it, what would meet him? Masahiro, or a complete stranger? No one at all? More than anything else he just wanted to be home. Safe and sound, preferably with Aoi curled up next to him in bed. Perhaps with Aoi’s dear old cat sleeping at their feet. He’d had that. He had been living the dream before all of this happened. Before the illness, the heat, the rut, before he was staring down at the red polish of Masahiro’s car under the streetlights in an abandoned parking lot, praying that Aoi would never find out.

The street out was dead and quiet when he adjusted the blinds. It was a familiar street, despite the dark. Uruha recognized these particular apartments from when he used to live nearby, in fact, one of the apartments in the distance looked suspiciously like his previous one; he’d called this neighbourhood his home for about a year, sharing a place with Reita back when they had first moved to the city and had nothing yet to their names. Looking at it from this side, in the dark of night, from the window of someone else’s home… it was strange. Unpleasant. He wasn’t home, staring right at where he used to live not that long ago, from someone else’s bedroom window.

His clothes weren’t under the bed, or in the closet, or anywhere else they could fit in the cramped bedroom. Resigning himself to his fate, Uruha grabbed a blanket from the bed to hide his scantily clad body from view before he carefully pushed open the door, cringing a bit at the creaking hinges. The dead silence made anything loud; the door, his footsteps, the sound of his anxious heart, his shallow breathing. The sound of someone snoring softly in the quiet of the living room. The fading red of Mashairo’s hair was unmistakable even in the dim light, his face relaxed in his sleep where he half-sat on the sofa, having fallen asleep sitting up, a blanket tossed across his lap and his head resting on his shoulder. He’d probably wake up with a fucked up neck, Uruha thought idly as he pulled the blanket a little tighter about his frame, like it could shield him from Masahiro’s sleeping form. At least now he knew for a fact where he was; Masahiro’s apartment, the very place he’d tried to enter earlier that night. Masahiro hadn’t been home, then. Where he’d been, and why he had conveniently shown up just as Uruha was bleeding outside a bar, Uruha had no idea. He must have been familiar with the place. Enough to carry the bar’s business card on hand wherever he went, judging by the one he’d scribbled his number and address on the day he showed up at their building.

Maybe he went drinking there on a weekly basis. Uruha did know him to be fond of his alcohol, they had met around bars nearly every time they ran into one another, after all. Maybe he worked there, or knew someone on staff. Perhaps the place catered especially to alphas, Uruha had no idea, thoughts spinning around his head as he stood in the doorway, staring at Masahiro’s sleeping face. He couldn’t remember having noticed anything extraordinarily when he visited, hazy as the memory was now. Just another bar in a city that was filled with them, although a nice one. Somewhere he could imagine going for drinks with Aoi, having a good time talking about anything and nothing.

Not that it would ever happen again. Not that Uruha could drink at all right now, much less with Aoi, not after what he had done, and staring at Masahiro’s sleeping form, he felt oddly numb. He should be furious. Hell, he was furious, and sad, and scared out of his wits, and yet as he found himself face to face with Masahiro he just felt helpless where he stood, dressed in nothing but underwear and someone else’s tank, blanket wrapped around his shoulders, feet bare on the cold floor. Too lost in his own thoughts to immediately register the way Masahiro’s eyes cracked open.

He just stood there, as they looked at each other, Masahiro dazed from sleep while Uruha was numb and cold, rooted to the floorboards, barely even breathing. “Kouyou?” Masahiro uttered, and then proceeded to sit up too fast, cursing as his awkwardly bent neck complained painfully. Uruha said nothing, taking a wary half-step back as he watched Masahiro rub his neck, groaning.

It occurred to him he should probably ask if Masahiro was okay. He didn’t. “Where are my clothes?” he said instead.

Masahiro swore under his breath. There was the uncomfortable sound of his neck cracking, and then he was checking his wristwatch, sighing. “Look, Kouyou,” he said, “it’s not even five in the morning, why don’t you go back to bed and we can talk about this when the sun’s up?”

He was right. It was the rational thing to do, to catch some proper sleep, but Uruha didn’t want to stay, he realized. Even if it was just to get a couple hours of rest, and then get his clothes and leave. He wanted to get out of there. Whatever he had wanted to talk to Masahiro about in the first place, he could barely remember now; all he knew was that despite the few clothes on his back and the blanket, he felt cold, and starkly naked. Well, he did know he’d wanted to find Masahiro and punch his fucking face in, but if he tried he would lose his grip on the blanket, and it might fall to the floor alongside the one that had been halfway across Masahiro’s lap, and then his body would be on display in Masahiro’s living room, and whatever might happen next, Uruha didn’t even want to think about.

“Kouyou,” Masahiro said again, stifling a yawn as he reached out towards Uruha’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Uruha took a step back. Rather of anything sensible like don’t touch me, or bring me my clothes, or let me leave, he said, “You took my clothes. You put me in your bed.”

Masahiro just sighed. “I had to. Come on, you’re clearly hysterical. Just go get some more sleep.”

“You-”

The grip on Uruha’s shoulder was too tight on his weirdly tender skin. “A few hours, come on. I’m too tired for this. It can wait.”

Could it? “You were sitting up for me.”

Masahiro paused. “Maybe,” he admitted, “and I’m going to lie down properly now and sleep it off. We’ll talk when we’re both sober.” And with that he pushed Uruha back into the bedroom, shutting the door, and once again Uruha found himself blinking into the dim of Masahiro’s cramped room. He had half the mind to tear the door open, demand some real answers, find a phone, call Aoi. Or Reita. Ruki, maybe, so he could make good on his promise of kicking Masahiro’s ass, but it was almost five in the morning and Uruha was scared. He didn’t know what to do. The best thing would probably be to wait until Masahiro was asleep and leave, call a cab, and go home. Did he even need to wait? It wasn’t like he was held hostage, he’d only been brought here because it was close, and Masahiro didn’t know where he lived. He didn’t even have a way of tracking him down outside of work.

But that didn’t change the fact that Uruha’s clothes were gone, and so were his keys and wallet. Pulling open the dresser, he went through it again with no luck, pushing the blanket up around his shoulders as it slipped down to his elbows. He didn’t want to be in the same room as Masahiro, didn’t want him to push him into the bedroom again; his skin crawled with the touch, skin on bare skin. Had he been drinking? Uruha hadn’t been able to tell, but Masahiro did say he wasn’t sober. They had both been in the bar district; it wasn’t out of the question he was under the influence. Maybe that was why the echo of his grip on Uruha’s arm still ached; maybe he’d been rough, manhandling his body while unconscious, and that was why Uruha’s whole body felt sore.

Back on the bed, he buried his head in his hands. The idea of Masahiro touching him while he was out cold made him hopelessly angry on top of everything else; he had no idea how far Masahiro had gone. If he really had just carried him home, taken his bloodied clothes off, put him to bed. Put a different shirt on him while he was at it, for some reason. Hell. He didn’t say anything, but it was clear he must know about the pregnancy, there was no way he didn’t, right?

He couldn’t leave, Uruha realized. There was a reason why he’d come here, beyond wanting to punch Masahiro’s lights out. He needed some sort of plan for this bastard child currently taking up residence in his belly; he needed the father—the real father—to sign the papers. To agree to give it away, once it was born. Maybe he could somehow convince Masahiro to take it himself, and then Uruha would never have to think about any of this ever again. As if it would ever be that easy. This room, this apartment was too cramped for child rearing. He knew Masahiro didn’t earn enough to support someone else on his salary alone, and his lifestyle sure as hell clashed with it. Surely he’d need someone to raise the kid while he was at work. Someone like Uruha, quite possibly. There was no way. Sooner or later Uruha would have to admit it; his whole career, his whole life started going up in flames the night Masahiro put his hands on him.

It all came back to that night, didn’t it. Every one of his thoughts, every wish, every dream and nightmare all seemed to end in the same place, with him pressed against that car. It was all he could see even now, where he sat on the bed, the red polish trapped behind his eyes while his body submitted to the man behind him, the man who had carried him home and put him to bed, who was laying down to sleep in the very next room. Uruha could hear him shuffling past the door. Could hear him groan and moan and utter nonsense in the white noise of his mind as something dripped from his hands, warm and wet while his eyes stared into the cramped space of the room, wide-open and seeing nothing. Not seeing the strip of light as Masahiro pushed the door open again, his voice strange in its worry, “Kouyou?”

He sounded so much like when he first appeared on that street, only less shocked, more startled. The hands gripping Uruha by the shoulders were the same, and instinctively Uruha flinched away, expecting the same treatment—to be held so hard it hurt, to be slapped, to pass out from it all—still holding his bleeding nose, he held a hand out uselessly as if to push Masahiro away. “Don’t touch me.”

At least the hold was somewhat lax, this time. “Damn it, Kouyou,” Masahiro said quietly, but he let go halfway, pulling him up by the arm instead. “Come on, let’s get you to the bathroom before you bleed all over my bed, too.” He sighed as Uruha drew his arm free, but didn’t fight it; he looked tired if anything, letting Uruha follow on his own. “Did you strain yourself? I could hear you making some weird sounds in there.”

For a moment, Uruha didn’t answer. He had a loose grip on the blanket, probably having soiled that with blood, as well. “Yeah,” he murmured, letting Masahiro lead him into the small bathroom, turning the lights on. Big enough for the basic amenities and not much else. It was a familiar layout, like they’d built all the apartments the same way, even though the building he had lived in was a few blocks away. There was a pile of clothing sitting on the floor of the shower, soaked through with water, and Uruha stared at it. “My clothes…”

Masahiro shuffled through a drawer under the sink, glancing at the pile in acknowledgement. “They were covered in blood, I didn’t want it to set, alright,” he said, handing him a wet rag, “hold that to your face, it’s getting on everything. Tilt your head back.”

Uruha did, grimacing as he felt the blood pour down his throat, rather than his face. “I don’t know what happened.”

“Hm?”

“The nosebleed, I mean. I didn’t do anything…”

Masahiro just watched him for a moment. “Don’t talk, Kou, just sit down and wait it out. You were bleeding so much. Is that normal?”

Uruha shook his head. Looking away, he stared once again at the pile of clothes on the shower floor, resisting the urge to cough up the blood in his mouth, to spit it in the sink. The taste of iron in his mouth was nauseating, on top of everything else. And Masahiro was staring. The look on his face was unreadable, and Uruha didn’t want to know what he was thinking. He didn’t like the way Masahiro’s eyes were rowing down his body, his face, waiting, following Uruha’s every move as he drew the rag from his face to check if it was still coming, finding himself staring listlessly at his bare thighs, splattered with his own blood.

“You’re good? It stopped?”

Uruha nodded. “Think so.”

Masahiro didn’t answer. He gave a short nod, turned to grab another rag, before running it under the sink and handing it over so Uruha could wipe himself clean. Then he left the room, saying, “I’m gonna go see if the bed’s okay. And then we’re going back to sleep.”

There was the sound of a light switch being flipped. In the bathroom mirror Uruha studied himself, glad to see his face wasn’t as big of a mess as he feared, but by gods, he looked tired. Worn down to the bone, he was paler than he could remember looking in a long time after regaining his health. At least the rag had taken care of most of the blood, only some remaining smeared across his chin and nose, a stray drop down his throat, soaking into the borrowed shirt. He wondered for a moment if Masahiro would demand he change it again. He wondered if he had it in him to put up a fight.

Running the rag under warm water, he scrubbed his face clean, wiping the blood from his throat and chest before washing his hands. He really was so tired. The first nosebleed came from being stupid; the second one was probably stress-induced, he figured as he wrapped the blanket tightly around his frame again. Stepping into the hallway, he spared a glance toward the front door. “It’s not enough to bother with,” he heard Masahiro say, from where he stood in the doorway of the bedroom. “I’ll change the sheet tomorrow. I left some tissues on the nightstand in case it happens again.” His eyes flitted down to Uruha’s chest, his eyes knowing, and Uruha pulled the blanket tighter. “Change your shirt before you sleep. I don’t want more stains, alright?”

Uruah didn’t answer. There was again the urge to argue starting to gnaw at him, but Masahiro was tired and irritable, and he didn’t feel great himself. Sore, fatigued, and nauseous. For a moment Uruha just watched as Masahiro made the couch up to sleep on, averting his eyes and heading back to the bedroom when he was caught staring, closing the door behind him. The little bedside lamp was his only light as he stared at the stained fabric of the tank top. It seemed to have taken the brunt of the damage, judging by the mess of blood soaking into it. It wasn’t even his. For a moment Uruha debated taking it off as Masairo demanded, while he stared at the forgotten splatters on his inner thighs, the droplets between his legs that had stained the sheet.

The idea of sleeping in Masahiro’s bed, shirtless, was wholly unappealing. Even with the blood soiling the fabric, he didn’t feel comfortable taking it off, not when he couldn’t replace it with his own clothes. And he was so tired. He wondered for a moment if Masahiro would be furious if he woke up to find that the rest of his sheets had been smeared with blood. He wondered if the stains would ever come out, if Masahiro would soak them in water before washing or if they would be ruined and he would need to buy new ones.

Covering himself in the blankets, Uruha all but fell onto his side, curling up, eyes fixed on the door as if expecting it to creak open any moment. He didn’t want to fall asleep here, in a strange room with Masahiro sleeping right outside the door. He didn’t want to be here at all. He wanted to be home, with Aoi next to him; he wanted to be thinking about their next show, rather than the mess he had gotten himself into; about rehearsal and concepts and new music, about costumes and photoshoot. About how he needed to buy a new pack of strings for his guitar, rather than how to convince the father of his bastard child to sign a document consenting to adoption once it had been born. He wanted his life back. For his body to be his own again.

Everything had been ripped away from him so quickly. All because he had chosen to walk home alone one night, all because of how he’d been born. Laying there, Uruha found himself wondering if the thing growing in his stomach would be the same; if he was currently in the process of bringing another child just like him into the world, one who would have to suffer the same self-hatred and anxieties that he did, or if it would have no secondary sex at all. If whatever life lay ahead of that unborn child would even be worth living at all. Gradually he let his thoughts fade into nothing as his eyes slipped closed, and he slowly fell asleep, curled up and with the light on, still facing the door.

For a few scant hours, he slept.

Going to the studio in the middle of the night was probably a stupid idea. The building wasn’t locked down yet, what with a few people still lingering at work, putting in extra hours instead of going home. It wasn’t uncommon. What was uncommon was Aoi letting himself into the building at near midnight, alone, guitar case slung over his shoulder and a plastic bag dangling from his wrist as he stepped into the dead quiet of a lobby that was usually bustling with some kind of activity. Home had been stifling. Aoi hadn’t been able to sleep, and when he tried to redirect his restlessness elsewhere he found he couldn’t focus, bombarded with memories of the day everywhere he turned. In the end he had said fuck it and left, going to the one place he knew he could find some peace rather than risk wasting his whole night being miserable.

It felt strange taking the elevator up, the only person greeting him on the way being a lone security guard who had asked him what he was doing there and then wished him a good night when Aoi said he’d come to work on some music. With no band activity on the horizon, their studio probably stood mostly empty these days; letting the space and their equipment gather dust for so long didn’t sit right with him. It was a waste. The space was still shared with other bands, sure, but they still had their own designated area in the building for their equipment. Aoi was surprised to see that the others hadn’t taken most of their instruments and equipment home, but it was also comforting, in a way. To know that they still planned to come back to work, when they had time; that when it all was over and dealt with, the band would continue.

Aoi didn’t want to let himself think about it too much. He had already spent most of the day wallowing, thinking about what would become of them, after what he’d learned. He had come here to clear his mind; to focus on music, and to get away from everything haunting him back home. Even his cat had gone quiet, as if she could sense that something was deeply wrong, hunkering down somewhere quiet as she waited for the storm to pass. He’d left her enough food to last at least a day. Truly, Aoi had no idea how long he was planning on spending here; the night, at least, and while their studio couch wasn’t particularly inviting, he had spent plenty of time couch surfing in the year when he’d first landed in Tokyo, so it was nothing he wasn’t used to. Sitting down, he leaned the guitar case against the couch before pulling the pack of beer from the bag, leaving it on the table and pulling free a can, popping it open. When he’d first started playing the guitar, he’d always thought he worked best when he was intoxicated; once the band was actually going somewhere he had started taking his job more seriously, although he would drink backstage whenever the opportunity arose, much like Uruha. Alcohol did liberate him in many ways, emotionally and artistically.

He had tried to get some work done at home, only to find himself unable to focus. He’d reached for the beer then, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to get out of there, and so here he was, at their mostly-empty studio in the dead of night, chugging a can of beer and fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, ready to drown his miseries in music. Maybe there was something to creating art all night, the way Ruki would often stay up until the early hours of the morning, working before going to bed. Ignoring the pull of his thoughts toward Uruha again, Aoi took a long, slow drag of his recently-purchased cigarette. It was easier here, in their studio. He could sit and pretend they were having rehearsal, or that he’d come in to work outrageously early, before even Kai, Kai who tried to uphold a good image of being their responsible leader, despite only having been with them for about a year. With that in mind, Aoi could pretend that everything was okay. That he was just putting some extra hours into a private project, or a song he wasn’t confident enough to reveal to the band just yet.

Lost in that familiar headspace, he grabbed his guitar and played into the night before eventually setting it aside to lie down on the studio couch, falling asleep quickly as the day’s events finally claimed him.

It was the sound of a door slamming shut that woke Uruha the second time. Catching his breath, he found his heart beating wildly in his chest, as though awoken in the midst of a nightmare, and the room was bright around him, light pouring in through open blinds. Beside him, the lamp on the nightstand was turned off, and for a moment he laid there, staring at it. He could have sworn he’d left it on as he fell asleep; that the blinds were shut. Had he woken up at some point and forgotten, or had Masahiro entered the room?

He could hear him now, through the thin walls; water running in a sink, the muffled sound of what sounded like a news radio station. Slowly Uruha set his feet on the floor and got up, wincing at the ache that shot through his body as he did so. Casting a look back at the bed, he was relieved to see the sheets look relatively clean despite sleeping in a blood-stained shirt, one that was swiftly peeled and tossed on the floor after making sure that there was no sound of approaching footsteps or movement outside the bedroom door. He had no choice but to raid Masahiro’s closet for something to wear, unfortunately; maybe Masahiro had already tossed his clothes in the laundry, but he doubted it. And even if he had, it would still be a long time until it was dry enough to wear, anyway.

Dressed in a too-big too-plain hoodie and jeans that didn’t quite sit right, he steeled himself before carefully stepping outside. Masahiro was standing in what passed for the apartment’s kitchen, in the middle of reaching over to switch the radio station from the news to music when he looked over his shoulder to meet Uruha’s eyes. “Morning,” he said. Uruha didn’t answer. He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do with himself as he watched Masahiro pull something out of a convenience store bag. “Got us something to eat.”

The thought wasn’t appealing, but Uruha couldn’t deny that he was starving. It had been a very long day. Night. Whichever. So he nodded, cautiously accepting the bento Masahiro held out for him and opening the lid. “I remember you liked those,” Masahiro said, “you used to bring them all the time for lunch.”

Breaking his stare with the contents of the bento box, Uruha met his gaze, and Masahiro looked away, almost bashful; it was a weird look to see on his face, now. “I guess I did,” Uruha said after a moment, even though he couldn’t really remember. “Thanks.” Thinking of it, there was the vague memory of getting convenience store bentos on his way to school every now and then, on days he had the cash for it or didn’t have lunch. Had he really gone for the same kind every time? He wasn’t sure.

Weirder still, he hadn’t sat in silence with Masahiro, eating like this, for years. Not since their high school days. The lunches they’d spent together had usually been with the company of other friends and classmates, Reita filling the whole room, engaging everyone with his natural charisma; when it was just Uruha, it tended to be silent. Awkward. Nothing like the comfortable silence he was used to with his friends. He debated whether to break the ice or not while they ate, unsure what he could possibly say, strange as the situation was. The fact that he was here against his will.

Fortunately he didn’t have to think about it for too long as Masahiro finally broke the silence, “So, I take it you’ve sobered up by now.”

Uruha looked up. “I wasn’t drunk.”

“No?”

“No.” Of course not. Much as he’d considered drinking, he had resisted temptation. Laying his arm across the table, he discreetly covered his midsection and cleared his throat. “Why would you think I was?”

Masahiro looked at him like it was a stupid question. “What do you mean, why? You were coming out of a bar, in the middle of the night, and picking fights. That’s not sober behaviour, Kouyou. Not for you, anyway.” Uruha narrowed his eyes, and Masahiro raised his hands, clarifying, “I’m just saying, I’ve known some very stupid guys over the years. The kind who act the same kind of reckless regardless of how drunk they are. You’re not one of them.”

“Reassuring,” Uruha said, drily, before switching the subject, eager to get the focus away from himself. “What were you doing there, anyway?”

A shrug. “I do some part-time bartending as a side gig. I don’t need it, but the pay’s decent for what it is, and it’s fun, you know?”

Uruha didn’t know. He didn’t care. He just hummed, disinterested as he went back to staring into space again, fiddling with his chopsticks. He was stalling the inevitable. And he had been looking for Masahiro, that was the reason why he had ended up at that bar in the first place—so he could give him a piece of his mind, preferably to punch him in the face—and convince him to sign some very important documents. Not that Uruha even knew what those documents looked like; so far, they only existed as a vague idea in his mind. He imagined them as an endless stack of paperwork where every step was deliberately drawn out and complicated in order to encourage him to change his mind. To take the hand he’d been given and deal with it; to let everything he had worked so hard for get laid by the wayside because of an accident and let the future die.

“—are you even listening to me?”

“No,” Uruha admitted, carefully setting the chopsticks down. “We need to talk.”

At long last, Masahiro eyed him levelly, like he’d been waiting for this. “We do,” he agreed, setting his own food down. He folded his hands on the table, expectant, like he had nothing that needed to be said and was ready to let Uruha do all the talking.

Fine. At least Uruha could start the conversation on his own term. “I was looking for you last night,” he began, “I was at a bar because I needed to talk to you, but you weren’t home.”

“You were here?”

“You gave me your address, remember?” He shrugged. “No one answered, so I went elsewhere. You didn’t show. Until you did, anyway.”

“You had my number too, you could’ve just called. That’s what you usually do when you need to talk to someone, Kouyou.”

“Sure. You said I was hysterical or whatever, so it must’ve slipped my mind.” He wondered if Masahiro knew he hadn’t brought his phone. If maybe he’d gone through his pockets and learned that Uruha was stranded without it. But more than anything he wondered how the hell he was going to bring up the subject of the baby in a way that wouldn’t screw him over; sighing, he ignored the beginnings of a migraine at his temples, watching as Masahiro’s brow furrowed deeper in concern, his eyes flitting downwards. He clearly knew. There was no way he didn’t, right? So why didn’t he bring it up himself?

He cleared his throat. “I was at that bar because you gave me their business card. I didn’t drink, because I’m—” he stumbled on the word, steeled himself, and continued. “Because I’m pregnant.”

Masahiro didn’t even blink. “Is it mine?”

You fucking asshole, Uruha thought privately. “Yeah, it is.”

For a moment neither of them spoke. Uruha sat there, waiting for Masahiro to respond in some way, but all he did was stretch his neck, eyes fixed on the table between them. His expression was unreadable. Finally he said, “How long have you known? Why didn’t you call me, Kou?” Uruha opened his mouth to reply only to be interrupted, “Is this why you passed out during that concert? And you didn’t tell me when I came to see you…” Uruha grimaced, and Masahiro trailed off; the look on his face was more hurt than angry.

“Why did you come to see us anyway,” Uruha muttered, rather than answering the questions. “You always said you weren’t interested.”

There was a sigh, notably irate this time. “This again?”

Uruha bit his lip. Masahiro had always said it wasn’t for him whenever he’d brought up their music, poking fun at Uruha’s livelihood more often than not. Uruha was under the impression that Masahiro didn’t really have any kind of respect for their work, so seeing him in the crowd had been a surprise. He kept thinking about it, on and off; the feeling of looking up, disoriented and dizzy, and seeing Masahiro’s face. Knowing that he’d gone to see them several times, even; he didn’t know what to make of it. “I didn’t know it was yours,” Uruha said finally. “For a while.” He wasn’t even sure if it was true. He couldn’t remember much more than the horror that overwhelmed him at the doctor’s office, and the memory of Masahiro thrusting into him over and over again while he pinned him to that car, the red flooding his vision under the streetlight as Masahiro flooded his body and— “Don’t touch me,” he snapped as Masahiro’s touch came to find his shoulder, and Masahiro was left there, hand momentarily hovering in the air.

The anger was gone, now, replaced with worry. “Alright,” Masahiro muttered. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. Sure.” He drew a shaky breath, collecting himself and ignoring the worsening headache; he might be in Masahiro’s apartment, but they were far removed from that fucking parking lot. Hell, Masahiro’s hair wasn’t even that same red anymore, having faded to a dulling shade of auburn that desperately needed refreshing. Uruha’s own hair probably looked similar. With all the stress he was going through, and without needing to keep up his image for work, there had been neither time nor reason to keep his hair up to par. His roots were almost definitely starting to show. “You need to dye your hair.”

Masahiro blinked. “Sorry?”

“It’s not really red anymore,” he said, gesturing to his own hair as if he needed to prove his point.

“Oh. Well, actually I was thinking it was time to let it go,” Masahiro admitted. “Get it natural again. It’s time to grow up, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“Who did you think the father was? If you didn’t think it was me at first,” he said, changing the subject, and Uruha fell silent. “You thought it was the other guy, Aoi, right? He’s your alpha on the side?”

“‘On the side’?” Uruha fixed him with an incredulous stare, brows furrowed. “He’s my boyfriend and has been for years. What the hell are you implying?”

“On the side of the band, I mean. Am I right? You thought it was his? But it’s really mine.”

That migraine was really starting to kill him. Uruha rubbed his temples, wishing desperately he had a painkiller, and that he was sitting alone in a dark room and not having this conversation. He might as well be asking to be in bed with Aoi, on the night of the party, for all his wishful thinking did anything. “Masa, you’re killing me here. Yeah, alright? I hoped—I thought it was his, okay? What does it matter?”

“Okay,” Masahiro said, and all but fell back in his chair. “Okay, I get it, so you’ve…” he trailed off; whatever was running through his head, Uruha had no idea. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know, either. “Okay,” he said, again. “So what do we do about it?”

There was that word again. We. Uruha steeled himself; “I’m not keeping it,” he said slowly, carefully avoiding Masahiro’s gaze, “but it’s too late to get rid of it. So I… need your signature to give it away, once it’s born.”

When he finally dared to look up, it was to find Masahiro staring a hole in the table. The silence as he wanted for a response was stifling; the mere sound of his own breaths seemed too loud. “It’s so sudden,” Masahiro finally said, quietly. “This is… it’s a lot to spring on me, Kouyou.”

“I know.”

“I’m not ready for this.”

Uruha bit his tongue to stop himself from saying what was really on his mind, to kick Masahiro while he’s down, to bring up the fact that they wouldn’t be in this position if not for that night, but he knew he was just as culpable as Masahiro was in the conception, if not more so. “I’m not ready for it either,” he said instead, “but here we are, and I need your help.”

“Yeah,” Masahiro said. “Yeah, you’re right. Gods, you’ve been going at it alone all this time, haven’t you? I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He reached out across the table, pushing the forgotten food out of the way, grasping Uruha by the wrist, ignoring the way he flinched; “We’ll fix this, alright? We’ll make it work, Kou,” Masahiro said, “it’s gonna be okay.”

Swallowing, Uruha let Masahiro hold his hands in his own, and he nodded. “It’ll be okay.”

Chapter Text

“Aoi?”

The sound of his name jolted Aoi awake from where he’d been sleeping on the studio couch. Eyes snapping open he sat up, finding himself looking at a surprised-looking Kai who clearly had just walked in. “Oh, hey,” Aoi said, the word getting swallowed by a yawn halfway. “Sorry. Hey.”

“What are you doing here so early?” Kai said. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, probably having come in to use the studio. Glancing at the table littered with empty bottles, he eyed Aoi carefully. “Did anything happen?”

“Eh…” Aoi shrugged. Gesturing towards Kai’s bag, he said loosely, “same as you, I guess. Just wanted to try to get some work done. The ambience is better here than at home, you know.”

Kai looked unconvinced. “You’ve been here all night.”

“Inspiration strikes at the oddest times, I guess. It’s fine. What about you?” he said, finding his feet. And a trash can, to clean up some of the mess he’d made of the studio table. “Got anything for us?”

“Not really, just thought I’d come in early and get some work done in the studio while we still have it.” When Aoi looked at him in alarm, he shrugged, “I’m joking. I don’t think the meeting will be that serious.”

“Hell of a joke to make there,” Aoi muttered as he dumped the ashtray out in the can. “You got a meeting?”

Kai paused. “We all do,” he said plainly, “about our upcoming schedule?” When Aoi showed no signs of recognition, he sighed. “You did get the message, right? Sakai told us a while ago so I texted everyone last night to make sure they remembered.”

“Uh, no. Must’ve missed it.”

Kai shrugged, taking it for what it was. “Well, at least you’re here,” he said, dropping his bag in a corner and getting ready to go to work. “Don’t wanna call you up and find you two still curled up in bed or something.”

Resisting the urge to make a face, he chose not to comment. “What’s it about, anyway?”

“The schedule for the next few weeks. And the situation, of course. I imagine they’ll want to talk with Uruha after, since it’s because of him that we’re in this, ah…” he trailed off. Cleared his throat. “Not that he needs to show up. Anyway, how is he doing, actually? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

For a moment, Aoi really considered telling the truth. Just to get it off his chest. But that would be too much this early in the morning, and if they had a meeting coming up later… “Eh,” he said instead, replying vaguely, “He’s alright. Just as bored as the rest of us.” He paused for a second. Then, “Hey, since you’re our leader and everything…” he trailed off, unsure where he was even going. Something about Uruha, he was sure; about how he knew that Uruha’s presence in the band would always weigh more than Aoi’s, and if things went south—which Aoi was pretty sure they already had—maybe Kai, with his status as leader, could influence whatever decision was to come. If he could back Aoi up; secure his place within the band if Uruha decided he wasn’t worth the trouble.

Aoi didn’t know what he was thinking, really, beyond the fact that he was spiraling; nor did he have a way to put it into words, glancing at Kai’s expectant, open face. There was always the option of telling Kai the truth. But that would mean saying it aloud to someone else, and it would make it all the more real.

And besides, they had work to do. Apparently.

“Aoi?”

He was zoning out. “Sorry,” he muttered, snapping back to the present, grasping at the first non-Uruha thought that came to mind, “What’s our schedule like anyway? I thought we had nothing coming up.”

“And I thought I was the forgetful one in this band,” Kai said. “We have a few interviews, a couple shoots. Trying to keep the momentum going, even if we are one member short, you know? Something like that. I’m just quoting what Sakai said when he scheduled them.”

“Is there even a point to doing anything if Uruha isn’t there…”

“Of course there is,” Kai said, having gone back to putting his drum set together. “So long as we’re not performing anything, he doesn’t need to be there.” Aoi grimaced, but he knew Kai was right, and their manager too. It was hard enough to make it big in this industry, and to go on such a lengthy hiatus just when they were beginning to gain steam could be catastrophic for their career. There had been talks of putting on events for their scheduled releases, signings and the like. They’d just been forgotten in the chaos. Evidently, so had today’s meeting; Aoi wondered if Uruha would show up at all, or if he had too much on his mind to come in for work. Then again, what else could he be doing?

His thoughts turned sour as soon as the question presented itself in his mind, and he shook it off just as Kai said, “Hang on a second, if you forgot about today’s meeting why are you even here?”

“Come on man, it’s too early in the morning to repeat myself.”

There were a thousand thoughts warring inside Uruha’s mind as Masahiro led him down the vaguely familiar street in the bar district. Masahiro’s voice had become a droning noise to shut out as he walked, ignoring the way the man by his side made small talk and occasionally pointed out places he knew in the area, as though he was showing Uruha around for the first time. As though Uruha hadn’t lived in the neighbourhood just a few years ago. If he weren’t so physically exhausted, he would probably be offended; as it were, all his energy was focused on getting home. And he hadn’t even done anything beyond getting up. The fatigue hadn’t gone away the way it used to; normally, he would be able to sleep it off and feel fine in the morning—well, afternoon—but not anymore. Maybe it was the stress. It was hard to relax in Masahiro’s presence, he found.

Uruha didn’t want to stay another minute in that apartment if he could help it. Unfortunately, Masahiro had taken the opportunity to go to a laundromat with his clothes while Uruha was sleeping, and Uruha wasn’t keen on waiting around to get them back. If they were even salvageable after the nosebleed. He wasn’t comfortable walking around wearing Masahiro’s borrowed clothing, but the choice was either to suck it up or wait it out, so he dealt with it. Masahiro was getting his clothes cleaned; there was nothing for it. They were filthy with blood and soaked through with water anyway. And it wasn’t as though they wouldn’t see each other again.

Throwing a glance at Masahiro, Uruha wondered what was going through the man’s head. He hadn’t seemed surprised when Uruha told him of his predicament, but he was unsure what to do with the information. At least he had promised to help. It was ironic how the guy who had gotten him into this mess had become the only one capable of pulling him out of it, after everything had fallen apart with Aoi. And while the walk to the car was a short one, Masahiro still insisted on walking Uruha the whole way.

Uruha for his part didn’t say much; he didn’t want to, and besides, he was too tired and uncomfortable to feel like doing anything other than collapse into bed and sleep for a week. His whole body hurt. The fatigue was one thing, but his hips were aching painfully again, a stretching pain down to the very marrow, and it was one he was unable to do anything about. It was natural, the doctor had said. It was to be expected. And it fucking sucked.

“Right,” Uruha said as Masahiro led him towards the parking lot he’d left the car in, despite not having listened to a word Masahiro had just said. “That’s my car over there.”

Masahiro fixed Uruha’s beat up car with a strange look, like he was taking in every detail of the vehicle. “Are you sure you’re good to drive?” he said as he handed Uruha his car keys, “I could always—”

“You were the one drinking last night, not me,” Uruha said curtly.

“I don’t get hangovers. You look like you’re going to fall asleep behind the wheel.”

Did he really? “Look, I’m fine. I’m just gonna go home and sleep, I’ll contact you when I know anything, okay?”

Masahiro nodded. “As soon as you can.”

“Obviously—”

“Call me within a couple days,” he said, and Uruha sighed. Getting in the car, he fixed his seatbelt even as Masahiro leaned against the car, glancing around the interior, the messy backseat; pushing the door open, he said, “Be careful, Kouyou. I don’t want anything to happen to you. To either of you.”

Uruha was too tired to even be annoyed. “Sure,” Uruha simply said. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Masahiro nodded, pleased with that reply, and backed off as Uruha turned the key in the ignition and left the parking lot, his eyes fixed on the number plate of the car until Uruha turned a corner and was out of sight.

The drive home was uneventful; traffic was normal for what Uruha would expect this time of day in this part of town, and while he didn’t feel any better physically, there was a relief in being alone with his thoughts, without Masahiro anywhere within reach. Even if he had no idea what to do once he got home, other than sleep off his migraine. It would probably be a good idea to check his phone, considering he’d left it behind after he stormed out to find Masahiro, but to be honest, he was dreading whatever he might find once he did. Uruha knew for sure that his mother had tried calling him, but what of Aoi? Had he tried contacting him at all, or had he let the nightmare of yesterday be the last thing standing between them until next they met? Uruha had no idea, and he wasn’t sure which was worse.

It had only been a day. It was enough to make him miss how good things had been. Two years they’d been together, and for much of that time, Aoi had been nothing but good to him. His fellow guitarist on the stage, the dark to his light, the emotional heart to his technical mind; Aoi completed Uruha in ways he had taken for granted. And now he might lose that. All because of the mistake that was his body, his anatomy, the insistent heat and the stupid fucking hole between his legs.

It was a comfort to be back home. His apartment was just the way he’d left it: empty and dark but for the lights in the bathroom that he had forgotten to turn off, his phone laying discarded somewhere in his room. Uruha stared at it for a long moment, considering. Then, without so much as even looking at the screen, he found its charger and plugged it in, before collapsing on the bed, still dressed in Masahiro’s clothing as it were. He hurt, inside and out, and despite being able to finally relax, he still felt tears burning in his closed eyes. Tears for Aoi, for the band, for himself, and for the unborn thing eating away at him. Uruha pitied it, in a way, despite how much he hated its very existence. If he really did end up having to birth it, he sincerely hoped the child never learned the truth of its conception, and all the horrors that came with it. In his mind’s eye he could still see that damn car inches from his face, could still feel Masahiro’s hands on his hips.

Sleep was brief and fitful, but it made him feel a little better. His head was pounding less when he blinked awake, staring up at the ceiling of his own desolate bedroom, though his body’s aches had barely subsided at all. With a groan, Uruha forced himself to sit up in bed; he supposed he should contact the doctor again. He needed to, if he was going to find a way out of this predicament, but the pain was insistent and hadn’t gone away despite how he’d repeatedly tried to sleep it off. And the nosebleed. The sheer volume of blood. He couldn’t remember it well himself, the first time around, but Masahiro was especially worried about how much he’d bled. Well, whatever. Maybe Masahiro hadn’t been punched in the face for a long time and he just didn’t know.

Fantasizing about bashing Masahiro’s nose in did improve Uruha’s mood, at least. But it didn’t fix his problems, and he knew that he needed to take action if he wanted things to change. He needed to contact the doctor again, ask for those papers, or potentially for another exit out of this hell he had been trapped in. An escape that didn’t involve something rash and potentially dangerous.

He should probably ask about the pain again, he thought as he felt another wave of agony work its way down his spine, flaring out harshly in his hips. Uruha did remember what he had been told; that it was natural, his hips stretching to prepare to carry the child to term or whatever. It was normal to be so sore and tender everywhere. To bleed so much from a simple punch from a random stranger on the street.

Turning his phone back on, Uruha pointedly ignored all his missed calls and messages, finding the clinic’s number and pressing call before he could think himself into backing out; for the long while it took for someone to pick up, he just sat there, breathing, trying to gather his words only to lose them again. Was the doctor even available to talk today? He had said that Uruha could contact him anytime he needed, but it was getting rather late. Too late for the clinic to even be open, he was sure, flinching as the droning sound was interrupted by a different beep, indicating an incoming call; pulling the phone from his ear, he looked at the small screen, Akira’s number staring back at him.

For a moment, Uruha considered taking the call, just as the beeping cut off and a voice said through the tinny cell phone speaker, “Moriyama Minoru speaking.”

Uruha nearly dropped the phone in the process of putting it back to his ear. “Hey, it’s—it’s Takashima, again… are you available?”

He didn’t call Masahiro.

Not that he didn’t think about it, once or twice in the two days since he woke up in Masahiro’s bed. But as it were, he had no desire to pick up the phone to talk to him, and so Uruha conveniently let it slip his mind as he went about his day, reading through the overlong list of papers he’d been given at the doctor’s office.

He had been right to suspect the paperwork to be a complicated state of affairs. Moriyama had been surprised to see him come alone to the impromptu meeting he’d requested, but left it well enough alone as he pulled out various forms and long documents for Uruha to read. He only wished it was for an abortion instead; at least then it would feel like it was worth it. “You understand the father’s signature is vital to this process,” the doctor said firmly, and Uruha could only nod. “And you both need to hand the documents in. In person, in my office. An adoption cannot move forward without his consent.”

Uruha chewed on his lip, hesitating before asking, “I’m wondering… are the rules the same if you don’t know who the father is? Or if something happened to him, and he couldn’t sign?”

“Depends on the situation. If the father passed away or was otherwise unable to give consent, the responsibility would be passed to next of kin. As for if the mother didn’t know the father’s identity…” pausing, the doctor eyed him carefully once again, Uruha nervously folding his hands across his lap. “There would still be paperwork involved, and the process would be longer. More complicated, and it would involve evaluation of the mother’s psychological wellbeing… but it would probably go through, yes.”

“Okay. Not that it pertains to me, I just… I wondered.”

Moriyama gave a nod as he flipped through documents, signing a few before setting them aside. “This far along, if you did suddenly come forth with new information regarding the father of your child, there would probably be consequences,” he said vaguely, and Uruha froze, hand halfway to the papers.

“What kind?”

“Worst case, legal action might be taken against you, but it depends. Most likely, it would just complicate my job further,” he said, giving a wry smile. “Anyway, this should be all of it, Takashima. Now, can I do anything else for you?”

There wasn’t much he could think of that the doctor would be willing to do. There was, however, the general feeling of being unwell that had yet to leave him, the ache in his bones; for days now Uruha had been carrying the feeling of coming down with something, except it never seemed to hit. So he explained the aches, how they’d only gotten worse, leaving out his episode with Masahiro.

“Are you dealing with a great deal of stress, Takashima?”

“... well, yeah.”

Uruha was hoping to not get a repeat of the speech he’d already heard; that he needed rest, nutrition, and so on. No such luck. So he sat there, hands idly going through the documents as Moriyama explained to him the importance of eating well, sleeping well, all things he’d heard before—for the most part. “It’s vital that you get enough nutrition, Takashima. This is why we prescribe supplements for people who plan to be or already are pregnant. If you don’t provide what the fetus needs to grow, it will start taking from you instead, whether you want it to or not.”

Uruha only nodded. He was staring at the forms in front of him, numb rather than angry at the confirmation that it really was eating away at him as the doctor continued, “It’s a good thing you called me. With your symptoms being what they are, there is a chance that something is wrong with the fetus, so we should run some tests, make sure everything is in order. With what I know about you, I suspect it’s due to neglecting your health, but better to be safe than sorry, hm?”

“Right,” Uruha said, although he didn’t really agree. He was just too tired to argue, and there was a killer migraine at his temple that still hadn’t gone away. It was a red flag to be sure, as he usually didn’t get migraines at all; they only really showed up when he was very ill, and they had been a staple when he was sick from heat suppressants. As the doctor took his blood pressure, he found himself wondering if he should let it continue; let Moriyama do his job, and then avoid following his advice entirely. Risk his own health in the hopes that it might kill the thing inside him. Except that in true parasitic fashion, it would take from him what it needed regardless of how Uruha felt about it, and he was already miserable. Not to mention the idea of suffering the consequences Moriyama listed as he worked Uruha over—like risking losing his own fucking teeth, what the fuck—it terrified him.

He’d walked home with a folder full of documents and forms, alongside several prescription medicines and supplements, fear tucked into every crevice of his frame. Moriyama said there could be legal consequences, but he didn’t know what else to do; Masahiro signing the papers really was his only option if he wanted to move on with his life in a remotely safe, legal way, and he tossed the folders on his bed as he entered his room, sitting down and placing his head in his hands. The box of vitamins he’d received first still stood abandoned on his nightstand. Hesitantly Uruha picked it up, memories of his fight with Aoi flashing in his mind.

Tossing a vitamin back, he wondered if Aoi would even care if Uruha let his health decline further, knowing the kid wasn’t even his. If he held any affection for Uruha at all anymore.

He missed him. But done was done, unfortunate as it were, and soon enough he would be going back to Masahiro, taking him up on his promise to find a solution. Gods help him.

“That was the last one for today?”

“Yes,” Sakai said, bowing. “Thank you for your hard work.”

Aoi bowed back, thanking the staff before taking his leave, glad to finally be done with work. It seemed they had been at it non stop for the past few days, attending interviews and photoshoots like it was business as usual and they weren’t on hiatus, one member down. The only real differences between then and now were the questions being asked and Uruha’s missing presence, and Aoi was glad that it didn’t feel as pointless as they had all feared. They did have a release coming up, despite their inactivity. They just wouldn’t be able to tour to promote it until Uruha returned.

Sliding his sunglasses on his face, Aoi made to leave only to hesitate at the sound of Reita’s voice, calling his name. “Hm?” he said, letting the bag slip down his shoulder. “What’s up? Anything wrong?”

Reita nodded. “Yeah,” he said as he caught up, walking with him out to the parking lot from the building the interview had been held in. Aoi wasn’t surprised to be interrupted; Reita had seemed distracted most of the day, to the point that Ruki had at some point turned to him and told him to focus, and Aoi had a not-so sneaking suspicion as to what it was about, one that was confirmed as Reita said, “I need to talk to Kouyou.”

Yeah. Aoi wasn’t surprised at all. “Then do that,” he said as he unlocked his car, tossing his bag in.

“I can’t reach him. Why isn’t he turning his phone on?”

Aoi frowned, a retort ready on his tongue before his brain caught up with him. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I was hoping he was staying at your place.”

A strange feeling overtook him at the sound of those words. “No,” Aoi said, tone flat. “No, he isn’t. Not for the past week.” He twirled his lip ring nervously, glancing from his car back to Reita’s face, his expression unreadable. Hell, Aoi thought. Something was wrong. “Well, what about his parents? Have you called them?”

“You haven’t talked to him either.”

“Akira,” Aoi said. “What’s going on?”

Reita wasn’t meeting his eyes. “I… shit, man,” he uttered, hopeless as he leaned his full weight against the car, ignoring the dismayed sound Aoi made. He stared hopelessly out at nothing as he spoke, “His mom called me a few days ago, asking me to talk to him. He didn’t pick up, and he wasn’t home when I went to check. I thought he was with you. And then, this morning. Fuck, man. I’m sorry,” Reita said, “she told me what happened.”

Oh. There was that numbness again, creeping back in. “Yeah,” Aoi found himself saying automatically. “So you heard. Fucked up situation, isn’t it.”

Reita’s laugh was short, false, and there wasn’t a hint of mirth in his voice. “That’s one way of saying it. What the hell, why didn’t he say something? I know him better than to believe her, or maybe I just don’t want to, man. I don’t get it. I can’t find him, Yuu. Where is he?”

Stuffing his pants in his pockets, Aoi pulled out a cigarette, shoving it between his lips. “Fucked if I know.” He’d intended to sound nonchalant. Annoyed, even, but his voice came out deadaway shaky, and his heart was hammering so loud he could almost hear it. Uruha wasn’t home. He wasn’t with his parents, his mom was looking for him, and his phone was off. What the hell was going on?

Taking a drag of his cigarette, Aoi wondered if he should even bother to care, for the brief moment before guilt set in; it was conflicting. Even after a week’s time to cool down, he was still angry with Uruha. Furious, even. But more than that, he missed him. Missed talking to him, waking up to him every morning, his stupid voice. That gentle presence of his.

And now, Uruha was seemingly missing.

The child wasn’t his. Even Reita knew about it now. Aoi shouldn’t be this scared, but he was; damnit, he still loved Uruha, and it seemed nothing in the world could change that, not even the lies and betrayal committed against him. “Yuu,” Reita said, and Aoi tried to shake the tears from his eyes to no avail, the cigarette pressed tightly between his fingers as Reita laid a hand on his shoulder, calming, reassuring. “Yuu, listen. I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” Aoi said. Choked by tears he took a shaky drag from his cigarette, but a sob made its way through anyway. “Fucking hell, I’m sorry too. It’s all my fault,” he admitted, “I asked his mother and she told me, and I chased him out, and now he’s gone. I... I just want him back.”

“You’re not even mad?”

“Are you kidding? I was furious. I still am.” He gave a broken laugh. “There’s a reason why he left. But I don’t know where he went. Fuck.” Rubbing his nose with his free hand, Aoi stared lifelessly into the empty space of the parking lot, Reita watching him from the corner of his eye. “Maybe he went to the—the real father,” he choked on the word, stumbling over it, “I don’t know.”

Next to him, Reita frowned. “Maybe,” he echoed. “But I was under the impression Kouyou didn’t know him?”

That gave Aoi pause. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he said, “Wait, what did she tell you?” because it was starting to sound like they were running off conflicting information. All Aoi knew is that he had asked for the truth, and she had reluctantly admitted that Uruha had lied, being intentionally vague beyond the fact that it wasn’t Aoi who was the father. But the story Reita had heard…

“She was surprised, you know,” Reita said. “We usually tell each other everything. She thought I already knew, so when I didn’t know what she was talking about… it was bad.” The version Reita had heard—or rather, the story that Uruha had told his mother—was different. He’d gone to a party. The afterparty, obviously, but nothing had happened there, right? Uruha had left before Ruki, and he’d left alone. None of the guys had touched him. No one had followed him. So then why… “Do you think he was lying?” Reita asked, crossing his arms. “Or do you think it’s true?”

Aoi wasn’t sure what to make of it. The story didn’t add up with what he knew. And the idea of a bunch of men putting their hands on him was enough to make Aoi see red, so he refused to entertain it. “I don’t know what to think,” Aoi admitted, “but I doubt it. It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you saw him last. What did he say?”

He grimaced at the memory. Uruha pleading for Aoi to listen, and Aoi too angry to care. “He said he went into heat after the party. That he… ugh,” Aoi said, smashing the cigarette butt under his heel. “He didn’t say who it was. I made a guess. And I’m pretty sure I was right that it was that fucker, Masahiro.”

Something changed in the air the moment the name left his mouth, Reita suspiciously quiet as he asked, “Why him?”

Aoi shrugged. “I keep hearing his name lately. And he showed up during that meeting, right? It just makes sense. And he…” Aoi cleared his throat again, hating the way it clammed up, talking about Uruha, thinking about him. “Kouyou didn’t really deny it, anyway.”

Uruha hadn’t spoken to anyone in what felt like days. He was sat at the table, failing to work his way through the stack of papers and wondering what the rest of the guys were up to when his doorbell rang. He didn’t know who to expect, at first. Reita seemed most likely. He held out a weak hope that it would be Aoi, and steeled himself for the potential scenario of his mother coming to check up on him in person. It would make sense that she’d try, especially since he had turned his phone off, cutting off all communication after seeing yet another incoming call from her. As if she had any right to contact him at all, much less show up at his place after what she did. But every angry thought was quick to fall to the wayside once he opened the door.

For a moment he was dumbfounded, hovering in the half-open door and staring at the shock of red hair before the realization hit him that yes, Masahiro really was standing there, in his hallway. It seemed the man loved showing up wherever Uruha went. Including his own home. “What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t call. It’s been days, I told you to contact me as soon as you could.” Masahiro looked more annoyed than anything else, but he uncrossed his arms, his face softening somewhat. “Are you too busy to call me? You know I can help out, Kouyou, I said we’d fix this together, come on.”

“Come where?” Uruha said, for lack of anything else. Masahiro showing up had taken him completely off guard, for a multitude of reasons. Such as, “How do you know where I live?”

“I drove you home, didn’t I? “ Masahiro shrugged. It was only half true. “Are you gonna let me in? You have figured something out, right?”

“No,” Uruha said, before backpedaling. “I mean, yes. I’ve got a bunch of papers—”

“Great. Let me see them.”

Uruha held the door closed. “Hang on,” he said quickly, “I’ll get them. Just let me get ready.” Masahiro’s frown disappeared behind the door, and Uruha took a moment to collect himself. Right. Masahiro was here. Somehow he knew where Uruha lived, which he shouldn’t, because Uruha had never told him his address. He hadn’t been especially sober the night Masahiro drove him home; the night when everything went to shit. But he did know he’d given him an address a few blocks away, left to limp the last stretch home so he could clean himself off…

He swallowed. Masahiro was here now, and naturally he wanted to be let in. Uruha didn’t want him here. He didn’t want him in his life at all, but Masahiro wasn’t about to give him much choice, and the fucking pregnancy had stolen that choice from him. So Uruha steeled himself; he grabbed the papers, pulled his jacket and shoes on, put his keys into his pocket and pulled the door open again. “Alright,” he said, nodding to Masahiro. “I have them here. Let’s go.”

Masahori looked skeptical. He glanced at the door but didn’t argue as Uruha locked it behind him, following him down the stairs and out to the parking lot, where Uruha found himself freezing mid-walk at the sight of the red car parked close by. If Masahiro noticed, he didn’t comment. He simply unlocked his car as though Uruha had agreed to get in and let himself be taken somewhere, and Uruha cleared his throat. Let the nerves fall away, trying to keep his voice even as he said, “I’d rather take my own car.”

Ignoring his words entirely, Masahiro was already opening the door, passenger’s side. Holding it open for him. “Come sit. Where do you want to talk?”

“Seriously?” Uruha muttered. He clutched the folder tightly, grounding himself as much as he could in the knowledge that he was safe. They just needed to talk about things, find a solution, and hopefully get the documents signed. And Uruha needed to not think about the potential legal problems that came with lying about the father’s identity for months. “Did you hear me?” Uruha said. “Can’t we take my car?”

“I’ll drive you home after anyway, just get in so we can get going.”

The door was open for him. Well. He was fully dressed this time, at least, and there was no way a surprise heat could ruin his life any further. And he couldn’t afford to be petty, so reminding himself that he needed that signature, he steadied himself, forcing himself to let it go without fighting. “Whatever,” Uruha said quietly as he climbed inside, “just get on with it.”

There was an annoying, self-satisfied look to Masahiro’s face as he got behind the wheel and pulled onto the road, Uruha choosing to stare out the window rather than give him any attention, the folder laid across his lap. “Your hair looks nice,” Masahiro said, apropos of nothing after a few minutes of near silence. “Thicker, somehow. It suits you.”

Uruha caught his eyes as he glanced over, unsure what to make of that weird look on his face. “Sure,” he said, finding his own reflection in the side mirror. He couldn’t tell, and he wondered if Masahiro was right, or if he was just spilling empty compliments for the sake of it; self-consciously, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “You dyed your hair again.”

“You noticed.” One hand on the wheel, he ran a hand through his short, scarlet locks, very much pleased with himself. “I’m taking you back to mine. Since you didn’t specify where you wanted to go, and we’ll get to have some privacy.” He paused, looking over to Uruha, “unless you have any suggestions?”

Well, he wanted to be the one behind the wheel, preferably in his own car, but Masahiro hadn’t bothered to listen then. “I think I’d rather we go to a coffee shop or something. Somewhere we can sit for a while and talk.” Publicly, he didn’t add.

“Should you be drinking coffee at all with the baby?” Masahiro mused, and Uruha had to stop himself from releasing an annoyed groan. “I do have coffee at home, you know.”

“Not the point,” Uruha muttered. His hands were tight around the folder, the edges digging into his skin as they reached the highway. It was an awfully familiar path, made even worse by the fact that he was back in this car, and he nervously stared at every sign, every ramp, as if searching for the place Masahiro had stopped at all those months ago. Mostly to himself, he said, “Why do you even ask if you’re not going to care about what I say?”

“If it means that much to you, we can talk at the bar I work at.” The tone was casual, focused on the road and entirely ignoring Uruha’s nerves. “It’s too early for anyone to really be using the place right now, and we do have a staff room, you know. I just thought we could do it at home. So you could get your clothes back.”

“Convenient.” The word was little more than a huff of air, and while he wasn’t happy about letting Masahiro have his way, Uruha was too tired to want to argue with him, so he shrugged and said, “Whatever. Let’s just go to the bar.”

The stress was eating away at him as he sat there, watching the world go by, the same car, the same road, the same man behind the wheel as the night everything went downhill. Uruha tuned Masahiro’s idle chatter out. He had turned up at his apartment—the one that Uruha had purposefully avoided telling him where was—in order to herd him into his terrible red car and drive him down familiar roads, not too far from a place Uruha had called home not too long ago, before pulling over to park in that very same bar district where Uruha had gone looking a few days ago. He could see his previous apartment building from here, if he angled it right to look past the high rise buildings in the area; there was a certain nostalgia in being here, during the day, with the previous panic now gone. There were just too many memories of walking these streets, from when he lived nearby. Of going drinking, or shopping, or gambling. Or just taking a walk. Alone, or with Reita, with Ruki, with Aoi.

But those days were gone. Instead, he was clutching a folder of adoption papers while following Masahiro past bars in alternating states of open. Walking until they neared the bar Uruha had visited earlier, Masahiro stepping aside to hold the door open for Uruha in a way that was polite but somehow made his skin crawl. He ignored it, taking in the surroundings, almost exactly the same as a few days ago when he was here last, just tidier. Cleaner, and near empty at this hour, with most patrons still at work. The single employee looked to be sorting inventory, while a woman sat tucked in a booth in a corner, reading as soft music played from the overhead speakers. There were no other people present.

Uruha watched silently as Masahiro greeted the bartender, leaning in and talking in a voice too quiet for him to hear. But Uruha did see the way Masahiro gestured towards him; he did see the bartender’s eyes dart his way for a brief moment, staring for a second too long. Uruha frowned, watching the interaction before Masahiro turned back towards him, gesturing, “Come on, the room’s free,” before heading to the staff door behind the bar.

The room was as tiny as he’d expected it to be. A small kitchen, storage, and break room in one, a table against the wall with three mismatching chairs. “Right,” Uruha said, pushing aside the ashtray so he could set the folder down on the table as he took a seat. Which Masahiro didn’t do.

“Can I get you something? A drink? It’s free,” Masahiro said, busying himself with the drinks station. He didn’t even look Uruha’s way as he went on, “We have some food as well if you’re hungry. You probably shouldn’t drink coffee while pregnant, right? Have you read up on it?”

And here he was sitting in the backroom of a bar, being lectured on the dangers of caffeine while he was surrounded by alcohol. The irony wasn’t lost on him. “I’m not hungry,” Uruha muttered. “Water’s fine. Can we talk about this?”

Masahiro just hummed in response, pulling open a cabinet. Uruha glared at his back, wondering what could make getting some water ready take this long, until he finally turned, placing a glass of water on Uruha’s side of the table and a bottle of beer on his own as he sat down. “What?”

“Don’t you work here?”

“Not today. This is one of the perks of the job, by the way. So,” he said, abruptly changing the subject, “we’re having a baby.”

The phrasing made Uruha cringe. “We’re not having a baby, Masahiro. I’m pregnant, and I don’t want to be, and it’s a problem.”

“Right. And why didn’t you get rid of it?”

“Because I didn’t know, and when I found out it was too late.”

“Too late to abort?”

“Yes.” He grit his teeth, trying to calm his already frayed nerves so he didn’t snap, and pulled open the folder. “Look, I went to talk to my doctor. He gave me these papers, they’ll grant permission to have the child adopted once it’s born. It’ll be out of our lives.”

Masahiro was staring at the forms, dismayed. “Yeah, for eighteen years until you get a surprise knock on the door, anyway.”

Still a better alternative than being saddled with a reminder of his body’s failures every day for the rest of his life, Uruha thought, not to mention that having a kid would completely ruin his career right now. He grimaced. “That’s not for you to worry about. You can ask to be kept anonymous, and we can pretend this never happened, okay? We can both move on with our lives.”

“And then you’ll go back to your band?”

“Well, yeah. Of course.” Uruha frowned. “Are you okay with this? Do you have a problem with it?”

“Well, I don’t have a pen on me. And it’s only been a few days. It’s a big decision to make.” Lifting the papers from the folder, Masahiro shuffled through them, judging the size of the stack. “This is going to be a lot of work.” He wasn’t wrong; Uruha had spent a lot of time working his way through them. But most of the documents were only required reading, rather than forms to fill in. And only some of them were double sided. “I don’t know. This is a lot. What about you, Kouyou, don’t you have a problem with it?”

Uruha’s mind flashed back to the doctor’s office. To the threat looming over him. “I mean… I’d rather get rid of it than go through all of this in the first place.” He hesitated. “But there’s the fact that I told the doctor that Aoi is the father…”

“And that could be trouble for us, if the truth comes out?”

“Maybe. He said there might be legal trouble for lying about the parentage.”

“Well, were you lying?”

“I was,” Uruha admitted. He ignored the way Masahiro watched him, the palpable flash of disappointment.

“I see.” Masahiro let the papers drop back to the table. “Maybe it’s best if we wait. For a few days at least, really think it through. That gives me time to read everything, yeah? Let’s make sure we don’t do something we regret for the rest of our lives.”

Uruha watched, numbly, as Masahiro neatly packed the papers back into their folder. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, exactly. Frustrated, angry, exhausted. Nauseous. For a moment he entertained the thought of telling Masahiro to shut the fuck up, because he had gotten them into this mess and there was no other way out of it, and now he was being difficult. Worst of all, he was being so reasonable about it all, and Uruha couldn’t think of any arguments that didn’t make him come off as the hysterical pregnant person that he was. So he took a sip of the water, mirroring Masahiro’s long swig of beer, and said, “You really think it’s too rash?”

“Well, yeah,” Masahiro said. “Let me remind you that you didn’t let me know about any of this. You wouldn’t have told me at all if I didn’t come to you first, would you?” His voice was bitter, every word a stark reminder of how much Uruha had fucked up. For both of them. Masahiro sighed; “And, you know. I’ve only known for a few days. It’s a lot, alright? And it’s a lot to throw away like that. A whole baby.” Staring at the folder like that, Uruha wondered what he was thinking. If the idea of having a kid appealed to him. “Did you ever want to have a family, Kouyou?”

The question didn’t surprise Uruha. Nor was it the first time he heard it. “Someday,” he said. He felt so, so tired. “Not so soon. Especially since it’s an important time for the band right now, so at least not for a few years.”

Masahiro hummed. “Well, these things happen when they’re supposed to, you know,” he said. “That’s life, right?”

He didn’t agree. But the headache was worsening, so he shrugged, “I guess.”

The rest of the conversation led similarly nowhere, Uruha slowly sipping his glass of water while they talked in circles, feeling the fatigue wear him down as Masahiro continued to shoot down his every suggestion, all while sounding infuriatingly sensible. He demanded more time. Time to think about it, and for Uruha to think it over so he didn’t make any rash decisions when he was so hormonal and unstable. Hysterical was the word he really wanted to use, Uruha was sure. The whole thing pissed him off more than his steadily building headache ever could.

In the end Masahiro cleared the table, saying, “Let’s go back to mine,” and when Uruha made to argue because he’d rather go home and sleep so Masahiro could get his private thinking time or whatever, Masahiro added, “so you can get your clothes back.”

Uruha didn’t even protest, just finished his water and followed Masahiro out of the staff room. He was tired, exhausted from Masahiro’s very presence, from discussing something so important and yielding results. So what difference did a few minutes of waiting in the car make? Maybe he should have stayed home, had the discussion somewhere he was comfortable, rather than some dingy backroom in a bar. Maybe he should have chased Masahiro right out, no matter the consequences. Taken it into his own hands. Maybe gotten himself killed in the process, because he couldn’t be sued if he were dead.

Ignoring Masahiro’s question of, “You alright?” Uruha was too distracted by the headache and fatigue that he didn’t notice the way a man at the bar stared at him as he walked past. He did, however, notice when Masahiro got distracted by the bar patron.

He gave it ten seconds, counting down in his head as he watched them chatter like old friends, before his patience ran out and he turned to leave the bar alone. Whatever. Masahiro could catch up; Uruha knew where the car was, and he had better things to do than stand there and stare. He probably should be more worried about the darkness that was beginning to creep into the edges of his vision, the dizziness that made him stop and catch his breath. Catching himself on the wall, he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to alleviate the headache; it didn’t help.

Blinking up against the sun, he waited it out, hoping it would pass. It had been just a few days since he’d stood on this very street with blood dripping down his face, just before Masahiro had shown up. Just before Uruha had passed out only to wake up in his bed.

God, he was so tired. Straightening himself, Uruha finally made his way back to the car just as Masahiro finally rushed towards him. “Sorry about that,” he said as he slowed down to match Uruha’s pace, “that was a good friend of mine. You shouldn’t have left, I would’ve introduced you.”

“Masa, I don’t give a shit right now,” Uruha snapped. He was almost swaying on his feet; his body felt odd, like he wasn’t quite there. It was an eerily familiar sensation, like he was moments from passing out. “Just take me home. I need to sit down.”

“Of course,” Masahiro said, finally moving to unlock the car and holding the door open for him, which Uruha for once was grateful for as he climbed inside. “You don’t look too good, Kou.”

Nor did he feel well. Part of him wanted to tell Masahiro to fuck off, but he was too tired, closing his eyes as he sank into his seat, and all he could do was give a dismayed grunt that was lost beneath the sound of the door closing. Soon after, Masahiro was getting in the driver’s seat, and whatever he was saying, Uruha didn’t catch. His eyelids were too heavy.

There was the faint feeling of a touch to his hand, his cheek; he didn’t respond, the world slipping away alongside Masahiro’s soft words, “Sleep well, Kouyou.”

Chapter Text

“So you’re saying that he’s missing?”

“Well, we can’t find him anywhere. His family doesn’t know anything, and his friends don’t either,” Reita said.

“Did you check his place? Again, I mean. Maybe he came back.”

“Several times. He left his phone behind too, so we can’t reach him that way.”

“And we’re sure he wasn’t kidnapped or something?” Kai asked. “We don’t think a fan could have done something?”

Aoi shook his head. “Well, he locked the door behind him, and everything looked normal, so we doubt it,” he said. As normal as could be, anyway. “If something did happen to him… he had probably already left the apartment.”

Ruki took another sip of his vending machine coffee, and Aoi eyed him suspiciously. Ruki had been weirdly quiet about the whole affair, considering his usually loud personality. And he and Uruha were pretty close.

After their talk in the parking lot, Aoi had pulled his shit together and agreed to do what they could to search, but both he and Reita had come up empty. They’d gone to Uruha’s apartment together, letting themselves in when the doorbell was answered by dead silence only to be greeted by empty rooms. It was about the same half-messy state Uruha’s place usually was, except empty and lifeless; Uruha wasn’t there.

When Aoi asked Reita if he could call Masahiro, Reita had only shook his head; “We didn’t keep in touch,” he’d said, something creeping into his voice. “I don’t have any of his info.”

“I thought you guys were friends in high school?”

“He was really more Kouyou’s friend,” Reita corrected. “And barely that.”

And now here they were, gathered in Aoi’s apartment so Ruki and Kai could be filled in with the news of Uruha’s apparent disappearance, because what else could they do? They had already called everyone they could think of; checked everywhere that made sense. The only logical next step was to let the others know what was going on and pray that they might have any ideas.

“How do we know that he’s not on his way back home or something?” Kai chimed in. “It’s pretty far, right?”

“It’s not that far. Apparently he’s been out of reach for days now.”

“Oh,” Kai said. “Well, fuck. Then I don’t know what we can do. You said his car was still there, so he must’ve left some other way. Should we ask around the neighbourhood? Maybe someone saw him leave.”

“Maybe. Did anyone check his phone? His laptop, maybe?” Ruki mused, “Could be he made plans to meet with someone… nevermind that he never came to the staff meeting, I wonder if he saw the mail Sakai sent out at all…”

Ruki’s attention flitted to Reita, who seemed deep in thought, arms crossed. “We tried, but they’re both password protected. But guys, you don’t think that he left so he could…” Reita trailed off, like the idea was too dangerous to speak aloud between them, or at least before Aoi, judging by the worried glance he shot at him.

At the idea, Ruki cursed something vile. “I hope not. But knowing how upset Kouyou has been lately I wouldn't be surprised if he does something stupid.”

They were both avoiding looking Aoi in the eye. Not Kai, though, who glanced between them, brows furrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Aoi closed his eyes. Right. Kai didn’t know Uruha the way the rest of them did, and while he knew that Uruha was unhappy with the pregnancy, Kai wasn’t fully aware of just how much he resented it. It wasn’t out of the question that Uruha might take matters into his own hands to deal with what he perceived as a problem. Especially now that Aoi was no longer there for him. It was a thought Aoi had tried to ignore, every time it crept up on him, ever since Uruha made clear just how much he wanted to get rid of it.

Even now that Aoi knew that the father was another man, that fear still shook him at his very core whenever he considered it, like a part of him couldn’t let go of the idea of fatherhood. And that bothered Aoi, because he knew it wasn’t his. It would never be. So why was there a part of him that didn’t want to care? The part that still clung to Uruha, certainly, that didn’t want to wake up and face a reality where the love of his life had cheated on him. And listening to Reita and Ruki none-too gently explaining to Kai that Uruha might have gone somewhere to deal with his unwanted pregnancy… Aoi didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to be here and have his worst fears spoken aloud like that.

“You guys really think he’d do that?” Kai sounded stunned, disbelieving. “But why?” Aoi didn’t really believe it either, to be fair; when they had gone to Uruha’s place to look for him, he had found medicines, and prescription vitamins, new ones in addition to the ones Uruha had initially gotten. And they were actually opened this time. But maybe he’d had a change of heart, in the week that he’d been out of reach. Maybe something had happened, and Uruha had decided it wasn’t worth it after all. Perhaps Aoi’s doubts were merely wishful thinking.

Reita was staring. Aoi could feel his eyes on him, and he refused to look back, knowing what he was probably thinking. Break the news, let their suspicions out to the rest of the band. He sighed, running his hands through his hair; he didn’t want to say it. He didn’t want everyone to know. But Uruha wouldn’t let him have the child anyway, so what difference did it make? “The baby isn’t mine,” he finally admitted, keeping his gaze fixed firmly on the wall ahead of him; god, he hated saying it. He hated the truth. “He lied about it. I only found out last week.”

“What?” Kai exclaimed, and Aoi watched Ruki crossing his arms from the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?”

“Who’s the father, then?” Ruki asked, unusually calm. His question was directed more to Reita than Aoi.

“He wouldn’t say. Yuu thinks it’s Masahiro, one of Kouyou’s friends from school.”

“That asshole?”

Aoi frowned. Kai was still clearly shocked by the news, but aside from the sour look on his face, Ruki showed no real sign of surprise, as though he’d seen it coming somehow. Or he had already known. What the fuck, Aoi thought. “Takanori,” he interrupted, “did you know?”

Something flashed across Ruki’s face for the briefest of moments, like he’d been caught, before he schooled his expression to be neutral, unreadable. “Know what?”

He was lying. Aoi had known him long enough to know when Ruki was lying, but usually it was about things that he thought would be pointless for others to know, insignificant and not worth the hassle of the truth. Not this. This was about Uruha, and it made Aoi see red. In two long strides he closed the distance between them, grabbing Ruki by the shoulders even as Reita and Kai both jumped, pushing their short vocalist against the wall; “Don’t fucking play around with me, Takanori, not about this.”

“Let go of me,” Ruki said, scowling. Keeping his head high, his head cool; Aoi’s fingers dug in deeper, and Ruki hissed in discomfort.

“Yuu, what the hell, calm down—” Reita was saying, but Aoi only tightened his grip as they attempted to separate them; there was something oddly satisfying about the pained sound he got in response, the way Ruki cursed, trying and failing to push him away.

“Kouyou told you something, didn’t he?” Aoi said. “How long have you fucking known, Matsumoto, I swear to god, if you don’t tell me—”

“Alright, alright, I admit it, Yuu,” Ruki caved quickly. With an angry grunt, Aoi shoved him backwards as he let go. “Fucking hell, that hurt, man, what’s your problem?”

Kai was eyeing them nervously, him and Reita both clearly ready to step in if they needed to. Aoi ignored them, his entire focus on Ruki as he asked, “Did Kouyou tell you?”

Ruki frowned, looking off to the side. He brushed his clothes off, adjusting his rings as he spoke. “... yeah, he did. Must have been some weeks ago, after we’d gone over some songs in the studio. You weren’t there, by the way,” he said, glaring at Aoi. “Think you were off with your buddies or whatever. But he told me the father was someone else. And no, he didn’t say who it was, I would have hunted the jackass down if he had.”

“And punched his lights out in the process, I bet,” Aoi grumbled. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

“What do you mean, why? Because you’d lose your shit and do something stupid. As you just proved yourself. You get angry, Yuu,” Ruki said, “it’s a problem.”

“Mind your business.”

“You said you found out, and no one’s seen him since, right? What the hell did you do to him?”

“Mind your fucking business, Matsumoto,” Aoi repeated. This was getting nowhere, but he knew Ruki was right. He did have an anger problem, and Uruha had disappeared because of it; he took a slow breath, trying to collect himself, going over the information in his head while the others watched him carefully. “Okay. Whatever, let’s pretend I’m not mad at you. What did he say?”

Ruki made a face. “Not much. He told me not to tell you and refused to tell me the fucker’s name, so…”

“But he knew who it was?” Reita asked, and Ruki shrugged.

“Sure. He was vague about it. Whoever the real father is, he said I didn’t know them.”

“Did you even try to make him say it?”

“Who do you think I am, Yuu? Of course I did. He didn’t budge.”

Kai, on the other hand, looked deep in thought. “Wait, that name you mentioned. Masa…”

“Masahiro?”

“Yeah, was Kouyou lying? Sounded to me like you know that guy.”

Ruki shrugged. “I know of him, but I’ve never met him myself. Sounded like a real asswipe, but…” something strange overcame his expression, similar to that odd, faraway look that was painting Reita’s face. “Hm.”

“What?” Aoi said. Something desperate was clawing at his chest; fear, and something else that was hanging in the air. “What the hell do you two know that we don’t?”

It was Reita who answered. “Masahiro was weird about Kouyou,” he said slowly. “They weren’t really close, but they were in the same class in high school, so they’d hang out. When it got out that Kouyou is omega, Masahiro apparently started hitting on him… I think he only did it because he thought it was his right as an alpha or some stupid shit like that.”

“He sounds like a creep to me,” Ruki added. “That ruined the friendship, right?”

“Yeah, it did. Kouyou apparently sees him now and then, since they both live in the city now, and Masahiro is big on the bar scene…” Reita trailed off. Swallowed, like he’d realized something and wasn’t sure how to say it. “Kouyou said they keep meeting at random, usually when he’s out drinking. When was that afterparty again?”

While he wasn’t sure on the date, Aoi did know it had been weeks after Uruha had been in heat. And it did add up with the seemingly slow progress of the pregnancy, the one that the doctor had been adamant was normal. Like the doctor, too, had known. “Fuck,” Aoi cursed. “I bet it really is Masahiro, where the fuck does he live?”

It was a pointless question. Reita had already admitted that he had no idea, and Ruki and Kai knew even less. They had nothing to go on; Aoi squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to think of what he’d seen at Uruha’s place that seemed out of place. Brand new prescription meds. A fractured mirror. The apartment hadn’t been that much more of a mess than usual, but it looked very much like Uruha had just up and left, seemingly taking nothing with him other than his keys, not even bringing his phone. Perhaps he’d done it on purpose, Aoi thought; maybe he didn’t want anyone to find him.

If that was the case, it was working.

Uruha wished he’d stayed home. He wished he had refused to talk to Masahiro at all; that he’d turned him away and closed the door, locked himself in his apartment, and called for help. Not Aoi, much as he wanted to. He should have asked Reita to come over, because he was sick and so lonely he felt like he was dying, and he knew he could always count on his best friend. Even if it meant confessing that he’d cheated on his boyfriend. But Uruha hadn’t done that; instead, he had been stupid enough to go along with Masahiro’s suggestions, and then he must have somehow passed out. He didn’t know what had happened. His recollection of the day had ended at Masahiro’s bar, starting again when he blinked awake to find himself in a too-familiar bedroom.

Uruha was getting tired of waking up in this room. Staring up at that off-white ceiling once more, he wondered how he ended up here in the first place. What course of events had taken place in the empty void where his memories should be? And how did they end with him waking up in Masahiro’s bed again?

The world spun for a moment too long as Uruha set his feet on the floor, keeping his eyes closed from the slight daylight coming through the mostly closed blinds. His body felt so heavy, like he’d slept for a week; what time was it? He couldn’t tell. Judging by the light, probably some point past noon.

The walk to the door was a slow one. He had to catch himself against the wall on his way, not trusting himself to keep his balance without some sort of support with the dizziness. And he was once again out of his own clothes; he couldn’t even remember if he had done anything to change, or if Masahiro had done it for him. Gone were his jeans and button-up, replaced with sweatpants and an unzipped hoodie. At least his tank top had been left untouched this time. Or so he hoped, anyway.

Pulling the door open, he was met by what felt like an explosion of sound and light. Uruha had heard the noise through the door, but his senses were still overwhelmed, despite it just being the sound of the television. Masahiro looked up where he sat on the couch, a pen in one hand and the television remote in the other, looking startled by Uruha’s appearance. “What are you doing out of bed, Kou?” he said, “go lie back down, you’re sick.”

He wasn't wrong. That only pissed Uruha off more, but he’d left his meds back home and Masahiro didn’t seem keen to let him go anywhere. He nodded to the papers spread across the coffee table instead, recognizing them and yet asking, “What’re you doing?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m reading through the documents you gave me.”

He hadn’t given them to Masahiro, really. Uruha chose to ignore it, gesturing to the television, cringing a bit at the volume. A sports game, and one he for once had no interest in catching. “Why’s the TV on, then?”

“Background noise.” Masahiro frowned. “Why are you interrogating me? Go back to bed.”

Part of Uruha wanted to say, “Or what, you’ll make me?” but perhaps wisely he chose not to. Maybe it was the wave of something clenching in his gut; instinct telling him to play it cool. That, or he would be throwing up soon. “It woke me up,” Uruha lied instead, ignoring Masahiro’s eyes on him as he took a seat on the other side of the couch. He glanced at the beer bottle, eyes flitting momentarily over to the baseball game on screen before he turned his attention to the papers. “How far are you?”

Masahiro shrugged. “It’s slow going. Maybe halfway.” As if to prove a point, he picked up a sheet of paper, half of which was empty forms that were yet to be filled in. “And I haven’t even signed anything yet. If I even will,” he added, and Uruha tried to ignore the grip of anxiety in his belly. “What if we regret signing it, and then it’s too late? We’d be losing our baby.”

“Maybe you haven’t had much time to think about it, but I have,” Uruha said. He kept his eyes firmly on the papers on the table, text he’d read over and over now blurry with the way his head spun, even sitting down. “I don’t want a kid, Masahiro. Not now, I’m not ready for it. And the band is so important to me.”

“So you said,” Masahiro muttered. “But then again, this might be a bad idea anyway. Since you lied to your doctor, you could go to jail if we sign them. What’ll happen to your band then?”

He had a point, much as Uruha hated it. But what choice did he have? Have the kid, and let the whole ordeal kill his career alongside his very soul? Have the child adopted and then go to prison, or give up all hope and deal with the problem himself, praying he didn’t die in the process? He could see no solution, and every option was too risky. “Do you want a family, Masahiro?” Uruha asked instead, feeling out the vague hope that was left for him, much as it was a shot in the dark. “You seem so attached to the idea of a baby.”

“Well, of course I am.” A nervous laugh, one Uruha hadn’t heard from him in what felt like years. “Even if I agree it’s a bit too soon. We’re both young, and my career still has a long way to go. A man should be able to support his family, you know.”

“Uh huh,” Uruha nodded, choosing to ignore that last part. “Well, what if…” he trailed off. There was a weird half-smile on Masahiro’s face, one Uruha didn’t know what to make of, but it didn’t last long. “Maybe you should take the kid, if you don’t want to give it up. Since you’re its father. I mean, I don’t want it, and I know that Yuu doesn’t either—” anymore, he didn’t say, even as Masahiro’s frown deepened— “but you do. That way everyone’s happy, right?”

“Huh,” was the only response he got, a discontent sound as Masahiro gathered the papers in his hands. Stacking them, until they were a neat pile once again, and Uruha fidgeted in his seat, eyes drifting toward the baseball game, grateful for the noise eating up the silence. At least he was, until Masahiro turned the television off with a quick flick of the remote. “All these years I’ve known you, and I didn’t know you were so selfish, Kouyou.”

Uruha swallowed. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, telling me to raise a kid alone when you’re clearly just trying to dump it on me, just so you can run off with your band? Do you even know how much work babies are, Kouyou?” Masahiro’s voice was sharp enough to cut, but there wasn’t anger in his eyes. His gaze was so intense as he spoke, Uruha barely dared to meet it. “Not to mention you’d let your kid grow up without a mother. That’s selfish, Kouyou. Part of being a parent is making sacrifices, you know.”

For a long while, Uruha didn’t dare speak, just letting Masahiro rant while he felt his already low energy reserves drain further. “If you don’t want to, just sign the papers,” he said once Masahiro shut up for more than a second. He was exhausted. “It was just a suggestion.”

Masahiro huffed. He turned his attention back to the forms for a moment before he stood up, like he couldn’t bear to look at them. “Too selfish to take care of your own child,” he muttered, loud enough for Uruha to hear. “But risking prison isn’t a problem, even for someone like you… do you even know what happens in prison, Kouyou?” he said, scoffing. “To pretty guys like you, to omegas? You don’t, do you?”

A cold chill crawled down Uruha’s spine. It sounded rhetorical, but judging by how Masahiro only glared at him, it was clear that it wasn’t. “Stop,” Uruha said, covering his eyes as the migraine made itself known again. “Please, stop talking.”

“Answer my question.”

He didn’t want to. “No, I don’t know, okay? Just leave it alone—”

“They’ll turn you into a plaything, Kouyou. Your stupid choices will just cause pain, and you’ll probably come out of prison with another pregnancy, and there’s nothing you will be able to do about it. Do you want a repeat of this, with someone else, someone who has no care for you? Someone who doesn’t love or respect you?”

“And what the fuck do you know of respect?” Uruha snapped, glaring up at Masahiro despite the way the lights were blurring from the tears in his eyes, the sharp migraine at his temple. “If you cared about me at all, you wouldn’t have touched me in the first place.”

“It’s not my fault you were stupid enough to be in public when you were in heat, Kouyou.”

“And it’s not my fault you couldn’t keep your fucking hands to yourself.”

Uruha’s voice was icy, but Masahiro just gave a short laugh, false and mirthless. “Isn’t it?” He said. “Of course I couldn’t, and you know why?” He took one step closer to the couch, and Uruha stared up at him, instinct to fight or flight gnawing at his disoriented senses. “Because I’m an alpha, and you’re an omega, and you triggered my rut. You didn’t give me a choice that night, Uruha,” he spat the name like it was a curse, “because you were out at night, dressed like a whore, while in heat. What the hell did you think would happen?”

A single tear ran down Uruha’s cheek, Masahiro’s eyes following the path it took. “I told you not to touch me. You didn’t listen.”

“I couldn’t listen to anything other than what your body was telling me. I’m not engineered to,” Masahiro said, snorting. Like he found the mere concept ridiculous. “You shouldn’t have expected any less.”

“Guess not,” Uruha murmured, barely audible as he wiped the tear away, vision too blurry to see much of anything. “I want to go home.”

“This again? Just go back to bed, Kouyou.”

“Why, because I’m sick? I know that, because you brought me here, and I didn’t bring my meds when we left. Let me go home.”

Masahiro’s brow furrowed, but beyond that, he didn’t seem fazed. “You said you would stay a few days—”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Some days to work through the documents so we could come to an agreement, together. That’s what you said. Right before you fell asleep in my car. I had to carry you all the way up.”

Not for the first time, clearly. Uruha frowned. “Well, I changed my mind.”

“I changed my mind too. I’m not signing them,” Masahiro said, and Uruha stared at him, incredulous. “I’m not letting you go to prison over your own stupidity. And I’m not letting you steal our child away from me, Kouyou.”

“Well, then I’m leaving,” Uruha snapped. “All of this has just been a waste of time.”

The world spun as he stood up. For a moment his vision turned black as his legs almost gave in beneath him, Uruha catching himself on the sofa cushion, gasping. Masahiro’s hand gripped his arm firmly, the annoyed look on his face replaced with what seemed like genuine concern. “You’re not well, Kou,” Masahiro said softly. “Lie back down, okay?”

“I’m fine, I just… stood up too fast.”

“I’m bringing you some water. You should probably eat something,” Masahiro’s voice trailed out from his small kitchen, back to being the caring friend Uruha had always known him to be. For once, Uruha was inclined to agree with him. “We can talk about this later.”

“Okay,” was all Uruha managed, laying down on the sofa, blinking up at Masahiro’s overbright ceiling lights. He threw his elbow across his eyes to block it out, wondering faintly if migraines were just going to be a permanent part of his life from now on, ignoring how disoriented and lost he felt beyond that. He shouldn’t be here, in Masahiro’s apartment, again. He had never agreed to anything like this, had he? All he could remember was… he couldn’t remember much at all. They had been in the bar Masahiro worked at, talking in circles about the documents, about the baby that Uruha didn’t want, all while Masahiro seemed unable to agree with anything he said. He’d had a glass of water. They had gone to leave. He’d left alone, for some reason, Masahiro staying behind to… what, exactly?

Brows furrowed in thought, Uruha slowly pulled his arm away, squinting against the light as Masashiro left a glass of water on the table. He stared at it, wondering at the odd feeling of dread that made his stomach twist at the idea of drinking the water, despite being thirsty. “Masa,” he called out. “What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t remember anything. Just that we couldn’t decide on anything, and there was…” he trailed off, the memory vague and flimsy in his mind, just a shape of something huddled over a counter. He wasn’t even sure why it stood out to him. “There was a man, at the bar. Who was he?”

“Huh? Just an old friend of mine, Daisuke. I wanted to introduce you, but you left without me.”

“Hm,” Uruha hummed, considering. Well, he wanted to consider the information, but it was meaningless to him with the way his eyes hurt, and he couldn't focus enough to think. The name sounded familiar, but he was unable to place it, and carefully Uruha sat up to grab the drink of water Masahiro had gotten him. Maybe Masahiro was right and food and water would make him feel better; that, and going back to bed. His energy reserves were depleted, after all. Then again, wasn’t accepting a drink of water exactly how he had ended up here in the first place?

“Something wrong, Kouyou?”

It should have been an idea too outrageous to even consider, and yet he found himself staring at the glass of water anyway. “No,” Uruha shook his head, putting the drink back down, untouched as it were. Masahiro couldn’t have possibly put something in it, could he? He wouldn’t. “Just… the name sounded familiar, that’s all.”

“Well, it’s a small world,” Masahiro said. “And a common name.”

Uruha sniffed. “I want to go home.”

“Let me get you something to eat.” And then Masahiro disappeared again back into his kitchen, ignoring him completely, Uruha staring after the space he’d occupied moments ago, before his eyes flitted back to the glass of water on the coffee table. He was probably just overreacting again. Being hysterical and hormonal. Paranoid. The water was safe, and the food was too; Masahiro wouldn’t do anything to hurt him; they were friends, after all. And even if they weren’t, it was his own child that Uruha was carrying. Masahiro wouldn’t do anything to him.

Maybe it was true that he was losing his mind somewhat, Uruha thought, bemused, he certainly hadn’t felt much like himself the past few weeks, especially not after Aoi chased him out. Hormones and stress mingled with hatred, both toward himself and the parasite eating away at his body, making his ribs sore and his hips ache, a sting that never seemed to really go away. The dizziness was just the crowning achievement; layer upon layer of pregnancy-induced illness, all of which was because of the man whose apartment Uruha was currently sitting in. Or so Uruha wanted to think, anyway, because Masahiro wasn’t wrong. His body was built to react to heat, and Uruha had been stupid enough to go home alone that night.

The night he’d spent with Aoi had been unforgettable. Exhausting, but exhilarating in ways Uruha hadn’t known were possible until then. And the memory of Masahiro putting his hands on him had tainted it; not just because Uruha knew he was betraying his boyfriend by letting himself be pinned against that car, but it was all so different. Aoi had been gentle. Patient, caring, thoughtful; he’d reminded Uruha to drink water regularly, supplied them with pretty much everything they needed, changed his condoms after each round because he knew what Uruha feared, and he didn’t want it to come true. Masahiro hadn’t cared about anything other than his own pleasure. He had listened to the siren’s call that was Uruha’s heat, and while he had worn a condom at first, he hadn’t kept it up, pulling it off and tossing it aside after it broke.

Gods. Even now, months later the echo of the sensation still made Uruha’s stomach clench in the worst of ways, and he couldn’t seem to shake it, drawing in a shaky breath as he felt a tear slip down his cheek. The worst part was that for as much as he wanted to blame the man, he knew Masahiro was right; if anyone was at fault, it was Uruha, for being there in the first place, even more so knowing Masahiro was an alpha. He hadn’t known about Masahiro’s heat, sure, that was just an awful, happy coincidence.

He quickly wiped the stray tear away as he heard Masahiro approach again, watching but not really seeing as he set a plate down. “Here,” he said, “have something to eat. Go back to bed again after, you look like you need it. I’ll still be here when you wake up.”

Was it meant to be reassuring? Because it didn’t work. “Don’t you have two jobs?” Uruha asked as he carefully sat up again, staring blurry-eyed at the plate of food before him. Hurriedly reheated leftovers, by the looks of things. “I thought you were busy most of the time.”

“Eh, the bartending is mostly for fun, they don’t need me to come in. And I took a few days off work. You’re more important than all of that, Kouyou.”

Uruha didn’t answer. He ate slowly, appetite gone despite how hungry he knew he had to be, Masahiro taking a seat slightly too close on the couch and turning the television back on. The food was bland, but at least it was easy on the stomach. A little stale. “How long have you been living here?” he asked after a while, making idle conversation over the baseball game still going on.

“A little over a year now.” There was a weird, fond smile on Masahiro’s face for a moment. Like he found the domesticity he’d forced Uruha into to be cute. “It is a bit expensive, but for this amount of space…”

“Enough room for two,” Uruha said. He knew there was another room, since the layout seemed to be identical from what he could remember of his own place. He had yet to see whatever Masahiro used the second bedroom for, however. Unless he’d converted it into an office or something.

Masahiro nodded. “Exactly,” he said, and Uruha completely missed the knowing look in his eyes. “Maybe not enough for three, though.”

The words were so quiet, muttered under his breath, and Uruha paused. “What did you say?”

“Oh, nothing. Eat up, Kouyou, you look like you need it.”

Uruha did. He finished his bland meal and excused himself to the direction of the bathroom, his mind drifting somewhere toward waterlogged clothing in the bottom of a shower when he spotted the door to the second bedroom. Or it had been another bedroom in the apartment he shared with Reita, anyway. Here he didn’t know; it probably didn’t serve as a guest bedroom considering the fact that he had occupied Masahiro’s bed both times he had woken up here.

It certainly looked like a study, at first glance. There were bookshelves, a desk, a lounge chair standing in the corner by the door as if overlooking the space. Set against the wall was a display cabinet, filled with books and magazines, Uruha unable to read them without his glasses with the distance. And Masahiro was sitting right there in the living room, only a few meters away.

Quietly, Uruha pulled the door closed, slipping into the bathroom and running the tap, washing his hands just for the sake of it. He pressed cool water to his forehead, hoping to soothe the pounding in his head and tried to ignore the roiling of his stomach, the nervous nausea in his throat. For a moment Uruha wondered if he really did need to throw up, or if it was just the fact that he’d gone a while without food. It subsided after a minute or two, just as he heard Masahiro’s voice calling, “Everything alright?”

That was his cue to return. “Yeah, I’m fine,” Uruha said as he made his way back to the couch, glancing at the television before the headache made itself known twofold; he shut his eyes, brows knitting in pain. “Masahiro. Can’t you take me home? Please.”

“You don’t look fine. I don’t want you to be alone when you’re sick.”

“I won’t be. I can call someone.”

“I’d rather be able to take care of you,” Masahiro insisted. “Where I can keep an eye on you, what if you pass out again?”

“Masa, please,” his voice was getting desperate. “You can do all of this at mine if you’re so worried, I just want to sleep in my own bed.”

“And you will,” Masahiro said, seeming to consider it before he shook his head. “Later, once we’ve found a solution, like you agreed to. Don’t make a big deal out of it, Kouyou, you need rest.” He paused. “Or do I need to carry you to bed again?”

Gods, no. “I’ll… go get some sleep,” Uruha relented, giving Masahiro a careful look from where he stood in the doorway. “Keep the volume down?”

Masahiro nodded, already reaching for the remote. “Of course, love.”

Uruha didn’t respond. He kept his face carefully neutral as he closed the door behind him, leaning against it where he stood in the dark of the bedroom. Staring at nothing in the small, dim space, he swallowed thickly and chose not to think about it.

Crawling into Masahiro’s bed, he pulled the covers up to his chin, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to ignore it all. Masahiro’s apartment, Masahiro’s bed, his pillow beneath Uruha’s head, his blankets, his bastard child eating away at Uruha’s body.

He could not help the stray tears even there in the dark, breath ragged until he fell unconscious with exhaustion.

Laying on his bed, still fully dressed while the evening sun filled the room, Aoi stared aimlessly up at his ceiling. Counting the cracks as he waited, and waited, and waited for something to happen. For the phone in his hand to start ringing. For Uruha to knock on his door, letting himself in with the key Aoi had given him ages ago, because Uruha was always welcome.

It had yet to happen. It was so quiet, and his only company was his old cat curled up at his feet, a softly purring ball of black fur. His only comfort. They had talked about calling the cops to report Uruha missing, because no one knew where he was, and he’d been missing for days. A minor celebrity, and a pregnant omega, at that. In the end they’d decided not to call it in, partially because Ruki claimed that cops were useless anyway and he was sure it would be for nothing, but they all knew it would be a disaster for the band to have any information of Uruha’s state come to light, and Uruha would never forgive them for letting that happen.

Aoi was feeling pretty useless himself. What could he do but sit around and pray that Uruha was okay, wherever he’d gone? That he would come back? They’d already annoyed Uruha’s neighbours by asking if they’d seen anything, calling all of his friends, and checking on the places he used to frequent. Bars, arcades, cheap restaurants. It had all been for nothing, though; not a single trace of him, it was like Uruha had vanished from the face of the earth. He had even tried calling up the gynecologist, though the doctor hadn’t seemed to grasp the situation, saying he was certain Uruha would ‘speak to him when he was ready to do so’, whatever that meant. It was an infuriating answer, for sure, but Aoi could only interpret it as the doctor knowing fuck all. Either way, it had gone nowhere.

Part of Aoi wondered why he even cared as much as he did. Despite breaking his heart, Uruha still occupied so much space in it, like the mere idea of his presence was enough to make everything okay again. It wouldn’t be, of course. When—if—he did come back, they would have a lot to talk about. Not just the child. Their relationship, the band, if they could continue working together at all after everything that had transpired. Gods, Aoi hoped so.

The vibration in his hand snapped him out of his thoughts. Aoi sat up so quickly that Ibu started, giving a loud, displeased meow, but Aoi was too busy flipping his phone open, holding out the hope that it was his potentially former lover finally, finally responding to him—

It wasn’t. A notification for a text from Daisuke glared back at him from his tiny phone screen, and Aoi felt his heart sink yet again. He snapped it shut again, covering his eyes; what was he even thinking? Uruha still hadn’t come home. His phone was still lying forgotten somewhere in his apartment, and if he did, Aoi would know, because Reita had decided to stay there, in case Uruha came home. And if he didn’t, they would call the police. A final, desperate resort.

Kai had been skeptical, insisting that they should have done so the moment they realized that Uruha was missing, with not even his own parents knowing where he’d gone, but in the end, he’d agreed to wait. And they all knew how Uruha would despise them if their rash decisions brought his secrets into the open.

Then again, anything could happen in the few days they had agreed on. They had ended the impromptu meeting, Aoi with the hope that work would keep him distracted, but the second he was alone, that had dissipated. He’d gotten in the bath to relax and wash the day away, but thoughts only kept swirling in his head, phone kept within reach at all times, just in case Uruha called, or Reita messaged him, or something else happened.

And yet, after hours of worrying over where in the world Uruha could be, the only message on his phone was from Daisuke, and if there was anyone Aoi had no interest in talking to any time soon, it would be him. The man who said his ex was a cheating whore, who insinuated Uruha was the same; Aoi didn’t want to face him ever again, especially now that he knew Daisuke had been right.

Despite his broken heart, Aoi was willing to forgive.

There was a note waiting for him when Uruha woke up later. In Masahiro’s neat handwriting it read gone out for a bit, back as soon as I can. The note was left on the bedside table, intimately close to where Uruha had just slept, like he was a lover and this was normal between them. Uruha stared at it from where he sat on the edge of the mattress, revulsion slowly creeping up his spine at the knowledge that Masahiro had come into the room again. Why couldn’t he leave the note somewhere else, like the coffee table? The kitchen? The bathroom mirror, even. Anywhere that wasn’t right by the bed he’d slept in. Either way, it didn’t matter; Masahiro was out of the house, and that made a good opportunity to get the hell away from him, since he clearly had no intentions to help Uruha out of this mess.

Carefully getting to his feet, Uruha started the process of getting ready. His once-bloodied clothes were neatly folded atop the dresser, and the apartment was eerily quiet, proof enough that he was still alone. It meant he could leave. Even if Uruha knew Masahiro would just seek him out again, he didn’t care.

He took a moment to catch the view from the living room window, the city landscape he’d grown so familiar with when he and Reita lived nearby, and while he wasn’t sure of the exact address, he knew the neighbourhood. Maybe he should call Reita to come pick him up, drive him home. Gods; home. Despite the short days he’d spent here, he was truly getting sick of this apartment. Leaving his phone behind really had been a bad idea, one he was regretting immensely now as he went to find Masahiro’s landline.

Which, puzzling enough, was missing from its spot in the hallway where Uruha was sure he had seen it just hours before. His mind was brought to a standstill as he gingerly touched the spot where the phone had sat, because what the fuck? Had Masahiro taken his phone down while Uruha wasn’t looking? Had it been there in the first place, or had he just been imagining things? That couldn’t be it. Maybe Masahiro had just gotten it installed elsewhere, somewhere like the study.

The door to the room, however, didn’t budge. Uruha frowned; had Masahiro locked the door before leaving? Why? From what little he had seen, there didn’t seem to be anything important enough to lock up in there. Unless Masahiro was overprotective of his books, or he’d forgotten to put a password on his laptop. Well not that it mattered, because Uruha knew these doors well enough from his old apartment, and he knew how little effort it took to open a lock, even without its key; a short walk to the kitchen later and he was undoing the lock with a pair of tiny scissors, sliding the door open and stepping inside.

There was a bit of a strange air in the room; not a staleness like there had been in the bedroom when he first woke up, no, but the atmosphere felt off. Somewhat wrong. The desk held a closed laptop and various tools; pens and rulers, scissors, a box cutter—but no landline; pulling the drawers open didn’t reveal the missing phone, and Uruha sighed, ready to give up his search and just leave on his own. Find a pay phone and hope for the best, maybe ask a stranger and ask to make a quick call. Turning to leave, he pulled a magazine from the shelf at random, wanting to sate his curiosity while he was at it, only to freeze in his tracks as he found himself staring at a picture of his own face. One of their many photoshoots in recent years, sure, but… Masahiro had always claimed he didn’t care for the band. That he wasn’t interested in rock music in general, much less what they did; he’d shown up to a few concerts, sure, but…

There were so many of them. Hell, some of these Uruha didn’t even remember, most being short live reports or reviews, a one-off interview, very few of their features exceeding more than two pages. Uruha could tell, because of the fucking bookmark sticking out of every single book, each one flipping open to reveal himself.

It wasn’t just magazines and flyers. Masahiro had also gotten his hands on photocards, their hand-printed pamphlets, and the terrible photos they’d taken a few years ago when they were just starting out, little more than a handful of yen to their names, their outfits repurposed clothes from bargain bin sales—or in Uruha’s case, raided from his sister’s closet. There was the yearbook from school, too, from just before Uruha had dropped out. It made sense that Masahiro would have it, of course, but stuffing it in a shelf crammed full of magazines Uruha had been featured in… Uruha felt a wave of revulsion hit him. He wanted to believe that Masahiro was merely their biggest fan, even if he vehemently denied it. It was a niche interest; Uruha could forgive him for being embarrassed. But this…

There was something peeking out from behind the magazines. Swallowing his nerves, Uruha set the book on the desk and reached inside, hand coming in contact with hard, smooth plastic. A coiled cable. Like the phone he had been searching for; like Masahiro had taken it while Uruha slept, shoving it into the first hiding place he could think of and locking the door, because… why? Because he knew Uruha would call someone if he left him to his own devices? Uruha frowned. There was something else back there, too, right by the phone. A soft, small plastic bag.

The feeling of the contents beneath his fingers made his mind turn blank. Fearful to even breathe, Uruha pulled the bag out from its hiding space of magazines and stared at the little bag, the tiny pills it contained. A whole world of fears Uruha had refused to entertain opened up in his head, thoughts brought back to the bar, Masahiro handing him a glass of water, how dizzy Uruha had gotten as their conversation went on. Passing out in his car. Waking up here.

He hadn’t thought too much of it, at first, because he knew he was sick. Dizziness had become his new norm, so it wasn’t a far reach that he might pass out as well; that was what Uruha had believed when he woke up in Masahiro’s bed for the second time. It’s what he wanted to believe. The logical conclusion, rather than his high school friend drugging him and taking him home, and then pretending like nothing had happened. Because that was an insane conclusion to draw. And yet, the proof was right there in his hand. A little bag of pills, seemingly insignificant, hidden out of sight.

Despite how Uruha wanted to tell himself otherwise, everything seemed to point to it being the truth. Masahiro must have slipped him something, in the bar. Because Uruha had refused him at every turn, and he’d insisted Uruha come over, stay a few days. Let him think about it. What the hell, Uruha thought, flinching at the sound of the front door sliding open, Masahiro stepping inside.

Anger coursing through him, Uruha let the momentum carry him as he rushed into the hallway, a startled Masahiro staring back at him. “Kouyou,” he said lightly, eyes momentarily darting towards the door to his study. “What are you—”

“Don’t start, Masahiro, what is this? What the fuck did you do to me?”

The bag was clutched in his fist; he could see the realization in Masahiro’s face, his carefully neutral expression cracking to give a glimpse of horror. “It’s not what you think.”

Bullshit. Uruha wanted to laugh, but he knew that if he did, it might morph into something worse, something hysterical and uncontrollable, perhaps even violent. “Why am I here, when I kept saying I didn’t want to come? Because you couldn’t handle being rejected and drugged me? Is that it?” Masahiro barely caught the bag as Uruha shoved it into his hands. “You’re an asshole, Masahiro. I’m leaving.”

“You’re—hang on, Kouyou, look, you’re blowing this way out of proportion—”

“Don’t touch me.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions. I’m serious, it’s not—I didn’t—stop. Stop,” Masahiro said, Uruha slapping away the hand that came to curl around his arm; he hissed a curse in pain, cradling his hand, staring as if in shock that Uruha could possibly hit him.

It wasn’t quite the punch in the face Uruha had dreamed of for weeks now, tempting as it was to give in to the violence, to give Masahiro exactly what he deserved… but he was unsteady on his feet. Still dizzy, which was only made worse by the rage, and who knew what Masahiro might do if he decided to overpower him?

Considering how they ended up in this scenario in the first place, Uruha could think of a few things. He drew a shaky breath, steadying himself against the wall, vision tunnelling somewhat. “I’m leaving,” Uruha said again, “I’m going home, and you can’t stop me.”

“You don’t have your car,” Masahiro called from behind him. “Are you gonna, what? Walk the whole way?”

“If that’s what it takes to get away from you.” Uruha squeezed his eyes shut as a sliver of the rage evaporated, giving way to the horror and sheer betrayal he felt with the knowledge of just what Masahiro had done to him. The fact that he seemed to have everything the band had ever been featured in, and clearly had been collecting for a while, all while telling Uruha he had zero interest or knowledge of what they were up to…. the fact that Uruha was carrying his bastard child. And Masahiro apparently thought nothing of drugging him, knowing that.

The black spots in the corners of his vision overwhelmed him. It only took a moment of weakness as he stumbled to the floor, blacking out for what felt like the briefest of seconds. “Fuck,” Masahiro’s voice came from somewhere way too close, and this time his worry sounded real. “Kouyou, you’re not well, come on—”

“Don’t,” Uruha could only say, weakly trying to shake Masahiro’s hands off him. “Let go of me, I need to…”

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you to be alone, how can you expect me to leave you like this?” Masahiro sighed, adjusting his grip like he meant to pick Uruha up from the floor, the way he had clearly done before. “Come on now, let’s get you back to bed—”

“I’m going to hit you,” Uruha said; that, at least, made Masahiro pause. “You did this to me. I didn’t want to come, so you drugged me, and you didn’t want me to leave, so you did it again, you fucking bastard.” His voice was strangled by emotion, but despite the tear streaking his face the rage kept him going, and he slapped Masahiro’s hands away, leaning heavily against the wall. “Let me go home, or I swear, I’m going to punch you.”

Masahiro didn’t look impressed by the threat, but he made a face. “I swear, I didn’t…”

“You keep a damn shrine to me and my band and then say you don’t care about it at all,” Uruha snapped, interrupting him. “I don’t believe a word out of your mouth.”

“You weren’t supposed to go in there, Kouyou.”

“I could tell.”

“Look,” Masahiro sighed. “I mean it, okay? You’re not well, and you need to get rest. Whatever you think I did to you…”

“So you say you didn’t do anything to me today, but you put something in my drink at the bar. Bastard.” He wiped the stray tear angrily with his sleeve as he carefully climbed to his feet, his weight against wall. “You’re a real piece of work. I can’t believe I let myself think you were my friend for so long, that I let you do this to me, fuck…” He shook it off. Let the feeling of grief and betrayal dissipate, lest Masahiro got any ideas. “I’m going home. Where are the papers?”

“... gone,” was the answer, and Uruha could only stare, exasperated even as Masahiro averted his gaze. “I got rid of them. Sorry. Let me… look, let me take you home, okay? If that’ll make you happy.”

“Not likely after all of the shit you’ve put me through,” Uruha snapped. “But fine.”

Chapter Text

It was a long, uncomfortable drive back. He was going home, despite Masahiro’s attempts to divert them elsewhere, taking wrong turns, pretending he didn’t know the way. Offering to make a pit stop, buying him something, like Uruha was a kid, and they were on a road trip. Uruha wasn’t having it. He knew the way home well enough, and Masahiro knew it too; he was doing it very much on purpose. “If you don’t stop fucking around,” Uruha eventually said as they stopped at a red light, “I will get out of the car and walk the rest of the way. I don’t care.”

“That’s stupid, Kouyou, we’re in the middle of traffic.”

“I don’t care,” Uruha repeated, voice icy. “I’ll do it.”

Masahiro glared at him, exasperated, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, but he relented. “Alright,” he muttered, letting Uruha direct them back to the main road. After that, the car was mostly silent; much as Masahiro tried to break the tension, feeding Uruha apologies and small talk and excuses, all of which fell on deaf ears as Uruha continued to ignore him, staring out the window, making damn sure Masahiro was going the right way. In the end Masahiro gave up and reached for the radio instead, just to fill the silence. He’d always claimed he didn’t care about music, and Uruha was inclined to believe it; other than the radio, there was no music in his apartment, certainly, nothing that he could see, anyway, despite all the magazines.

It still crept him out, thinking about what he’d found in that room. But not as much as the thought of Masahiro drugging him, or whatever he might have done while Uruha was unconscious. It wasn’t something he wanted to think about, but it was hard not to. Up until today, he had written Masahiro intruding on his life as nothing more than a string of unfortunate events, because they frequented the same areas downtown, and Masahiro couldn’t really be blamed for going into rut that night, but the more he thought of it, the more it became obvious that it couldn’t be coincidence. Not when Masahiro had been collecting his pictures for years and years, living in an apartment a stone’s throw from Uruha’s old one, running into him time and time again on nights he’d gone out to drink or party. Seemingly by chance, time and time again, every few months or so.

Uruha didn’t want to accuse Masahiro of stalking him, but the more he thought about it, the more it seemed the case. And that alone was bad enough, but drugging him? Trying to keep him trapped? Whatever trust Uruha used to have in the man had been broken the night of the party, and only fractured more and more since then, completely shattering the moment Masahiro had gone so far as to slip Uruha something so he could take him home. Whatever his plan was from there on out, Uruha didn’t know. He didn’t want to know, either. All his suspicions and fears were a confused mess in his head, and he shot Masahiro a glance as they entered the marking lot of Uruha’s apartment.

“Careful,” Masahiro said as he pulled the door open on the passenger’s side, extending a hand like he still thought he could play the gentleman, “Let me help you up.”

Uruha slapped his hand away, “Don’t touch me,” he said as he got to his feet. The world swam as he stood, and a few times more on the trek to his door; he had to cling to the railing as they climbed the stairs, Masahiro hovering at his side to catch him even as he told him off. Uruha chose to ignore him, but much as he hated to admit it, his feet weren’t very steady right now; there was a very real chance he might fall.

Gods, he hated feeling so weak. And he hated even more that it was happening right in front of the man who had done this to him in the first place, but knowing what he did now, it only made Uruha more suspicious. Fishing for his keys, he asked, “So what else did you do to me while you had the chance?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Uruha snorted. “That’s a lie and you know it,” he muttered. “Why else do I feel like shit all the time? So you can insist you need to be there to take care of me, just like you made me pass out so you could drag me to your place? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Kouyou…” Masahiro took a deep breath, like he needed to collect himself. “I didn’t. That was all you being sick, I swear.”

“Yeah, because of this fucking thing you put in me,” Uruha said curtly as he stepped inside, glaring at Masahiro as though daring him to walk past the threshold. “What did you do while I was knocked out from the drugs you slipped me? Did you do anything else to keep me weak, so I wouldn’t run away the first chance I got?” He was raising his voice, too angry to stop himself even as Masahiro flinched at the words coming out of his mouth. “Where did you even get them from? Don’t tell me you were planning this for who knows how long—”

“Shut up, Kouyou, will you stop talking about it—”

“Well, then stop avoiding my questions! Why did you have them, Masahiro?”

Masahiro sighed. “I work in a bar, things happen, okay? They were confiscated from some patron, we just hadn’t gotten rid of them yet.”

“Date rape is common where you work, huh,” Uruha muttered, and Masahiro grimaced. So he had gone out of his way to take the pills with him, in case he needed more? “So that’s why you insisted on taking me there. Did you touch me?”

“Of course I didn’t.”

“Did you come into the bedroom while I was unconscious?”

“No.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” Uruha said. “I woke up and you’d clearly been there, so stop bullshitting me, Masahiro, and tell me the truth.”

There was an irritated huff. “Fine, okay? I did.”

“Why?”

“Kouyou…”

“Don’t. Why did you enter the room, Masahiro?”

“To check up on you, obviously. I needed to know if you were okay. And I…” he trailed off again, glancing around the hallway like he was afraid he might be overheard, and whatever secret he was harboring, Uruha didn’t think he wanted to hear it.

“You were watching me sleep,” he stated. “You say you didn’t touch me, but you’re sick in the head, did you do all of this just so you could rape me again?”

The word just slipped out, unintentional, unconscious, but Masahiro’s face darkened considerably. His whole posture changed at the accusation, somehow taking up more space in the hallway. “Oh, don’t be a bitch about it, Kouyou,” Masahiro said curtly. “Come on.” And ignoring the pained, surprised yelp, he grabbed Uruha by the arm and pulled him further into the apartment, slamming the door behind them. “You are bothering your neighbours with all this talk.”

Tearing himself out of Masahiro’s grip, Uruha backed up as much as he could. “What the hell are you doing?” he said, rubbing the spot on his arm where Masahiro had held him, despite being too stunned to really feel the pain. “Get out of here!”

“You said you wanted to go home. Well, here you are,” was the reply, “so stop being so hysterical and calm the fuck down.” And with that Masahiro leisurely started to shrug off his jacket while his eyes darted around, taking the place in, and Uruha swallowed. It was bad enough being trapped in Masahiro’s apartment, but now he had decided to intrude on Uruha’s personal space, forcing himself into his home?

“I don’t want you here,” Uruha started. “I mean it—”

Masahiro interrupted him, snorting. “I take you home, I take care of you, that’s what we agreed on, Kouyou. Do I have to remind you of every single thing? God, that fall must have really done a number on your head.” He hung his jacket up, and gave Uruha a sardonic smile. “Go on and take your meds, or whatever. And go to bed.”

“What, so you can creep in and stare at me while I sleep?” Uruha snapped. “So you can touch me again? I’m not letting you stay here, get the hell out, Masahiro—”

“Oh, come on,” Masahiro growled. “You know I had to make sure you were okay.”

“You needed to check if I was okay, because you drugged me, yeah.”

Masahiro slammed his hand against the wall right by his head, and Uruha flinched but didn’t budge. “Come on, you don’t need to make such a big deal out of it—”

“Are you going to do it again? Rape me again?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Masahiro hissed, his face inches from Uruha’s, “don’t use that word, it’s not right—”

Just then, the door pulled open, and Uruha and Masahiro both jumped. “Hey, what the fuck is going on?” Reita was standing there, a grocery store bag dangling from his wrist, rage and shock in his eyes as he stared at Masahiro. “You did what?”

“Suzuki,” Masahiro said coolly and allowed Uruha to slip away, putting some much needed distance between them. “What are you doing here? Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Cut the crap. Did I hear that right? He drugged you?” Reita’s eyes flicked to Uruha, and the worry was clear in that piercing gaze, despite the rage in them. “Kouyou, where the hell have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Masahiro cut in, “Hey, hey, let’s not jump to any conclusions here, alright? Kouyou’s just been staying at my place because—”

“I didn’t ask you,” Reita said, ignoring him entirely.

Uruha drew a shaky breath in an attempt to pull himself together. “Well, he’s not lying about that part,” he said, a mirthless, desperate laugh bubbling up in his chest at the absurdity of it all. It wasn’t funny at all, but he didn’t know how else to handle the sheer shock of how quickly things had changed. From being cornered and alone with Masahiro who had—the man who had touched him against his will, knocked him up—to whatever this was. Whatever Reita was doing here, Uruha had no idea, but he was immensely grateful for Reita’s presence.

Just as Masahiro was displeased to have their privacy disrupted, he was sure.

“We had something important to talk about, alright? Something that doesn’t concern you, anyway,” Masahiro said, and Uruha frowned, shooting Reita a wary glance; Reita didn’t know the truth. He should be just as surprised to see Masahiro as they were at seeing him. “But now I see we should have stayed here instead. He’s sick, you know that, right?” Masahiro went on. “He fainted, twice, I had to carry him all the way to bed. And sometimes he’s saying things—”

Uruha glared at him. “Excuse me?”

“—things he doesn’t mean, don’t worry about what you heard. Anyway, he needs someone to take care of him. And a lot of rest, so—”

“Well, I didn’t ask you to kidnap me, did I?”

“You don’t know what’s best for you and never have,” Masahiro started, before the words caught up with him and he did a double take, just as Reita bristled. “Hang on a second, I didn’t—”

“You fucking what?” Reita cut in, gaze flicking from Uruha to Masahiro and back, “I come here because Kouyou is missing, and it’s because you…”

“No, give me a second to hear me out!”

“Oh, I can give you a second before I bash your face in, Takara,” Reita said. “In fact, I’ll give you the chance right now. Go ahead. Explain yourself.”

“Look, Kouyou here…” Masahiro swallowed; he glanced at Uruha, who watched him scramble for words. “He needed my help, okay? So he came to me, and he promised he’d come back after a few days.”

“I didn’t promise you shit, Masa,” Uruha interrupted, nevermind that it was partially true, and Masahiro ignored him.

“But he didn’t, so I went and picked him up. He was going to stay a couple days at my place so I could help him, so we could find a solution, I never did anything to him,” he claimed, “it’s the hormones and illness making him irrational. It’s like being drunk, but way worse, I have no idea how he was dealing with it alone.”

Reita looked unimpressed. And perhaps it was only notable to Uruha, who knew his tells inside and out, but he could read the worry on Reita’s face clear as day. “Why the hell would he need your help with anything?” he asked, deliberately ignoring the excuse. “Far as I know, you only see him every few months.”

“He didn’t tell you,” Masahiro stated, and Uruha’s heart skipped a beat. He was right. Uruha hadn’t told him; Reita didn’t know. “Why do you think I’m here? He’s pregnant, and it’s mine—”

“Masa, shut the hell up—”

“—and he went months without telling me about it, who the hell does that?”

Reita’s gaze was intense, now focused wholly on Masahiro, and Uruha could see the way he was breathing, the way his fists were itching to do something drastic. “I was wondering how it happened,” he said, tense. “This answers that question.”

In two paces he closed the distance between them, grabbing Masahiro by the shoulder and pulling him out of the apartment, turning to Uruha, “Lock the door, Shima, while I deal with this asshole.”

And then the door slammed shut, leaving Uruha to stare at it, leaving his best friend and former friend in the hallway. For a moment he was too stunned to even do anything; he considered opening the door again, to stop them before Reita did anything stupid. He considered running to get something to chase Masahiro away with, wishing intensely just then that he had invested in a bat, or something else that could function as a self defense weapon.

Reaching out, Uruha twisted the lock. He backed away until he hit the wall, staring at the door, hearing but not listening to the muffled voices of the two men right outside his home. He braced himself for the sound of violence; for screaming. It didn’t come; whatever was being said, it was too low for him to hear. Then, it got quiet.

The handle rattled. Uruha jumped but didn’t move, frozen still as he stared, praying the one on the other side was Reita— “Kouyou!” Masahiro’s voice was too close, too loud. “Open the door!”

Not half a second later, it was followed by a loud slam against the wall, and Uruha lost his cool. Fleeing from the entrance to his bedroom, he closed the door behind him before he curled up on his bed, seeking shelter under his blankets, huddling under them like a scared child. Waiting it out. His heart was racing a mile a minute; he should call someone, Uruha thought. The police, maybe. Aoi. He should contact his neighbours, apologize for the noise. He should call his mother and tell her the truth. That he had lied, that he didn’t sleep with some faceless group of people, but that his friend from high school had been in rut and pulled him out of the car, pinning him against it and taken him, again and again, against his will—

The doorbell rang. Uruha didn’t even hear it, only raising his head as there was a gentle knock on the bedroom door. “Shima,” Reita said. “It’s me. I chased him off, can I come in?”

His mouth was too dry to speak for a too-long moment as Uruha only stared, his breath ragged. “Aki,” he tried, but it was almost inaudible. More a whisper than a voice.

“Are you there?”

Uruha swallowed. He pulled the blankets back and sat up, combing fingers through his frazzled hair. “Yeah,” he managed, clearing his throat. “You can come in.” The door gently opened, and Uruha didn’t dare to look up and meet his eyes, not when Reita knew the truth. Instead, Uruha stared at his hands; at the red he could see across his best friend’s knuckles, red like Masahiro’s hair, like his car, like freshly spilled blood, pouring from his nose like an open faucet.

“Shima,” Reita said as he entered the room, kneeling before him where Uruha sat on the bed. “You’re crying.”

He was. He hadn’t even noticed; Uruha sniffled, brushing the tears from his cheeks, refusing to meet Reita’s gaze. “Sorry.”

“I’m getting you some water.” He briefly patted Uruha’s knee, and then he was gone, giving Uruha a moment to pull himself together. To rub his cheeks dry and force the images from his head as he heard the sink running, Reita softly cursing; the sound of him washing his hands.

When he came back, the blood was gone, and he handed Uruha the glass he’d promised; the only red was a slight blush across his knuckles. “Thank you,” Uruha muttered. He drained the glass while Reita pulled his cell out, tapping out a message, by the looks of it. “What’re you doing…?”

“Letting everyone know that you’re safe. We were worried for you.”

“Oh,” Uruha uttered. He supposed they probably would have worried, for the few days it had been. Even though no one had really made contact before, not after he’d last spoken to Aoi; gods, Aoi. Uruha swallowed his grief. “Is… everyone doing good?”

“Are you okay?” Reita sounded baffled. “Kouyou… what I heard—”

He closed his eyes. “I don’t know if…” his head swam. What had he even said? He was dizzy, and tired, and the migraine at his temple was still going. His stomach hurt. “I’m sorry you found out this way, Aki.”

“Look.” Reita started, seeming to deliberate on what to say, and then he took a seat next to Uruha on the bed. “We already knew, okay? We had a… crisis meeting. Yuu told us, so everyone knows. Sorry,” he grimaced, apologetic. “But you need to know that nobody judges you, okay? Even—” he cut himself off as his cell started belting out cheesy rock music, and despite himself, Uruha felt the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Sorry. I’m gonna silence it.”

“Thanks.” Staring at his lap, Uruha didn’t know what to say. Maybe Reita had judged him when he’d first heard the news, Uruha didn’t know. After what he’d heard… “Aki,” he said, and even on the short name, his voice trembled. “I think… for so long I blamed myself for what happened, but… I think I was wrong.” He clutched his knees painfully hard, his eyes wide. “What did I say…? My memory is busted right now.”

“You accused him. Said he’d drugged you,” Reita’s voice was small. Careful. “That he raped you.”

“Yeah. I guess he did.” He blinked the tears away; somehow it was a relief to hear the words from someone else's mouth, despite the horrors they implied. Like all of this pain and suffering wasn’t of his own fault. Even if he had been there, downtown, dressed like a whore, an omega in heat, body practically begging to be taken—Masahiro had been his friend. He had thought he would be safe. And he’d said no, hadn’t he? “I’m so… fucking scared, Aki. I don’t know what to do.”

Reita hummed, thoughtful, but Uruha could tell by his breathing that he was on the verge of something. Whether it was tears or fury, he wasn’t sure. “Me neither,” Reita admitted, and carefully he brought an arm around Uruha’s shoulder, a warm, familiar comfort. Reita would always be home to him. Sinking into Reita’s arms, Uruha closed his eyes as he tried to process everything. Every emotion, every fear, the dangers still pointed at him. Masahiro might come back; hell, he would come back at some point, it was inevitable. And there was no way to keep him at bay when Uruha was carrying his child. One that was conceived through their mutual heat, even for as much as Uruha had wanted it to stop; unable to do anything but endure as he stared at the red polish of the car beneath him.

Despite it all, he felt a small, bright thread of hope; he pulled at it, even as he sat there, in Reita’s embrace. A chance to get away from all this, in a way that would be safe. A way that wouldn’t leave him injured, or broken, or imprisoned. “I need to go see my doctor,” Uruha murmured, the words half muffled against Reita’s hoodie. “Right now.”

“Right now?”

“Yes.” His head swam a bit as he tried to sit up. “Or maybe it can wait a few minutes.”

Reita watched him cautiously. “You look really ill, Shima…”

“I know. I feel it too.”

Reita helped him lie down on the bed; finally, his own bed, gods. Despite being fully dressed, he was so grateful to finally be back home and laying down. The very thought of Masahiro’s bedroom made him queasy, with how much time he’d spent there. Who knew what Masahiro had done to him? He wouldn’t talk, but Uruha could tell that he had been lying when he claimed to merely check up on him. Whatever implications there were, Uruha didn’t want to think about it; he just closed his eyes and breathed in the stale air of his own room, dirty laundry and all, while Reita searched the living room for his cell and the medicines he really should have been taking.

“Just a warning,” Reita said as he handed him the phone, “we were kind of calling you nonstop while you were gone.”

Uruha grimaced. “I hate to think of what your phone bill will look like,” he muttered as he unlocked his phone, immediately being flooded by a swarm of missed calls and unread messages. Jeez. “I don’t think I’ve got it in me to read all of these.”

Reita scratched his neck. “Yeah, I mean. I wouldn’t either, knowing what’s in most of them. Just us wondering where you are, and stuff…”

There were messages from Aoi. Plenty of them, too; Uruha stared at his name for a moment too long before he closed the notifications, trying to ignore the many missed calls from his mother as he went to find the doctor’s information in his contact list. “He said it was fine to call whenever I needed to…”

And he was right. It didn’t take too long before Moriyama answered the phone, his voice professionally concerned the way it always was when Uruha called unexpectedly. “Already?” he asked when Uruha requested another meeting. “If it’s this important, then sure, I can be at the office in… maybe twenty minutes. Is everything well, Takashima?”

“No,” Uruha said plainly, too tired to even pretend. “I’ll be there.”

Reita had no qualms on driving him to the clinic. He was, however, a little perturbed by the sudden rush as Uruha picked with him the few things he thought he needed—prenatal pills, medicine, a bottle of water, his phone and keys—which Uruha couldn’t fault him for. He had only just come home after apparently being missing for days, and as Reita guided him down the stairs, Uruha finally remembered to ask the question that had been burning in the back of his mind. Namely, “What were you doing at my place, Aki?”

Reita shrugged a shoulder, “We couldn’t find you. So I thought I’d stay at yours, in case you came home. Good thing I did,” he said, grimacing. “Don’t want to think about what might’ve happened if no one was here…”

“I don’t want to either,” Uruha murmured. He really didn’t. Masahiro would absolutely have refused to leave the apartment. Demanded he take care of Uruha, in whatever form he deemed necessary, put him to sleep, drugged and dazed, in his own bed, and then… “You’d gone shopping,” he said, refusing to entertain the thought any longer.

“Groceries. Your fridge was pretty barren.”

“I guess.”

“Had to throw out a lot of shit that had gone bad. Were you really only gone for a few days, Kouyou?”

Reita’s voice was severe, despite the gentle tone, and Uruha sighed. “Yes… and no. I haven’t really had much of an appetite for a while,” Uruha said, giving a wry smile. “It’s part of the reason why I feel like shit. That, and what he did to me, I was already feeling ill, but it’s worse now…”

Reita frowned, pausing as they hit the bottom of the stairs and letting Uruha catch his breath. “You went somewhere else before?”

“After…” Uruha looked away. “After Yuu found out. That night, I went after Masahiro. Nothing really happened, but…” he trailed off, Reita’s brows knitting in confused worry. “He didn’t know about the pregnancy. We talked about it. He told me to call him, but I didn’t, and then he showed up at my door a few days ago.”

“Fucking asshole.”

Uruha couldn’t help the way his mouth curled upwards, gesturing to the door. “Let’s go, okay? I can tell you the rest in the car.”

Twenty-five minutes later, Uruha was walking into the clinic with Reita at his side, taking a seat in the waiting room while Reita spoke to the receptionist to notify the doctor they had arrived. It wasn’t much, but he felt better, having taken his medicine as well as eaten a few granola bars on the ride to the clinic. The bars Reita had shoved into his bag, despite buying them for himself, claiming that Uruha looked like he needed them more than he ever would. Uruha didn’t doubt it. Relaying the events of the past few days to him had been unpleasant, Uruha feeling a strange detachment to it all despite how recent it all was. Maybe he just hadn’t processed it yet. Reita, however, had muttered curses the whole way, fingers clutching the steering wheel only relaxing when Uruha said he needed to relax, lest he cause an accident.

Reita did agree on a few points, though. Such as, Masahiro definitely deserving the punch to the face that Reita had bestowed upon him in the hallway, and that the idea of drugging Uruha was baffling, if it was the child he was interested in. “You ask me,” he’d said as he drove, “that guy doesn’t give a damn about you, or the baby, Shima. All he wants is a trophy wife or some shit like that.”

Uruha hated the idea, but he couldn’t deny the possibility was real. Omegas were a rarity, after all. “That doesn’t explain his collection,” he murmured, “or does it?”

Reita made a noncommittal noise. “Maybe not. Maybe he likes the idea of you being famous or something. Or he’s really dedicated to stalking you,” he said. “Don’t wanna know what he was doing with those pictures…”

“Gross.” Uruha shuddered. Masahiro living so close to their old apartment didn’t sit right with him either, and for the first time since asking him about it, Uruha wondered whether he’d lied. If he had been there, watching him and Reita go about their daily lives, if he’d followed Uruha from afar.

Staring at the door that led to the doctor’s office, Uruha said, “I should probably go in alone.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

Uruha shook his head. “No, it’s fine. Thanks,” even though he didn’t really mean it. It was sure to be a difficult conversation. Reita’s support would help, but… he wasn’t sure if he would be able to say the words with someone else in there with him. So he left Reita sitting there, entering Moriyama’s office once again, giving a short greeting. He didn’t know how many times he’d sat in this office, by this point. He’d lost count. “Thank you for coming to see me,” he said. “I know it was sudden.”

Moriyama, for his part, looked tired. Still he nodded, going straight to business; it was important, he’d said. “Is this about the papers I gave you?”

“Um…”

“Your partner isn’t with you today, but you both need to sign it in person—”

“No, sorry. It’s not about that, I…” Uruha trailed off. His mouth was dry; the migraine was still there, having faded into the background in Reita’s presence, but now it was all he could feel. That, and the way his hands shook in his lap, remembering Masahiro’s words. His threats. The things Moriyama had said, last he was here, about there being legal consequences. Jail time. Being turned into someone’s toy. Uruha cleared his throat; “Sorry. It’s not that at all, I don’t even have the documents anymore.” Fingernails scraping at the fabric of his jeans, he kept his eyes trained on Moriyama’s coat, not brave enough to meet his gaze. "I would like to terminate my pregnancy," he stated plainly.

“Mr. Takashima, as I already explained to you—”

“On grounds of rape.”

Moriyama fell still then, his mouth a thin, firm line, his entire posture going rigid. Then he nodded, turning towards his work computer. “Give me a minute, Mr. Takashima. I'm going to have to ask you some questions. Some questions that may be very tough for you to answer. Can you do that?” he said seriously; Uruha nodded. His hands were trembling, but he couldn't back down, not now. If he succeeded at this, his whole future could be saved. No birth. No baby, no giving Masahiro a foot in the door to rule over the rest of his life. It was his last chance. “Whenever you're ready.”

Uruha took a deep breath. He laid his clammy hands in his lap; entwined them to keep them still, wondering if he should ask for Reita to come in after all. Just so that he could get the words out. “First of all. I remember…we talked about this the first time I came in, so I have to be clear that my partner, he isn’t the father.”

The doctor did not seem particularly surprised at the news, and he stayed silent as Uruha slowly told the basic facts. There were no tears, no breaking voice, just his dull monotone and shaking hands. His throat was so dry, swallowing around nothing, grateful when the doctor offered him some water.

The story was brief. Stripped of all but the most crucial detail; on being out, meeting Masahiro, going into heat. Being forced out of the car. Lying about the truth in order to protect Aoi.

Once again he fell silent, turning his attention to his monitor, over the notes he had written out as he took Uruha's statement. There was something hanging in the air, something Uruha couldn't put a finger on but that made him uncomfortable. “Mr. Takashima... so you’re telling me that you went into heat while in public.”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

“And the perpetrator was a friend of yours.”

Friend wasn't really the word he had used, but he nodded anyway. “As I said, I know him,” Uruha repeated, anxiety swelling up once again; he frowned. “Why are you asking me this?”

Moriyama sighed. “Listen, Mr. Takashima. I could write this report and send it in, but at best I would be crossing my fingers. I can tell you right now that it will be denied.”

Uruha almost choked. “What?”

“I want to help you. I can see that this is taking a heavy toll on you, psychologically as well as on your body. But you conceived while in heat, with an alpha in rut with whom you have a friendly relationship.”

“He’s not—”

“Unwanted breeding in friendly circles will not be considered rape in the eyes of the law, Mr. Takashima, even if you have come to regret it later. I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do.”

“But he’s… you can’t mean that. He’s not a friend, and I didn’t want it, I— and I think he’s stalking me, too,” Uruha said, scrambling to find the words, even as his voice choked on terror. “Please, he’s going to hold this over me forever. I know I lied about Yuu, I don’t care what happens to me because of that, but I just can’t…”

That was a lie. He was so fucking scared of Masahiro’s threats becoming true, and his eyes were tearing up to the point that Moriyama averted his eyes in respect, pulling out a box of tissues from under his desk. He gave Uruha a minute to pull himself together, before he said, “You’re certain about this?”

Uruha nodded. “I might’ve thought of him as a friend before… I guess I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.”

“I see.” The doctor looked resigned, deeply tired all of a sudden. “I'm sorry, Mr. Takashima. Even if the law agreed to consider your situation conception via rape, you’ve come too far in your pregnancy to terminate by now.”

The air left his lungs. It was the same thing he’d heard over and over whenever he’d brought it up; too late, too late, too late. There’s nothing to be done. I can’t help you. Because he’d waited too long before asking for help, and now his last, desperate hopes were being dashed. Uruha stared, mouth opening to argue, to protest or shout or cry, but the only thing that came out was, “Oh.”

“If you had been honest from the beginning, there might have been something we could do, but it's too late now. But we can prepare to have the child quietly adopted, involve the police so that the man who assaulted you will be out of your life. I can’t directly lie to my superiors, but I can… omit a few words, make your description fit the parameters. Cases like those don't require the father's signature.”

“But there's no way for me to abort it?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he said again. “What would… what would have happened for me to be able to abort it?”

Moriyama hesitated; Uruha wondered for a brief moment if the doctor considered not answering, if he feared Uruha might do something stupid. “For conception through rape to be a viable reason to abort so far into the pregnancy, the perpetrator would need to be a family member,” he said, voice careful. “Otherwise… carrying the fetus to term being too big of a risk to your health could be a reason, but that would require a lengthy evaluation process. Other than that, there’s the case of severe birth defects, but that’s about it.”

None of the descriptions applied to Uruha either. “Okay,” Uruha said, and his whole body felt numb and far away. He should be angry. He should be furious, itching for the urge to make a scene, throw a tantrum like the child he suddenly felt like. And yet. “I guess… I’m sorry for wasting your time, then.”

He didn’t catch the look the doctor gave him. “Mr. Takashima… if you need to talk to someone, or you feel unsafe, we can get you in touch with police—”

Abruptly, Uruha stood up. “Thank you for coming to see me, doctor,” he said. “I should probably go.”

“Mr. Takashima— please, sit back down,” Moriyama said. Uruha didn’t. He did pause, back turned to the doctor, almost holding his breath. “We can get the paperwork ready, no second signature required. It would take a bit longer to prepare, and I would need to file the report.”

“Sure,” Uruha interrupted. “Just… send me a message or something about it, later, thank you.”

“Do you want me to contact authorities for you, Mr. Takashima?”

Did he? His shoulder drooped, the last bit of dignity shriveling up inside of him. The law didn’t consider what had happened to be an assault, because they had been friends. Nevermind that Masahiro had betrayed him the moment he laid his hands on him, listening to nothing but his instincts and base desires despite the way Aoi had treated him. With kindness and respect. “No, that’s okay,” Uruha said, needing more than anything to get out of there. “Just send me… whatever information you need, yeah. Thanks.”

And with that he all but ran from the doctor’s office, Moriyama’s voice calling out after him even as the door closed behind him. He didn’t dare stay any longer. Not with the imminent feeling of a complete breakdown on the horizon; he just caught Reita where he sat in the waiting room, gesturing for them to leave without a word, not trusting his voice to be steady as Reita followed Uruha out of the clinic, confused but knowing to wait until they were out of there and back in his car, Uruha putting his face in his hands and exhaling slowly, shakily.

“What happened in there?” Reita finally asked.

“It was all for nothing.”

“Kouyou…”

“It’s all—I can’t, sorry, I can’t…” he choked up, tears strangling his voice, his breath, clouding his vision. “I’m stuck, like this, with this fucking thing eating away at me, I can’t get rid of it. It’s impossible. Legally anyway. No safe way to—to get rid of it, and—I’m so fucked up, Aki,” Uruha forced out. “I told him, I didn’t consent to it. And he said the law would disagree, because we’d been friends once, fucking piece of shit. I don’t know what to do.” He sobbed, unable to keep it bottled up any longer. “I don’t know what to do…”

Reita looked away, but his eyes were shiny with tears, too. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. “Get you home.”

“No,” Uruha shook his head. “No. He knows… he knows where I live.”

“Shit. He does. Do you want to head to my place? Or…” Reita paused. “To Yuu’s?”

He did, Uruha knew. He did want to go see Aoi, fall into his arms, somewhere he would feel safe again. But he didn’t think he would be able to, not like this, not now. Not with Masahiro’s bastard child in his belly, not with the memory of the rage and betrayal in Aoi’s eyes still so fresh in his mind. Uruha sniffed; he shook his head. “No, I don’t think… sorry, Aki. I think I need to be alone for a while.”

“But not at home?”

“No. Or, I think…” Home. There was a thought. “Maybe… you could drop me off at the station,” Uruha said, closing his eyes. “I think I need to get away from everything for a bit.”

Reita shot him a wary gaze. “Are you sure about this, Shima?”

“No.” He chuckled hopelessly, opening his phone with clammy hands as Reita pulled out of the parking lot, having to look away from the notifications alerting him of more missed calls from Aoi, scrolling down to find the ones from his mother. “But it’s the only thing I can think of right now.”

Uruha didn’t want to see her. He didn’t want to face what she’d done to him, betraying his trust by breaking her promise, letting Aoi know the lie he’d told her. But he needed to get away from it all, for a while, somewhere he knew Masahiro couldn’t touch him. Away from the memories of Aoi on every surface in his home. More than anything he wanted to rest; to curl up like a wounded animal and recover. He’d go home. Not to talk to his family, but just to escape. To lie down in his childhood bed and pretend it would all go away come morning.

And he was still so fucking dizzy. “Shima,” Reita said gently. “Do you want me to come with you? I could make the drive, if you want…”

He sniffled. “Thanks,” he managed, “I think I’ll be good to take the train. Isn’t there a meeting or something soon, anyway…”

“That was days ago, you missed it.”

“Oh. Huh.” He was staring unseeing at Aoi’s texts, vision blurry. Looking at the missed calls; there was one from his sister, too. His father, even. “When’s the album coming out?”

“It’ll be postponed by a few months. Kouyou…”

“I want to be there for it so bad, Aki.”

Reita sighed. “I know.” And then, “Do you want to go right away? Nothing you need to pick up?”

Uruha shook his head. “No, I’m fine,” he murmured. There was nothing he could think of anyway; he had his keys and phone, his meds, his wallet. All he needed now was to be somewhere out of reach for everyone, especially Masahiro; let his body recover from whatever had happened while he lay drugged and unconscious in that bed. Gods. He didn’t want to think about it; he couldn’t.

He needed his health back, more than anything, Reita steadying him as he climbed out of the car and entered the train station. “How long do you think you’ll be?” he asked as Uruha purchased his ticket home, distractedly staring at the time tables.

Uruha shrugged. “I don’t know, maybe a few weeks. I just want to… disappear for a while.”

“Don’t go off the radar again, Shima, okay? You scared the shit out of us.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Say hi to your folks for me?”

“Sure.”

Reita gave him a long, considering look. “You should call Yuu,” he said. “He’s been really scared, Shima. More than any of us.” Uruha hummed, averting his eyes; he should, he knew. He was afraid to talk to Aoi again, even if he wasn’t entirely too sure why. Giving a deep sigh, Reita stuffed his hands in his pockets, making sure they were empty. “Here,” he said, and shrugged off his jacket, wrapped it around Uruha’s shoulders, despite the startled protest. “Don’t fight me, Shima. You’re cold, I can see it on you.”

“Oh come on, I don’t want to be seen in your gangster street wear, Aki,” Uruha complained, but he allowed it. “I look like an idiot.”

“You look cool. If nothing else, it’ll keep people from messing with you, okay?” Reita said, a silly grin on his face, and Uruha had to roll his eyes. “You can give it back to me when you come back. In a few weeks. Or whenever.”

“Okay,” Uruha said, hesitating for only a brief moment before he leaned in and gave his best friend a hug. “I’ll see you when I do.”

Uruha’s apartment was empty by the time Aoi arrived. It wasn’t a surprise, but it was disappointing that no matter what he did, Uruha slipped through his fingers again. Looked like he had just barely missed him, too. Sinking down on the couch, Aoi put his head in his hands, staring listlessly at the floor, at the empty room; the careless chaos in select places, the table that had held boxes of medicine last Aoi had been here.

Uruha had left. Reita had been with him, so at least he was safe, as little comfort as it was knowing that Uruha was avoiding him. And the message Reita had sent had been too short and vague for him to learn much of anything beyond the fact that Uruha was safe. And he was home.

Well, he wasn’t home anymore. And he still wouldn’t respond to Aoi’s texts, or answer his calls. All Aoi could do was trust Reita, because Uruha wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t return to him, not after Aoi had chased him out. He hadn’t even seen his face since the day he’d spoken to Uruha’s mother. He had no excuse for his actions, but Aoi could still remember the rage coursing through him as Uruha tried to explain himself. The feeling in his veins, in his hands, the itch to act on his anger: the urge to hurt, to harm, knowing he would be justified in doing so.

It wasn’t true, of course. And Aoi wouldn’t; he’d chased Uruha out the door partially so he would stop himself from acting out the violence that had been singing in his blood with the information. Sitting there on Uruha’s couch, he was overwhelmed by the sudden feeling that he didn’t belong there. Uruha may have cheated on him, but that was no excuse for the desire Aoi had felt to hit him that day, to hurt him.

He felt like an intruder. Uruha had rejected him, and Aoi had still walked into his apartment like he owned the place, like he still deserved to own the key he’d been given so long ago. Slowly Aoi stood up from the couch; cast a look around the room, taking it all in like it was the last time he’d ever get to see it, and walked away.

If he’d kept his mouth shut. If he’d not had these damn anger issues, maybe then Aoi wouldn’t be alone right now. Hell, he shouldn’t have talked to Uruha’s mother in the first place, much less confronted Uruha about what she’d told him. If he hadn’t pried for more, they would both be home right now, probably curled up together in his bed, the cat sleeping at their feet. Peaceful, safe, oblivious to the fact that the child wasn’t his. Maybe Uruha would have told him, eventually. That it was the real reason why he insisted on getting rid of it; to shield Aoi, somehow, and without incriminating himself, he guessed. Why else keep it a secret for so long?

Ibu rubbed against his legs as he entered his own place. “At least I still have you,” he muttered as he reached down to stroke her soft fur, a smile tugging on his lips as she sniffed his fingers, curious about where he’d been, before she went back to her favourite spot on his sofa. He watched her for a second, before slipping his shoes and jacket off, turning on the television as he took a seat. Staring listlessly at whatever game show was running, a mindless distraction to kill time.

He’d been sitting there for a while, dozing off, when his phone started buzzing in his pocket, the cat starting from her sleep alongside him. “Alright,” Aoi mumbled, reaching into his pocket, flipping the phone open without even looking at the screen, stifling a yawn. “Hello?”

“Yuu,” Uruha said, and immediately Aoi was wide awake.

“Kouyou?” Aoi reached for the remote, flipping the television off to shut it up. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m… look, I’m going to go stay with my parents for a while,” Uruha said quietly. “A week or two, maybe more. Don’t know yet.” He sounded tired. Sick, even; Aoi frowned. “I’m just giving a heads up, so you guys don’t need to worry, okay?”

He was disappearing again. “Please, don’t,” Aoi begged.

“It’s fine, Yuu. It’s not like I’m going away forever. Hell. Maybe it turns out I can’t stand it and I’ll be back in the city tomorrow, I don’t know. I’ll let you guys know, okay? I’m not going to disappear like that again.”

Aoi swallowed. He hummed a vague reply, and cautiously asked, “Look, Kou… can we talk?”

On the other end, there was silence. “Not now,” Uruha answered after a moment. “I’ve had a rough week, I don’t want to think about anything for a while. We can talk when I come back.” He paused. “Don’t call me until then, okay?”

Aoi’s shoulders sank. “Okay.” Reaching out to Ibu, he stroked her, needing the comfort and warmth she provided to put off the grief washing over him. “I miss you,” he said.

Uruha was silent. Aoi was almost sure he’d hung up before he heard him quietly ask, “When is the album coming out?”

“Huh? In about… three months, I think.”

“Oh,” Uruha said. Ibu leaned into Aoi’s fingers as he scratched her chin, her purring probably the only thing holding him together as he heard his former lover bid him goodbye: “I’ll see you when I do.”

And he hung up.