Chapter Text
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In 2006
The throbbing starts in the middle of the afternoon, subtle at first, like a pulse under his skin.
By evening, it’s impossible to ignore.
Satoru presses his fingers against the side of his neck, rubbing the spot beneath his ear.
The ache is dull and rhythmic — not painful, just wrong.
The hallway is quiet, only the sound of Suguru’s footsteps behind him.
He doesn’t even turn when Suguru speaks.
“Satoru?”
A hand hovers near his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Satoru exhales through his nose. “Something’s bothering me. My neck…”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Suguru’s voice dips, soft, guilty.
“Does it hurt? Did I bite too hard yesterday?”
Satoru shakes his head. “Not really. It’s not pain—just… throbbing. Weird.”
Suguru frowns, stepping closer, eyes narrowing in worry.
“If it’s really bad, we should let Shoko look at it.”
Satoru nods automatically, but something in Suguru’s face makes his chest lift, hopeful.
Suguru is worried about him.
Suguru always worries about him.
They walk the short path to the infirmary together, the distance between them familiar, warm.
It feels like every other day — the two of them side by side, sharing breath, sharing space, sharing everything that matters.
Except—they don’t talk on the way.
Suguru keeps glancing at him, his jaw tight, like he’s already imagining the worst outcome.
Satoru doesn’t imagine anything at all.
He just keeps touching his neck.
---
Shoko flips through the results on her clipboard, scratching her pen against the paper.
The room smells faintly of antiseptic and old coffee.
She doesn’t look up for a long time.
When she finally does, her face is unreadable.
“Satoru, you’re becoming an Omega.”
Silence rings louder than any curse technique he’s ever used.
Satoru blinks.
“…What?”
Shoko taps the report. “It’s rare, but it happens. Alpha-to-Omega transformation. They call it—‘Bitching.’”
She shrugs. “Never seen it in person. Let me take notes.”
Her tone is clinical, detached — but Satoru’s heart leaps.
Becoming an Omega…?
Does that mean… I can bond with Suguru?
The thought blooms inside him, sudden and bright.
He can feel heat rush to his face — not fever, not embarrassment — something softer.
Something hopeful.
Suguru will be happy.
Suguru will definitely—
Satoru turns, smiling—
And freezes.
“Bitching?” Suguru says, voice cracking. “There’s no way that could be…”
The light inside Satoru stutters.
“Huh? Why…?”
His smile falters, hanging crooked and confused.
Wasn’t he happy? Why isn’t he happy?
Suguru’s hands tremble at his sides.
He doesn’t look at Satoru — he looks at the floor, at Shoko, anywhere but him.
Then
“Don’t worry. I’ll… take responsibility.”
Suguru swallows hard. “About your upcoming heat. We’ll talk later.”
The words fall heavy.
Like a promise he doesn’t want to make.
Like an apology he can’t voice.
~~~
The memory fractures after that.
Now Satoru is lying curled on his side, the room spinning with waves of feverish heat.
He grips the blanket with one hand, the collar around his neck itching against his skin.
His breathing is uneven — too fast, too shallow.
Not because of pain.
Because everything inside him feels… too much.
Too warm, too sensitive, too lonely.
His eyes sting with tears he doesn’t remember forming.
He hears the sound of a bottle cap twisting open.
A cold surface brushes his cheek — water.
He flinches at the shock.
Suguru’s voice follows, tense with worry.
“Satoru, are you okay? You’re burning up. If you stay like that, you’ll catch a cold.”
A pause.
“Think you can take a bath? Need help?”
Satoru rubs at his eyes quickly, turning his face away.
No one should see him like this — least of all Suguru.
The tears refuse to stop.
“Yeah… I’m fine.”
Suguru kneels beside him. “You don’t have to hold back. Not with me.”
Satoru forces a soft laugh, shaky and cracked.
“I’m really fine, Suguru.”
He pushes himself up, ignoring the dizziness, and reaches for the bottle Suguru’s offering.
His hand brushes Suguru’s glove — the contact is fleeting, cold, nothing like what he wants.
He smiles.
He hates how small the smile feels.
“You can go now. Sorry for making you come even when you’re busy.”
Suguru’s brows knit tighter.
“Let me at least do this much.”
Satoru’s throat closes for a moment.
He can only whisper:
“Oh.”
Suguru stands.
“I’ll head back. I’ll contact you later.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
The room becomes unbearably silent.
---
Satoru sits there alone, turning the unopened bottle in his hands.
His neck still throbs.
His body feels like it’s overheating from the inside out — too warm, too restless, too empty.
He shifts slightly, and heat pulses through him again, sharp and sudden.
He touches against the wetness of entrance. It forces a gasp out of him.
He presses a hand over his mouth, eyes screwed shut.
He doesn’t want to think about it.
He doesn’t want to think about Suguru’s hands steadying him, or how carefully he was touched earlier, or how Suguru wouldn’t look him in the eye—
Once wasn’t enough.
Not for comfort.
Not for closeness.
Not for him.
He curls forward, fingers digging into the sheets, while his other fingers deep inside him.
He’s just taking responsibility, Satoru thinks, bitterness rising like bile.
Responsibility he shouldn’t have to take.
I’m just… something he has to deal with now.
Another wave of heat crashes over him, smothering, suffocating.
His breath stutters.
“Haaah… haaah…”
He hates this.
Not the heat — the emptiness.
The distance.
He hates how much he still wants Suguru close.
How one look from Suguru can still unravel him.
Satoru takes a long, shuddering breath and leans his forehead against his knee.
Don’t get it wrong, he tells himself.
I’m the one who can’t let go.
His eyes close, heavy with exhaustion.
Eventually, he sinks into sleep — restless, fevered, alone.
---