Chapter Text
Harua's day had been going well. In fact, it had been going too well to be true. He'd hit shuffle on his playlist on Spotify, and it had started with his favourite song. He'd caught every single train on time while commuting to and from work, which was a new record. Heck, he'd even found the dry cleaners' receipt he thought he'd lost.
The thought of having to pay a fine for the lost bill had been unsettling Harua all week. This wasn't the first time he'd lost the receipt, and the old man at the shop said none of his customers lost their receipts as much as Harua. Fortunately, the receipt had slipped out from the recycling pile, wedged between old newspapers, while he was taking out the trash that morning. He had no clue how it'd ended up there. All that mattered to him was that he'd found it.
He carried the slightly crumpled receipt to the dry cleaners after work. He'd begun worrying he wouldn't have clean clothes to wear to work. Somehow the issue had rectified itself.
The dry cleaners' place wasn't very far from his apartment. Just a short walk down the road, next to the konbini. He wanted to pick up some groceries and snacks too anyway. Hit two birds with one stone, like they said.
"Good evening, Harua-kun!" The old man at the dry cleaners greeted him. "I hope you have your receipt this time."
"Yeah, yeah, I do." Harua handed it over.
"Oh, look at the state of it… These kids these days…" The old man shook his head. "Always losing or crushing their receipts… So forgetful… So clumsy…" He went on and on as he walked to the back of the shop, searching through the racks for Harua's clothes.
Harua got bored of waiting. He pulled out his phone, scrolling through his texts. There wasn't anything interesting, though Fuma had sent a picture of himself in an Eevee t-shirt. That guy just wouldn't shut up about Pokémon.
"Here you are," the old man returned with a paper bag. He set it on the table, and Harua handed him cash. "You know, the streets are saying they're making breakthroughs in some new detergent… Something that'll wipe out pheromones when you wash clothes… It's like, you've never worn your clothes! Crazy stuff, I tell you!"
Harua just politely nodded, picked up the bag, and turned to leave.
Something about the bag seemed odd to Harua, like it was heavier than usual. Did I give more clothes than usual? He just shrugged it off and walked into the konbini.
He didn't take much time inside. A few chips packets and some soda cans later, he was out.
Harua's hand were filled with bags. He had miscalculated slightly, the collective weight of the soda cans and his clothes weighing him down. He stumbled through the hallway to his apartment.
Once inside, he set all the bags down, and massaged his hands. They turned red as blood flow returned, slowly feeling warm. He could see the marks that the bag handles had left behind.
Harua had read about the detergent thing, but he'd never really paid attention to it. He should've, as it would do wonders for omegas like him.
Japan had strict laws for running laundromats and laundry services. Measures had been taken when one too many cases of omegas going into heat due to lingering alpha pheromones had been reported.
Alphas, betas and omegas all had different washing machines and dryers. Every washing machine and dryer had to be sanitised before and after use. The government even prescribed different kinds of detergents and fabric softeners for each gender.
All of this had proven effective, but the pheromone problem hadn't been completely solved. People sometimes forgot to do the mandatory sanitisation, or clothes got exchanged.
Harua was too exhausted to think too much about the potential new detergent. He plopped down onto the couch and opened a soda can, scrolling on his phone with his free hand. There were protests in India, apparently. By students, no less, and the police had brutally quashed the protests. He sighed, knowing that Boomers could never save the world.
Harua got off his phone when his stomach growled, and he went into the kitchen to cook something for himself. A quick meal later, he collapsed onto his bed, and let sleep take over.
Harua woke up to his alarm blaring on his phone. He tapped his phone and squinted at the time. 7:40. Five more minutes wouldn't hurt, and he shut his eyes again.
Which turned out to be a mistake. When his alarm rang again, it was 8. Harua jumped out of his bed, scrambling to the bathroom to shower.
Once out, he tore open the paper bag he'd collected from the dry cleaners. He put on the first pair he saw: a yellow shirt and black trousers. They seemed larger than usual, for some reason. A whole lot larger. He tightened the belt, folded the sleeves of his shirt, and he was good to go.
Harua was munching on his breakfast—simple toast and jam—when he noticed something off. The clothes smelt… different. A faint scent of something fruity—green apples—kept hitting Harua's nose. He just shrugged it off. Maybe the old man is using some other government approved detergent.
He felt light-headed when he stood up from the couch. I really should stop standing up so quickly.
He walked over to the shoe-rack, which should've been a normal walk. But today, he was sweating, and he felt out of breath. Harua pulled at the collar of the shirt, trying to cool his neck.
He bent down to pick up his socks, and he doubled over in pain. Heat erupted in his abdomen, and a feverish haze descended over him.
No way… This shouldn't be happening…
It wasn't Harua's time of the month. He was sure. He stumbled to the calendar hanging from the fridge, panting and huffing. He looked up at the dates, clutching his abdomen as it ached.
It's not right… I shouldn't be having my heat this early…
His nose twitched, as his heightened senses picked up the scent coming off of his clothes. It was different.
No… No, no, no… This is wrong… It can't be…
Harua picked up the paper bag, and dug through it for the receipt. He looked at the name written on it.
Maki.
These clothes weren't his. He'd picked up somebody else's. Most likely an alpha, if he was going into heat.
Harua quickly unbuttoned the shirt, and kicked off the pants. Immediately, his nose felt better, but the fever didn't reduce. Taking suppressants would be risky. His best choice was to wait it out, and take a paracetamol for the fever.
This wasn't as severe as his regular heat. It felt like one, but the sexual aspect of the heat was missing. By now, he'd be moaning and whining into his pillow, begging for friction—any kind—to relieve himself.
Harua collapsed onto his bed, reaching across to the bedside table. He opened the drawer where he kept his medicines. He swallowed a tablet for his fever, and leaned back against the headboard. Guess he wasn't going to work today.
He dialled one of his coworkers. "Mo—moshi moshi? F—Fuma-san?" His words slurred as he tried to get them out.
"Harua-kun, you don't sound too good. Have you been out drinking late again?" Fuma sounded disappointed, but not without concern.
"N—No, I—I… Uh—I went in—into heat…" He managed. He sniffled a little, trying to emphasise that he was, indeed, sick. "It's not… a full on heat… So—somehow."
"Hmm," Fuma hummed low from the other end. "Okay, I'll let the others know… Take care!"
The call ended and Harua's phone plopped onto his chest, before sliding down and falling onto the bed. The paracetamol seemed to be doing its job, a numbness descending on him. His eyes fluttered as he slipped into dreamland.
When Harua woke up, he was drenched in sweat. Sweating had helped break the fever, and his abdomen wasn't hurting anymore.
When he got out of bed, his first thought was to get rid of the clothes he'd got from the dry cleaners. They were a biohazard, a ticking time bomb. The longer he kept them around in his house, the more susceptible he was. And returning them back to their owner was the only way to do it.
And treat it like a biohazard he did. He dug out the plastic gloves he used whenever he dyed his hair, and a surgical mask from his drawer. The mask wouldn't do much to filter out the pheromones, but he wasn't risking another… contamination.
Harua carefully dug out the receipt from the paper bag, avoiding contact with the fabric as much as possible. He gingerly placed the slip of paper on the table, and took a picture of it on his phone. He then ran back to his room, shutting the door behind him, and zoomed in on the picture.
| YX CLEANERS CO. | RECEIPT NO.: 1207-22 |
| 7-8-9 SHIBUYA · TOKYO | TEL: 03-8172-6354 |
| Name: Maki |
Contact: 090-9918-2375 |
| Drop: 07/08 |
Pickup: 10/08 |
| Item | Count |
|---|---|
| Dress shirt | 3 |
| Trousers | 2 |
| Jacket | |
| Sweater | |
| Scarf | |
| Blouse | |
| Gown | |
| Tie | 1 |
| Cleaning: | 2,700 |
| Special care: | 800 |
| Subtotal: | 3,500 |
| Tax: | 400 |
| Total: | 3,900 |
Written in black ink, at the very top, was a phone number.
Harua quickly memorised the digits, and dialled the number on his phone. On the fourth ring, someone picked up.
"Moshi moshi? Am I speaking to… uh—" He squinted at the name. "Maki?"
"Yes, that is me…"
"Okay, so, I'm Shigeta Harua—"
"If this is some insurance thing, then I'm not interested." The guy named Maki cut him off. Harua tried to keep his tone level.
"First off, that was rude. And no, this is not about insurance. This is about your clothes."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Are you the one that picked up my clothes by accident?" Maki asked, and Harua noticed a certain timidness to his voice that wasn't there before. Maybe he'd been putting up a tough front to avoid getting scammed.
"Yes… If you'll tell me your address, I'll come by to drop the clothes off…"
"Uh… Okay, uh—I… I'm not home yet. You can come over at around… 7 PM?"
Harua looked at the clock. 5:45 PM. He needed to eat too, because he was famished. "Yeah, sure."
He quickly noted down the address Maki told him, and ended the call. His stomach growled when he entered his kitchen. He reached into his cupboard, grabbing the last cup noodles he had. Water boiled in his kettle, and he poured it into the cup.
Harua went back to scrolling his phone. The protests in India had gotten worse, but the students had gotten what they'd wanted: the resignation of an incompetent minister. His lips curled up in a smile. But he knew they still had a long way to go.
He lost track of time, and when his phone rung, he realised it was 6:55.
"I just got home… You are coming, right?" He heard Maki over the call. Was this guy doubting him? Sure, he would be late. But it wasn't like Harua wasn't going to show up.
"Of course I am!" Harua snapped. "I wanna get rid of your clothes as soon as possible. I can't risk going into heat again…"
"Okay then, I'll be… uh—waiting?" Maki somehow didn't sound so sure about this, and it annoyed Harua. He cut the call and picked up Maki's bag of clothes, and headed out the door.
Maki's apartment was a short train ride away. Normally, Harua would've just walked the distance. But walking meant spending more time with the clothes, and he didn't want that. He was back in gear, face mask and gloves on.
Twenty minutes since Maki's phone call, and Harua was ringing his doorbell. He tapped his foot impatiently outside Maki's door, waiting for him to open it.
He rang the bell a second time, and the door flew open. In the doorframe stood a guy much taller than him. He was definitely buffer than him too. One look at his face and Harua could tell he wasn't completely Japanese. Maki was rubbing a towel against his wet hair, and Harua deduced that he must've just showered.
And he caught a whiff of that unmistakable green apple scent that had sent him into heat that morning.
Yup, he's the one.
"Uh—You must be?" Maki asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. It irritated Harua, and he rolled his eyes. How dense could this guy be?
"Harua," he said, jaw set, voice tight. "The one who accidentally took your clothes?"
"Ah, yes!" Maki smiled, and his cheeks sank into dimples. It was annoyingly cute in a way, and Harua felt heat rising up from the back of his neck. His hand immediately shot up to his neck to hide the obvious reaction. Thankfully, Maki didn't seem to notice.
"Uh, sorry—Don't just…" Maki cleared his throat. "Don't just stand there. Come in!" He stepped aside to let Harua in, and Harua stepped in. He heard the unmistakable sound of Maki sniffing around, and glared at him. Maki just shrugged it off, flashing an innocent look at him.
In terms of size, Maki's apartment wasn't any different from his. Maki seemed like a clean freak, apart from the paper strewn all over the living room. Harua's apartment sometimes looked like it had been attacked by a raccoon, until one day he would suddenly get the motivation to clean up his messes.
"Yeah, sorry," Maki said, as he picked up some of the sheets from the floor. "I was working on assignments… Sorry about the mess…"
Harua sat himself down on the now paper-free couch. His eyes kept following the images Maki had pasted on the far wall: polaroids with his family and friends. He'd strung them up along with fairy lights, and each polaroid had a date.
"Would you like something?" Maki asked. He somehow looked like he was having a hard time maintaining a straight face. "I've got… orange juice. Nothing else, though…"
"Juice… is fine." Harua muttered from behind his mask. He took it off, and repeated himself. "Yeah, orange juice is fine."
Maki flashed that smile again, and it sent blood rushing to Harua's cheeks and ears. He waited for Maki to leave the room, and he covered his face with his hands. He could hear Maki giggling and chuckling in the kitchen from the living room.
The more Harua sat in Maki's living, the more he noticed details about Maki's life. He was most likely younger than Harua; a college student no less. His mind raced at a thousand thoughts a second, picking up bits and pieces, and stringing them together in his head.
"Are you… okay?" He heard Maki's voice from above him. He looked up to see Maki holding a glass of orange juice, that smile still plastered on his face. Harua took the glass from him. He shyly looked away, and Maki settled down on a chair opposite him.
"I'm just… tired." Harua said weakly, gulping down some of the orange juice. "Been a rough day…"
"Did I… Uh— How do I say this…" Maki looked down at the floor, eyes clenched shut as he tried to form a coherent sentence, trying his best not to laugh. "Did I actually send you into heat?"
Harua nearly choked on the orange juice at the sudden question. And to make it worse, Maki laughed. Harua scowled at him, irritation etched all over his face.
"The fuck are you laughing at?" Harua barked. "Do you really think it's funny? I could've died!"
"No, you wouldn't actually die from inhaling my pheromones," Maki pointed out. "I can practically smell myself all over you, you know that?"
Harua's eyes widened in horror. He'd travelled all the way from his house on the train while some random alpha's pheromones had been clinging to him. He was unmated, which wouldn't cause any major issues. But roaming around while obviously smelling like someone else's pheromones could still get him into trouble.
"It's pretty faint, don't worry." Maki reassured, though he kept snickering. "God, the look on your face… You looked so cute, hahaha…"
"Stop laughing!" Harua groaned, that familiar heat rushing to his face, and he covered it with his hands. "This is so embarrassing."
"But you are cute. Like, really really cute." Maki's laughter wasn't helping, and Harua felt like leaving. The faster he was out of here, the better.
"Just take your clothes already! For fuck's sake…" Harua pushed the paper bag across the floor towards Maki, who stopped laughing at the sight of his clothes. He picked up the bag, staring at the contents, his expression unreadable.
"I can hear your thoughts from all the way over here," Harua said softly, reigning in his frustration. "If you wanna say something, say it now or I'm leaving."
"You are unmated, right?"
The question hung heavy in the air between them. Strangely, Harua wanted to say yes immediately, but he assumed that it was his omega instincts talking. He kept quiet, carefully contemplating what Maki wanted out of all of this.
"I don't even know you. Why should I even answer your question?" Harua finally deflected.
"For starters, I'm not mated either." Maki said slowly, his eyes still fixated on the paper bag. He finally looked up at Harua, eyes full of sincerity, "But I'd like to get to know you too…"
"Why?" Harua snapped.
"You're cute, and seem like a nice person. Oh! And easily irritable, haha." Maki smiled as he went on listing things. "All in all, I'd like to take you out on a date…"
Harua went silent again, ruminating over Maki's proposal. It was one date anyway, and Maki hadn't been unruly like most of the other alphas Fuma had tried to set him up with.
"Fine!" Harua finally said, although scepticism tainted his tone. "Just one date!" He put up a finger to emphasise. "Then we figure this shit out."
Maki was like an addictive drug, and that quickly became a problem for Harua. One date became two. Two became six. Soon, they were meeting up daily. And he never figured his shit out.
What they had was the textbook definition of a situationship. They saw each other daily, and Harua allowed Maki to touch him non-sexually. They'd lay in bed together, Harua casually resting his head on Maki's chest, or Maki just sleeping with his head in Harua's lap. Harua would run his hand through Maki's hair, and the younger boy would melt into his touch.
They hadn't made out, but Maki wasn't shy of being affectionate. He'd shower Harua with pecks and light kisses. Sometimes on his cheeks, sometimes on the back of his palms. Maki would hug him from behind too, but he'd steer clear of Harua's scent glands.
"You smell like raspberries…" He'd said the first time he'd accidentally scented Harua. Harua had just returned from the dry cleaners' with the right clothes. He'd set down the paper bag heavily on the couch, and Maki had immediately sprung up to hug him. "Raspberries are nice… I like raspberries…"
"Don't get scent high," Harua had chided, although he let Maki rest his head on his shoulder. He liked the warmth Maki radiated, and his green apple scent.
Worse still, Harua started noticing Maki's absence. But as an unmated omega, that was bound to happen. He'd be at work and he'd suddenly feel down, succumbing to the intense need to be around Maki. He'd find relief only when he was back home, and he'd see the familiar face of Maki in his living room.
Oh, Maki had stopped going to his apartment. He'd popped up one weekend with a suitcase filled to the brim with his stuff. Harua had just stared at him, mouth wide open in disbelief as he rolled it in.
"I insist you keep these," Maki had said, neatly arranging his things around the apartment. "You might… need them some day."
"At this point, you might as well be here for my next heat." Harua had muttered under his breath.
"Did you say something?"
"Nothing!" Harua had immediately brushed it off. "I was just, uh— umm— Admiring how you're sorting your clothes based on colour!"
"Uh… These are my assignments?" Maki cocked his head in confusion.
Harua had just shrugged.
Harua and Maki had settled into a routine. Harua would wake up and leave for work, while Maki went off to college. He would return from his classes and be doing his assignments when Harua would come back from work, and collapse onto the couch. They'd eat together, and then talk about nothing and everything as they lay in bed.
Harua liked every moment of it. Every hug from Maki, every second spent together, every date Maki had taken him on. But Harua was convinced it was just his omega instincts to feel this way around an unmated alpha. There weren't any feelings involved. Just…. human nature, Harua told himself.
So Harua had been adamant. He hadn't let Maki claim him. He was somehow convinced Maki would move on after getting bored, and Harua would go back to his boring, lonely life.
And yet, that was what scared him the most—returning to his boring, lonely life.
It was now or never. With his heat right around the corner, he'd have to do something about Maki.
But he didn't.