Chapter Text
Akira rubbed his wrist against the wooden frame as he entered his home. Kozo’s accession to Akira’s alpha marking was supportive and generous. The wood gleamed, polished, from the repetitions of Akira’s routine and the trace oil he left. Each time he returned home, refreshing his scent on the door frame made him relax, safe in his own marked territory and surrounded by his family. His family who had accepted him first when he presented as an alpha and still did when he suddenly became devilman. Akira hadn’t given his alpha status much thought beyond the gratitude of acceptance. Mika didn’t seem to care, treating him just the same as before he’d presented. Although Taro did make some obscene gestures when his scent spiked, no one in the house seemed to mind the occasional slip up of a young alpha. With the scent marking complete, Akira left his shoes and jacket in the entryway.
Akira clambered up the stairs to his own room, dropping his backpack as he went. He needed to be ready for Ryo’s visit. As he tidied up, Akira blushed to think of how the girls had treated him after his devilman shift. When he’d been a lanky alpha, they’d ignored him. He didn’t look like a stereotypical alpha, worsened by his crying bouts. Now, he could barely escape their attention with omegas proffering him food as proof of their care taking prowess. Akira wasn’t going to give up the delicious meals from homemaking classes due to his devilish hunger, but he wasn’t interested in them. Akira took in his room, assessing if it would stand up to Ryo’s minimalist standards and finished tucking the last of his clutter into drawers. Akira packed his mess away, but paused before changing his sheets.
He didn’t want to overwhelm Ryo with his scent. Akira didn’t want to pressure Ryo who seemed distasteful of designation signifiers. Akira hadn’t thought much of Ryo’s status. He almost would have believed Ryo didn’t have one, forever untouched by the base needs of human bodies. On the other hand, Akira knew Ryo didn’t mind his scent; sometimes Ryo went as far as nuzzling against Akira’s scented belongings when he thought Akira wouldn’t notice. Compromising, Akira turned the bed sheets down and put an new clean comforter on top of the sleep-scented one. Akira gave a satisfied nod.
He rushed into the shower, washing away the sweat from track practice. Akira scrubbed briskly. The stream of hot water unknitted the tense muscles in his legs as Akira rubbed off the deodorant and muted pheromones. The western style church did have some benefits, Akira thought, as he stepped out to towel off.
Akira could hear Ryo’s roaring car pull up, growling as Ryo shifted gears. Quickly, Akira dressed. Devilman speed let him get to the church door before the car had even stopped. Akira nervously brushed his hands over his neck, releasing a little of his own scent to calm himself. Akira opened the door, already catching on the glinting sports car.
“This is urgent,” Ryo said as he rose out of the car. The car, which Ryo hadn’t bothered to park in a spot, was completely out of place in the quiet neighborhood. It only suited Ryo’s white jacket and the marble exterior of the church. Ryo imperiously entered the church, not even pausing to toe off his shoes, and headed quickly for Akira’s rooms. Akira trailed behind as he followed up the stairs. Akira searched for a sign of why Ryo was so tense. Usually Ryo softened when alone with Akira, letting his icy exterior warm and the muted scent of contentment waft intimately. Now, Akira could barely smell anything from Ryo. Even his devilish senses could only pick up the leathery scent of the car and the expensive dampening cologne Ryo wore. Something was wrong.
Akira closed the door of his room as Ryo shrugged off his coat. If this urgent issue had to do with demons, he didn’t want anyone to overhear or interrupt. His family wasn’t expected back for several hours, but Taro’s curiosity made Akira certain his door was locked. Akira stayed by the door as Ryo elegantly shrugged off his coat. Akira watched Ryo’s long limbs, his pale grace a contrast to his comfortable room. Ryo settled at the edge of Akira’s bed, draping his coat over his knees. His blue eyes seemed focused on his hands clenched in the white fabric. Akira stayed by the door, giving Ryo time and space to explain.
Ryo withdrew a clear bottle from the coat pocket. He opened it, tipped it on his wrist, and then vigorously rubbed his wrist against the nape of his neck. He repeated this for his other wrist and the other side of his neck, barely disturbing his blond hair. Ryo dropped his hands back into his lap, no longer careful with the bottle. He seemed entranced by the clear liquid, tilting the bottle until it almost overflowed onto his hands and coat. Akira stepped forward to pluck the bottle from Ryo’s laxed hands. Holding the bottle, Akira was looming in Ryo’s space. He looked down at Ryo’s long fingers. They looked different here rather than flying over a keyboard or wrapped around a camcorder. Akira dropped to the floor, uncomfortable towering over his friend, and reached for Ryo’s hands. They were trembling.
“I’m going into heat.”
Akira fell on his ass. He confusedly peered up into Ryo’s blue eyes. Like at the club, they were glistening. But now with fear rather than excitement. Ryo still looked down at his hands with gold hair hiding his worried brow.
“But you’re not omega. You’ve never presented,” Akira said. Akira had never smelled sweetness from Ryo. Sometimes the tang of excitement or the diffuse smell of vanilla in satisfaction when things went well. Ryo had never been like the omegas at school who smelled like sugar and caramel as they offered savory gifts chosen to make their own sweetness more appealing. Akira’s own scent was clear now, spiking in confused acidity. “You don’t even smell like heat now.”
“I will soon,” Ryo laughed, almost barkingly, “That bottle removed the deodorizer. Apparently, the first heat an omega has after suppressing for years is cumulative for all of them missed. You’ll smell that.”