When Yahiko opened his eyes, the room was still wrapped in darkness.

Ayato sat at the small table now, scrolling idly on his phone, the screen casting a pale glow on his face.

The faint rustle of sheets drew his attention. “Awakw already?” he asked, putting the phone aside.

Yahiko pushed himself upright and gave a small nod, letting his eyes sweep over the quiet room. “How long did I sleep?”

“A couple of hours,” Ayato replied. “The sun will be up soon. Best to get you home before then.”

Instinctively Yahiko raised a hand to his neck. There was nothing – no sting, no blood, no trace of a wound.

“It’s healed,” Ayato said, catching the motion. “Just like I told you – everything’s going to be fine.”

They left the room while the world was still dim. A pale silver line of dawn stretched across the horizon, and the cool air made Yahiko shiver.

At the street corner, Ayato called a taxi and held the door. “Good night, Takahaya-kun.”

“Good night, Hayashi-senpai… and thank you,” Yahiko said quietly before slipping inside.

All the way back he sat fidgeting, eyes fixed on the dim streets sliding past. The memory of pain and firework-lit shadows faded beneath a sharper need: to see the mark. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, resisting the urge to check his reflection in the taxi window.

As soon as he slipped inside his house, he went straight to the bathroom. The lock clicked. For a moment he simply stood, back to the mirror, heart hammering. Then he turned and leaned toward the glass.

The mark was perfect. A soft gray band circled the base of his neck, shading from deep charcoal underneath to almost translucent at the top – exactly like the older students’ marks he had seen at school and read about on forums.

A grin broke across his face. He even bounced once on his toes, giddy with relief. He wasn’t a “wasted” omega anymore. He had his own mark.

He peeked into his grandmother’s room. She was still fast asleep, breathing evenly. He smiled, quietly shut the door, and padded to his own room.

The first orange rays of sunrise slid across the floor as he lay down, still smiling, and fell into easy sleep.

By the time Yahiko woke, evening light was already slipping through the curtains.

He reached for his phone and found a new message from the shop owner with next month’s work schedule. After a quick reply, he got up, marked the dates neatly on his wall calendar, and stretched.

When he opened his closet to check on his uniform, the hanger was empty.

“Gran?” he called from the doorway. “Where’s my school uniform?”

From downstairs came a cheerful voice. “Well, well—who do I hear? I thought you’d sleep straight through to tomorrow!”

“No, just a little tired,” Yahiko said with a small grin.

“What time did you even go to bed?”

“Not sure… around midnight, maybe,” he lied lightly.

“Check the balcony! I washed it yesterday and hung it out to dry. Should be ready by now.”

“Got it,” he replied, stepping out.

He slid open the balcony door. The evening air was mild and smelled faintly of soap.

His uniform hung there, perfectly dry and warm with the last rays of the setting sun. He brought it inside and laid it carefully on his bed, then headed for a shower.

The water was blissfully warm, loosening the last weight of sleep. Steam thickened until the bathroom mirror turned to a silver blur.

Still humming to himself, Yahiko grabbed his toothbrush and wiped the glass with his palm – then froze.

A dark shape on his neck.

The toothbrush slipped from his fingers. He spun around. No one there. But the dark patch in the reflection remained.

Heart pounding, he turned on the fan and waited as the steam thinned. Slowly the blur cleared, and what emerged made his breath catch.

“No… no, no, no.”

The mark was black. Not gray as before – deep black. And now there were two lines: a broad band and, above it, a thin sharp trace.

He pressed his fingers to it, rubbed with soap, even tried a sponge until his skin reddened, but the lines clung strong.

“Oh no,” he whispered, panic rising. “How am I supposed to go outside like this?”

Ignoring his grandmother’s call—“Dinner’s ready!”—he hurried to his room, tearing through drawers until he found an old roll of bandage. With shaky hands he wrapped it around his neck, layer after layer, until the dark lines vanished.

Only then did he release a shaky breath and give a small, nervous laugh. After everything he’d done to get a mark, he was hiding it.

A soft knock came at the door. “Yahiko, everything okay?”

“Yes,” he called back quickly, forcing steadiness into his voice. “I’m fine.”