Ayato sat in silence for a few seconds, the car engine clicking softly as it cooled. His hands rested on the steering wheel, unmoving. When he finally looked up, his gaze found the small photograph pinned to the vent – Haruki, smiling in the late autumn light, frozen in time.

Ayato let out a slow breath.

“…I texted him,” he murmured, half to the photo, half to himself.

It wasn’t planned. That long-forgotten pull – the instinct of an alpha who once belonged to someone – had pushed him to act before he could stop it. One short message, sent in hesitation, then deleted in regret. Yahiko wouldn’t have seen it anyway.

“Huh…” He sighed, pushed the door open, and stepped out, letting it close against his back.

The world was bright again after the typhoon – puddles flashing in sunlight, wet leaves sticking to the pavement. The air carried that fresh, washed smell of late summer giving way to autumn.

He crossed the path toward the cemetery gates. The stone steps were slick but warm beneath the sunlight. The cemetery spread ahead, quiet and half-shadowed. Then he saw the figure standing by Haruki’s grave.

Ayato’s shoulders tensed, then eased when he recognized the man’s posture.

“Otsube-san…” he said softly.

The headmaster turned, surprise melting into a faint smile. “Good afternoon, Ayato-san. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. It’s been some time.”

“Yes,” Ayato replied. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” Otsube said, turning his gaze back to the gravestone. “We come here to remember, don’t we? Even when there’s nothing left to say.” He turned to Ayato, then stepped aside. “Take your time, Ayato-san.”

When he left, the sound of his footsteps faded quickly. Ayato stayed still. Sunlight spilled between the branches, warm but not heavy. A sparrow darted past, its wings cutting the still air. Ayato stood there for a long moment, then crouched, tracing the carved name with his fingertips.

“I messed up,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have given him the mark.”

The wind stirred gently in reply, carrying the scent of wet grass and incense.

***

“It’s been a long day,” Shin said as they strolled down the lantern-lit alley. The hum of voices and the faint scent of grilled food lingered in the air.

“Yeah,” Yahiko replied with a small laugh. “Can’t believe how busy it got.”

“And that stupid calculator dying right in the middle of the order,” Shin groaned. “Total betrayal.”

Yahiko chuckled.

“And that couple – remember?” Shin continued. “The alpha and omega who bought five packs of yakitori? They were kind of cute.”

“They were.”

Shin smiled faintly. “Thanks for coming today. Couldn’t have managed without you. You really helped.”

“Thanks. I liked it too,” Yahiko said, glancing toward the stalls glowing ahead.

They walked in easy silence for a while until Yahiko asked, “You sure it’s okay we left? Shouldn’t we stay and help clean up?”

“Don’t worry,” Shin waved him off. “All that’s left is folding the tent. Keito and Yamamoto-san can handle it just fine.”

Yahiko rubbed his arms. “You still want ice cream? It’s getting kind of cold.”

“Sure. Why?”

“Nothing. Just—” he shivered slightly.

Shin frowned and slipped off his hoodie, handing it over. “Here. It smells like mosquito spray though – Mom’s idea.”

Yahiko smiled faintly, pulling it on. “I don’t mind.”

They turned the corner, and a bright sign came into view.

“Oh, ice cream!” Shin said, perking up.

They stepped closer, and as the vendor turned, Yahiko froze.

“Well, well,” said Denji, wiping his hands on a towel. “Didn’t expect to see you two here.”

“Denji, don’t be rude!” a girl’s voice called from inside the stall. “You’re talking to customers again!”

Denji clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. “What’ll it be?”

“Strawberry, please,” Shin said, smiling politely.

Yahiko crossed his arms, looking away. “I’m fine.”

Denji nodded once and started working in silence. The air between them felt faintly tense, or maybe it was just the cool night breeze.

“Here.” He handed Shin the cone without looking up.

“Thanks.” Shin paid and turned to leave. Yahiko followed.

As they walked away, he felt it – that quiet, lingering weight of a gaze on his back. But he didn’t look back.

They walked a bit after leaving the stall. Lanterns swayed faintly overhead until they reached a quiet corner of the park and sat down on a bench.

Shin leaned back, glancing toward the ice-cream stand in the distance. “Can you believe it? Denji. Never thought he’d grow up into that kind of guy.”

Yahiko gave a short laugh. “He used to be so different in primary school.”

“Yeah! Always tagging along, smiling like an idiot. Couldn’t even throw a ball straight.” Shin chuckled. “Hard to imagine that kid turning into that guy. Now he acts like he owns the place.”

For a second, the image of that easier time made Yahiko’s chest tighten. Back then, everything had been easy. Children didn’t have active pheromone glands yet; they lived under the calm scents of adults around them. His mother’s and father’s pheromones had kept him steady, sheltered in their warmth, enough to keep his world balanced.

But after puberty, everything changed. At fifteen, the body began to shape its own scent, giving into the so-called mating season happening every year since then. Yahiko had long suspected something about him wasn’t right. He’d lost the “guiding” pheromones too early, and ever since, others’ scents barely reached him. He thought it was just how he was – a broken kind of omega.

He only knew that his own pheromones felt wrong.

Online forums said lone omegas could unconsciously provoke alphas – make them protective, aggressive, unstable. Some claimed it was a myth; others swore they’d seen it happen. None of it had proof, still, Yahiko couldn’t shake the thought: maybe Denji’s weird hostility started because of him. And afterward, after the mark… things had quieted. A little.

Yahiko drew a slow breath. “You still talk to him,” he said softly. “Even after all that.”

“Denji?” Shin looked surprised. “Yeah, a bit. He’s not all bad, you know. Does dumb things, yeah, but after the hot springs thing, he actually apologized. It’s been fine since then.”

“He… apologized?” Yahiko repeated, almost to himself.

“Mm-hm. Said he went too far.”

Yahiko stared at the ground and then asked quietly, “Do you think… maybe it happened because of me?”

Shin turned toward him, frowning. “Because you’re a lone omega?”

“…Yeah.”

“Yahiko,” Shin said flatly, “listen. Being alone doesn’t make you a problem. People make choices. If someone acts like a jerk, that’s on them – not on your biology.”

Yahiko managed a small smile. “You always make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is simple.” Shin grinned faintly. “You’re fine the way you are. Anyone who says otherwise can deal with me.”

The words hit deeper than Yahiko wanted to admit. He looked at Shin – still the same honest, stubborn friend – and wondered if he’d still say that if he knew about the mark.

Would Shin still think he was “fine” if he knew?