You're Courting Me?!

"I said, my eyes aren't pink". The devil says smiling lightly, it's a weird smile. His eyes curve closed and his mouth lifts lightly at the edges. It's a clear imitation of a smile, not an actual smile.

Scary bastard.

"They're lilac-colored, and I'm not the devil", he adds.

"Lilac looks like pink so it definitely is pink", the bastard thinks he can confuse me, I'm drunk, not stupid.

Heh.

--

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and I-Hagakure Sorahiko-must have completely lost my damn mind.

Please call me Sora, my only friend calls me Sora. I'm Sora and I am a male omega. Yes, you heard that right I am a male omega, I have heats, I have a womb but luckily for me.

And no, I do not have a period, cheers to all the females out there. Honestly, being a male Omega is hell enough. I cannot imagine having a period on top of that.

"Oh come on Sorahiko, you look prettier in black and you know it". Sakura- my only friend and roommate whines in my ears.

Prettier?

Was I ever pretty?

Hate to disappoint you, but that's not me. I'm... painfully average. I have a face. I mean it exists. My hair stays where it's supposed to. I have two eyes, one nose, one mouth- the standard human features and exactly zero delusions.

I'm a self-aware person. I know I'm plain to look at.

I still ended up wearing the black dress shirt though.

Now, back to that my one friend-Sakura Hoshino. She's extraordinarily loud and irritating, and the only person who has stuck around with me since university.

Now, I wouldn't call us best friends, but we've been through enough shit together to qualify as trauma-bonded lifemates.

We're basically soulmates.

⸻

"Come on Sora, drink it! I know you want to" Sakura's leaning across the table and staring me down with this weird look in her eyes. Literal fumes are coming from whatever unholy concoction she's mixed in that glass.

I refuse to drink such poison, I value my liver thank you very much.

"Do it yourself," I tell her, glancing around the room. It's dark, the low lights give the room a nice aesthetic feel, it's a nice private room at a traditional bar, set in the heart of Tokyo.

How the hell did she even afford this? I know we're both standing at the edge of poverty. Traitor.

"Huh? No! It's my birthday, I make the drinks, you drink them!" I'd take her seriously if I hadn't already downed four of her concoctions.

My head's foggy, it feels like there's wool in my ears and my mouth tastes like shit.

"Down girl, my soul is rattling" I whisper back. I think.

"The fuck are you screaming for?" She shouts back.

Yeah, I'm definitely hammered.

I'm going to have the worst hangover- I can already feel it coming.

Speaking of hangovers- this whole alcohol fest all started because Sakura decided to turn twenty-four with a bang. And apparently, the best way for her to celebrate her impending mortality is to drag her only omega friend- me- to a bar, to get blackout drunk, and probably make a series of life-ruining choices.

Heavy on the 'probably'.

In true Sakura fashion, she already had everything prepared. The private room, the drinks, even music and cool lighting. The whole thing actually felt safe.

Which is saying something, because in this world, we omegas are rarely ever safe. Alphas rule everything- and I mean everything- from the government to the goddamn air we breathe, and they're not exactly known for restraint.

For alphas, restraint is a myth.

That's why Omegas like us don't drink in public. Ever. When we go out to drink like this, we rent a private room, and lock the damn door.

That is the simplest way to have fun and still survive the night.

Sakura keeps pushing the glass to my face. "Drink it yourself," I hiss at her.

I can't help looking around the room. I can't remember the last time I had a drink outside.

The low amber lights make everything feel intimate, warm, and expensive. Almost too expensive. We've been living on instant ramen and rice balls for months- how did she afford this?.

She wiggles that stupid glass in my face again, so I open my mouth to tell her off, my mistake, it takes her one second to shove that thing down my throat.

This might be the closest I get to heaven. Or hell if you want to be technical about it.

When I come back to life, Sakura's moaning about some unintelligible bullshit on the floor.

The world is spinning, my legs are shaking, I can't make my eyes focus on anything and my brain keeps chanting one word 'Piss! Piss! Piss!'- who am I to deny my body of its basic function?.

As I open the room door, I distinctly recall that I'm not supposed to leave the private room without...yeah that's a bust...my brain's kinda fried right now.

I shut the door gently behind me though, so I wouldn't wake the birthday girl, more points for me I guess. Heh. I'm so freaking nice.

I would describe the walk-turned-crawl to the restroom for you, but all you need to know is that it was painful. I couldn't see shit. My ears wouldn't stop ringing and my legs wouldn't straighten.

At some point, I might have sobbed because I had convinced myself that Sakura gave me something that fried my nerve receptors and now I am paralyzed.

I sobbed, definitely sobbed.

"Oh thank god". I got to the toilet in one piece, a win that I'll take in the place of all the drunk omegas out there who ended up dead in a ditch while stumbling to somewhere safe.

Morbid, I know.

Anyway, mission accomplished. I pee. I live. I may or may not have washed my hands in the sink. Well,

There's no harm in being optimistic.

"Who cares anyways?".

Done with everything, I trace my steps back to my room. I took about twenty-six steps. It's hard to estimate steps when you're crawling but I think I got it down.

But then I open the familiar-looking door... and it's not my room.

Two men look up. One looks tired and very exhausted. While the other-

The other looks like he invented the word 'sin'.

My drunk brain flatlines.

A crisp black suit. Slightly tan skin. A face carved with impossible precision. And his eyes- soft pink, remarkably unusual and uncannily rare.

I blink. Once. Twice. My drunk brain takes one look at this scene and declares, with absolute certainty-

"Why the hell did no one ever say the devil had pink fucking eyes?"

Now, before anyone starts pointing fingers at me- yes, I, Hagakure Sorahiko, fully accept that I am an idiot and deserve to be smacked around for the foreseeable future? Absolutely.

Is this entire mess my fault? Maybe. Will I own up to it? Yes. But will I share the blame alone? Hell no.

Hoshino Sakura, stand before the jury with me. We should both be considered guilty. Guilty of the crime of absolute stupidity.

⸻

"Lilac, actually."

The tired-looking one is choking-oh, wait, that's laughter. It sounds a bit painful and rusty, like a cat coughing up a hairball. Yikes. I'm not sure whether to laugh or call an ambulance.

And then I see him again.

"The devil speaks," I announce grandly, because my brain is too drunk to control my mouth. "Go on, satan, confess your crimes to me."

The Tired One wheezes harder, but the devil just smiles- a slow, dangerous curve of lips and lashes.

It's not a real smile. It's a well-practiced imitation. Like a shark pretending to be docile.

"My eyes aren't pink," he says softly. "They're lilac."

"Lilac looks like pink," I eye him in suspicion. "That excuse is not going to fool anyone, Satan."

I lean closer to him for scientific confirmation. Bug mistake. Up close, he's too pretty-like, 'What deity sculpted you and why?' kind of pretty. I can see every perfect line of his face and it's doing terrible things to my heart.

"Maybe you're really not the devil," I mutter, squinting. "But you've definitely got 'demon henchman' written all over you."

It's silent. Dangerously silent.

The he repeats 'henchman', like he's tasting it. His fake smile deepens. And that's when I realize that I might be in danger.

"I have nothing to do with hell," he whispers. "I believe that you're not in the right state of mind, so maybe you should leave".

"Sure you don't, Pinky." I ignore his dismissal.

The Tired One dies again. Actually collapses in laughter- He makes this sad choking noise and slumps forward. I'm concerned but- no CPR, not happening.

I'm not going anywhere near that.

The devil-sorry, henchman-leans forward. "Not pink. Lilac." His voice is low, silk laced with steel. "And I really think you should leave."

There's a hidden threat there. Somewhere. But I'm too drunk to catch it.

When my head finally stops ringing, and the room decides to stop spinning, I realize something horrifying- this so-called henchman has me sitting snugly in his lap.

I didn't even see him move.

He's closer enough now that I can see the honey-brown in his hair. Close enough that I can smell the scent of his pheromones clearly-something rich and overwhelming that makes my brain get even fuzzier.

"What's your name pinky?".

"My name?". he murmurs in surprise. "My name is Aronohai Miyamura. And you are...?".

Now, if I were in the right state of mind. If I wasn't drunk as hell and I had just splashed water on my face in the fucking restroom.

Then, I would've never have found myself in this situation- I would never have entered the wrong room, much less of landing myself in a situation where I'm sitting in Aronohai Miyamura's lap about to introduce myself while counting the non-existent pores on his face.

"I'm Sora," I giggle. God help me.

"Just Sora?" His voice has a nice lilt to it as it slides over the words, smooth and dangerous.

"Only my friends call me Sora."

"Then I suppose we're friends?". His smiles deviates from being charming to being slightly threatening.

"Of course not," I snort, pushing off his lap- his very muscular lap. "You're not allowed to call me anything, pinky."

Is it possible for a person to die twice?- The Tired One seems to have died again, after making a sound like a cross between a cat coughing up a hairball and a husky crying.

It was incredibly painful to witness. Even if he chokes, I will not be giving him CPR. I'm not going anywhere near that.

Miyamura's smile vanishes. The air around him changes- it feels sharp and predatory.

"You, omega," he says, and I freeze. It's not the word-it's the cold way he says it. Like he's already decided what he'll do with me.

"Hasn't anyone taught you how to speak in the presence of your betters?".

I find myself unable to move as he stares me down- his gaze heavy with something cruel.

It sobers me up immediately.

Surprisingly, Eiji is the one to break the tension.

"Being a dominant alpha doesn't make you better Miyamura". Eiji snaps, still laughing through the tense atmosphere. "Besides, you're a dominant alpha, you shouldn't be intimidating omegas."

Wait. He's a dominant alpha?.

An actual dominant alpha?.

Miyamura's eyes narrow. "Didn't he know I was a dominant alpha before he walked in here?"

Walked in? He thinks i walked in here on purpose? Holy shit.

He smiles again-that same deadly little curve of lips-and suddenly, I can breathe again. "If you're that frightened," he picks up a sheet of paper and a pen from the briefcase lying on the floor beside him. "you can sign this."

I blink. "What's that supposed to be?"

"Basically a restraining order," he says, voice too calm. I don't buy it.

Then he takes my hand, his touch firm and cold-and he places the pen in my palm. "You don't need to be afraid, if you sign this you'll never have to see me again."

He smiles softly at me. "Think of it as insurance against anything that you think I might want to do to you".

That sounds too good to be true. I don't trust him.

He tilts his head, voice dropping lower as if trying to seduce me. "If you sign now, you get ____ amount for all the damages whether physical or mental caused by me today".

I blink again. Once. Twice.

And then everything goes black.

When I come to, I'm standing outside my private room, door shut, head spinning.

"What the fuck was that?".

"Hahaha."

"Hahaha."

"Heeheehee."

I'm not laughing. I'm crying. Positively sobbing. Maybe both.

Are my tears ducts broken? Possibly. But no- these are tears. The big, ugly kind. I'm right at the edge of a breakdown.

And why, in all the cold corners of hell is there an AC blasting in this restroom. The toilet seat feels like a frozen tombstone.

My face is numb. My dignity? Long gone.

Can a man not cry in peace?

Why the hell are the walls gold-plated? I can see my miserable reflection staring back at me . I look like I just buried my cat, then I found out on Google that it wasn't dead, just sleeping.

Sleeping deeply, like cats tend to do at times.

Honestly, I'd take that disaster over what happened tonight.

As for what led to this-

I think I might've signed that contract.

⸻

"I think there might be a mistake somewhere," I speak my mind loud and clear in confidence.

"Speak up," the devil behind the desk commands, voice as smooth as silk. Oh, great. Apparently, I wasn't as confident as I thought.

Is it so wrong for a man to mumble?

"Speak clearly so I can understand you," he repeats, those lilac eyes pinning me like a butterfly under glass. Why do evil people always look so goddamn good?

Beautiful people give me performance anxiety.

"I couldn't have signed that document. I wasn't even in the right state of mind," I say, trying to sound sane while avoiding eye-contact.

"Surely you can terminate it..." My words trail off as I feel his gaze sharpen. Or maybe that's just his pheromones pressing down on me like invisible hands.

Either way, my brain is scrambling for something to say.

"What I mean," I bow deeply, "is that I'm terribly sorry to have disturbed you sir. I wasted your precious time with my...ignorant, useless self".

Please just accept my apology and let me go.

"Raise your head," he says, voice cutting clean through the air. Cold and crisp.

Nope. I'm not doing it.

I'm not making eye contact with a dominant alpha.

"Please," I plead again, bowing lower, "allow me to apologize again sir. I deeply regret-"

"Would you like me to lift your head for you?"

"No, sir!" My head shoots up so fast my neck pops. Eye contact achieved. I can feel my soul leaving my body. My knees wobble.

Looking at him now, how did I think this man was just another alpha?- not like I would willingly go ahead to challenge alphas normally.

But how could I not tell that he was something more? If I get out of this in one piece, I will never drink alcohol again.

Ever.

"You're right," he says calmly. "You didn't sign the contract in the right state of mind, so technically, it's void".

My brain lights up. This is it! He might let me go-

"But..." He smiles. Oh no. "...it doesn't matter."

He stands,walking around the desk like a predator circling prey. Every step is deliberate. Measured to heighten all feelings of danger.

And it's working.

All omegas are taught never to hold an alpha's gaze. It's rule number one of 'How to Not Die Before 30'. I learned that one the hard way-back in middle school, face first against a dumpster, courtesy of some teenage alpha with a superiority complex. Broken nose, bloody lesson.

You don't forget things like that.

But right now? I can't look away. I physically can't.

"...Because even if you wanted to reverse this," he says, stopping right in front of me, "you don't have the means or the power to take me to court."

And don't I know it.

He's close enough now that I can see every detail-grey suit, honey-brown hair tied neatly at the nape of his neck with a silver ribbon, lilac eyes gleaming like something unholy.

He smiles like the cat that got the cream. Smug and satisfied.

Then his hand-smooth, pale and deceptively gentle-tilts my chin up.

My throat tightens. He's a dominant alpha.

He's strong. Stronger than anyone has a right to be.

'He won't kill me', I tell myself. He'll just...make me wish I were dead.

Comforting thought, Sora. Really helpful.

He's staring down at me. I can't breathe.

And even with scent blockers lining the walls, I can smell him. That rich, intoxicating alpha scent cutting through the sterile air like it owns the place. His pheromones are restrained, but still strong enough to make my instincts curl up and whimper.

Oh, God. Please stop looking at me.

Please don't use your pheromones.

Please.

"...Even if you did go to court," he whispers, his breath brushing against my lips, "you'd never win."

I know.

I know so please just let me go.

My heart pounds, loud enough to echo in my ears. He smiles again-slow, deliberate and fanged. Actual fangs.

Then, unexpectedly-he steps back.

"You can breathe, Sorahiko," he says softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

Liar.

I'm not falling for that.

He studies me with that predatory calm, head tilted. I stay still, hold my breath in anticipation.

I shut my eyes, bracing for whatever comes next-pain, humiliation, maybe even death. After all, I did offend a dominant alpha.

A quick death would be kind.

Instead, pain does come. Just...not how I expected.

"ACK-!" I double over, clutching my throat. This bastard just jabbed his finger into my neck.

"You can't die yet," he says casually, sounding almost amused. "I haven't even had any fun with you."

I'm wheezing. I think my throat's broken. Is that even medically possible?

"Let's start again," he continues smoothly. "I've reviewed your application, and I've decided you're a perfect fit for my company."

Application? This man's delusional.

"You've signed the contract agreeing to serve as my secretary," he adds with an infuriatingly smug smile.

Secretary?! I didn't apply for shit!.

"You'll report to my CFO for your salary and schedule," he says, straightening his tie. "Am I clear?".

I'm too busy choking to answer, so he grabs me by the collar and yanks me upright. My feet barely touch the ground. His scent spikes, rich and commanding, rolling over me like thunder.

Even while I'm coughing out my lungs, he's not giving me an inch.

"I said, am I clear, Sorahiko?"

Every instinct screams at me to run. Every cell in my body trembles. But logic outweighs reason.

"Yes," I croak. "Very clear... sir."