Chapter Text
The sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic was the first thing that drifted into Taki’s consciousness, instantly cutting through the lingering haze of the seizure. He blinked heavily, his eyelids feeling like lead, staring up at the plain white ceiling tiles of the university infirmary.
The roaring static in his ears had faded into a dull, thumping ache behind his eyes. He felt entirely drained, his muscles sore from the intense tremors. But as he tried to shift his weight on the narrow cot, a familiar, grounding warmth wrapped around him.
He wasn't alone. And the air in the small, curtained cubicle was completely saturated with the heavy, soothing scent of crushed mint and smoky vetiver.
Taki turned his head to the side.
Maki was sitting in a plastic chair right next to the bed. His expensive jacket was thrown over the back of the seat, his white dress shirt slightly wrinkled, and his silver hair looked uncharacteristically messy, as if he’d been running his fingers through it for hours. He was staring at his hands, his expression a complex mix of frustration, exhaustion, and deep, brooding confusion.
The moment Taki stirred, Maki’s head snapped up. His dark eyes locked onto Taki, sharp and searching.
"You're awake," Maki said. His voice lacked the harsh, icy edge from the cafeteria, replaced instead by a rough, quiet gravity.
"Maki..." Taki’s voice was barely a whisper, his throat dry. He instinctively tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness washed over him, and he gasped, his hand immediately flying down to press firmly over his lower stomach—a fierce, protective reflex to shield the tiny life inside him.
Maki didn't miss the movement. His eyes tracked Taki’s hand, narrowing slightly as a strange flare of intensity crossed his face. He leaned forward, placing a firm hand on Taki’s shoulder to gently but unyieldingly push him back down against the pillows.
"Don't move. The nurse said you need to lie flat until the post-seizure vertigo passes," Maki commanded. His hand lingered on Taki’s shoulder a beat too long, his palm warm through the fabric of Taki's tattered hoodie, before he sharply pulled it back. "How long have you had epilepsy?"
Taki swallowed hard, looking away. "Since I was a teenager. It's... post-trauma. From the car accident that killed my dad."
Maki went silent. A flicker of something resembling sympathy passed through his eyes, though he quickly masked it, crossing his arms over his chest. "The nurse said your charts show a severe lack of proper medication tracking. And that you're severely malnourished. What the hell are you doing to yourself, Takayama?"
"I'm fine," Taki mumbled, his fingers tightening against his shirt over his belly. "I just... I forgot my dose, and I've been working a lot of shifts. It’s expensive, okay? My mom works hard enough, I can't just keep asking her for—"
"Stop lying," Maki interrupted, his tone dropping into a low, dangerous alpha rumble that made Taki's inner omega tremble. Maki leaned closer, his shadow falling over the bed, his mint scent flaring with a sudden, suffocating intensity. "You're not fine. Yesterday in class, you ran out looking like you were going to vomit. Today, your scent is completely chaotic. And just now, the first thing you did when you woke up was guard your stomach like someone was trying to strike you."
Taki’s breath hitched. Panic seized his chest, his heart hammering violently against his ribs. He knows. He’s going to figure it out.
"I was just nauseous," Taki lied desperately, his voice cracking as he pulled the thin infirmary blanket higher up his body, trying to hide his midsection from Maki's piercing gaze. "My stomach has been upset because of the medication side effects. It’s nothing else, Maki. I swear."
Maki stared down at him, his expression unreadable. His alpha instincts were screaming at him that something was deeply wrong—that the omega in front of him was hiding something massive, something that intimately involved him. The deep, sweet maternal note in Taki's yuzu scent was practically shouting at Maki's inner alpha to claim him, to protect him, to tear down whoever was making him look so terrified.
Maki reached out, his fingers hovering just inches away from Taki's face, wanting to wipe away the cold sweat on the younger boy's forehead. But he stopped himself, clenching his hand into a fist and pulling it back. He couldn't let himself get dragged into this. He was a Hirota. His life was mapped out for him.
"Whatever it is," Maki said softly, his voice cutting through the tense silence of the room, "you're a liability to our project if you keep collapsing. From now on, you're doing your parts of the campaign at my apartment. I’m not letting you faint in public again."
Before Taki could protest, the curtain pulled open, and the school nurse walked in, breaking the heavy spell between them. But as Maki stood up to leave, his eyes lingered one last time on Taki’s hand, which was still resting protectively over his womb.