Chapter Text
The penthouse apartment of the Hirota family was everything Taki had feared it would be: vast, pristine, and entirely suffocating. Located in the most exclusive high-rise in Kyoto, it featured floor-to-ceiling windows that looked down on the city like a king surveying his kingdom.
But for Taki, the most overwhelming part wasn't the marble floors or the priceless art. It was the scent.
Away from the neutral territory of the university, Maki’s living space was a fortress of crushed mint and smoky vetiver. The rich, dark notes clung to the leather sofas, the heavy drapes, and the air itself. To Taki’s hyper-sensitive omega senses, walking into the apartment felt like being physically wrapped in Maki’s arms. It was a cruel paradox—his body melted into the comfort of it, while his mind screamed in sheer panic.
"Sit there," Maki said, gesturing coldly toward a sleek glass dining table. He had already shed his school jacket, his white sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he booted up his laptop. "The data models are ready. If we compress the timeline, we can finish the bulk of the presentation tonight."
Taki swallowed hard, nodding as he pulled out a chair. He felt incredibly small in the grand room. "Okay. Let's... let's get it done."
For the first hour, the sheer weight of the academic workload kept Taki grounded. They worked in a tense, professional silence, exchanging only brief, clipped sentences about marketing demographics and luxury branding. Maki remained detached, a perfect wall of aristocratic ice, though his eyes occasionally flicked toward Taki whenever the younger boy let out a heavy sigh.
Then, the heat in the room seemed to shift.
As the evening wore on, the central heating clicked on, circulating the air and blowing a fresh wave of Maki’s concentrated pheromones right across the table. At the exact same time, the smell of the rich, expensive espresso Maki was sipping hit Taki's nose.
The combination was violent. Taki’s stomach gave a sudden, aggressive heave. A cold sweat broke out across his neck, and a wave of intense, dizzying nausea crashed over him so quickly it made his vision go black at the edges.
No, no, no, not here—not in front of him—
"Takayama? Look at this graph, I need you to—"
Taki didn't let him finish. He slammed his chair back, the screech of metal against the floor echoing loudly in the quiet penthouse. Clamping both hands over his mouth, Taki bolted blindly down the hallway, driven by pure survival instinct. He threw open the first door he found—Maki’s private, en-suite bathroom—and collapsed in front of the marble toilet, retching violently.
The agonizing sounds of his dry-heaving echoed against the expensive tile walls. Taki trembled, tears streaming down his face as his body spasmed, his hand instinctively clutching his lower abdomen beneath his oversized hoodie.
Heavy, hurried footsteps sounded in the hallway. The bathroom door was shoved open, and Maki stood on the threshold. The alpha’s face was pale, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sudden, dark realization.
"Takayama," Maki breathed, stepping into the room. His scent spiked, turning sharp, heavy, and intensely demanding. He knelt down beside Taki, his large hand gripping Taki's shoulder, forcing the smaller boy to look at him. "Yesterday at the lecture hall. The store. The library. And now this. You aren't sick from your epilepsy meds, Taki. Don't lie to me."
Maki’s gaze dropped intentionally to Taki’s hand, which was still frozen over his stomach. The pieces were locking together in Maki's mind, a terrifyingly logical conclusion forming. "An omega... getting violently ill out of nowhere. Changing scents. Guarding their womb. Are you... are you pregnant?"
Taki’s heart completely stopped. The sheer terror of the moment sent a jolt of adrenaline through his system, temporarily overriding his nausea. If Maki found out, the Hirota family would take his baby away. They would buy Taki off, protect their heir, and discard him like trash—or worse, accuse his poor family of trapping their golden boy. Desperation, cold and absolute, took over.
Taki forced a wet, breathless laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he pushed Maki’s hand off his shoulder. He looked straight into Maki’s dark eyes, summoning every ounce of acting ability he possessed.
"Pregnant?" Taki gasped out, his voice laced with perfect, bitter disbelief. "Are you insane, Maki? Is that how high your ego is?"
Maki blinked, caught off guard by the sudden fire in the usually timid boy. "Then explain this."
"I told you, it's my post-trauma epilepsy!" Taki shouted, his voice shaking with a flawlessly fabricated anger. He let out a harsh, self-deprecating sob that felt entirely real. "The new anti-seizure medication I got from the free clinic is a cheap, generic brand. It causes severe gastric distress and chronic nausea. I can barely keep food down, which is why my scent smells sour and weird to you! And I'm guarding my stomach because the dry-heaving is giving me intense abdominal cramps!"
Taki stood up, leaning against the marble counter for support, glaring at the billionaire heir with tears of sheer desperation shining in his eyes. "Do you think every omega who throws up is carrying your child? We had one reckless night because we were dumb teenagers. I took an emergency contraceptive the very next morning, Maki. I am not pregnant. Especially not with the child of someone who treats me like dirt."
The room fell into a dead, heavy silence.
Maki stood up slowly, searching Taki’s face. Taki didn't flinch. He kept his posture rigid, his gaze defiant, hiding the fact that his knees were ready to buckle. The lie was seamless, backed by the very real, tragic reality of Taki's poverty and medical history.
Slowly, the tension in Maki’s shoulders relaxed. The fierce, possessive edge in his mint scent receded, replaced by a dull flash of embarrassment and relief. He believed him. The explanation made perfect sense—of course a charity-case student would be on cheap, terrible medication.
"I see," Maki said quietly, turning his eyes away as his cold, detached mask slid back into place. He cleared his throat, modernizing his tone back into a corporate chill. "My mistake. I overstepped. Clean yourself up. We need to finish the campaign."
Maki walked out of the bathroom, closing the door softly behind him.
The moment the latch clicked, Taki slid down the side of the counter, collapsing onto the floor. He let out a shaky, silent breath, pressing both hands over his stomach as his heart finally slowed down. He had survived the interrogation. The secret was safe—for now.