Author's note: The previous chapter was mostly me applying Omegaverse to the canon chapters that we have to date. From this point on, it's mostly me going rogue with headcanon, so the pacing etc will be slightly different. Hope you still enjoy! Xx

Also I did another sketch for the start of this chapter - the bite rhat forged the soul bond between Yashiro and Doumeki. Again please head to Ao3 if you're curious! :)

The school rooftop was a cliché, but one they had made their own. They weren't there to rebel. They weren't there to fight or to fuck, though Yashiro certainly wouldn't have minded the latter. They were there simply because they had each found something in the other.

Yashiro lay on his back on the raised edge. Kageyama sat on the floor and spared him a glance.

'You shouldn't lean so heavily against the fence.'

Yashiro smiled and didn't move. He drew his fingers across the chain-link fence that protected him from a gruesome death.

'You'd save me if it breaks, right? All dramatic, like in the movies?'

Kageyama grunted. 'Don't count on it.'

They both knew they had acquired a reputation by then. An Alpha and an Omega sneaking up to the rooftop together was the perfect foundation for many rumours. But Yashiro revelled in the rumours. Once or twice he even thought about wearing a square bandage on the back of his neck, just to see his schoolmates blush. And Kageyama, for one, couldn't care less about rumours. Ever since his father died, med school was the only thing on his mind.

He drew out his bento and cast another sideways glance at Yashiro, who stared up at the sky with his usual absent smile.

'So you still want to be an actor?' Kageyama said.

'What?'

'When we graduate. You said you wanted to be an actor. And you said something about movies just now, so I thought... I don't know.'

'Oh, right,' Yashiro said carelessly. 'On second thought, it's kind of unrealistic, isn't it?'

Kageyama made a noncommittal noise, though he was secretly relieved. Perhaps Yashiro was beginning to take his future seriously –

'What I really want,' Yashiro said, feigning decisiveness, 'is to be a runway model in Prague.'

Kageyama faltered. Then he sighed and fished out his chopsticks.

'What's with that reaction?' Yashiro pressed, grinning. 'I think I'd look pretty good in one of those three-piece suits.' He extended the fantasy, imagining himself in a vest. 'I'd be the first ever Omega model hired by Armani and –'

'What happened to your wrist?'

'Huh?'

Yashiro glanced down to see Kageyama staring at the arm that was hanging off the side of the ledge. Just beyond his left cuff was the rope burn that was left over from two days ago. It was one of the worst bruises yet. Yashiro's skin had chafed against the rough bindings for a whole hour.

'Oh. Same guy as before. I told you about him, right? The guy from the Yakuza.'

Kageyama stared at his wrist for a few more seconds. Yashiro suddenly felt the need to cover it up. It was a strange feeling, one that bordered on shame, and he didn't like it at all.

So instead, he leaned the opposite way.

'Want to touch it?' he said lightly.

Kageyama didn't reply. Yashiro felt a strange thrill at the hint of red that touched Kageyama's ears. For a moment or two, he felt the urge to push some more. But he let it go. Kageyama had stopped touching his scars ever since the day Yashiro told him about his stepfather. They had left the nurse's office behind a long time ago.

He brought his wrist up to his face and analysed the burn. He remembered the guy's long fingers and scratchy goatee. A precursor for Ryuuzaki, though he didn't know it at the time.

'He practically bit my collar off,' Yashiro remembered. 'It looks like a dog mauled it. I have to get a new one now.'

Yashiro's gaze landed on Kageyama again. He stared at his face in profile. His stern, serious eyebrows. His intent gaze. Silent strength.

The wind gently rattled the chain link fence and sent a few dry leaves scattering. It tugged at Yashiro's hair.

'I'd let you bite me, you know.'

His tone was the same as it was earlier, when he was teasing. But it was also slightly different. Yashiro heard the difference. He didn't know if Kageyama did.

'What do you think?' He kept his voice casual and sarcastic, even as his pulse picked up. 'We'd be bonded for life. I wouldn't be able to sleep with anyone else. Sounds like a pretty good deal for you, right?'

Kageyama flicked him a look. His expression was the same.

'Like you'd ever let anyone do that.'

Yashiro stared at his face in profile for a moment longer. Then he turned his gaze back to the sky and let his hand dangle again. He leaned a little harder against the fence.

They were there because they had found something in one another. Kageyama found someone who didn't judge him. Someone who didn't think him strange for his fetish or his silence or his gruffness.

And Yashiro found something that hurt him almost as much as it comforted him.

'Yeah,' he said with a quiet laugh.

He could hear it; that his own laugh sounded forced. But Kageyama couldn't.

Doumeki's jaw was locked as they got out out of the car and walked into the clinic. He had intuited, from the very start, that Kageyama Kanji occupied a unique place in his boss' mind. Yashiro flirted with him openly, like he flirted with everyone else. But Doumeki saw what happened to him afterwards. The quietness. The deflation.

And, strangely enough, his jealousy of Kageyama had only grown in the weeks since he had made Yashiro his.

He stood by the door, his hands in fists, as Kageyama took Yashiro's arm out of its cast. Yashiro rolled his sleeve up, partway, and Kageyama rolled it up further, past Yashiro's elbow. Doumeki's pulse picked up and he tried to focus his gaze elsewhere.

Yashiro noticed and pursed his lips in amusement.

'Try doing this,' Kageyama said, touching the tip of his index finger to his thumb.

Yashiro focused and tried. His thumb quivered and his finger twitched.

'Not bad, right?'

'It's improving,' Kageyama agreed. He moved his cigarette to the other side of his mouth and gingerly felt along the tendons in Yashiro's arm. 'Any feeling here?'

'Yep.'

Kageyama was surprised. 'Really?'

Yashiro grinned. 'I always feel something when you touch me, Kage.'

Doumeki's fists clenched tighter. Kageyama gave an exasperated sigh.

'Would you stop fucking around? I'm not in the mood.'

'I have stopped fucking around. I'm only fucking him now.'

Yashiro tilted his head to indicate Doumeki. Kageyama looked around in slight surprise.

'What are you talking about?'

'Don't be coy. I know you've seen the mark on my neck.' Yashiro crossed his legs and leaned back on his good hand. 'It's his.'

It took a few more seconds for the words to sink in. Kageyama stared between Doumeki's poker face and Yashiro's familiar, sanguine smile.

Ever since he had seen the mark on Yashiro's neck, Kageyama had been curious about whose it might be. The bodyguard never once occurred to him. In fact, Kageyama had always been under the impression that Doumeki was a Beta. He then groaned internally when he remembered that Kuga had predicted something along these lines. Kuga would undoubtedly lord his foresight over Kageyama until kingdom come.

He also remembered, vividly, the day he had told Yashiro he was pregnant. They had been in that same room. He remembered the fear and the disgust in his eyes. He struggled to put it all together and realised he couldn't.

All he knew was that he felt distinctly uncomfortable under Doumeki's gaze, for absolutely no reason that he could think of.

So he sighed and covered Yashiro's arm back up before writing a prescription for painkillers.

As he scribbled on his pad, he also slowly worked up the courage to bring up a somewhat awkward topic. He was a professional, after all. He had to wade through whatever discomfort and innuendo awaited around the corner.

'How long has it been?' he asked when he turned back to Yashiro with the prescription in hand.

'How long has what been?'

'Since the bond was made.'

'Oh. Two weeks, I think.'

'Any changes in… behaviour?'

'Behaviour?'

'Libido. And… urges. Unscheduled heats. That sort of thing.'

It occurred to him that a real professional would have asked the bodyguard-cum-bonded-Alpha-mate to wait outside as he asked Yashiro such questions. He realised he had gotten too used to playing the part of the go-to doctor for the Yakuza, which meant the rules were frequently bent or broken or bleeding from multiple bullet wounds.

'Oh, we're fucking like rabbits, if that's what you mean,' said Yashiro smoothly. 'Do you want details?'

'In the first three months after a bond is made,' Kageyama said, swiftly ignoring him, 'you'll be eight to ten times more likely to conceive than at any other time in your life.'

The word 'conceive' made Yashiro's smile vanish. Doumeki glanced up.

'So you have to be careful,' Kageyama went on. 'Especially when you're in heat.'

'Yeah, yeah,' Yashiro intoned, though his tone was noticeably more grounded.

He met Kageyama's eye and knew they were both thinking of the last time Kageyama had seen him there. The scattered tray of equipment.

'It's actually rare for bonded pairs to avoid getting pregnant in those first three months,' Kageyama went on stiffly. 'So if you want to be extra cautious, it might be a good idea to separate for a while, just until you're less –'

'No,' Doumeki said suddenly, before he could stop himself.

Both Yashiro and Kageyama glanced round. Yashiro's heart skipped a beat.

Doumeki felt somewhat foolish for his outburst. But he stood by it. And he wouldn't stand for Kageyama, of all people, to be the one to drive them apart.

'I'm –' Kageyama said, feeling suddenly like he had lost his footing. 'I'm just saying it might be something to consider. Given…'

He trailed off, but all three were thinking the same thing. Given what happened. Doumeki thought about Yashiro folding into his arms, crying. He blinked, confused for a moment. He didn't want that, never again. But he also couldn't fathom the thought of being away from Yashiro for even a moment.

And neither could Yashiro, though he would never admit it.

'Thanks for the advice, Kage,' he said, his voice assuming its usual brazenness. He flashed Kageyama a smile. 'I'll bug you for more painkillers soon.'

'Please don't.'

Before Doumeki turned to follow Yashiro out of the clinic, Kageyama wondered if he was imagining it or if he was again on the receiving end of one of Doumeki's glares. He listened as both pairs of footsteps receded.

I'd let you bite me, you know.

The words came at him from out of nowhere, accompanied by a faint memory of the school roof. He frowned. A chain-link fence and a rope burn on a pale wrist.

It was from so long ago that he couldn't even be sure if he had fabricated it. The words were in Yashiro's voice, but it didn't sound like something Yashiro would ever say. Not seriously, anyway. And surely not to him.

A loud buzzing in his pocket pulled him out of his thoughts. He drew out his phone and discovered that Kuga had replaced his own caller ID with 'Your Better Half'. His frown went away and his lips twitched in something dangerously close to a smile.

Yashiro knew it was a mark that would never go away. And yet it still caught him off-guard every now and then, even two months later. As he washed his hair, his fingers would brush against it. The indents left in his skin by his Alpha.

After showering, he stood in front of the sink and automatically angled his face and neck before the mirror, trying to see something he knew was impossible to see without the aid of a second mirror.

There was a quick rap on the door and Doumeki came in. He had left his shirt to dry on the towel rack after washing it by hand in the sink.

Bare-chested, he squeezed past Yashiro and reached for his shirt. Yashiro's gaze travelled lazily over the smooth, rolling muscles of his arms and chest, enjoying the way his defined abdominal muscles always seemed to guide the eye – or the hand, or the tongue, or whatever – further down towards the secret in his trousers. The raw, teeming power of his body, strength and size and solidity, all culminating in a submissively averted gaze and a mumbled, 'Sorry, Boss.' He only passed behind Yashiro for a moment and in that time, he managed to make Yashiro feel small again.

In the two months since the bond was made, it had been physically draining for either of them to be far away from the other for too long. Sometimes Yashiro thought about Kageyama's advice that they should separate until the three-month window was closed. He wondered if such a thing was even physically possible.

Doumeki glanced up to see Yashiro absently feeling out the mark on the back of his neck. He felt a small stab of concern.

'Does it… hurt?'

Yashiro blinked and focused, only then realising what he was doing. He lowered his arm.

'No.'

Doumeki slowly approached the sink again, shirt in hand. Yashiro saw his eyes focus on the mark.

'I kind of wish it did, though,' Yashiro added. His lips curled into a slight smile. 'I feel like it should, at least a little. Maybe you did it wrong.'

Their eyes met in the mirror. A flicker of uncertainty crossed Doumeki's features and made Yashiro chuckle.

'It was a joke, stupid.'

'Oh.'

Doumeki was more distracted than relieved. He was suddenly aware of the fact that Yashiro stood before him with only a towel wrapped around his hips. Strong, tapered muscles that reminded him of a large cat. Smooth, flawless skin. Flawless, that is, except for the mark; two gentle arcs of dents which had assumed a permanent pale mauve tint. The closest thing to a tattoo he had.

Without realising it, Doumeki had moved closer. Yashiro felt his breath on the back of his neck. That was enough to make him hang his head very slightly and and he felt goosebumps break out over his skin. He suddenly wanted to see Doumeki fully aroused, just like that, right behind him at the bathroom sink.

But Doumeki caught himself in time. They were already running late for work. And they had had sex three times the previous night. It would do him some good to learn to control himself.

Yashiro sensed Doumeki's impending withdrawal even before he began to move away. He swiftly reached behind him and grasped Doumeki's cock through his pants.

He was rewarded by the low, surprised grunt.

'Boss –'

'Don't start things if you're not going to finish them.'

He moved his hand up and hooked his fingers around one of Doumeki's belt loops. A single tug pulled Doumeki forwards, pushing Yashiro against the sink. Yashiro watched in the mirror, his pulse suddenly loud and erratic, as Doumeki loomed hugely behind him, moving his hands to either side of the sink and trapping Yashiro between his bare arms.

His eyes bored into Yashiro's for a long time before he turned his face to gently bite the curve of Yashiro's neck. He ground his cock, now half-hard, against Yashiro's ass.

It didn't take long for the towel to be on the floor, Doumeki's cock to be freed from his pants and for him to slip in with ease, Yashiro's arousal oozing out visibly from around Doumeki's cock.

'Oh... fuck,' Yashiro moaned quietly.

Doumeki breathed out in a low, long exhale, looking down between their bodies. Yashiro's flesh whitened where Doumeki's fingers clenched it. He pushed Yashiro's ass cheeks apart and up, staring at the fluid that leaked out of him, staring at the vibrations that shuddered through him with each plunge.

Yashiro leaned forwards, tears already dotting his eyes. He hoped his body would never get accustomed to Doumeki's size.

'Yes! Go faster! Ugh, deeper!'

When Doumeki obliged, Yashiro moaned and fell further over the sink.

Then he realised.

'Wait –'

Doumeki's thrusts were hard and merciless. Yashiro was in danger of losing his senses completely.

'Doumeki, stop… condom –'

The words registered in the back of Doumeki's head. He slowed down his pace, struggling to control himself. That was when he remembered they had used up the last of their huge stash the previous night.

'We don't have any more.'

'Shit,' Yashiro hissed.

They both panted and squirmed, Doumeki still inside him, trying to keep still and bracing himself to pull out, Yashiro still emitting small moans. The mirror was completely fogged up.

'Boss,' Doumeki murumured, his voice hoarse. He leaned down until he was pressed against Yashiro's back. He licked his mark. He trailed kisses from Yashiro's shoulder down his back.

And Yashiro, his mind feeling just as clouded-over as the mirror, rolled his hips back slightly; a devious move that effortlessly pulled Doumeki's cock into him again. Doumeki felt the pull and the contractions of Yashiro's passage around his dick. He grunted again in surprise.

'Boss?'

'Just don't... come inside,' Yashiro gasped. 'Three months… Kageyama said – ah!'

Doumeki had delivered a single, merciless plunge, inspired by the anger he felt over hearing Yashiro say Kageyama's name. Yashiro cried out in surprise, face flushed, and he craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

'Idiot… listen!'

'I won't come inside,' Doumeki said through gritted teeth.

Yashiro tried to focus. A shiver ran through him over how strained Doumeki's voice was. How much he was holding back.

'If you do...' Yashiro muttered weakly, scrambling for a threat. 'I'll fire you… again…'

Doumeki suddenly pulled out and turned him around. Yashiro felt his breath catch in his throat again when he faced Doumeki's wide shoulders and the taut muscles of his chest. Doumeki lifted his left leg and wrapped it around himself, pulling him forwards slightly, looking for a way back in. Yashiro threw his arm back against the sink for support.

Sometimes it was this, this need to feel their bodies coming together powerfully, over and over. Other times, like the previous night, the focus shifted to the connection; the simple fact of the most intimate part of Doumeki being inside the most intimate part of Yashiro. There, Doumeki had taken his time, moved slowly and deliberately, without any jarring movements, so that Yashiro could feel every inch of Doumeki's cock and Doumeki could relish the heat and wetness and tightness of every inch of Yashiro's passage. He would bend low at the same time and bite or suck at Yashiro's skin.

Other times, it was about domination. It was Doumeki slipping into the Alpha role that had been passed to him, in his blood, since the earliest times of their evolution. Claiming his Omega completely, in acts and contortions that he couldn't have come up with when he was in his right mind.

Now, however, was not one of those times. Now, against the sink, they only had time for a rough, hard fuck where it was enough for Doumeki to feel Yashiro cling to him and feel the mesmerising resistance and give of his body as he pounded, and it was enough for Yashio to feel the force of his mate's body slamming into his.

'Ugh… ugh, yes! Ah, coming… coming!'

Doumeki braced his head on Yashiro's shoulder as Yashiro came, shuddering mutely when it happened, spurting over his stomach. It was always unreal for Doumeki in that moment, when Yashiro body gripped him so hard it was almost painful; contracting and pulling and sucking, trying to send as much of Doumeki's seed into his womb as possible.

But Doumeki wouldn't let it. They had been careful ever since the harrowing results of that first time. So when Doumeki felt that pressure rising in his balls, he pulled out, replacing the heat of Yashiro's body with the far less satisfying heat of his own hand. Still, it was more than enough to have Boss before him, panting, spent, only barely holding himself upright against the sink. The come that Doumeki had fucked out of Yashiro was sliding down his stomach.

When Doumeki breathed heavily and began to come, Yashiro managed to push him back a few steps to the edge of the bathtub where Doumeki half-stumbled and sat down. Yashiro dropped to his knees and took Doumeki's cock out of his hand and into his mouth.

Doumeki perched on the edge of the tub and groaned, clenching Yashiro's hair, seeing gold strands sliding between his fingers.

Just like old times, Yashiro thought, smiling even as he sucked. It was almost indistinguishable from that day so many months ago, down to the fact that they were on the edge of the tub and Doumeki was still partially clothed and Yashiro knelt on floor before him, naked.

They were the same, except for the fact that Doumeki was hard. And except for the fact that they were bonded for life.

For life, Yashiro thought again. His stomach gave a little lurch, like it sometimes did.

And he carried that feeling with him for the rest of the day.

What do you think? We'd be bonded for life. I wouldn't be able to sleep with anyone else. Sounds like a pretty good deal for you, right?

A future he had envisioned only once, with the bated breath of a kid who was far more naive than he wanted to admit. A kid who still hoped for things beyond his reach.

It was the first and last time he had ever even considered it. And now suddenly, here he was. Living it.

Headquarters had called a meeting that morning. Misumi noticed over the course of those few hours that Yashiro attracted less antipathy than before. Even Hirata had spoken to him politely, if stiffly. The few looks that came his way were mostly those of respect, laced with a telling sort of guilt that Misumi could read through in a heartbeat. Yashiro had a strange glow about him, ever since the day he had been marked.

He's proven that he's smart. And has guts. If you want to get the executive staff on board, he'll have to stand alone and take control of a group himself.

The Kaichou's words still echoed somewhere in Misumi's mind as he watched Yashiro, an Omega among Alphas.

But that day, Misumi also noticed Yashiro's vacant gaze. At times, it felt to Misumi like Yashiro was no longer with them.

It had been nerve-wracking for Doumeki in the first few days after he quietly stepped into Yashiro's apartment and closed the door behind him. He still remembered how badly he wanted to take Yashiro's pain for his own, how much he regretted having left him alone even if it was Yashiro who had pushed him away. He remembered his anxiety as he waited for Yashiro to come back to him. His guilt over the fact that he had marked Yashiro, almost without his consent, even though some voice deep inside, a voice that seemed to know better, told him that Yashiro was fated for him and had wanted to be bonded as badly as Doumeki did.

But as anxious as he had been, he was still comforted in the feel of Yashiro between his arms. He had waited for Yashiro to come back to him, and he did.

They could feel the distance between them when they were apart, even when Yashiro was called away to a meeting a few floors away where no underlings were allowed, or when Doumeki went back to his flat to grab a few extra clothes and race back to Yashiro's. It was a desire that was only quenched when he could smell Yashiro' scent again. For over two months, it had been the same. The silent power of a soul bond.

And so Doumeki wasn't at all prepared when Yashiro told him out of the blue that he would be going away for a while, and that Doumeki wasn't to come with him.

Doumeki, who was at the stove, heard the words ringing in his ears. He turned to see Yashiro place his phone on the counter. He stared, trying to understand.

'Where are you going?'

'Hokkaido,' Yashiro said with a sigh that belied a small tangle of emotions. 'Misumi wants me to meet the Kaichou.'

Doumeki was surprised. That was quite a privilege indeed, one that seemed like it heralded more significant things. Things that Misumi had been gently and not-so-gently steering Yashiro towards. Things like a position at headquarters. Yashiro seemed aware of it all; Doumeki saw that he was preoccupied.

'Why Hokkaido?' he asked.

'The Kaichou's been moved to a hospice there. He's on his last legs. '

And then Doumeki honed in on the most important part of all.

'Why can't I come?'

'Misumi was explicit about that,' Yashiro said, a small smile cutting through his preoccupation. 'Since I go into heat left and right when you're around. It'll be awkward if it happens in front of the Godfather, don't you think?'

He had used the English word when he made the reference but Doumeki continued to stare at him blankly.

'You've never seen the movie?'

'Who'll protect you?'

'I'm taking Sugimoto.' Yashiro headed down the hallway towards his bedroom. 'He'll be plenty. Only the Kaichou's inner circle and Misumi know he's in Hokkaido. It'll be even safer than here.'

Doumeki followed automatically, still absently holding the wooden spoon.

'I still… I want to come with you.'

'You can't.'

Doumeki flailed, trying to put words to what suddenly felt like the most egregious injustice in the world.

'I said I'd never leave you,' he said finally, hearing how weak his words sounded.

Yashiro wanted to laugh.

'I'm leaving you,' he said instead, almost patiently. 'There's a difference.' He smiled, a small cruel smile, in the face of Doumeki's hurt. 'Would you stop looking like a kicked puppy? It's only for a week. In the meantime, just keep out of trouble. Do what Nanahara tells you –'

'Is this because of him?' Doumeki said, still struggling to wrap his head around Yashiro's casual mention that he would be gone for a whole week.

'Who, Nanahara?' said Yashiro, confused.

'Kageyama,' Doumeki said, his voice a little strained. 'He said we should separate. And now you're…'

Doumeki trailed off. Yashiro lifted his eyebrows. A tense pause ensued.

'You're still jealous of him?'

'Is he the reason?' Doumeki persisted, with the faintest flush.

'No, you idiot. I've already told you why.'

By then Yashiro had turned his back on Doumeki and was rifling through his wardrobe and ignoring his own pulse. He wondered how much longer he could keep it up. He was distinctly frustrated by the fact that Doumeki was able to vent his feelings like that, where Yashiro had to keep them bottled. He had to pretend like the idea of being separated from Doumeki even for a week wasn't filling him with a strange, hollow dread.

'Bonded or not, we're both grown men,' he said, relieved to hear his voice, at least, continued to sound detached and sardonic. 'I can handle being away from you for a few days, for God's sake.'

'What if – what if you go into heat anyway?'

'I'll take my suppressants.'

There was another silence and Yashiro turned. Doumeki looked more upset than Yashiro had ever seen him before. It sparked a bizarre, conflicting set of emotions in him, in which guilt was plunged beneath others. Others like vindictive amusement, and even the smallest flicker of disgust. A flicker of his former self.

'Then again, maybe they won't work,' he said, his tone changing. 'Maybe I'll get swarmed by Alphas and you won't be around to stop them.'

It was a combination of everything; Yashiro's tone, his half-lidded gaze, the words themselves and the image they conjured…

'And maybe they'll pin me to the ground and tear off my clothes.'

...and the scent of him, his natural scent and cologne and hints of his arousal. Doumeki quickly began to lose control. Yashiro reached him and tilted his face up, leaning in close, to whisper in his ear.

'And maybe they'll take turns fucking me. And they'll bite me, over your bite, over and over. Until no one can see your mark anymore –'

From then on, thanks to Yashiro's carefully designed words, Doumeki was long gone. He became something else, something Yashiro had only seen in small snippets. Doumeki became every part the Alpha that his instincts told him to be. Ruthless and dominating and one-minded.

It was a thrill that Yashiro had known countless times before, each time his body was moulded by another, or by several others at once, until he didn't feel like he occupied his own body. But when it was Doumeki doing it, he realised he was still himself. He could feel it each time Doumeki's hands clenched too tightly, each time his teeth sank too deeply. He felt it when Doumeki roughly flipped him over, then bent low to bite him, hard, on the flesh of his ass, enough that Yashiro cried out in pain and gripped the sheets. He felt it when Doumeki straightened and delivered a loud, resounding slap with his open palm to the same place he had bitten. And Yashiro's tears leaked onto the sheets and he whimpered and he cried out again when Doumeki yanked his hair back and kept pounding. He felt everything; he was still inside himself and he relished it all. He relished the thought that even when Doumeki became just like the others, he was better than any of them had ever been.

In fact, it was Doumeki who suffered that time. He was the one who floated above himself, aware that he was making Yashiro his, in that moment, in the only way he knew how, and in a way that he wished he could distance himself from. He was almost afraid of the strength of his own desire to carve himself into Yashiro's flesh, make him feel how much Doumeki owned him, simply because he was scared about the thought of losing him.

He had retained just enough sense to pull out when he was close, groaning as he ejaculated over Yashiro's lower back.

And he felt the guilt creep up on him at the same time that Yashiro turned to face him, his face drenched in sweat, looking utterly exhausted. Exhausted enough to let Doumeki pull him close and hold his head to his chest.

Yashiro's body ached all over – a sweet, throbbing pain wherever Doumeki had bitten and gripped and pulled.

'I want to come with you,' Doumeki said quietly, in place of the apology he had intended.

Yashiro only closed his eyes, afraid that anything he said would give away the fact that he wanted the same. He felt distinctly ridiculous, even as he drifted off.

The following morning, Doumeki could only watch as Misumi, Amou and Sugimoto whisked Yashiro away. His half-smile and half-wave lingered in Doumeki's vision, even after Yashiro disappeared from view.

And in fact, that vision of Yashiro lingered even when he came back, pushing past the people who had stood behind him in the queue, pulled Doumeki forwards by his collar and caught his surprised lips in a kiss. That earlier, far-away vision of Yashiro remained because it seemed so much more real and likely than what Yashiro was doing in that moment. When Yashiro bit his bottom lip just a little too hard and drew back, Doumeki blinked and tried to catch up, unaware of the strangers who were staring, unaware of the way Nanahara audibly cringed behind them him or the way Misumi watched on incredulously ahead of them.

Yashiro's smile was back and it replaced the old vision in a heartbeat. This one, this new image of him, Doumeki was sure would never leave him. Yashiro smoothed Doumeki's lapel before turning and disappearing once more. Doumeki stared after his mate, his heart as sore as his bottom lip.

He went home nursing a deep and irrational grudge against the entire prefecture of Hokkaido.

On his way, he brushed past a man who had been watching the whole scene dispassionately. Perhaps if Doumeki had been less preoccupied, he would have noticed the somewhat conspicuous fact that he was wearing sunglasses indoors. As Doumeki and Nanahara headed for the parking lot, Sunglasses took out a phone and held it to his ear.

'Hokkaido,' he said, once the line picked up. 'And his Alpha's not going with him.'

On the other end of the line, Hirata absorbed the news and hung up.

Neither Yashiro nor Doumeki knew how difficult it would be. Doumeki was suddenly at a loss, learning firsthand how things as inane as geography and distance could claw at him so vindictively. He now understood why entire fields of psychology were dedicated to understanding the specific biology and chemistry of the bond between an Alpha and an Omega (and why more obtuse, less respected fields were dedicated to the controversial phenomenon of the soul bond), and still no one had come close to explaining it satisfactorily.

For Doumeki, whatever it was that was tying him to Yashiro was no longer a current that he simply needed to follow, one that would always lead him to Yashiro if he succumbed to it. It now felt more like a membrane that had been stretched too thin, stretching someplace he couldn't feel or see properly. And it hurt with a very real ache.

Yashiro, too, felt that strain. His was a quiet ache that reflected Doumeki's all the way back in Tokyo. But he was somewhat prepared for it, and diligently kept it from Misumi and Sugimoto as much as he could over the first few days.

Of all people to notice, it was the Kaichou.

'Pining for your mate?'

With a small start, Yashiro pulled his gaze from the window. He met the Doushinkai head honcho's smiling gaze.

'No, Kaichou-san,' Yashiro politely lied. 'Sorry.'

After years of dealing with superiors like Misumi and Hirata, proper deference was something Yashiro wasn't used to. Besides that, he was slightly unnerved at the old king pin's clairvoyance.

'No point keeping it from me,' the Kaichou said gently. His eyes crinkled in the corners as he watched Yashiro. 'I may not look like it at this age, but I know a thing or two.'

His voice sounded just as weathered and beaten as his face. Yashiro marvelled over the fact that he was still able to retain so much life in his small eyes and in the kindly creases of his smile. It was hard to imagine he had ruled over the underworld of Tokyo for so long and with such a strong hand.

The hospice had none of the cold, clinical stringency of a hospital. Here, there were soft colours and warm smells and hushed, gentle voices – an unassuming gateway to the next step. A place that calmly accepted the inevitable. It seemed to suit the Kaichou especially. Propped up on several pillows, the old mobster watched Yashiro with a shrewdness that Yashiro found he didn't altogether mind.

They had had to wait several days before the Kaichou was in any state to receive guests. And almost immediately after Yashiro had been introduced to him, Amou had pulled Misumi away on an urgent call from Tokyo. When the Kaichou looked like he had dropped off, Yashiro had moved to the armchair by the window. He heard the muffled sound of Misumi's voice in the hallway. He stared out at the Hokkaido postcard beyond, the rolling lawns and rows of coloured poppies all edged by tall conifers and pines. He thought of where Doumeki was, surrounded by the constant hum and stark greys of Tokyo. And the Kaichou had heard his thoughts.

'Let me tell you a secret,' the old man said, beckoning. 'It's one that not even Misumi knows.'

Intrigued, Yashiro moved to the armchair by the bed and the Kaichou inclined his head.

'I had an Omega mate once,' he said quietly.

Yashiro's mouth opened slightly in surprise. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't that.

'We were bonded,' the old man continued. 'A fated pair, I think it's called. But that kind of thing – it wasn't talked about back then. Times were different. We had to keep it a secret.' The Kaichou's eyes focused on something in the distance that Yashiro couldn't see. 'My wife found out eventually, which made things a little difficult. She was an Alpha, like me.' A genial, regretful sigh. 'Hard to sneak anything past an Alpha.'

Though Yashiro was still processing, the Kaichou's last remark made him scoff a little.

'Doumeki must be the exception then.'

The Kaichou laughed in surprise. It was rare for anyone other than Misumi to be brave enough to engage him in banter.

'Doumeki, is it?' He mulled it over. 'Strange name.'

'That's what I said,' Yashiro replied with a smile.

A comfortable pause ensued. Yashiro tried to absorb the Kaichou's startling little secret. He was still caught up in it when then Kaichou gently observed, 'You're thinking of leaving all this behind, aren't you?'

Yashiro looked up in slight shock.

He was on the point of asking the Kaichou what he meant, but clarification suddenly didn't seem necessary. A small unspoken understanding had passed between them.

'You should tell Misumi soon,' the Kaichou advised, his tone still gentle. 'You know why he's brought you here. It's been a few months since he last spoke to me about you, and it seems he's made his decision.'

Yashiro lowered his gaze, suddenly itching for a cigarette. Guilt wasn't a feeling he was comfortable with. He still remembered the cold snow beneath his naked body, the little flakes landing like icy needlepoints all over his skin. He still remembered the tune he whistled. And he remembered how Misumi had looked at him there. Without judgment. With barely any pity, though Yashiro knew he must be feeling it somewhere. Misumi, who had taken him under his wing and given him the only life he knew.

I didn't intend to become like this, he had said to Kageyama. Years had passed and he was already in deep. It's just that it was the only path left.

'I thought about leaving myself. Several times, in fact,' the Kaichou continued, in a tone that sounded like a long sigh. 'But I never did. I'm not a man of many regrets but…'

He coughed a few times and adjusted himself weakly on the pillows.

'A soul bond is a powerful thing. It's not something a person can understand unless they've experienced it themselves. Things happen – things that seem too unlikely for coincidence. Sometimes even causality gets messed around. At first, you think you're drawn to them because they remind you of someone from your past. But over time, you realise everything in the past, everyone in the past, they were all pointing towards this one thing. This one… bond.'

Kageyama's face in profile as they sat together on the school rooftop. Silent strength.

Yashiro stared at the floor. He could still hear Misumi on the phone outside. He suddenly seemed a world away.

'It all sounds ridiculous, I know. Coming from an old mobster, no less.' Despite his words, the Kaichou met Yashiro's gaze evenly. 'But whatever you're feeling now, Wakashu, you should follow it. Don't repeat the mistakes of an old man.'

Two old men, the Kaichou corrected silently, thinking of the subordinate that Misumi had lost. But he kept that little secret to himself.

Yashiro stood up and walked to the window. He was silent for a long time.

And when he finally spoke, he did it with the gravity and hesitation of one who was finally putting words to long-held, long-suppressed thoughts for the very first time.

'It can't be... as easy as that.'

'I don't imagine it will be,' Kaichou said, countering Yashiro's far-away tone with his earthy, practical one. 'You've made a lot of enemies. That's an occupational hazard that'll follow you even if you try to leave.' After a pause something else occurred to him. 'I imagine it was the same struggle for… oh, I've forgotten his name again. The one with the scary face who used to run Matsubara.'

Yashiro smiled broadly and turned. 'Ryuuzaki.'

No one had heard from him, or his woman, for a whole month. It seemed he had given his old life the slip, after everything his woman had suffered at the hands of Hirata's men.

'He left for his woman's sake,' Yashiro said quietly, mostly to himself.

'Mm,' the Kaichou mysteriously intoned. He knew fragments of Yashiro's history with the former leader of Matsubara. 'Though... that may not have been his only reason.'

The Kaichou's suspicion on that count echoed Hirata's. Don't you think Yashiro knows your infatuation with him? As the Kaichou watched, the sun eased out from behind clouds and gently lit up Yashiro's hair where he stood. In a way, the Kaichou mused, the most blessed Alphas are the ones who never know the desolation of desiring an Omega who was beyond their reach.

Yashiro, by then, had zoned out slightly. His mind was whirring as he stared out the window, as vibrant as the rows of flowers, as new as the colours that graced them. It was new and terrifying, just as new and terrifying as the day Doumeki had quietly come into his apartment and closed the door behind him. He remembered Doumeki's weight pressing on him as he lowered him to the bed, to do nothing more than stare at him. Outside, a pair of sparrows wheeled around in the air above the flowers, as dark and erratic as the flowers were bright and motionless. Yashiro's heart thudded and his body suddenly coursed with adrenaline that came from nowhere and had nowhere to go.

All he could do was turn to the Kaichou with a smile that was tentative and daring and made the old man's pulse spike dangerously, given the precariousness of his condition.

'Can I tell Misumi it was your fault?' Yashiro said.

The Kaichou's eyes twinkled.

'Blaming a dying man is a low blow.'

'Who's dying?' Yashiro returned swiftly, his smile widening. 'If anything, there's too much life in you, Kaichou-san.'

The old man let out a loud, surprised laugh at Yashiro's nerve.

'I can see why Misumi likes you so much,' he said, before adding, on impulse, 'He called you his third half, you know.'

Yashiro raised his eyebrows in confusion.

'His third what?'

Another mysterious chuckle. 'Never mind.'

There were many things to consider. Things that would take weeks to sort through, if not longer. Ties that needed to be broken, tracks to cover, old contacts forsaken, pledges broken, bridges burned. Perhaps new enemies made.

Yashiro's head was buzzing with all of it, and it was still buzzing from the vaguely surreal discussion he had had with the ailing and omniscient head of Doushinkai.

But what made his heart pound hardest was the idea of telling Doumeki. He almost flushed at the thought. Perhaps he could twist the whole thing into a joke about Doumeki's probationary period being over and that Yashiro felt he simply wasn't cut out for the Yakuza life after all. He would drag it on for a while before finally taking pity on Doumeki and explaining what he meant. What he was trying to say.

He wondered how many tries it would take for Doumeki to understand. He wondered if Doumeki's eyes would widen, or if he would flail for words as he always did. Or perhaps it wouldn't make much of an indent at all. Perhaps, for all of Yashiro's heart-pounding, path-rewriting upheaval, it would be met with a steady 'Okay, Boss' and nothing else. The thought made Yashiro's lips twitch.

Everyone had retired for the night. Yashiro stood before the bathroom mirror like he did back in his own apartment. The peacefulness of the hospice carried to the guesthouses, all minimum security, all with private courtyards and boardwalks. It was strange how eager Yashiro was to leave it all behind for the grey starkness of Tokyo. How eager he was to start… whatever life it was that lay ahead of the one he was in.

Whatever it is you're feeling now, Wakashu, you should follow it.

He stared in the bathroom mirror and thought of Doumeki passing behind him, barechested, mumbling an apology. Doumeki's arms looming on either side of him, Doumeki's outline beside him in the pale light of dawn. His warm, earthy scent and large hands. His scent in the morning, his scent in the middle of their heat.

I'm never leaving you, Boss.

It was all swimming so strongly in his veins, he was seeing and feeling Doumeki so strongly, that he was almost certain that Doumeki was just outside the door and not hundreds of miles away. He was so certain that it almost didn't come as a surprise when he heard the door to his room being opened. Or when heavy footsteps approached the bathroom.

Yashiro's heart leaped to his throat and he opened the bathroom door.

'Doume–'

The sound of a gun being cocked splintered the image he had already conjured cleanly in two; the image of a breathless, apologetic, possibly even flustered Doumeki apologising for having been unable to last even a week without him.

Yashiro instead found himself staring at two men he may or may not have seen before, one of whom had been at the airport in Tokyo a week ago. And Hirata stood behind them, calmly and quietly closing the door. The way he did it made Yashiro instantly think about the way Doumeki had quietly come into his apartment all those months ago. But when Doumeki had done it, it meant something much different.

When Hirata did it, Yashiro felt the door close to the future he had envisioned against a sunlit window that looked out onto rows of brightly coloured flowers and courting sparrows. A future he had been naive enough to hope for, for a handful of precious hours that day.