2 • Black Coffe and Cream.

The next morning found them sitting at a small café tucked into the corner of a bustling street. The warm scent of fresh coffee and pastries mingled with the crisp winter air slipping in each time the door swung open.

Rui slouched in his seat, a storm of anger and humiliation crackling in his chest as he glared at the tabletop. His disheveled hair and the lingering bleariness in his eyes betrayed his resentment for mornings, his exhaustion written across his face like a defiant banner.

Ren, on the other hand, was calm as ever, his posture poised, exuding an air of effortless control. He watched Rui through the steam curling up from his cup, his gaze lingering on the subtle details—how Rui yawned, small tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, his pretty face soft with tiredness.

A deep, unfamiliar sensation stirred in Ren's chest, a primal, unbidden ache to grab Rui's face, to kiss away those tiny tears, to press his presence into every part of him.

But Ren's control was absolute, his pheromones tightly reined in, betraying nothing of the storm beneath his calm. Instead, his voice was smooth, low, as he suggested, "You should get some coffee and something to eat. It'll help you wake up."

"I don't need it," Rui snapped, his tone sharp, though his sleepy scowl undermined the bite. He crossed his arms stubbornly, refusing to admit he was already craving the warm smell of coffee in the air.

Still, when they ordered breakfast, Rui gave in, if only to avoid prolonging the argument. Ren, quietly observant, let him have his small rebellion. Rui, desperate to prove some kind of point, ordered a black coffee—nothing fancy, nothing soft.

The bitterness hit his tongue like ash, and his expression twisted almost immediately, his lips puckering in distaste.

Ren couldn't help the faint curve of his lips at the sight. "Not to your liking?" he asked, his tone light, teasing but not unkind.

Rui shot him a glare, his ears already burning red. "It's fine," he muttered, forcing another bitter sip as if sheer willpower could overcome the flavor.

Ren pushed his own cup across the table, the faintest hint of amusement in his steady gaze. "I usually get mine with cream," he said simply, his voice steady, calm. "I don't like sour things."

Rui paused, his expression darkening as he took it as a jab at his personality. "Is that supposed to mean something?" he bit out, his voice low, defensive.

Ren only shrugged, his calm gaze unwavering. "Not at all. Just thought you might like it better than what you've got."

Rui hesitated, then—grudgingly, defiantly—took the offered cup. The first sip surprised him, the smooth sweetness melting the sharp edge of bitterness, warming him in a way he hadn't expected. He didn't say anything, but his ears reddened further, and he didn't push the cup back.

Ren watched him with quiet intent, the subtle flush of Rui's skin and the way his lips lingered on the rim of the cup sending another sharp pang through his chest.

His instincts roared, pressing against the leash of his control, but he remained perfectly composed. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, a small, unreadable smile touching his lips as Rui reluctantly took another sip, his irritation softened by the discovery that he liked the taste after all.

Rui glanced at him, catching the faint trace of amusement in his eyes, and scowled. "What?"

"Nothing," Ren said smoothly, his voice low and unbothered. "Just thinking how well that suits you."

Rui huffed, shoving the cup away but not far enough to stop him from reaching for it again. "Whatever," he muttered, his ears burning anew, as Ren's calm, unflinching gaze lingered on him, steady and unyielding, his instincts still simmering beneath the surface.

Ren leaned back in his chair, his coffee cup cradled loosely in his hand, his gaze resting on Rui with a calm intensity that set the air alight between them.

The space they occupied seemed smaller somehow, crowded by the unspoken tension weaving between their bodies—a magnetic pull neither could entirely ignore. Rui glared at the list Ren had pushed across the table, his fingers clenched tightly around the pen, his defiance etched into the sharp line of his jaw.

The weight of Ren's voice broke the silence, low and measured, each syllable brushing against Rui's nerves like a soft, deliberate caress. "What do you like most about being an Omega?"

The words struck like flint on steel. Rui's head snapped up, his grey eyes flashing as heat flared through his chest. "Nothing," he spat, the word tearing from his lips as his hand slammed the pen onto the table.

The sound was sharp, but it wasn't nearly enough to break the steady hum of Ren's presence, which pressed against Rui like a tide, relentless and unshaken.

Ren's expression didn't falter. If anything, the faint curve of his lips deepened, a flicker of intrigue sparking in his sharp, steady, obsidian eyes. "Nothing at all?" he pressed, his tone carrying the barest hint of amusement, as if Rui's resistance was just another puzzle he intended to solve. "Not even one thing?"

Rui bristled, his arms folding tightly over his chest, as if to shield himself from the quiet force of Ren's attention. "No," he growled, his voice low and rough, his body tense with unspent energy. The air around him seemed to crackle, his frustration filling the space between them in sharp contrast to Ren's unyielding calm.

Ren's fingers tapped slowly against the rim of his coffee cup, the rhythm deliberate, each motion drawing Rui's gaze no matter how hard he fought it. The silence between them stretched, thick and electric, as though the air itself could feel the charge in their bodies.

"That's quite the statement," Ren mused, his voice soft but laced with something deeper, something that reached into the hollow spaces Rui tried so hard to hide. "You really believe there's nothing worth appreciating about yourself?"

The question pierced through Rui's defenses, his body tightening as though bracing for a blow. "That's not the point," he snapped, his voice rising before he reined it in, his eyes flicking to the other patrons in the café. His heart beat a sharp rhythm against his ribs, and he hated the way his chest felt too full, too warm. "Why do you even care?"

Ren's gaze never wavered. It stayed steady, like a flame in the dark, unwavering and too bright to ignore. "Because," he said simply, the word heavy with quiet authority, "it matters. You matter. The point of Aruka-sensei's therapy is to help you embrace your dynamics, without feeling guilty. And I'm not going to let you run from it."

Rui's cheeks burned under the weight of those words, his body caught in a storm of irritation and something he refused to name. His fingers tightened around the pen as he scribbled a single defiant line across the paper: I don't.

Ren leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but enough to press into Rui's space, making the air between them hum with unspoken challenge. His voice was quiet, almost intimate, as he glanced at the page. "That's a start," he said, the faintest chuckle threading through his words.

Rui shot him a glare, sharp and cutting, but the heat in his chest only burned brighter. "You're impossible," he muttered, his voice shaking with the force of everything he wasn't saying.

Ren tilted his head, his calm unbroken, his scent curling faintly into the space between them—warm and steady, anchoring and maddening all at once. "I'm not letting this go," he murmured, his tone dropping lower, softer, but no less firm. "Because you need to see it. Even if you don't want to."

Rui's grip on the pen faltered, the weight of Ren's gaze pressing against him like a hand on his chest, firm but not unkind. The silence stretched again, thick with something unspoken, as if the very air between them was holding its breath.

Rui's body betrayed him, a flicker of warmth spreading from the base of his spine as his instincts flared, drawing him toward Ren's steady presence despite himself.

He hated it—hated the way Ren's calm stripped him bare, leaving him exposed to the heat pooling low in his stomach and the ache blooming in his chest. His lips tightened as he stared at the blank page before him, the words he refused to write hovering just out of reach.

Ren didn't push. He didn't need to. His patience was its own kind of pressure, a quiet force that wrapped around Rui and seeped into the cracks of his armor. Rui's hands trembled slightly, the pen slipping against his fingers as he fought the surge of emotion rising in his throat, the unfamiliar sensation of being seen—not just for what he was, but for everything he could be.

Ren's voice cut through the silence once more, low and steady, vibrating in the space between them. "Whenever you're ready," he said softly, his words settling like a hand on Rui's shoulder, grounding and inescapable.

Rui hated how his body betrayed him, the heat in his chest spreading upward until it burned his cheeks, his heart beating faster under Ren's calm, unrelenting gaze. He hated it, and yet, he didn't move to leave.

Ren's calm was a force unto itself, an unbroken surface that reflected Rui's chaos back at him with infuriating precision.

Even as the conversation shifted, steering into deeper, uncharted waters, Ren betrayed nothing—his movements measured, his voice silk-wrapped steel. He folded his hands on the table, his fingers brushing against the cool wood with a precision that only deepened Rui's unease.

"What do you know about Omega instincts and dynamics?" Ren asked, his voice impossibly even, as though the question were as mundane as discussing the weather.

Rui froze mid-sip, the delicate porcelain cup trembling as it met the saucer with a clatter. His wide eyes snapped to Ren's, the disbelief in his gaze matched only by the rush of heat rising in his chest. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?" he blurted, his voice sharp, almost brittle.

The faint stir of attention from nearby tables only worsened the flush creeping up his neck, but Ren remained unshaken, his composure a quiet challenge that refused to be ignored.

"Everything," Ren replied, his tone like a tether, calm but unyielding. He tilted his head slightly, the movement exuding the kind of authority that sent a shiver down Rui's spine despite himself. "Instincts are the foundation of your dynamic. Ignoring them doesn't make them disappear—it just makes them louder."

Rui's skin burned, the warmth spreading up to his ears as his defenses flared. "Of course I know about instincts," he snapped, the defiance in his voice faltering under the weight of Ren's gaze. "I'm not an idiot."

Ren's lips twitched, the faintest trace of amusement softening the sharpness in his features. "Good," he said smoothly, his voice carrying a subtle undertone that made Rui's pulse quicken. "Then you understand how neglecting them can affect your body, your emotions; everything."

The weight of the word neglect struck something deep in Rui, a place he didn't want to acknowledge. He bristled, his fists clenching as he leaned forward, his body taut with resistance. "What are you trying to say?" he demanded, his voice cracking slightly under the pressure. "What the hell are you implying?"

Ren leaned forward in turn, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator closing in on uncertain prey. His eyes narrowed just enough to pin Rui in place, the intensity of his focus making the air between them feel electric.

"Let's simplify it," Ren murmured, his voice dipping low, his tone brushing against Rui's nerves like the whisper of a flame. "What do you know about your body? About cycles? Reactions?"

Rui's breath hitched, his chest tightening as the heat in his cheeks flared into something unbearable. "Why are you asking me this?" he hissed, his voice rising despite himself, sharp and defensive. "What are you, some kind of pervert?"

Ren arched a single brow, his composure infuriatingly intact. "Hardly," he said, his voice calm as ever, though there was a flicker of something darker beneath it, something that made Rui's stomach twist. "If you don't understand yourself, Rui, it'll only make things harder—for both of us."

The quiet implication in Ren's words hit like a spark to dry kindling, igniting a wildfire of anger and humiliation in Rui's chest. "You must be really frustrated," he spat, the words tumbling out before he could stop them, his voice trembling with equal parts fury and panic. "Is that what this is about? Your stupid Alpha dynamics? Trying to work out your own issues by dragging me into them?"

For the briefest moment, something flickered in Ren's eyes—sharp and predatory, like a blade catching the light. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by the infuriating curve of his lips, a smile that wasn't a smile. "Interesting deflection," Ren murmured, his voice soft but no less piercing. "But you're projecting, Rui. And it's not as subtle as you think."

The words hit like a hammer, cracking through Rui's defenses with terrifying precision. "Shut up," he hissed, his voice low and trembling, his body trembling with the effort of holding himself together. "You don't know anything about me."

Ren's gaze didn't waver. If anything, it grew sharper, darker, the weight of it pressing against Rui like a physical force. "I know enough," he said, his voice quiet but unrelenting, every word cutting like velvet-coated steel. "And I know that hiding from yourself doesn't make the truth go away."

The silence that followed was heavy, oppressive, filled with the unspoken tension crackling between them like a live wire. Rui's chest rose and fell with the force of his breaths, his hands trembling where they gripped the edge of the table. And yet, beneath the storm of anger and humiliation, something quieter began to stir—a heat low in his stomach, a pull he couldn't fully deny.

Ren didn't press further. He didn't have to. The way his presence filled the space between them, calm and commanding, was enough to leave Rui feeling exposed, seen in a way he hadn't asked for and couldn't escape. The realization made his skin burn, his heart pound, and yet; he didn't move to leave.

He couldn't.