Chapter Text
The warmth of spring floated in the air as Hitoshi stepped out of his shitty, almost rundown apartment building. He fidgeted with his oversized hoodie for a moment, readjusting the ends of his sleeves to make sure they were covering his arms completely, before he stopped. He set off course towards the café he worked at to pay the bills and small little luxuries, like lunch at a cat café every couple of weeks.
He bypassed a variety of people – Alphas in business attire, Betas bustling from one place to another, the rare Omega here and there, dutifully trotting after Alpha or Beta companion – and kept his gaze straightforward as he walked. He wanted no one to find anything faulty with him, nothing that would make them pause and peer deeper into places he’d rather keep hidden.
Bells softly tinkled above as he stepped inside of his workplace, shivering slightly as the air conditioner greeted him. He mumbled a greeting to the sleepy-eyed coworker manning the front as he shuffled past towards the breakroom, where he beelined for where their aprons were kept.
“Mornin’, Shinsou,” greeted Nozaki, one of their pastry chefs. “I see you look bright-eyed and peppy today.”
Hitoshi snorted. “Go to hell.”
The Beta laughed obnoxiously, turning his attention toward the dough he kneaded. Hitoshi tied his apron on and started to assist in some of his duties. He helped switch some of the cookie sheets as the oven timer pinged, his stomach rumbling slightly at the delicious smells coating the air. He and Nozaki worked in tandem, quiet as some chatter from the front of the house floated their way.
Hitoshi preferred working in the back. It gave him less chances of interacting with others, of having his anxiety curl around his chest at the thought of getting caught, of saying or doing the wrong thing, and someone just knowing.
It had been six odd years since Hitoshi presented as an omega on the cusp of his fifteenth birthday, skin sweaty and heated from the presentation. He had barricaded himself in his closet, buried under a mountain of blankets and forgotten clothes, biting down on his hand to keep him from making too much noise for his fosters to overhear. His soulmarks appeared some few hours later after the heat settled to a low murmur, dusting his arms and torso in bursts of color.
Each mark was outlined with a specific color that relayed their designation—Red for Alpha, Black for Beta, and Gold for Omega.
Hitoshi had looked at his personal mark—a cat paw, purple outlined in gold—in dawning horror. Before his fosters rose for the morning, Hitoshi had packed a bag and disappeared onto the streets. He worked under the table at seedy bars and establishments that didn’t look twice at someone underage working for them, slathering his skin in dubiously legal scent patches, swallowing the definitely illegal and black market suppressants to keep his heat and omegan symptoms at bay.
For all intents and purposes, Hitoshi was a normal, run of the mill, somewhat dirty Beta. No one important, and nothing to sneeze twice at.
He didn’t care that he was ruining his body, potentially risking organ failure, hypertension, brain hemorrhages, and worse at the prolonged usage of suppressants. He didn’t care that he was lonely, curling around his stuffed cat in the middle of the night and yearning for the touch of a human, a mate. He didn’t care that he was an anxious, depressed bundle of nerves just about to tip over the edge at the wrong word, the wrong scent.
He would have no freedom as a Pack Omega.
Although Omega Rights have made considerable progress over the years, things were still – not great for Omegas, in Hitoshi’s opinion. He would need to be in the “custody” of either an Alpha Guardian or Alpha Mate, who would then essentially be in charge of him and what he could/couldn’t do as if he were still a young pup. Omegas couldn’t continue their education past high school without an Alpha’s approval. Neither could they hold a job, go anywhere by themselves, and so on. Everything was controlled by an Alpha or Beta, if there wasn’t a suitable Alpha around.
Researchers justified it by explaining the biological necessities of omegas, how they needed to submit, how it helped improve their mental health and survival outcomes, but Hitoshi just called bullshit. He had been doing just fine by himself all these years, and just proved that he could do anything a Beta or Alpha could.
Some packs were progressive, allowing their omegas to have “safe” jobs, or continue their education if they wished, but most of society operated on the traditional values.
Hitoshi had always been unlucky – he didn’t want to push his luck with his supposed mates. They would be the traditional type; he could bet his entire meagre belongings on it.
“—ou? Shinsou, hello?”
Hitoshi blinked out of his thoughts at the flour-stained hand waving in front of his face. “Huh?”
Nozaki snorted and jerked his head towards the front of the house. “Go on and help Megumi, will ya? We’re about to get the lunch rush crowd.”
Hitoshi grimaced but nodded, wiping his hands on his apron. He steeled himself for a moment before the door and crossed the threshold, the noise of the front of the house immediately assaulting his senses compared to the quiet peace of the back.
“Oh, thank god,” said Megumi, visibly relieved as she struggled with three orders. “Mind taking over the cash register while I get us back up to order?”
Hitoshi hated working the register, but it was one of the things he signed up for when he accepted the job offer. He nodded and stood in front of the rather ancient looking cash register (their owner refused to upgrade their technology unless absolutely necessary), and gave what he hoped was a welcoming smile to the next customer.
“Welcome – what can I get you?”
The next few hours were a blur of taking orders, completing them, and stepping around Megumi as they worked in tandem. He allowed the stream of conversation, of steam hissing from its container, to flow over him as he worked. He weathered through entitled customers with a tight smile on his face, knowing he couldn’t cuss them out like he wanted to. The owner would have his head, if he had.
When the afternoon sun settled over the windows, Hitoshi finished wiping down the counter. “I’m going on my lunch break.”
Megumi saluted him.
Hitoshi hung up his work apron, and stepped out of the café. He could have lunch there, but he was feeling antsy and wanted to leave for someplace else. He went a few stores down to a mom-and-pop restaurant, but as soon as his fingers brushed against the doorknob, something exploded a few feet away.
Screams of pain and fear sliced through the air. Hitoshi blinked dust out of his eyes and groaned, having been pushed back by the force of the explosion. He could feel something wet on his head, and he touched his forehead for a moment, pulling his hand back to see red staining his fingers. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to grasp his bearings. He couldn’t afford going to a hospital—they would be able to find out his designation within the hour.
People ran in various directions. Noise blanketed his hearing as another explosion erupted. Hitoshi coughed at the rise of debris and smoke. He glanced down to see one of his legs pinned under a slab of concrete, and felt fear flutter in the middle of his chest.
Maintain control, he told himself, breathing through his mouth. I need to maintain control or else it’s all over.
Scent patches could be faulty when one was under distress. It was some safety mechanism or whatever, but it was highly inconvenient for a moment such as this.
Hitoshi could only hope the police and Heroes got there soon. But they would come with emergency services—but perhaps he could wiggle his way out of being sent to the hospital. He could hide a leg injury, right?
He winced as pain spiraled up his leg as he moved. He attempted to remove the concrete slab from his leg, btu he had little strength in his arms. Not for the last time, he cursed the lack of muscle development for omegas. He had about the same strength as a toddler.
“Uravity, Cellophane – help with evacuations and the injured!”
Hitoshi breathed a sigh of relief. Heroes had arrived – which meant this entire ordeal would be over with soon. He focused on the slab; it was the only thing he could do, considering the chaos. Rapid footsteps neared towards him, and he tensed.
“Are you alright?” A Hero skidded to a stop in front of him, kneeling. Hitoshi reared back at the Alpha scent, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. He recognized this Hero; it was Deku. One of UA’s Big Three when he had attended the school, and . . . the person Hitoshi had gone up against during the Sports Festival, back when he’d attended UA, before he presented and his life crumbled before his eyes. “Oh, what am I saying! Of course, you’re not alright – let me help you!”
With Deku’s help, the concrete slab was removed from Hitoshi’s leg. Cautiously, he rolled his ankle and winced at the flares of pain. It didn’t seem broken, but he wasn’t a medical professional. He would have to go to one of those underground doctors to get treated. He couldn’t afford the hospital.
“Thanks,” he murmured, not wanting to be rude, considering the Hero did save him.
Deku gave him a warm smile. “Of course, of course, just doing my job – here, let me help you to the EMTs.”
Hitoshi’s heart thudded in his throat and he shook his head, waving his hands in front of him. “N-no, you don’t have to do that – that’s okay! I’m – I’m good.”
Deku frowned. “I really think you should get checked out by a medical professional—at least, for your leg. I insist.”
Ugh, Hitoshi thought and barely resisted rolling his eyes. Alpha knothead.
He gritted his teeth instead. “I said I’m fine.”
The Hero blinked at the hostility in his voice, and opened his mouth to respond before he stilled, eyes going almost comically wide. His breath hitched. Hitoshi followed his line of sight to see that his sleeves had been ripped, displaying some of his marks.
Including his personal mark.
Fuck. Fuck. FUCKK.
Panic bubbled up his chest as awe and reverence descended onto Deku’s expression. “You’re – you’re our omega,” Deku said, almost breathless.
“No, I’m not,” Hitoshi denied and scrabbled back. He could feel his heart pound against his skull. “I’m – you’re just – just seeing things!”
Deku made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Hitoshi stiffened as he felt the press of pheromones against his skin, meant to calm and soothe him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Deku soothed and inched closer. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart, I promise.”
Hitoshi then did something he promised he wouldn’t ever do. He used his quirk. “I . . . you really won’t hurt me?” He hated how vulnerable his voice sounded.
Deku softened. “No, sweetheart, I wo—.”
He stilled, limbs jerking to a pause like a marionette, comfortable and snug beneath Hitoshi’s quirk. “Don’t follow me,” Hitoshi commanded as he stumbled to his feet, and broke out into a hobbled run, disappearing down the nearest alleyway.
He had disappeared once. He’ll have to do it again.