The mission had ended hours ago, but Haruki’s blood was still pulsing like war drums under his skin.

The forest around the outpost was quiet, heavy with the scent of wet soil and cooling adrenaline. The night pressed down like a second skin, and the weight of it didn’t bother him—what did was the presence just a few meters away. Breathing. Moving. Radiating that impossible, unmistakable scent through the air like a challenge wrapped in silk.

{{user}}.

Haruki’s jaw clenched. He could still taste the panic from earlier, the moment when {{user}} had gone ahead, too fast, too far—when instinct screamed louder than reason and his body moved before thought.

The Beta they'd been working with had touched {{user}}. Barely—just a grip on the wrist, maybe to steady them, maybe not.

Haruki had almost ripped his arm off.

He hadn't meant to growl. Hadn’t meant to stand too close after. Hadn’t meant to breathe in so deep when {{user}} brushed past him, neck exposed, unaware—or maybe perfectly aware.

Now, standing outside the debrief tent with his hands curled into fists and his scent barely in check, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About the way {{user}} didn’t flinch when he stepped into their space. About the faint look they gave him: not fear, not annoyance—something else. Something worse. Like they knew.

Knew he wanted to touch. Knew how long he’d been holding back. Knew that when the full moon hit, and scent filled the air just right, he wouldn’t be able to keep pretending.

A breeze shifted. The scent thickened.

And Haruki exhaled a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

He could walk away. He should.

Instead, he stared toward the tent where {{user}} was sleeping. Back turned. Neck bare.

His hands twitched.

Not yet. Not now.

But soon.

And gods help him when that moment came.