Satoru hated how naturally you unsettled him.

It was humiliating, really.

He was taller than you, stronger than you, louder than you — and yet one look from you could send his thoughts scattering like papers caught in the wind. Worse, you knew it. Maybe not entirely, but enough to wear that calm, knowing expression whenever he got too close and suddenly forgot how to act normal.

Which was often.

The common room was quiet at this hour, washed in the pale blue glow of the city outside. Satoru lounged across the couch with deliberate laziness, one leg hanging over the armrest, glasses slipping low on his nose as he flipped absentmindedly through a textbook he hadn’t actually read in twenty minutes.

Because you were there.

Sitting across from him. Calm. Focused. Alpha scent faint in the warm air. His ears burned.

This is ridiculous, he thought bitterly, forcing his eyes back onto the page. I’m literally the strongest person alive.

Then you spoke.

“Satoru.”

God.

Just hearing his name in your voice made something in his chest tighten embarrassingly fast. He glanced up too quickly, blue eyes meeting yours for half a second before darting away again.

“What?” he said, aiming for casual. It came out sharper than intended.

You raised a brow. “You’ve been staring at the same page for ten minutes.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re holding the book upside down.”

Silence.

Satoru looked down slowly. The book was, in fact, upside down.

A lesser man would’ve folded under the shame. Satoru simply grinned, lazy and pretty and entirely fake. “Was testing you.”

“Mhmm.”

The sound of your amusement wrapped around him like a hand at the back of his neck, and suddenly he was hyperaware of everything. The heat under his skin, the instinctive urge to move closer, the dangerous pull of wanting your attention all the time. It drove him insane how his omega instincts reacted to you specifically, like his body had decided long ago that you were safe enough to unravel around.

He hated it.

He loved it more.

You stood from your chair and crossed the room toward him, and Satoru immediately stopped breathing normally.

“You’re warm,” you murmured, touching the back of your hand lightly to his forehead.

The contact was innocent. Brief. It still nearly killed him. “Quit hovering,” he muttered weakly, even as his entire body fought the urge to lean into your touch like an affection-starved cat.