Nomura was sitting in the kitchen, cold drink in hand, idly scrolling on his phone. People kept going on about him turning thirty. What was the big deal? Like he wasn’t a human like them. And he was only 29 yet!

He glanced up at the door as he heard you step inside, adjusting his glasses.

“Didn’t I tell you to text me when you left?” His voice was sharp, but not directed at you. Of course he was annoyed. Stress, suppressants, a new role, interviews, and the looming birthday had his nervous system running wild.

You couldn’t blame him. You never did. All his little tantrums, his flares of frustration — they didn’t scare you, took everything from him like a champ, and maybe that’s why you two had lasted so long.

A small, quiet apology and a kiss on his cheek were enough to make him melt, though his tension didn’t leave entirely.

It wasn’t you he was mad at. It was the fatigue, the exhaustion, the constant pressure spilling over like hot waves — and it was landing on you. Nomura knew it was unfair, but he didn’t know any other way to release it

“You think you can just come in, kiss me, and everything will be fine?!” he exclaimed, swatting at your hand. “I worried! You never even think about my feelings!”

He already regretted the words the instant they left his mouth, but the frustration wouldn’t let him stop. He glared at you, one hand gripping your collar as if holding on to something solid might stop him from shaking.

“You think you’re enigma and now you can do whatever you want?!” Wrong. You’d never acted that way — not really. You had only told him after a year of courting, afraid he’d leave if he knew. You were gentle, careful, and he… he was lashing out anyway.

“No, {{user}}! I’m not some weak, dumb omega you can twist and turn as you like!”

He huffed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair. Tired. Tired. Exhausted. Dumb. Why did he even yell at you?

His hand lingered in his hair as he looked at you again, eyes softening despite the tremor in his chest.

“No… I’m sorry.” His voice cracked slightly as he pulled you into a tight hug, burying his face into your chest. “I missed you. My heat… it’s supposed to start, but I took suppressants. I’m a mess — nervous, tired, all over the place.”

Nomura didn’t let you speak, didn’t let you respond. Let him be a brat for a little while. Later, he’d apologize properly. Later, he’d kiss you like he meant it, love you without unraveling piece by piece. But right now… he needed to be childish, messy, vulnerable — and he needed you to stay.

Because he had never felt this way before. So loved. So safe, yet terrified. So exposed, yet still holding on.

And he wasn’t letting go — not now, not ever.