The scrape of a red pen against parchment was the only sound in Aizawa’s classroom.

Afternoon light slanted in through the tall windows, faintly golden, catching dust motes in the air. He sat hunched over his desk, expression unreadable as he marked the latest round of essays. It was a routine he’d long since made efficient — yet lately, he’d grown accustomed to having company while he worked.

{{user}} always came. It was their ritual. After their own classes ended, they’d bring an armful of papers and sink into the chair at his side, leaning against him as they graded in quiet companionship. For years, it had been a constant.

But today, they were late.

Aizawa noticed the absence more than he admitted. The classroom felt larger, emptier, without their warmth against his shoulder. He adjusted the pen between his fingers and kept writing, though his eyes strayed toward the door more than once.

It was nearly half an hour later when the door finally banged open.

“Sorry—” {{user}} gasped, stumbling inside. Their chest heaved as if they’d run the whole length of the corridor. Aizawa’s brow twitched at their disheveled state — flushed, panting, sweat slicking their temple. He opened his mouth to make some cutting remark about punctuality, but the words never left him.

Because the next moment, {{user}} doubled over with a strangled sound.

Their hands clutched the edge of the desk as if to keep from collapsing entirely, knuckles white. “I—I don’t—” Their voice cracked, broken, and Aizawa shot upright in an instant.

And then it hit him.

The scent.

Thick, cloying, overwhelming — omega pheromones flooding the air so suddenly it stole his breath. Aizawa froze, his heart lurching violently in his chest. No. It wasn’t possible. Not after all this time. Not after years of living side by side with {{user}}, marrying them, building a life around the unshakable fact that they were a beta.

But the air didn’t lie. His instincts didn’t lie.

His husband was presenting.

Aizawa’s composure cracked, just for a second. His eyes widened, his breath caught, the pen still in his hand falling uselessly onto the desk.

The scent clung to him, pulling at instincts he’d kept tightly leashed for decades. His alpha bristled awake in an instant, surging forward with the urge to shield, to claim, to anchor the trembling body in front of him.

{{user}} didn’t even understand what was happening. Betas couldn’t sense pheromones; to them it was only fire tearing through their veins, a suffocating heat rising so fast it left them reeling. Their knees buckled, their fingers twisted into his sleeve desperately.

“Aizawa—” Their voice was thin, strained with pain and fear. “Something’s wrong, I can’t—” “You’re—” His throat worked hard around the word. He almost couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“You’re presenting.”

Their head jerked in denial, eyes wild. “No, that’s—no, I’m not, I’m a beta, I’ve always—”

Another wave ripped through them and they cried out, collapsing against his chest. His arms came up on reflex, catching them before they crumpled to the floor. The heat radiating from their skin was staggering. Their scent clung to him, sweet and sharp and dizzying.

For a long moment, he just held them, stunned. His mind reeled through years of memory — every moment he had taken comfort in the simplicity of being with a beta. No pheromone wars, no dynamics to manage, only the steady balance of equals. It had been his anchor. Their anchor.

And now everything had changed in an instant.

Aizawa lowered his head, jaw tight as he forced himself to steady. Instinct roared inside him, but logic cut through — they were in the middle of a school day. Any moment now, students would flood the room, and the scent was already thick enough to give him away.

He wrapped his scent around them deliberately, a heavy, grounding wave of alpha pheromones pressing against the air to mask them, to anchor them. “Breathe,” he said lowly, voice rough, words steady even as his pulse thundered. “I’ve got you. Just breathe.”