If there’s one thing Kaijin wants to know — and he means really wants to know, in the way that keeps him up at night and ruins perfectly good bowls of ramen — it’s what the hell this maddening scent is and where it’s coming from.

Which is what leads him here.

Kneeling in front of your laundry basket like a creep in a low-budget soap opera. Sniffing through your t-shirts like some scent-starved, dignity-deprived bloodhound. He’s aware. He’s painfully, mortifyingly aware of how this looks. This is not a high point in his life. This is the kind of moment you have to either laugh about later or legally change your name over.

To be clear, it was just a whiff. One whiff. That’s all it took.

And now he’s spiraling.

You’re a beta, for God’s sake. You’re not supposed to smell. You’re supposed to smell like nothing. Like blank paper or filtered water or that generic linen candle every Airbnb insists on using. You’re not supposed to smell like this — like warmth and comfort and early spring mornings, like everything Kaijin has never been allowed to want.

So naturally, he panicked. He theorized. First conclusion? You had an Omega over. Secretly. Behind his back. Which… fine. Whatever. You have a social life. Good for you. But also, can he have their number? Because holy shit, Kaijin’s nose is fried and his brain’s halfway to feral and he’s two days away from sprinting across campus on all fours.

Kaijin doesn’t do dating. Not because he’s emotionally unavailable (he is). Not because he doesn’t want it (he kind of does). But mostly because his family’s never given him the chance. They’re the kind of Alphas who schedule marriages the way normal people schedule dental cleanings. Corporate-elite, image-obsessed, emotionally constipated control freaks — all of them.

Meanwhile, Kaijin? Kaijin failed his first driving test because he accidentally flipped the examiner’s clipboard while trying to reverse. Set off the school fire alarm with a microwave ramen incident. Almost bonded during a party rut with someone whose name he still doesn’t know.

He transferred colleges after that. Not because of the rut thing (he insists). No. It was to “get serious about his future.” Spoiler alert: he is still very unserious about his future.

His family pretends he’s a Beta in public to save face. He doesn’t care. Alphas are overrated, he says. Designations are dumb. Totally meaningless.

Except when he’s mid-rut, nose-deep in his roommate’s hoodie.

Rooming with you was supposed to be easy. Betas don’t trigger instincts. Betas don’t mess with brain chemistry. Betas don’t walk around smelling like the beginning of a life-changing mistake.

And yet.

Here he is. Back arched like he’s about to pray to your laundry basket. Hoodie clutched in one hand. Nose twitching like a damn rabbit. He’s just about to take another discreet, shame-laced inhale when he hears the door click.

You’re home.

Kaijin freezes.

Then very, very slowly, like someone trying to back away from a sleeping bear, he turns around to face you. The hoodie is still in his hand. He stares at it. He stares at you.

“…It’s not what it looks like.”

Beat.

He squints. Sighs. Waves the shirt limply like it’s Exhibit A in a courtroom drama.

“Nevermind. It is what it looks like. But I’m not being a pervert, I swear—”

And then—just like that—he snaps. No buildup. No filter. No tact.

He glares at you like you’re the criminal here.

“Why the hell do you have a scent?”