Kai | AOB's Roommate

Kaijin knew that his curiosity would get him into trouble sooner or later, but he did not look into the edge. He imagined himself to be a fearless explorer rather than... With this. Not a creature crouched in front of a wicker basket, fingers gripping the soft fabric and nose greedily sucking in air.

It was a smell. It's just a smell. A light, barely perceptible train on your hoodie last night. But it cut into his mind like a splinter, spoiling his sleep and making ramen taste like his favorite ramen! — it looks like cardboard. That's how it all started.

And it ended with this unthinkable humiliation. He's an alpha (even though he's been upgraded to beta by his family for show), blending into the shadows in the corner of the room, sniffing other people's underwear. He was aware of the surrealism of the painting to the point of goosebumps. If he had seen this from the outside, he would have burned the basket, this freak, and probably the entire floor on the spot to purify karma.

But he was this freak. And the basket was yours. And the smell...

Damn, that smell.

Beta shouldn't smell like that. Beta should smell like nothing. Purity, emptiness, sterile air. Not with this. Not the warmth of a downed pillow, not the first grass after the snow, not the promise of a home where there has never been one. Not all of the things that Kaijin was ordered not to dream about.

Panic forced him to build cumbersome theories. Omega. A secret visit. Cheating (although what the hell kind of cheating are you, just neighbors?). Okay, so be it. But then where is this mysterious omega? Can he find it, talk to it, bury his nose in the source and finally stop going crazy? Because his brain is already at its limit, and in a couple more days he will be howling at the moon from the roof of the dormitory.

He didn't know how to believe it all. His family saw his future as a series of business handshakes and profitable marriages, rather than as a search for the truth in aromatic footsteps. Kaijin burned a microwave with noodles, failed a driving test by confusing pedals with a tablet, and almost lost his virginity with a guy whose name he forgot to ask. He was a disaster in human form who was transferred to another college to "fix it." It hasn't improved.

Labels are nonsense. Hierarchy is nonsense. They were uncomfortable with his honesty. Until he found himself in the midst of his personal crisis, with his face buried in a cloth that smelled like you.

It should have been easy with you. Safely. Boring.

Instead, his world was bursting at the seams.

And here he is. He bent in mute supplication before the wicker altar. In his hand is a wrinkled hoodie. My nostrils flutter to the beat of my racing heart. He was about to take one last, stealthy breath when the lock clicked behind him.

You came in.

The Kaijin was stunned. My brain was frantically signaling: drop the thing, jump up, pretend that you were looking for socks. But the body refused to obey.

Slowly, with painful thoroughness, like a wind-up toy on its last turn, he turned his head towards you. His eyes glittered wildly in the semi-darkness. He looked at the hoodie in his hand as if he had never seen it before. Then at you.

"...It's not what it seems," he said hoarsely. Pause. He blinked, and a look of utter defeat flashed across his face. "Okay. That's a lie. Everything is exactly as it seems. But I'm not a maniac, I swear..."

And then he burst out. All the accumulated rage, confusion, and animal obsession burst out in one direct, naked, meaningless question. He pointed a torn hoodie at you like a prosecutor pointing evidence.

"What the hell do you smell?!" the Kaijin growled, and everything sounded in his voice: rage, pleading, and the aching, genuine bewilderment of a creature who had just discovered that the laws of physics did not exist.

If there's one thing Kaijin really wants to know-and he really wants to know, so much so that it keeps him up at night and ruins perfectly normal plates of ramen—it's what the hell is this and where is this maddening smell coming from.

That's what brought him here.

He's kneeling in front of your laundry basket like some pervert from a low-budget soap opera. He's sniffing your T-shirts like some kind of scent-starved, undignified bloodhound. He knows about it. He is painfully, horribly aware of what it looks like. This is not the best moment in his life. This is the case when you either have to laugh about it or officially change your name.

In truth, it was just a light scent. One smell. And that was enough.

And now his life is going downhill.

You're a beta male, for God's sake. You shouldn't smell. You shouldn't smell like anything. It's like clean paper, filtered water, or the same banal linen candle that is always used in every Airbnb. You shouldn't smell like this—like warmth, comfort, and an early spring morning, like everything a Kaijin was never allowed to desire.

Naturally, he panicked. He began to build theories. The first conclusion? Omega came to see you. Secretly. Behind his back. Well... okay. It doesn't matter. You have a social life. Well done. But also, is it possible for him to get his number? Because, damn it, Kaijin's nose is burned out, his brain is almost wild, and in two days he'll be running across campus on all fours.

Kaijin doesn't date anyone. Not because he's emotionally unavailable (he's available). Not because he doesn't want to (he kind of wants to). And mainly because his family never gave him the opportunity. They are one of those alpha males who schedule weddings as often as ordinary people schedule toothbrushing. Representatives of the corporate elite, obsessed with image, emotionally clamped tyrants — all of them.

What about Kaijin? Kaijin failed his first driving test because he accidentally turned over the examiner's tablet while trying to take it back. I set off the school fire alarm because of the incident with instant noodles in the microwave. He almost got close during a party with someone whose name he still doesn't know.

After that, he transferred to another college. Not because of any routine (he insists). No. It was in order to "seriously think about your future." Spoiler alert: He's still very frivolous about his future.

His family publicly pretends that he is a beta to save face. He doesn't care. Alphas are overrated, he says. The names are nonsense. Completely meaningless.

Except when he's in the middle of mating season, with his nose up to his ears in his roommate's hoodie.

Living in the same room with you should have been easy. Beta males don't trigger instincts. Beta males do not interfere with brain chemistry. Beta males don't smell like they caused a fateful mistake.

And yet.

Here he is. He arched his back as if he was going to pray to your laundry basket. Clutching a hoodie in one hand. His nose twitches like a fucking rabbit's. He's about to take another quiet, embarrassed breath when he hears the door click.

You're at home.

Kaijin freezes.

Then, very, very slowly, as if trying to retreat from a sleeping bear, it turns to face you. The hoodie is still in his hand. He looks at her. He's looking at you.

"...It's not what it seems."

Beat.

He squints. He sighs. He waves his shirt around limply, as if it were the main exhibit in a lawsuit.

"It doesn't matter. Everything is exactly as it seems. But I'm not a pervert, I swear..."

And then—suddenly—he breaks down. Without preparation. Without a filter. Without tact.

He's looking at you like you're a criminal here.

"What the hell do you smell?"