It’s a rare day off for Ashes of Our Youth — those halcyon moments of reprieve from their grueling tour schedule, where they weren’t shuffling to the next city on their bus or having press to do. What’s better is, it’s a day off in Tokyo, which meant he had free rein to play gachapon all day while wandering around Shibuya and snagging a famichiki or two.

And that was the best fucking day for Ashes’ guitarist, Mikey Ross.

Only he slept like shit last night. The last few nights, to be exact. It’s almost as if his skin hasn’t felt quite right for the last month. Kellin had teased him that he was finally going through alpha awakening, but that was stupid. He might be taller than the average beta, but Mikey Ross was just that — an average run-of-the-mill beta.

He was fine with that — mostly. Not that it didn’t sting when an omega date promised him it was fine, he was just a beta, but, hey! He didn’t have to deal with things like pheromones or ruts like his bandmates did. He just got to be him — even if he was completely average. Maybe his father had been right about him all along.

Still — he can’t shake that something is off with him.

Because fuck he’s burning up.

A fine sheen of sweat covers his tattooed skin as he rises from the large king-sized bed. He doesn’t understand why this damn hotel room was so hot. The thermostat said it was only 18 degrees Celsius, which, after he used his phone to convert, should mean it was downright chilly in the room. Mikey, however, is burning up — his whole body feels on fire in a way he’s never felt before.

Not only that — the smell of cedar and something like amber began hovering around him. At first, he thought it was his cologne or deodorant, but neither matched the ever-present scent that seemed to cling to every fiber of his being. Mikey grabs a Pocari from the fridge, chugging the drink as he attempts to find relief for the fever he feels.

If he were crazy, he’d swear he was going into rut. He’d seen the boys go through it enough to know — the surly attitude, the territorial instincts — the way they’d eye the surrounding omegas. But that would be ridiculous. He was twenty-five now! He’s well past the age when one’s alpha would present itself.

Right?

Still — Mikey had to admit the symptoms he was experiencing all aligned with the initial alpha presentation, including the way he’d started noticing omegas differently. It’s as if for the first time in his life, he could smell the alluring scents the boys often spoke of, but he could never understand. Even thinking of an omega right now made his teeth ache in a way he’s never felt before.

Fuck, what the hell was wrong with him?

A calloused hand shoves through his bleached blonde hair, Mikey pacing the hotel room like a caged animal. He should go back to sleep. He’s probably sick, and this fever is probably just that — a fever. Because the alternative was crazy, right?

Mikey Ross sits down on the stylish couch in the suite, dressed in only his boxers as he pulls up Google. He searches for answers as the fever in him continues to build. It’s as if he’s suddenly acutely aware of every fiber of his being. He can feel every muscle twitch — the aching hardness that is springing to life between his legs and the hunger.

Deep inside him — a craving.

Not for food but for something carnal. The desire to fuck and breed and —

“Fuck,” Mikey groans, tossing his phone onto the couch as he rises back to his feet. The information has to be wrong. He refuses to believe what he has just read. There, on his phone, the WebMD article glows on the screen, mocking him.

While rare, 1% of alphas have a delayed onset of their presentation. The oldest known presentation is thirty years of age

This can’t be happening to him. He’d spent years being just fine as a beta — Finding solace in not being bound to those alpha instincts that affected his friends — all while wondering why he wasn’t like them, and now? His fucking biology is going haywire like he’s some teenager?

“Kellin is gonna find this so fucking funny.” Mikey groans, pacing once more as he tries to decide just what he’s going to do. If this really was him presenting as an alpha, then he needed to get himself to a rut house before those base instincts took over, right? The boys always said the first rut was the worst, and Mikey — well — he didn’t know how he’d handle not being in control of himself.

But as he’s panicking, something deep inside him springs to life, almost purring at the intoxicating scent that fills his senses. Their aroma alone makes his mouth water, and Mikey forgets all about calling Ben; those green eyes of his fixated on the door of his suite. They’re on the other side — the owner of that delicious smell.

Like a shark smelling blood for the first time, Mikey stalks towards the door. Whoever was on the other side smelled like heaven itself; the beast that had slumbered inside him stirred to life. He needed to know who they were — he needed to have them.

And then came a sharp knock.

He undid the security chain and lock and pried open the heavy hotel door in a hurry. Mikey, driven by his newfound desires, needs to know whose scent was driving him crazy. So he could claim them and —

Fuck, he needs to get himself under control. Before the door can fully open, he shuts it again, securing the chain once more. His forehead rests against the cool wood — the contrast doing little to soothe the fever inside him. “You should leave.”

He orders, his voice strained as he fights these newfound instincts that howl at him to undo the door and make them his. The last thing Mikey wanted was this being leaked to the press. That would be embarrassing. So he lies, his knuckles turning white as he clenches his fist to stop himself from opening the door.

“I’m sick, and it’s highly contagious.”