A secret blooming

Yuki sat in the café across the street from the Kazuki Corporation building, his hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee that had long gone cold. The air outside was brisk, the streets busy, but inside, his world had shrunk into the echo of Ren’s words from the day before:

“I already do. You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

He hadn't told anyone. Who would believe him? That the CEO of the city’s most powerful conglomerate had watched him for years, manipulated his job applications, and now claimed him like some long-lost possession? Even Yuki barely believed it himself. And yet—he’d seen it in Ren’s eyes.

It wasn’t love.

It was obsession. Beautiful and terrifying.

And deep down, a part of Yuki felt drawn to it.

He hated that part.

---

Back in the office, Yuki was a ghost. He moved through tasks, kept his head down, and avoided Ren’s gaze. But it didn’t help. Because Ren wasn’t the kind of man you could hide from.

“You didn’t eat lunch.”

Yuki flinched at the sound of Ren’s voice behind him. He didn’t even hear him approach.

“I wasn’t hungry,” Yuki replied, not looking up.

Ren walked around his desk, placing a bento box beside the keyboard.

“I had it made for you.”

Yuki stared at the box. Carefully wrapped, sleek, expensive. His name was printed on the tag in calligraphy.

He looked up slowly. “Why are you doing this?”

Ren tilted his head. “Because you’re mine.”

“You can’t just say that like it means something,” Yuki said, frustration slipping through his voice.

“I don’t need words. I have instincts.”

Yuki stood up abruptly, knocking the chair back. “You keep saying that, but I’m not an object. I’m not yours. You left me.”

Ren’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “And now I’ve come back.”

“As what? Some twisted alpha with a god complex?” Yuki snapped. “You had years to talk to me, but you stalked me instead. You didn’t love me—you just watched.”

The room fell silent.

Then, Ren stepped closer, his aura shifting, darker. “You’re wrong.”

Yuki’s heart pounded.

“You think I didn’t feel anything?” Ren asked quietly. “Every time you smiled in the classroom, every time you flinched when someone got too close, every time your scent spiked when I passed by—I felt all of it. I burned with it.”

Yuki’s breath caught.

“I didn’t speak back then because I would’ve ruined you,” Ren murmured, gaze unwavering. “But I never stopped wanting you.”

The air grew heavy. Dense with scent—his. That same overwhelming alpha pheromone that made Yuki’s knees weaken.

Yuki turned away quickly, struggling to breathe.

“I don’t want this,” he said softly.

“Liar.”

Yuki spun around. “I’m not—!”

But Ren was already close again, eyes burning.

“You think I don’t know what your scent does when I touch you?” he whispered. “You can lie with words, but not with instincts.”

Yuki backed up until he hit the edge of the desk.

Ren leaned in, placing a hand beside his head. “You’re in heat soon, aren’t you?”

Yuki’s body stiffened. “Don’t—”

“You’ve been masking it,” Ren said, voice dark and low, “but it’s seeping through. That sweetness… I remember it.”

Yuki’s face burned with shame. “I said don’t.”

But Ren didn’t move. He stared at Yuki like he could peel away every layer.

“You think you fell for me back then, don’t you?”

Yuki’s eyes widened. “What—”

Ren smiled, cruel and soft. “I saw it in your eyes. You used to look at me like I was your secret.”

Yuki’s heart cracked.

“I—never—” he whispered.

“You loved me quietly,” Ren said. “But I loved you like a storm.”

---

That night, Yuki walked home alone under the streetlights, every step echoing louder in his mind than on the pavement. He kept hearing Ren’s voice. “You used to look at me like I was your secret.”

Because it was true.

He remembered those late nights in the dorm, heart aching, wondering what it would be like if Ren ever looked at him the way he looked at the stars outside. He remembered the ache of seeing him in the hallway, the secret smiles he gave when no one watched.

It had bloomed so quietly.

A love he thought he buried.

And now—Ren had unearthed it.

But what bloomed between them wasn’t soft anymore.

It was dangerous.

---

Later that week, Yuki entered the office to find a sealed envelope on his desk. No note, no markings.

Inside was a photo.

A candid shot—of Yuki from five years ago, sitting on the rooftop of their old school, sketchbook in hand, wind ruffling his hair.

His breath hitched.

He flipped the photo over. One line was written on the back in Ren’s handwriting.

“I never forgot.”