St Mary's private school [Alltake]
16
Takemichi had spoken too soon.
That morning, walking to breakfast with Haruchiyo at his side, the sun warm on his face and the birds singing in the trees, he'd thought: It's going to be another lovely day.
The universe, apparently, had a sense of humor.
Now he was standing in the student council room, his knuckles bruised and his collar askew, facing down the most intimidating figure he'd ever seen.
Sano Manjiro.
But not his Manjiro. Not the golden-haired monster from his nightmares. This Manjiro was different—black hair, dark as ink, falling across a face that was sharp and beautiful and utterly expressionless. His eyes were black too, but not the hungry black of the dream. Just... dark. Ordinary dark. The dark of someone who hadn't slept well, maybe, or who found the world boring.
He sat at the head of the long table, flanked by students Takemichi didn't recognize, and looked at Takemichi like he was a mildly interesting insect.
"Explain," Mikey said. His voice was flat. Uninterested. Nothing like the soft, seductive tones of the monster in Takemichi's nightmare.
Takemichi swallowed hard. "I was walking to class. An alpha from the next class—I don't know his name—he grabbed my arm. Said something about omegas needing to know their place." He paused, his hands shaking. "I told him to let go. He didn't. So I hit him."
Silence.
Then, from somewhere behind Mikey, a snort of laughter. Takemichi couldn't see who.
Mikey's expression didn't change. "You hit an alpha. An alpha twice your size, by the sound of it. And you expected... what? To win?"
"I expected him to let go of me." Takemichi's voice was steadier than he felt. "He didn't. So I made him."
Another beat of silence.
Then Mikey's lips curved—just slightly, just enough to notice. "Interesting."
He stood, moving around the table with a grace that made Takemichi's heart stutter. Up close, he was even more striking—tall for his age, lean, with that black hair falling across sharp cheekbones. His eyes, when they met Takemichi's, were just... dark. Not hungry. Not possessive. Just dark.
"What's your name?" Mikey asked.
"Hanagaki Takemichi."
"Takemitchy." Mikey rolled the name around like he was tasting it. "I like it. Takemitchy."
Takemichi blinked. "That's not—"
"It is now." Mikey's smile widened—just a fraction, but it transformed his entire face. For a moment, he looked almost human. Almost warm. "You hit an alpha who was bothering you. You didn't cry. You didn't beg. You just... stood there." He tilted his head, that bird-like gesture so familiar it made Takemichi's blood run cold. "I like that."
Takemichi forced himself to breathe. This isn't the dream. This isn't the same person. Different hair, different eyes, different world.
"The alpha," Mikey continued, turning away, "will be dealt with. You're free to go, Takemitchy."
Takemichi didn't move. "That's it?"
Mikey glanced back, one eyebrow raised. "You want more? A detention? A lecture on proper behavior?" He shrugged. "You defended yourself against someone who had no right to touch you. That's not a crime. That's common sense."
Takemichi's jaw dropped.
From the shadows behind Mikey, a voice called out: "He's not usually this nice, you know. Must be your lucky day."
Mikey waved a dismissive hand. "Go. Before I change my mind."
Takemichi went.
He was halfway down the hall when someone called his name.
"Takemichi! Wait up!"
He turned to see a boy jogging toward him—purple hair, sharp features, a friendly smile. He looked familiar in a way that made Takemichi's stomach clench, but the eyes were wrong. In his nightmare, Mitsuya's eyes had been lavender, cold, calculating. This Mitsuya's eyes were warm brown, kind, human.
"Hey." Mitsuya caught up to him, slightly out of breath. "Sorry to chase you down. I'm Mitsuya Takashi—I'm on the student council. Well, sort of. I'm more like... adjacent."
Takemichi stared at him. "Adjacent?"
"It's complicated." Mitsuya grinned. "Listen, I saw you in there. The way you handled yourself. The way you didn't back down." His brown eyes were earnest. "I need someone like you for something."
Takemichi's guard went up instantly. "What kind of something?"
Mitsuya laughed—a real laugh, warm and open. "Nothing bad, I promise. It's for the curriculum. We have this elective—sewing and design—and I'm supposed to lead a group. But I need one more member to make it official, and everyone I've asked so far has turned me down." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Apparently sewing isn't cool enough for most students."
Takemichi blinked. "Sewing?"
"Yeah. I know, it's not exactly exciting, but I really love it. Making things, you know? Taking fabric and turning it into something beautiful." Mitsuya's eyes lit up as he spoke. "I thought if I could get a group together, we could work on projects, maybe even design something for the school festival. But I need one more person, and..." He looked at Takemichi hopefully. "You seem like you might be interested?"
Takemichi thought about it. In his nightmare, sewing hadn't existed—just violence and possession and endless terror. But here, in this world, someone was inviting him to make things. To create. To be part of something normal and good.
"I don't know how to sew," he admitted.
Mitsuya's grin widened. "I can teach you! That's the whole point. It's a learning group, not a master class." He held out his hand. "What do you say? Will you be my seventh member?"
Takemichi looked at that outstretched hand—warm, human, offering nothing but friendship—and felt something loosen in his chest.
"Okay," he said, taking it. "I'm in."
Mitsuya's face lit up. "Yes! Thank you! You won't regret this, I promise." He pumped Takemichi's hand enthusiastically. "First meeting is Thursday after class. I'll text you the details." He paused, pulling out his phone. "Actually, I need your number for that."
They exchanged numbers, and Mitsuya bounced off with a final wave, leaving Takemichi standing in the hallway with a smile he couldn't quite suppress.
Sewing, he thought. I'm going to learn to sew.
It was so ordinary. So normal. So completely unlike anything in his nightmare.
He laughed out loud, startling a passing student.
Maybe this day isn't so bad after all.
In the student council room, after Takemichi left, Mikey sat in his chair and stared at nothing.
"Oi." A hand smacked the back of his head—hard. "Snap out of it."
Mikey rubbed his skull, glowering at the newcomer. Izana Kurokawa stood behind him, silver-white hair gleaming in the fluorescent light, lavender eyes sharp with irritation. He was tall, elegant, and perpetually annoyed—at least when it came to Mikey.
"What?" Mikey's voice was flat.
"What what? You've been staring at that door for five minutes like it personally offended you." Izana dropped into the chair beside him, crossing his legs with practiced grace. "Spill."
Mikey was quiet for a moment. Then: "There was an omega. In here. For disciplinary stuff."
Izana raised an eyebrow. "And? Omegas are in here all the time. Usually for being 'disruptive' or 'disobedient' or whatever nonsense the alphas make up."
"This one was different." Mikey's dark eyes were distant. "He hit an alpha. An alpha twice his size. And when I asked him about it, he didn't cry. Didn't beg. Didn't grovel." A pause. "He just... stood there. Like he wasn't afraid at all."
Izana snorted. "So he's stupid. Or suicidal. Or both."
"Maybe." Mikey's lips curved. "But I don't think so. I think he just... doesn't know how to be afraid. Or won't let himself be." He looked at Izana. "I called him Takemitchy."
Izana's expression shifted from irritation to contempt. "You gave him a nickname? Already? Without even knowing him?"
"I know enough."
"You know nothing." Izana leaned forward, those lavender eyes sharp. "You can't just go around giving people nicknames because they interest you for five minutes. That's not how the world works."
Mikey shrugged. "It's how my world works."
"Your world is tiny and self-centered." Izana stood, brushing off his uniform. "Whatever. Do what you want. You always do." He headed for the door, then paused. "But if you're going to be obsessed with someone, at least make sure they're worth it."
He left before Mikey could respond.
Mikey sat alone in the empty room, dark eyes fixed on nothing, and thought about ocean-blue eyes and a steady voice and a name that felt right on his tongue.
Takemitchy.
He smiled.
Thursday came faster than Takemichi expected.
The sewing group met in a small classroom on the third floor, filled with tables, sewing machines, and bolts of fabric in every color imaginable. Mitsuya was already there when Takemichi arrived, setting up materials with the focus of someone who genuinely loved what they did.
"Takemichi!" He waved enthusiastically. "You came! I was worried you'd change your mind."
"I said I would." Takemichi set his bag down, looking around at the other students—five of them, mostly girls, all focused on their own projects. "This is... a lot."
Mitsuya grinned. "Right? I've been collecting materials for months. The school gives us a budget, but most of this is from my own savings." He gestured to a chair. "Sit. Let's start with the basics."
The next hour was a blur of needles and thread and Mitsuya's patient instruction. Takemichi's first attempts were disasters—crooked stitches, tangled thread, a piece of fabric that somehow ended up attached to his sleeve—but Mitsuya never laughed at him. Just corrected gently, demonstrated again, and encouraged him to keep trying.
"You're a natural," Mitsuya said, watching Takemichi struggle through a straight line of stitches.
"I'm really not."
"You're trying. That's what matters." Mitsuya's brown eyes were warm. "Most people give up after the first few mistakes. You keep going. That's rare."
Takemichi looked at him—this purple-haired boy with kind eyes and a gentle smile—and felt something ache in his chest. In his nightmare, Mitsuya had been cold, calculating, a player in the game of possession. Here, he was just... nice. Genuinely nice.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Mitsuya asked, amused.
"Just... grateful." Takemichi ducked his head, focusing on his stitches. "For this. For the group. For... being normal."
Mitsuya was quiet for a moment. Then, softly: "Normal is overrated. But I'm glad you're here, Takemichi."
After the session, Takemichi walked back to the dorms alone.
The campus was quiet in the evening, most students at dinner or studying. He took his time, enjoying the cool air and the peaceful silence, his mind still full of needles and thread and Mitsuya's patient instruction.
His phone buzzed.
Haruchiyo: Where are you?
Takemichi: Walking back from sewing group. Why?
Haruchiyo: I was going to walk you to dinner. But you weren't there.
Takemichi smiled. Sorry. Lost track of time. Meet you at the cafeteria?
Haruchiyo: Already there. Saved you a seat.
Takemichi: On my way.
He pocketed the phone and picked up his pace.
Dinner was chaos, as always.
Akkun was in the middle of a dramatic retelling of his disastrous attempt to ask out a girl from his history class. Yamagishi was correcting his grammar. Makoto was quietly eating while pretending not to listen. Takuya was, as always, a silent, smiling presence.
And Haruchiyo sat beside Takemichi, close enough to touch but not quite touching, his dark eyes scanning the room with that perpetual wariness.
"You're staring," Takemichi murmured.
"I'm observing." Haruchiyo's voice was flat. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
"Yes." But his lips twitched.
Akkun leaned across the table. "So, Takemichi. Mitsuya, huh? The sewing guy?"
Takemichi blinked. "How do you know about that?"
"I know everything." Akkun grinned. "Also, he texted me to ask about you. Wanted to make sure you were okay, that you had friends looking out for you." He raised an eyebrow. "Pretty concerned for someone you just met."
Takemichi's face warmed. "He's just nice. That's all."
"Mm-hmm." Akkun's grin widened. "Sure."
Haruchiyo's eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.
Later that night, Takemichi's phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Takemitchy. It's Mikey. Student council president. Remember me?
Takemichi's heart stuttered.
Takemichi: I remember. How did you get my number?
Mikey: Student council records. We have access to everything.
Takemichi: ...that's creepy.
Mikey: Probably. Listen, I wanted to check on you. Make sure that alpha isn't bothering you again.
Takemichi: He's not. I haven't seen him since.
Mikey: Good. If he does, tell me. I'll handle it.
Takemichi: Why would you do that?
A long pause. Then:
Mikey: Because you're interesting. And I don't like people messing with interesting things.
Takemichi stared at the message. Interesting things. Not people. Things.
But before he could overthink it, another message came through:
Mikey: That came out wrong. I meant interesting people. I'm bad at words. Ignore me.
Takemichi laughed despite himself.
Takemichi: Noted. Goodnight, Mikey.
Mikey: Goodnight, Takemitchy. Sweet dreams.
Takemichi set the phone down and stared at the ceiling.
Sweet dreams.
In his nightmare, those words had been a threat. Here, they felt almost... kind.
He closed his eyes and, for the first time in weeks, slept without dreaming.
The next morning, Izana found Mikey in the student council room, staring at his phone with a stupid grin on his face.
"What now?" Izana demanded, dropping into a chair.
Mikey didn't look up. "Takemitchy texted me back."
Izana's eye twitched. "The omega? From the other day?"
"He said goodnight. And sweet dreams." Mikey's grin widened. "That's basically a love confession, right?"
"It's really not." Izana pinched the bridge of his nose. "Manjiro, you can't just—you don't even know him. You've talked to him once. For five minutes. About a disciplinary issue."
"Some connections don't need time." Mikey finally looked up, his dark eyes unnervingly serious. "Some people you just... know. The moment you see them. Like they've always been there, waiting for you to notice."
Izana stared at him. "That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard you say. It's also completely insane."
"Probably." Mikey shrugged. "But I don't care."
He turned back to his phone, still smiling.
Izana shook his head and made a mental note to keep an eye on this situation. Whatever it was. Whatever it might become.
In his experience, when Manjiro got interested in something, things tended to get... complicated.
Takemichi, meanwhile, was having a perfectly ordinary day.
Classes. Lunch with friends. Another sewing session with Mitsuya, who was patient and kind and made Takemichi feel like he could actually learn to create something beautiful.
"Better," Mitsuya said, examining Takemichi's latest attempt at a straight stitch. "Much better. You're a fast learner."
"Or you're a good teacher."
Mitsuya grinned. "Maybe both."
They worked in comfortable silence for a while, the other students chatting around them. Takemichi felt something settle in his chest—a warmth, a peace, a sense of belonging he hadn't felt since before the nightmare.
"Hey, Takemichi." Mitsuya's voice was soft. "Can I ask you something personal?"
Takemichi's guard went up automatically, but he forced himself to relax. "Sure."
"The other day, in the student council room. When you were talking to Mikey." Mitsuya's brown eyes were curious, not threatening. "You looked... scared. For a moment. Like you'd seen a ghost."
Takemichi's heart hammered. "I... it's stupid. Just a dream I had. Before I came here. A nightmare."
"What kind of nightmare?"
The kind where everyone I know is a monster who wants to own me. The kind where Mikey tears out my scent gland and eats it. The kind where I die and wake up and find out it's all real.
"A bad one," Takemichi said instead. "Really bad. And Mikey... the Mikey in my dream looked different. Blonde hair, not black. But for a second, when I saw him, I thought—" He stopped, shaking his head. "It's stupid. I know it's stupid."
Mitsuya was quiet for a moment. Then, gently: "It's not stupid. Dreams can feel real. Especially the bad ones." He reached out and touched Takemichi's hand briefly—a friendly gesture, nothing more. "But this isn't your dream. This is real. And the people here—" He smiled. "We're not so bad. Give us a chance."
Takemichi looked at him—this kind boy with purple hair and warm eyes—and felt tears prick at his own.
"Okay," he whispered. "I'll try."
That night, Takemichi's phone buzzed with messages from his friends.
Akkun: Movie night in the common room!! Be there or be square!!
Yamagishi: We're watching horror movies. Akkun's choice.
Makoto: I'll bring snacks.
Takuya: I'll bring blankets.
Haruchiyo: I'll bring myself. And maybe a knife. Just in case.
Akkun: ...why a knife
Haruchiyo: You said horror movies. Horror movies have killers. I'm being prepared.
Akkun: That's not how movie nights WORK
Haruchiyo: It's how MY movie nights work
Takemichi laughed out loud, the sound echoing in his empty room.
Takemichi: On my way. Save me a spot.
He dressed quickly and headed for the common room, where his friends were waiting.
Ordinary. Normal. Perfect.
He could get used to this.
In the student council room, Mikey sat alone, staring at his phone.
He'd texted Takemichi again—just a simple "how was your day?"—but there was no response yet. Probably busy. Probably with friends. Probably living a normal, happy life that didn't involve him.
He should let it go. Should forget about the omega with ocean-blue eyes and a steady voice and a name that felt like home.
But he couldn't.
Takemitchy.
The word echoed in his mind, a promise, a prayer, a beginning.
He smiled in the darkness and waited.
Izana found him like that an hour later—still staring at his phone, still smiling.
"You're obsessed," Izana said flatly.
"Maybe." Mikey didn't deny it. "Is that a problem?"
Izana sighed heavily. "No. But if you're going to be obsessed with someone, at least do it properly. Learn about him. Talk to him. Find out if he's worth your time instead of just mooning over a five-minute conversation."
Mikey considered this. "That's... actually good advice."
"I'm full of good advice. You never listen." Izana turned to leave. "But if you hurt him—if you turn this into another one of your games—I'll make you regret it."
The threat hung in the air, real and serious.
Mikey looked at him—this silver-haired boy who had been his rival, his friend, his almost-brother—and nodded slowly.
"I know," he said quietly. "I know."
Izana left.
Mikey turned back to his phone.
And waited.
The next morning, Takemichi woke to a message from Mikey.
Mikey: How was your day? Did you do anything fun?
He blinked at the screen, surprised by the ordinariness of it. Just a question. Just checking in. Nothing threatening, nothing possessive, nothing like the nightmare at all.
Takemichi: It was good. Movie night with friends. You?
Mikey: Student council stuff. Boring. Wish I'd been at movie night instead.
Takemichi: Horror movies aren't for everyone.
Mikey: I like horror. The scarier the better.
Takemichi's heart stuttered, but he forced himself to breathe. Normal. This is normal. People like horror movies. It doesn't mean anything.
Takemichi: Then you would have liked it. Akkun picked the scariest ones he could find.
Mikey: Akkun? Your friend?
Takemichi: Yeah. One of my roommates. He's... a lot. But he's great.
Mikey: You're lucky. Having friends like that.
Takemichi paused, reading the message again. There was something in it—a loneliness, maybe. A longing.
Takemichi: Don't you have friends?
Mikey: I have people. Not sure they're friends.
Takemichi: That's sad.
Mikey: Maybe. It's just how things are.
Takemichi stared at the message for a long moment. Then, before he could overthink it, he typed:
Takemichi: You could come to movie night sometime. If you want. I'm sure Akkun wouldn't mind.
A long pause. Then:
Mikey: Really?
Takemichi: Really.
Another pause. Then:
Mikey: Okay. Yeah. I'd like that.
Takemichi smiled and set the phone down.
Maybe, he thought, monsters aren't born. They're made. And maybe—just maybe—some of them can be unmade too.
It was a stupid hope. A dangerous hope.
But in this ordinary world, with its ordinary people and ordinary problems, hope felt almost safe.
He held onto it.
That afternoon, in the sewing room, Mitsuya noticed Takemichi's smile.
"Someone's in a good mood," he observed, adjusting a pattern.
Takemichi shrugged, still smiling. "Just... things are good. You know?"
Mitsuya's brown eyes were warm. "I'm glad." He paused, then added: "You know, if you ever need to talk—about anything—I'm here. We all are."
Takemichi looked at him—this kind boy who had welcomed him without question, who taught him without judgment, who looked at him like a person instead of a thing.
"I know," he said softly. "Thank you."
Mitsuya grinned. "Now focus. You're about to sew your sleeve to the fabric again."
Takemichi looked down. He was, in fact, about to sew his sleeve to the fabric.
He laughed and fixed it.
In the student council room, Mikey stared at his phone and smiled.
Movie night.
With Takemitchy.
With friends.
He didn't know what friends felt like. Had never really known. But maybe—just maybe—he was about to find out.
Izana appeared in the doorway, took one look at his expression, and sighed.
"You're smiling again."
"Yep."
"It's about the omega."
"Yep."
Izana pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
Mikey's smile widened. "Probably."
Izana shook his head and left.
Mikey turned back to his phone and started planning what to wear to movie night.
It was, he decided, the most important decision of his life.
Takemichi, meanwhile, had no idea that his simple invitation had just changed everything.
He was too busy learning to sew, laughing with his friends, and living the ordinary, beautiful life he'd always wanted.
The nightmare was fading.
The dream was beginning.
And somewhere, in the space between, two people were about to find each other.
That night, Takemichi's phone buzzed one last time.
Mikey: Takemitchy.
Takemichi: Yeah?
Mikey: Thanks. For the invitation. For... being nice to me.
Takemichi: You don't have to thank me for being nice. That's just... what people do.
Mikey: In my experience, no. It's not.
Takemichi stared at the message, his heart aching.
Takemichi: Then maybe you need better experiences.
Mikey: Maybe I'm getting one.
Takemichi smiled.
Takemichi: Goodnight, Mikey.
Mikey: Goodnight, Takemitchy. Sweet dreams.
Takemichi set the phone down and closed his eyes.
And for the first time in a long time, his dreams were sweet.
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