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It goes without saying that the first stop is at the dormitories. After all, the first step in a hunt is to become familiar with the scent of the animal, or, since this is about a fifteen-year-old boy here, the human.
Bloodhounds and Labradors are excellent hunting dogs, while Belgian Malinois and German Shepherds are more commonly used by the police for patrol, defense, and tracking. Yuuta is neither, nor even a dog, regardless of what people say about him and his tendency to obediently follow the higher-ups' orders. Nevertheless, he remains an alpha. A Special Grade one at that. That comes with a bottomless well of cursed energy and a keen nose that comes in particularly handy for the mission he has been entrusted with.
Yuuta walks down the dormitory corridors before stopping in front of a half-open door. The adjacent door is closed, and the room it leads to is empty. That's for the best, Yuuta thinks as he enters the room. Meeting Fushiguro right after his meeting with the higher-ups would arouse suspicion, regardless of the coincidence of their meeting. He can't afford that. Not when he has to accomplish both his mission and the one entrusted to him by Gojo, which took effect the moment the Prison Realm closed in on him.
Ironically, this is the same room that served as Yuuta's bedroom during his first year, before he was sent abroad, and seeing it slightly altered throws him off for a brief moment. The furniture layout is the same, but where Yuuta had hooks for his katana there is now a shelf where manga are lined up in disorder. A poster of an actress, a photo frame of an elderly person, unlit fairy lights taped to the wall. Inspecting the room, he runs his fingertips over the wood of the desk, skirting around the notebooks scattered haphazardly. His gaze falls on the numerous photos pinned to one of the wardrobe doors. He recognises Fushiguro in most of them, often accompanied by a girl with short brown hair, as well as his own classmates.
Gojo never gave Yuuta a description of Itadori Yuuji other than he's strong and he laughs at my jokes, but strangely enough, that's all Yuuta needs to recognize him in the photos.
Maki's hand ruffling pink hair, Inumaki's playfully tugging at a cheek, the girl he guesses to be a first-year arm in arm in a selfie angle. Ryomen Sukuna's vessel stands out like a sore thumb, even though he's more often the photographer than the photographed.
Everything indicates that this is no longer Yuuta's room, but that of a completely different person with a completely different personality.
The most blatant proof remains the smell.
Yuuta closes his eyes, inhales deeply, and lets the fragrance that tickled his nostrils the moment he stepped into the room overwhelm his senses. Peony, cherry blossom, pomegranate, red in its whitest shades. The floral and fruity pheromones of an omega waft through the room like the scent of a perfumed candle, dust particles visible only through a ray of sunlight. The bed is obviously where the scent is most concentrated, but Yuuta doesn't try to approach it even after opening his eyes again.
A nest is a nest, no matter how messy it appears to be. Sheets and pillows are haphazardly piled with old, faded hoodies, smelling strongly of spring. It's already intrusive enough to enter an omega's room, so Yuuta turns his back to the bed to at least preserve what little privacy Itadori Yuuji has left.
He still needs something to memorize the scent if he wants to track a boy through the vast, curse-infested expanse of Tokyo. Yuuta's eyes scan the room once more, moving from dresser to the desk to the sliding glass door to the wardrobe, before settling on a basket pushed near the bathroom door. Less strong than the scent emanating from the bed, certainly, but enough to stand out from the surrounding air, the peony of May and the cherry blossom of March draw him in like a moth to a flame. One blink later, and Yuuta finds himself kneeling before the basket, his hands hovering over the clothes piled inside.
Yuuta hesitates. He looks around one last time. The fact is, it's either the laundry basket or the bed—Yuuta doesn't think he can smell the sheets without accidentally contaminating them with his own lavender pheromones. He thus plunges his hand into the basket and pulls out the first thing that grazes his fingers. A t-shirt. Gray, baggy, the collar frayed in places; most likely used for sleeping if the sweat stains on the armpits and collar are anything to go by. The rancid, acidic smell overshadows the sweeter scent of pheromones, so Yuuta puts it back, the next pair of shorts receiving the same treatment.
He continues rummaging through the laundry basket until he comes across a red hoodie adorned with the school's familiar swirl buttons. Holding it to his nose, Yuuta inhales deeply, taking in the scent of spring trapped between the fibres of the fabric, the delicate notes of flowers harmonising with the strong, spicy scent of pomegranate filling his lungs with each breath.
He has never smelled omega pheromones directly on clothing. Scents carried by the wind, yes, discreet fragrances on public transport. Puffs of different smells, but all with one thing in common: sweetness. Omegas smell sweet, the young alpha that Yuuta is realises, and doesn't know what to make of the way the hairs on his arms stand on end.
When saliva begins to gather in his mouth, Yuuta assumes he's become sufficiently familiar with the scent and goes to put the hoodie back in the basket. His hand, however, remains suspended long after he's replaced the garment, just as his kneeling position remains unchanged.
Now that he can accurately identify each layer of pheromones, he can't help but notice that one note remains unfamiliar. Faint, barely detectable, it blends in with the others, yet it's neither cherry blossom, nor pomegranate, nor peony. Intrigued, Yuuta digs both arms up to his elbows into the laundry basket, searching for this fragrance he thinks he's almost hallucinating, so ephemeral and elusive does it seem. It tickles his nostrils before disappearing beneath layers of uniforms and dirty socks like a playful will-o'-the-wisp.
Yuuta searches and searches blindly until he finally lays his hands on the source of the scent and—
Oh.
Pulling it from the laundry basket, a pair of underwear swings in front of Yuuta's face.
His cheeks suddenly burn, and he hastily drops the garment he was holding by the waistband. Heart pounding, scent intensifying involuntarily, Yuuta glances frantically at the bedroom door and can't suppress a sigh of relief when he sees it closed. There would be no way to justify an alpha in his position to anyone passing by in the hallway.
There's also no justification for why Yuuta still hasn't gotten up. It's not like him to dawdle. He has more than one mission to accomplish, his seriously injured classmates to visit, Fushiguro to inform of the situation, yet he's wasting long minutes just staring at the boxers lying on top of the laundry basket without making the slightest move. Now that the garment is no longer buried at the bottom of the basket, Yuuta can detect that scent more clearly. Still not enough to identify it, but at least he knows now that there was indeed an additional fragrance and that he wasn't imagining things.
He wonders what that smell could be.
Tentatively, Yuuta reaches out a trembling hand towards the boxers. "Just to know," he murmurs in the silence of the room. If he wants to track down Itadori Yuuji effectively he needs to memorise the boy's entire scent, every fragrance, every component, even the most subtle ones. The most intimate ones. He lifts the boxers once more and, like with the hoodie, brings them to his nose. The first inhale predictably overwhelms him with peony. The second makes him float in a bath of cherry blossom petals.
The third breath, however, brings with it a new sensation, both soft and viscous, sweet, too sweet, sticking to Yuuta's palate and making it difficult to swallow. Although new, it is nonetheless familiar: residues of candyfloss stuck to the corners of lips, the scraping of a spoon against caramelised sugar in a pan, the moist and bouncy texture of honey-filled castella.
Honey. Yuuta opens his eyes, which he had closed in concentration, blinking at the underwear pressed against his face. He smells honey. It's strange, to say the least. No, not strange, rather surprising. Until now each characteristic fragrance of Itadori Yuuji's scent blended perfectly with the others, forming a harmonious bouquet that undoubtedly turned the heads of many alphas. However, this honey scent does not blend with the rest, although one might think otherwise. Admittedly, it stays within the theme, but where the petals are soft and feather-like, the liquid sticks viscously to the fingers and coagulates the saliva in the mouth. While the pomegranate adds a strong spicy touch, the honey completely coats the berries, making them inedibly sweet.
Sweet. Too sweet. Yuuta fiddles with the waistband of the underwear until he is holding it with the front facing him, then curiously peers inside towards the crotch. He finds nothing there except a more concentrated musky smell and is about to put the item back in its place when something catches his attention. There, barely visible on the dark fabric of the boxers, four small transparent drops stain the fabric, not on the crotch but higher up, as if they came from—
Oh. Yuuta is hit with a second revelation.
He's been sniffing an omega's slick the whole time.
The mortification is such that he momentarily loses control of both his own pheromones and his cursed energy. Rika stirs from her slumber to ask what's wrong. By the time Yuuta reassures her and calms the heat making him sweat under his uniform, it's already too late for the underwear. Both his hands clenched tightly in his panic, thus the lavender scent emanating from his wrists has permeated much of the fabric, making it abundantly clear that an alpha has manipulated it.
He's supposed to be hunting, not leaving evidence behind.
Despite his embarrassment, Yuuta brings the boxers to his nose again, this time sniffing the tiny droplets to fully inhale the honey they contain. It's strange, the way such a faint scent draws him in like a sailor lost in the graceful melodies of a siren's song. Yuuta isn't particularly fond of sweets, certainly preferring the bitterness of teas and grapefruit, yet in this instant he can't stop breathing in short gasps through the fabric of the underwear. He inhales honey and exhales peony, unable to prevent the viscous feeling of satisfaction, melted tar in the blazing sun, from taking hold of him as his own lavender blends into the cocktail of scents.
This is inappropriate. He should stop. He's gotten what he wanted, the scent duly memorized, so he must stop at once. Or he'll stay forever here while outside the world is coming to an end.
"Rika-chan," Yuuta calls. Behind him, Rika's familiar, monstrous specter appears, enormous white hands encircling Yuuta the second he utters her name. "Here, store this." He hands her the underwear. Curious, she tilts her head but obeys without a word before vanishing, taking with her the proof of his presence in the room.
Yuuta then rises from his kneeling position. Omegas have such a hold over alphas, it's almost frightening.
But Yuuta had a mission to complete. And no incriminating evidence to leave behind.
The search proves fruitless on the first day. Although he has been able to narrow down the area thanks to the scent, Yuuta has not yet got close enough to his target to find a trail leading him straight to Itadori Yuuji. The desolate state of Tokyo does not help. Between foul-smelling curses, burning car tyres, destroyed buildings and pieces of decomposing flesh—human or animal—it proves rather difficult to accurately follow a single scent. Even more so when that scent is the sweet pheromones of a young omega. But it should contrast with the devastation surrounding them, at least Yuuta is counting on that to guide him through the city.
Often, a trail leads him to a dead end. Yuuta regrets not insisting more on teaming up with Fushiguro and his Divine Dog. The boy had flatly refused when Yuuta suggested it, his mind both troubled by the turn of events and focused on finding his friend. Perhaps he wanted to be the first one to find Itadori Yuuji. Or perhaps it was simply alpha pride overcoming reason, as is often the case when an omega is involved. In any case, Yuuta did not insist further, making sure to not pull out the stolen underwear in Fushiguro's presence.
It's necessary to refresh one's olfactory memory from time to time.
That said, on the second day, Yuuta found himself luckier. He followed a trail that led him to a crater painted purple with curses' blood and smelling strangely of spring in the early cold of November.
From there, it becomes easier to spot cherry blossom petals through the dusty air of the city center. And often, where there were curses, there was his target. It then becomes clear that, rather than being on the run, Itadori Yuuji has taken it upon himself to eradicate Tokyo of curses. As a way to atone for the Shibuya massacre, Yuuta doesn't know, but it makes the boy unconsciously tighten the noose around himself. His scent combined with the residues of his cursed energy gives Yuuta a clear map of Itadori Yuuji's route.
Thus, Yuuta gradually closes the distance until he is only a few hours behind. Almost hot on his heels. His breath hitches at the thought.
At the end of the second day, Yuuta enters a building whose lobby is still saturated with distressed pheromones. Wrinkling his nose at the tangy scent of pomegranate, he leisurely follows the scent's path. Yuuta already knows he's no longer in the building, running only two hours late. Taking the stairs instead of the elevator, the scent leads him to the ninth floor where every door seems open and every apartment vacant. Itadori Yuuji appears to have rested briefly in the empty apartment number fifty-four, if the peony floating in the room is anything to go by. It's the only apartment devoid of furniture, not abandoned by its inhabitants like the others, but vacant even before the Special Grades made Shibuya their personnal playground.
There is nothing to see in the empty living room, kitchen, or bedrooms. Though Yuuta stops in front of the bathroom door, his nose tingling with a smell he recognises instantly. Unsurprisingly, what awaits him inside is a simple bathtub without a shower curtain and empty towel cabinets, but that's not what catches his attention.
The white ceramic sink is stained with faded red, blood forming a dripping necklace around the drain and filling the narrow room with a metallic smell. Yuuta places both hands on the sink before lowering his head. He wasn't sure, but now that he could smell it up close, it is undeniably Itadori Yuuji's blood contrasting with the whiteness of the ceramic. That explains the distress pheromones in the lobby: the boy is injured. Yuuta can't tell how serious the injury is or whether it will be an advantage in his future confrontation with him. Nevertheless, it comes at a good time.
New information is always welcome.
Taking a deep breath, Yuuta allows himself to be overwhelmed by the metallic, rusty smell of blood mixed with the floral composition he has become accustomed to seeking out in the air, even unconsciously. He frowns when the result isn't as strong as he had expected. Admittedly, the blood has been significantly diluted with water, but it is still fresh and moist, two elements that should work in favour of the smell.
It comes naturally to him, obvious, self-evident, to lower his head into the sink, his nose narrowly avoiding the tap, and run his tongue over the cold, wet ceramic. Immediately, the taste of blood explodes in his mouth, this time strong and pronounced, followed closely by a sweet aftertaste that encourages Yuuta to have another taste. And another. And another. Forearms resting on the sink, he licks the blood until the last drop, licks it clean, each drag of his tongue more hurried than the last.
Maybe what they say about him is true. Maybe he really is a dog.
Only when there is nothing left to lick does Yuuta allow himself to catch his breath. Unbeknownst to him, his breathing has become labored as the air in the room has gradually thickened with lavender. Yuuta swallows the remaining taste in his mouth, takes a long, calming breath and lifts his head from the sink. As he does so, he comes face to face with his reflection in the mirror.
Dilated pupils, bangs damp from the wet sink, alpha fangs protruding from red-tinged lips, it takes Yuuta a moment to recognise himself. It takes another moment for his pheromones to calm down and yet another for his pupils to return to their normal size. Yuuta turns on the tap, runs his hands under the icy water, then runs his wet fingers through his hair to comb it. Regaining a neat appearance. Feet on the ground. Level head.
In control.
A final adjustment of the white collar of his uniform, and he leaves the apartment, heavy katana slung over his shoulder. Yuuta licks his lips as he passes through the lobby on the way out. They taste of renaissance and equinox.
He resumes his hunt.
Eventually, Yuuta finds Itadori Yuuji on the third day.
The overwhelming, misplaced satisfaction of having successfully completed his hunt is quickly replaced by irritation at having been beaten to it by Zenin Naoya of all people. Another alpha, of course. Itadori Yuuji is himself accompanied by a being who should be one but who seems to have gotten lost along the way. Neither human nor curse, he takes care of Naoya while the omega bolts like a rabbit at Yuuta's entrance.
It's the wrong thing to do.
After three long days spent smelling every concrete block in his path, it's almost automatic how his legs spring into action as the scent begins to fade away. Yuuta's heart pounds like war drums and his blood sing in his veins, deafening him as he races after those intoxicating pheromones.
Is he really an omega? Yuuta wonders as a car is thrown at him. Pheromones are one thing, but now that he looks at him closely, Itadori Yuuji is more alpha than most of the Zenin clan.
However, the longer the fight goes on, the more Yuuta thinks about taking back what he said. Gojo's student is strong and tenacious, agile, fast, and Yuuta finds himself lost in those big brown eyes where panic and pain are drowning. Probably because of the katana opening his palms that Yuuta is holding above him. His hair isn't long enough to spread out around his head, its pink color softening the roughness of the scars crisscrossing his face. The sunset gives the boy's skin a beautiful caramel hue, nothing like Yuuta's deathly pallor, and he traces with his eyes the contours of the muscles his jacket accentuates.
He's all curves and sharp blows, Yuuta realises, his gaze moving from bare forearms to an equally bare neck flexing with effort. Each wheezing breath lifts the chest he had tried not to focus on too much. Yuuta applies pressure to the katana's hilt. The boy beneath him grunts. It's a lovely sound.
Yuuta's breath fails him when a leg wraps around his hip. That's all it takes for Itadori Yuuji to free himself from underneath him. Yuuta loses precious seconds recovering from the unfamiliar, new emotions that stir in him.
He resumes his chase, eyes refusing to blink once for fear of confusing the omega's head with the pink clouds above them. It's the same colour after all, just as the scent that assaults his senses with every blocked blow is the same one Yuuta has breathed day and night with only Rika as a witness. The blood staining his blade is also the same, and the smell is so fresh, so close, that Yuuta can almost taste it on his tongue. There would be no water to dilute the peony. The pomegranate. The cherry blossom.
The last rays of the sun reflect off Itadori Yuuji's eyes. Like the honey that plagues Yuuta's dreams, they shine of piercing amber, topaz that would make the greatest goldsmiths envious. They are wide and panicked as Rika holds him still in her arms, nuzzling him almost affectionately. Yuuta wants to do that too. Yuuta wonders if he will let him do it later.
With the broken katana in one hand, he places the other on Itadori Yuuji's chest for steadiness. His own or the boy's, who knows, but in any case, they both need it. Yuuta can feel the frantic beating of a panicked, terrified heart beneath his hand, while all he can think about is the tender, warm flesh just beneath his fingers. It takes a superhuman effort not to push his palm further and flex his fingers into the squishy, generous expanse of the omega's chest.
Because Itadori Yuuji is an omega alright, and Yuuta, it appears, is a weak, weak alpha.
"I'm sorry, Itadori-kun," Yuuta says as he plunges the broken tip of the katana into his chest. As the boy dies, Yuuta rolls the name around on his tongue. Itadori-kun. It sounds nice. Lovely. He likes it. He should use it from now on. Itadori Yuu— Itadori-kun is his kohai after all. Maybe one day it could even become Yuuji-kun. That would be nice too.
"Itadori-kun. Itadori-kun," Yuuta whispers, cupping Itadori's face before breathing life into him. Spring dies every year, but Persephone always comes back to Olympus on the twenty-first of March, without fail.
There's no reason for Hades to make exceptions now.
Yuuji can still hear his grandfather's voice after opening his eyes. The dream itself was blurry, and its contents are already beginning to fade from his memory. His grandfather's face, however, is crystal clear, while the other two people he was talking to are nothing but dust by the time clarity returns to Yuuji's vision.
He blinks. He is not dead. Lying down, his eyes are naturally directed towards the cloudy sky. Night has fallen some time ago, and Yuuji would wonder how long he was dead for if he did not have something more pressing to acknowledge.
Okkotsu Yuuta peers down at him, his large, dark eyes unblinking as he continues to stroke Yuuji's hair at a steady pace. From forehead to the back of the head, over and over again. Yuuji realises with growing unease that his head is resting not on the ground but on Okkotsu's lap.
"Ah," Okkotsu says. "You're alive." Yuuji stiffens, bracing himself for impact. However, nothing can prepare him for the release of relieved, happy pheromones that hits him in the face. "What a relief!" The alpha smiles at him, a light pink dusting his cheeks, lavender curling around both of them.
The hand doesn't stop petting Yuuji's hair.