You’re Courting Me?!

Now, before anyone starts pointing fingers at me— yes, I, Hagakure Sorahiko, fully accept that I am an idiot and deserve to be smacked around for the foreseeable future? Absolutely.

Is this entire mess my fault? Maybe. Will I own up to it? Yes. But will I share the blame alone? Hell no.

Hoshino Sakura, stand before the jury with me. We should both be considered guilty. Guilty of the crime of absolute stupidity.

⸻

“Lilac, actually.”

The tired-looking one is choking—oh, wait, that’s laughter. It sounds a bit painful and rusty, like a cat coughing up a hairball. Yikes. I’m not sure whether to laugh or call an ambulance.

And then I see him again.

“The devil speaks,” I announce grandly, because my brain is too drunk to control my mouth. “Go on, satan, confess your crimes to me.”

The Tired One wheezes harder, but the devil just smiles— a slow, dangerous curve of lips and lashes.

It’s not a real smile. It’s a well-practiced imitation. Like a shark pretending to be docile.

“My eyes aren’t pink,” he says softly. “They’re lilac.”

“Lilac looks like pink,” I eye him in suspicion. “That excuse is not going to fool anyone, Satan.”

I lean closer to him for scientific confirmation. Bug mistake. Up close, he’s too pretty—like, ‘What deity sculpted you and why?’ kind of pretty. I can see every perfect line of his face and it’s doing terrible things to my heart.

“Maybe you’re really not the devil,” I mutter, squinting. “But you’ve definitely got ‘demon henchman’ written all over you.”

It’s silent. Dangerously silent.

The he repeats ‘henchman’, like he’s tasting it. His fake smile deepens. And that’s when I realize that I might be in danger.

“I have nothing to do with hell,” he whispers. “I believe that you’re not in the right state of mind, so maybe you should leave”.

“Sure you don’t, Pinky.” I ignore his dismissal.

The Tired One dies again. Actually collapses in laughter— He makes this sad choking noise and slumps forward. I’m concerned but— no CPR, not happening.

I’m not going anywhere near that.

The devil—sorry, henchman—leans forward. “Not pink. Lilac.” His voice is low, silk laced with steel. “And I really think you should leave.”

There’s a hidden threat there. Somewhere. But I’m too drunk to catch it.

When my head finally stops ringing, and the room decides to stop spinning, I realize something horrifying— this so-called henchman has me sitting snugly in his lap.

I didn’t even see him move.

He’s closer enough now that I can see the honey-brown in his hair. Close enough that I can smell the scent of his pheromones clearly—something rich and overwhelming that makes my brain get even fuzzier.

“What’s your name pinky?”.

“My name?”. he murmurs in surprise. “My name is Aronohai Miyamura. And you are…?”.

Now, if I were in the right state of mind. If I wasn’t drunk as hell and I had just splashed water on my face in the fucking restroom.

Then, I would’ve never have found myself in this situation— I would never have entered the wrong room, much less of landing myself in a situation where I’m sitting in Aronohai Miyamura’s lap about to introduce myself while counting the non-existent pores on his face.

“I’m Sora,” I giggle. God help me.

“Just Sora?” His voice has a nice lilt to it as it slides over the words, smooth and dangerous.

“Only my friends call me Sora.”

“Then I suppose we’re friends?”. His smiles deviates from being charming to being slightly threatening.

“Of course not,” I snort, pushing off his lap— his very muscular lap. “You’re not allowed to call me anything, pinky.”

Is it possible for a person to die twice?— The Tired One seems to have died again, after making a sound like a cross between a cat coughing up a hairball and a husky crying.

It was incredibly painful to witness. Even if he chokes, I will not be giving him CPR. I’m not going anywhere near that.

Miyamura’s smile vanishes. The air around him changes— it feels sharp and predatory.

“You, omega,” he says, and I freeze. It’s not the word—it’s the cold way he says it. Like he’s already decided what he’ll do with me.

“Hasn’t anyone taught you how to speak in the presence of your betters?”.

I find myself unable to move as he stares me down— his gaze heavy with something cruel.

It sobers me up immediately.

Surprisingly, Eiji is the one to break the tension.

“Being a dominant alpha doesn’t make you better Miyamura”. Eiji snaps, still laughing through the tense atmosphere. “Besides, you’re a dominant alpha, you shouldn’t be intimidating omegas.”

Wait. He’s a dominant alpha?.

An actual dominant alpha?.

Miyamura’s eyes narrow. “Didn’t he know I was a dominant alpha before he walked in here?”

Walked in? He thinks i walked in here on purpose? Holy shit.

He smiles again—that same deadly little curve of lips—and suddenly, I can breathe again. “If you’re that frightened,” he picks up a sheet of paper and a pen from the briefcase lying on the floor beside him. “you can sign this.”

I blink. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Basically a restraining order,” he says, voice too calm. I don’t buy it.

Then he takes my hand, his touch firm and cold—and he places the pen in my palm. “You don’t need to be afraid, if you sign this you’ll never have to see me again.”

He smiles softly at me. “Think of it as insurance against anything that you think I might want to do to you”.

That sounds too good to be true. I don’t trust him.

He tilts his head, voice dropping lower as if trying to seduce me. “If you sign now, you get ____ amount for all the damages whether physical or mental caused by me today“.

I blink again. Once. Twice.

And then everything goes black.

When I come to, I’m standing outside my private room, door shut, head spinning.

“What the fuck was that?”.