You’re Courting Me?! (MxM)

“I said, my eyes aren't pink”. The devil says smiling lightly, it’s a weird smile. His eyes curve closed and his mouth lifts lightly at the edges. It’s a clear imitation of a smile, not an actual smile.

Scary bastard.

“They're lilac-colored, and I'm not the devil”, he adds.

“Lilac looks like pink so it definitely is pink”, the bastard thinks he can confuse me, I'm drunk, not stupid.

Heh.

—-

The sky is blue, the grass is green, and I—Hagakure Sorahiko—must have completely lost my damn mind.

Please call me Sora, my only friend calls me Sora. I'm Sora and I am a male omega. Yes, you heard that right I am a male omega, I have heats, I have a womb but luckily for me.

And no, I do not have a period, cheers to all the females out there. Honestly, being a male Omega is hell enough. I cannot imagine having a period on top of that.

“Oh come on Sorahiko, you look prettier in black and you know it”. Sakura— my only friend and roommate whines in my ears.

Prettier?

Was I ever pretty?

Hate to disappoint you, but that’s not me. I’m… painfully average. I have a face. I mean it exists. My hair stays where it’s supposed to. I have two eyes, one nose, one mouth— the standard human features and exactly zero delusions.

I’m a self-aware person. I know I’m plain to look at.

I still ended up wearing the black dress shirt though.

Now, back to that my one friend—Sakura Hoshino. She’s extraordinarily loud and irritating, and the only person who has stuck around with me since university.

Now, I wouldn’t call us best friends, but we’ve been through enough shit together to qualify as trauma-bonded lifemates.

We’re basically soulmates.

⸻

“Come on Sora, drink it! I know you want to” Sakura’s leaning across the table and staring me down with this weird look in her eyes. Literal fumes are coming from whatever unholy concoction she's mixed in that glass.

I refuse to drink such poison, I value my liver thank you very much.

“Do it yourself,” I tell her, glancing around the room. It's dark, the low lights give the room a nice aesthetic feel, it’s a nice private room at a traditional bar, set in the heart of Tokyo.

How the hell did she even afford this? I know we're both standing at the edge of poverty. Traitor.

“Huh? No! It's my birthday, I make the drinks, you drink them!” I'd take her seriously if I hadn't already downed four of her concoctions.

My head's foggy, it feels like there’s wool in my ears and my mouth tastes like shit.

“Down girl, my soul is rattling” I whisper back. I think.

“The fuck are you screaming for?” She shouts back.

Yeah, I’m definitely hammered.

I’m going to have the worst hangover— I can already feel it coming.

Speaking of hangovers— this whole alcohol fest all started because Sakura decided to turn twenty-four with a bang. And apparently, the best way for her to celebrate her impending mortality is to drag her only omega friend— me— to a bar, to get blackout drunk, and probably make a series of life-ruining choices.

Heavy on the ‘probably’.

In true Sakura fashion, she already had everything prepared. The private room, the drinks, even music and cool lighting. The whole thing actually felt safe.

Which is saying something, because in this world, we omegas are rarely ever safe. Alphas rule everything— and I mean everything— from the government to the goddamn air we breathe, and they’re not exactly known for restraint.

For alphas, restraint is a myth.

That’s why Omegas like us don’t drink in public. Ever. When we go out to drink like this, we rent a private room, and lock the damn door.

That is the simplest way to have fun and still survive the night.

Sakura keeps pushing the glass to my face. “Drink it yourself,” I hiss at her.

I can’t help looking around the room. I can’t remember the last time I had a drink outside.

The low amber lights make everything feel intimate, warm, and expensive. Almost too expensive. We’ve been living on instant ramen and rice balls for months— how did she afford this?.

She wiggles that stupid glass in my face again, so I open my mouth to tell her off, my mistake, it takes her one second to shove that thing down my throat.

This might be the closest I get to heaven. Or hell if you want to be technical about it.

When I come back to life, Sakura’s moaning about some unintelligible bullshit on the floor.

The world is spinning, my legs are shaking, I can't make my eyes focus on anything and my brain keeps chanting one word ‘Piss! Piss! Piss!’— who am I to deny my body of its basic function?.

As I open the room door, I distinctly recall that I’m not supposed to leave the private room without…yeah that’s a bust…my brain’s kinda fried right now.

I shut the door gently behind me though, so I wouldn’t wake the birthday girl, more points for me I guess. I’m so freaking nice.

I would describe the walk-turned-crawl to the restroom for you, but all you need to know is that it was painful. I couldn’t see shit. My ears wouldn’t stop ringing and my legs wouldn’t straighten.

At some point, I might have sobbed because I had convinced myself that Sakura gave me something that fried my nerve receptors and now I am paralyzed.

I sobbed, definitely sobbed.

“Oh, thank god”. I got to the toilet in one piece, a win that I’ll take in the place of all the drunk omegas out there who ended up dead in a ditch while stumbling to somewhere safe.

Morbid, I know.

Anyway, mission accomplished. I pee. I live. I may or may not have washed my hands in the sink. Well, there’s no harm in being optimistic.

“Who cares anyways?”.

Done with everything, I trace my steps back to my room. I took about twenty-six steps. It's hard to estimate steps when you’re crawling but I think I got it down.

But then I open the familiar-looking door… and it’s not my room.

Two men look up. One looks tired and very exhausted. While the other—

The other looks like he invented the word ‘sin’.

My drunk brain flatlines.

A crisp black suit. Slightly tan skin. A face carved with impossible precision. And his eyes— soft pink, remarkably unusual and uncannily rare.

I blink. Once. Twice. My drunk brain takes one look at this scene and declares, with absolute certainty—

“Why the hell did no one ever say the devil had pink fucking eyes?”