Chapter 1: The New Neighbor

The city was alive.

From his small balcony, Eiji could hear the world moving: the steady rhythm of footsteps on the pavement below, the faint chorus of cicadas humming in the late summer heat, and the rustling of leaves in the trees that lined the narrow street. It was different from home, where nights had been quiet, filled only with crickets and the soft voices of his family.

Now it was just him.

He stepped back into his apartment and rubbed his palms together nervously. Cardboard boxes towered around him like miniature mountains, and his futon was still folded neatly in the corner, untouched. The air smelled faintly of fresh paint and cleaning supplies, but underneath it lingered his own scent—jasmine, soft and airy, the way his mother once described it. Comforting to others, yes, but to Eiji it only reminded him of how vulnerable he felt.

He pressed a hand over his chest. It’ll be okay. You came here for a new beginning. Just breathe.

And then—

Knock, knock.

The sound jolted him. Eiji blinked, heart skipping. Who would be knocking at this hour? He padded softly to the door, bare feet brushing the cool wooden floor, and hesitated before opening it.

The door swung inward.

Standing there was a man who seemed almost too tall for the narrow hallway, his shoulders broad, his posture relaxed yet carrying a quiet strength. Dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, and his features were sharp but not severe—more like a calm presence carved into human form.

But it wasn’t his appearance that stunned Eiji.

It was his scent.

Cedarwood. Earth after rain. A steady warmth that wrapped around him like a heavy blanket.

Eiji’s Omega instincts stirred instantly, unbidden, making his throat tighten. His pulse quickened. He swallowed.

“Hi,” the man said, his voice deep—gentle, not overbearing. “I’m your next-door neighbor. Thought I’d welcome you properly.”

Eiji stared, lips parting soundlessly for a moment before he managed a soft, “O-oh… hello.”

The man extended a small paper bag toward him. “Some tea. My grandmother always made it for new neighbors. Said it helps people settle in.”

Eiji’s gaze flickered from the man’s hand to his face. Slowly, carefully, he accepted the bag. His fingertips brushed the Alpha’s skin.

And there it was—a spark, faint but undeniable.

Eiji’s breath hitched. For the smallest moment, he felt… safe. The Alpha’s presence seemed to soothe something deep inside him, as if the restless nerves in his chest had been waiting for this exact warmth to quiet them.

His eyes darted up, meeting the Alpha’s gaze.

Dark eyes, steady and calm, lingered on him with a quiet intensity. Not the predatory kind he had always feared from Alphas, but something else—something measured, patient.

Heat rushed to Eiji’s cheeks. He stepped back instinctively, the door frame suddenly feeling like his only anchor. “T-thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

The Alpha gave the faintest smile. Not wide, not practiced—just real. “I’m Ren.”

“Eiji,” he replied softly, his own name sounding small in comparison.

Ren inclined his head in a subtle bow, a gesture of respect. “If you need anything, Eiji, just knock. Walls here are thin—I’ll probably hear you before you do.”

That made Eiji’s lips twitch in the ghost of a smile, though he quickly hid it by looking down. “I’ll… keep that in mind.”

Ren didn’t linger. With one last nod, he turned and walked down the hallway, his steps measured, quiet.

Eiji closed the door gently, then leaned against it, the cool wood pressing against his back as he clutched the paper bag to his chest. His heart was still racing, every beat echoing in his ears.

The scent of cedar still lingered in the hallway—and in his memory.

He pressed his face against the bag, the faint fragrance of dried tea leaves mixing with his own jasmine scent. It was silly, he told himself. He had only just met this man. But the warmth in his chest refused to fade.

Why does it feel like I’ve known him forever?

Eiji sank slowly to the floor, tea bag cradled in his lap, as a smile tugged at his lips despite himself. For the first time since moving here, he didn’t feel quite so alone.

The morning light filtered softly through the thin curtains of Eiji’s apartment, painting the room in pale gold. He had barely slept. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw him—Ren’s quiet smile, his calm eyes, the way cedarwood warmth had wrapped around him like a second skin.

It was ridiculous. They’d only exchanged a few words. But Eiji’s chest kept tightening whenever he thought of it.

He sat cross-legged on the floor, opening another moving box. His belongings looked so small against the empty walls: neatly folded books, mugs carefully wrapped in newspaper, a small potted plant that had survived the journey. He sighed softly.

“This would be easier with another pair of hands…” he muttered.

As if the universe heard him, a sudden thud came from the hall outside, followed by a low curse.

Eiji froze. Slowly, he stood, padded to the door, and opened it just a crack.

There was Ren—standing in the hallway, crouched down beside a large grocery bag that had split at the bottom. Oranges rolled across the floor, and a carton of eggs looked dangerously close to tipping.

Eiji’s lips parted before he could stop himself. “Ah—let me help!”

Ren looked up at him. His dark hair caught the light, and his eyes softened in recognition. “Eiji. Sorry, did I wake you?”

Eiji shook his head quickly, stepping out to kneel beside him. Their hands brushed as they both reached for the same orange, and the same ripple of warmth shot up Eiji’s arm. His breath caught.

Ren noticed. His gaze lingered for half a second too long, his expression unreadable—but then he looked away, carefully gathering the eggs.

The hallway filled with scents: the bright citrus of the fruit, Ren’s grounding cedarwood, and Eiji’s jasmine, which grew heavier the longer he stayed this close.

Eiji’s cheeks burned. He tried to focus on the oranges, not on how his heart hammered in his chest.

“You just moved in,” Ren said quietly, placing the eggs safely in another bag. “You shouldn’t be running around helping clumsy neighbors.”

Eiji shook his head, clutching three oranges to his chest. “I-I don’t mind. Really. It’s the least I can do after you gave me tea yesterday.”

Ren’s lips curved faintly, that same quiet smile that had already carved its way into Eiji’s memory. “That was nothing.”

They finished collecting the scattered groceries, their movements awkwardly in sync. At one point, Eiji leaned forward just as Ren did, and their shoulders brushed. Eiji went still, breath trapped in his lungs.

So close.

The cedar scent was stronger now, curling around him like a protective shield. His Omega instincts responded immediately—heart racing, warmth blooming in his chest, the instinctive urge to lean closer to that safety.

Ren’s hand paused mid-reach, as if he’d felt the shift too. His jaw tightened. But then he cleared his throat and carefully pulled back, placing the last orange into the bag.

“All set,” he murmured.

Eiji exhaled shakily, not realizing until then that he’d been holding his breath. “Y-yes… all set.”

Ren picked up the bags with ease and stood. He glanced down at Eiji, who was still crouched on the floor, looking like a flustered child caught in something he didn’t understand.

“Thank you,” Ren said simply.

Eiji looked up. His lips moved before he could think. “Anytime.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them. The hallway was narrow, and Ren’s shadow fell across him like a quiet shelter. Their scents tangled in the air—cedar and jasmine, grounding and fragile, wrapping around each other in ways neither could ignore.

Then Ren stepped back. “See you around, Eiji.”

And with that, he walked down the hall, the sound of his footsteps fading.

Eiji stayed where he was, still holding one orange he’d forgotten to return, staring at the empty space Ren had just left. His heart thumped wildly, his face warm.

He pressed the orange against his cheek, smiling despite himself.

Why… why does being near him feel so right?

---

The morning air smelled faintly of roasted beans and sugar. Eiji stood in the small kitchen nook of his apartment, staring down at the tray he’d just prepared.

Two mugs of coffee. A plate of neatly arranged butter cookies—his mother’s recipe. He’d woken up early to bake them, the sweet smell filling his tiny space until it almost drowned out his nerves.

He took a breath, clutching the tray like it was a shield. It’s just a thank you. He gave me tea, I’m giving him cookies. That’s normal. Totally normal.

But his palms were sweating, and the thought of knocking on Ren’s door made his stomach twist in knots.

Still, before he could change his mind, Eiji padded across the hall. He hesitated for three long seconds, then raised his hand.

Knock, knock.

There was a pause. Then the door opened.

Ren stood there, hair slightly tousled, as if he hadn’t been awake long. He wore a simple gray t-shirt, and yet somehow the casualness only emphasized the breadth of his shoulders, the calm weight of his presence. His cedar scent drifted out immediately, wrapping around Eiji like invisible arms.

Eiji nearly forgot how to speak.

“I, um—” He lifted the tray a little too quickly, nearly spilling the coffee. “T-thank you for the tea the other day. I wanted to… to return the kindness.”

Ren’s brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering in his usually steady gaze. Then, slowly, his lips curved into the faintest smile.

“You baked these?”

Eiji nodded quickly, ears burning. “Y-yes. They might not be very good, but—”

“I’m sure they’re good,” Ren said, voice low and reassuring. He stepped aside, tilting his head. “Come in.”

Eiji’s heart skipped. He stepped into Ren’s apartment, clutching the tray like a lifeline.

The space was neat but lived-in—books lined one shelf, a low table sat near the balcony, and the faint smell of cedar seemed stronger here, like it had soaked into the very walls. Eiji felt strangely safe, even though every nerve in his body was on high alert.

Ren motioned toward the table. “Set them down there.”

Eiji obeyed, placing the tray carefully. His hands trembled as he poured the coffee into the mugs. He was hyper-aware of Ren’s presence behind him, tall and quiet, close enough that Eiji could feel the heat radiating from him.

When they finally sat across from each other, Eiji kept his gaze fixed firmly on his cup. His cheeks felt hot. He’d never sat alone like this with an Alpha before—not one whose scent pulled at him so strongly.

Ren picked up a cookie and took a slow bite. For a moment, silence.

Then—

“They’re good,” he said simply.

Eiji’s head shot up. Ren’s expression hadn’t changed much, but there was something softer in his eyes now, something that made Eiji’s chest tighten.

“You really think so?”

Ren nodded. “Better than the ones at the bakery down the street.”

Heat bloomed across Eiji’s face. He bit his lip to keep from smiling too widely, but failed. “I… I’m glad.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy this time. It was warm, filled with the faint clink of mugs and the gentle hum of city noise outside. Eiji dared to glance at Ren—just a small peek.

Ren was watching him.

Not in an intimidating way, but in a quiet, attentive way, as if trying to memorize the sight of him.

Eiji’s breath caught. He quickly looked down again, his fingers tightening around the coffee cup. His jasmine scent thickened in the air, betraying his flustered state.

Ren didn’t comment on it. He only leaned back slightly, gaze steady, and murmured, “You’re settling in okay, then?”

Eiji nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Better now.”

For the first time, Ren’s smile widened, just a fraction. And Eiji thought, with a fluttering heart—

Maybe I could get used to mornings like this.