Omega aku who never got his heats or went through any kind of proper cycle for his health, because every part of his body shut down to keep him alive and he’ll survive the dangers in the slums. He figured he was a beta for most of his life, until he joins the agency—to which his body finally starts throwing all of his omegas woes at him because it’s started to realize that he’s no longer living just for survival.

It was difficult, asking for help. Akutagawa doesn’t know anything on how to be a “good” omega. He doesn’t know how to build nests, does know how to purr and chirp and be nice. He doesn’t have a strong and powerful scent that he could say is attractive to alphas. He doesn’t know what to do, and it especially drove him into the brink of tears and madness trying to figure out making a nest on his own and never being satisfied with if, as if there’s so many things missing and he doesn’t know where to start. It distresses him a lot, a pang of pain from Gin’s absence, the void in his heart from losing his little family long ago, and the bitterness of his own perceived failure to do what his body should know how to do.

The distress carries through in his scent, no matter how much he tries to hide it up, tries to push the thought away and concentrate on something else. It irritates him further at first when the agency members periodically check up on him and ask, and he knows what they’re doing—knows they’re little tricks to pull him in closer, scent mark him and calm him down. It helps, but it also doesn’t help at all. Fuck, even the weretiger had picked up on it, eyes narrowed, brows furrowed as he tried to figure out what had tinged that usually soft, dandelion and fig scent into something bitter and acidic. All of it makes Akutagawa feel even worse, and he blames himself for it because he can’t even find the proper words to tell them to back off and let him retreat to lick his wounds.

Oda is the first person to get it. He stops by one day with a large basket full of clothes, and Akutagawa instantly recognizes it to be a recently cleaned, fresh batch of clothes collected from Oda, and the kids. It’s almost as if Oda knew Akutagawa was rotting away in his room.

“Tell me where you want them,” Oda says. It’s casual, it’s calm, and it fills Akutagawa with relief for once.

For the first time, it feels nice to look at his bed, where his nest is supposed to be. It’s less stressful, even when embarrassment hits Akutagawa because he can’t decide whether Kosuke’s sweater should be on the left side, or whether Sakura’s pink hat should be draped over one of the pillows. Oda says nothing, just lets the image fuss and decide where he wants to put things where. Oda’s scent betrays a smidge of happiness when he finds his shirt tucked right above Akutagawa’s pillow, scent mixed in with the rest of the kids into something soft and hazy. Neither of them comment on how the room smells far happier.

Soon enough, the others trickle in. Kenji is the first one to pop in, who brings aku a soft cotton shirt and a very loved hat. Naomi brings a dress and Tanizaki hands over a cardigan with a blush on his cheeks. Kunikida gifts him one of his worn sweater vests and mutters about being late for something. He comes back to his dorm to find a suspiciously familiar brown cape, doctors coat, and a comfortable blanket that smells suspiciously like the president.

(He doesn’t say anything in acknowledgement the next day, but he brings Ranpo his favorite stash of candy, and splurges on a bottle of wine for Yosano. He mulls over which video of atsushi as a tiger would be the best gift for Fukuzawa, and ends up sending almost all the videos he has. He figures he’ll deal with the consequences later)

It makes Akutagawa feel much happier, to finally have a best that doesn’t feel cold and empty. He /gets/ why omegas love their nests, why betas and alphas are so vulnerable in their dens. Nothing can really take away the grief that lives in him, but at least it doesn’t feel overwhelming when there’s proof that he has a family to hold on to even when he’s not with them.

(One day Akutagawa comes home and finds a familiar, grey-black turtleneck, neatly folded against the edge of his nest, and he almost has to laugh at how he can imagine the sheepishness in which it was placed there. Nobody needs to know that he uses it as a pillow case to cuddle with at night.)