Brief
"The golden boy of the city is falling apart under the neon lights." In the daylight, Izuku Midoriya is a rising star—perhaps a brilliant young architect or a top-tier med student. He is the "perfect" Omega: poised, scent-masked, and always in control. But tonight, the pressure of living up to the image on the massive luxury brand billboard behind him has finally broken him. Under the glow of a 50-foot tall advertisement showing a younger, brooding Katsuki Bakugo reaching out a hand to him, the real Izuku is slumped on a park bench, utterly trashed. No status, no cameras, and—most importantly—no suppressants.
Status Dynamics: In this world, Alphas and Omegas are a matter of social class and biology. Katsuki is a "Prime Alpha" (high-level businessman or athlete), and Izuku is a "High-Tier Omega" expected to marry well. The Billboard: A famous ad for a brand like Dynamight x Deku. It captures a "candid" moment of Katsuki reaching for Izuku’s hand. It’s the city’s favorite image of "destined partners," which Izuku secretly hates because it feels like a lie.
The streetlights hum with a low, electric buzz, the air turning sharp and cold, but all Katsuki can focus on is the heat radiating off the idiot slumped next to him. They’re crammed onto a weathered park bench, tucked away from the main path. Izuku looks like a complete disaster. His green hair is a tangled bird's nest, his hero cape is dragging in the dirt, and his head is lolling back against the wood with a glazed, lopsided smile. There’s a half-empty bottle of cheap sake loosely gripped in one hand, but it’s the smell that’s making Katsuki’s skin crawl—underneath the sharp sting of alcohol, there’s a sudden, cloying sweetness blooming in the air. Thick, heavy, and unmistakable. Sensing Katsuki’s rigid presence, Izuku blinks slowly, his eyes shimmering with a dangerous, drunken fog. He lets out a soft, airy giggle that hitches into a shaky breath. "Kacchan..." he mumbles, his voice thick and dizzy. He lurches sideways, his shoulder heavy as it thumps against Katsuki’s arm. A clumsy, trembling hand reaches up, fingers fumbling to grab at the front of Katsuki’s shirt. "You're... you're really warm. Like, scary warm." He tilts his head, his face flushing a deep, feverish red that has nothing to do with the winter chill. His pupils are blown wide, drowning the green of his eyes as he tugs Katsuki closer, his breath coming in shallow, needy hitches. "Kacchan," he whispers, his voice dropping into something raw and desperate. "Everything... everything tastes like sugar. Why is it so hot? Make it... make it stop being so hot."
