Okay, so here is the first chapter of my new fic. I will post this one and the other four on AO3 (trafalgarlaw39).
The moment Captain Obi said Company 7, Shinra knew he wasn’t being asked. He was being sent.
“No,” Shinra said flatly, arms crossed tight over his chest stubbornly. “I’m not going. This is my company.”
Obi stood behind his desk, calm but firm as stone. His scent was sharp—clean, authoritative alpha—but there was no aggression in it. Just certainty.
“This isn’t a punishment, Shinra. You’re not in trouble. You’re not being exiled.”
“Then what do you call it?” Shinra snapped. “Because it sure as hell feels like getting kicked out.”
Obi sighed. Behind him, the window let in weak sunlight and the distant rumble of training drills outside. “Look,” he said, voice softening. “You’ve been fighting with Arthur every other day. It’s making the rest of the team tense. You’re not sleeping, you’re barely eating, and I can smell the stress on you from across the room.”
Shinra flinched. His jaw clenched. “So send him.” He looked at the captain with one of his awkward, showing too many teeth smiles.
“I would, but Company 7 requested someone reliable.” Obi’s gaze met his, steady. “They need backup. And they need someone strong. I trust you more than anyone else with that kind of responsibility. As much as I believe that Arthur is a great soldier, you can’t call his knight delusions something that inspires trust.”
Shinra scoffed, but still, he felt his stomach turn. There was a hollow space behind his ribs where something used to burn—something bright and warm. It had flickered out the night Arthur said, Maybe we just don’t work anymore, like it was nothing. Like two years of scenting, curling into each other after missions, whispered jokes, all of it—nothing.
“Seven months,” Shinra muttered. “That’s the deal?”
Konro. The beta lieutenant was quite nice—gentle-spoken but firm, always respectful whenever their paths crossed during joint missions or at Federation events. Shinra remembered the way Konro’s calm energy seemed to smooth over tense rooms, like a balm for overstimulated senses. If Konro said he’d look out for Shinra, he meant it. That was the only thing making this assignment remotely tolerable.
His captain, on the other hand.
Shinra had met the infamous Captain of Company 7 twice. Both times, he came away feeling like he’d been judged, found lacking, and discarded—all without Benimaru saying a single word. The man didn’t need words to make his presence known. He carried authority the way some people carried swords—sharp, heavy, and always visible, whether it was drawn or not.
An alpha’s alpha, that one. Big presence. Big scent. The kind that filled a room without trying, quiet but undeniable. Not harsh, exactly—Benimaru didn’t posture like some alphas did—but there was something raw about him. He looked at you like he saw every piece of you, stripped bare, weighed, measured.
Shinra hated how easily he remembered the scent—smoky with something wild beneath it. Like fire caught in the middle of a storm.
And Benimaru had a way of looking at people… A chill ran down his spine just remembering it.
Shinra’s mouth pulled into a tight line. “Yeah,” he muttered. “No beef. That’s comforting.”
Obi tilted his head slightly. “You’ll be alright.”
“You already packed for me, didn’t you?” Shinra said, almost bitterly.
Obi gave him a small, patient smile. “Hinawa helped with the packing.”
“Of course he did,” Shinra muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “Bet he’s just thrilled to finally get some silence around here.”
Obi exhaled, not quite a sigh. “That’s not true.”
Shinra scoffed. “Right. Maybe he should just take Arthur out back and shoot him next time—way more efficient than shipping me off like some problem child.”
Obi gave him a look. Not angry. Just tired.
Shinra looked away first.
“But consider for a moment, maybe some space will help,” the captain added gently.
Shinra laughed under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah. Space. Seven months of it.”
Obi didn’t flinch. “Time has a way of clarifying things. Giving people room to breathe. Heal.”
“Right,” Shinra muttered, staring at the floor. “And maybe in seven months I’ll stop smelling like heartbreak and desperation. This way, people won’t be uncomfortable near me.”
“That’s not what you smell like, and that’s not the problem here,” Obi said, voice low but firm.
Shinra blinked. His eyes burned suddenly, and he hated how fast the feeling rose in his throat. He crossed his arms tight over his chest like it might keep anything from slipping out. Shinra’s jaw tightened. “I’m not going—”
“Yes, you are.” Obi didn’t raise his voice, but the weight of his words settled between them. “And I’m not asking you to forgive him. I’m asking you to give yourself the chance to move on.”
Shinra stayed quiet. The room felt too small all of a sudden, and the weight of everything he hadn’t said out loud was pressing against his ribs.
Seven months. A new place. A captain who didn’t care if he was heartbroken or not. Maybe that was what he needed.
“…When do I leave?” he asked quietly.
Obi gave him a long look, then said, “Tomorrow morning.”
Shinra had refused a ride in their truck.
Too many eyes. Too many goodbyes. He didn’t want the awkward silence of a Hinawa drive, the well-meaning sympathy in Maki’s eyes, or the way Tamaki fidgeted around discomfort. He didn’t want to see Arthur in the hallway pretending not to look at him.
So he set his alarm for 5:00 a.m., and left before the sun even touched the rooftops. The station was mostly empty at that hour, just a few workers and students blinking blearily at the arrival board, yawning into scarf-covered hands.
He found a seat in the corner of the train car, duffel bag at his feet, hood pulled up even though it wasn’t cold. The hum of the train settled into his bones as it rolled forward, soft and steady.
Behind him, Company 8 blurred into memory.
He kept watching the reflection of his own eyes in the window, shadowed and tired.
He’d told himself this was just work. Temporary. He could survive seven months. But with every passing station, that lie got harder to hold onto.
Hated that Arthur had moved on so easily. Hated that everyone noticed. Hated that his scent had started to turn sour, bitter, and no one said it—but they all knew it. He could see it in Maki’s too-gentle smiles, in Iris’s sudden silences. Even Tamaki had stopped joking with him.
He closed his eyes. Tried to breathe. Don’t cry. Not here. Don’t— And still one lonely tear escaped, streaking down his face. Shinra leaned his head against the window, the cool glass anchoring him. Outside, the city crawled past—first the tall buildings of the central district, familiar silhouettes outlined by early morning light. Then the industrial zones, smokestacks, and empty lots. Eventually, the skyline began to soften into older neighborhoods, tighter streets, and more trees. Asakusa was a whole new place, almost a new city.
Then the train stopped and Shinra quickly got out.
Gods, even the air was different here.
Cleaner. Sharper. It carried the faintest trace of smoke, but not the kind that clung or choked—this was the smell of firewood and incense, of open skies and old streets. It made his shoulders drop a fraction without him realizing.
He barely had a second to take it in before a familiar voice called out.
Shinra turned just in time to catch the grin spreading across Konro’s face as he approached, dressed in his usual dark blue kimono jacket, sleeves pushed up, relaxed and warm.
“Shinra Kusakabe,” Konro said, clapping a steady hand to his shoulder. “Good to see you again. Welcome to Company 7.”
Despite himself, Shinra smiled. A real one, small but honest. As usual with too much teeth showing.
“Good to see you too, Konro.”
Konro led him through the quiet morning streets of Asakusa. The city had a kind of stillness Shinra wasn’t used to—Company 8’s neighborhood was all bustle and sirens.
“This time of day, you can actually hear the birds,” Konro said, as if reading his thoughts. “Not bad, huh?”
Shinra nodded, adjusting the strap of his duffel. “It’s… kinda peaceful.”
“Don’t get used to it. Benimaru usually starts yelling before breakfast.”
As if summoned by name, a loud clatter echoed from around the corner—wood striking stone, something heavy being dropped, followed by a barked curse.
Konro just grinned. “Speak of the devil.”
They rounded the corner into the main courtyard of Company 7, and there he was.
Benimaru Shinmon. The Fire God of Asakusa. His shirt was half-buttoned, sleeves rolled, and his dark hair was messy, like he’d just rolled out of bed. His eyes snapped toward them as they approached—sharp, annoyed, and absolutely unbothered by the fact that he was already radiating alpha dominance like a furnace.
“Finally,” he grunted. “You said he'd be here at sunrise.”
“It is sunrise,” Konro replied calmly.
Benimaru didn’t respond, just gave Shinra a once-over, head to toe, slow and obvious. Not like he was curious, more like he was assessing a crate of supplies. Judging. Measuring.
Shinra opened his mouth to say something sarcastic—good morning or you’re welcome for my presence—but the words died on his tongue.
Benimaru Shinmon was hot.
Not in the distant, polite way people said someone was attractive. No. This was immediate, feral. He looked like the kind of man who could burn down your entire worldview just by looking at you wrong, and make you say thank you afterward
How come I’ve noticed that before?
His scent hit a moment later—ash and cedarwood, and something else beneath it, something stormy and sharp that curled right into Shinra’s gut.
Benimaru scowled. “You got a staring problem, or are you just slow?”
Shinra snapped out of it, cheeks instantly burning. “N-No! I mean—Hi. Hello. I’m—Shinra. I mean, you already know that.”
Konro cleared his throat, biting back a smile.
Benimaru raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Great. This one is as dumb as the blond one.”
Shinra’s jaw clenched, heat flaring through him. “Hey—”
His voice was sharper than he intended, and Benimaru’s eyes narrowed immediately. The subtle shift in Shinra’s scent hit him—underneath the usual omega musk, a tense, bitter edge like storm clouds before a tempest.
“Easy,” Benimaru said, stepping closer, voice low but firm. “Don’t bring your messy relationship drama into my company. Leave it at the door.”
Shinra swallowed hard, the angry edge in his throat flickering but not fully disappearing. “I’m not—”
“Not here.” Benimaru’s tone brooked no argument. “You’re here to work. That’s it.”
Shinra’s breath hitched, but the alpha’s words cut through the noise in his head like a blade.
He nodded stiffly, forcing his voice down to a calmer pitch. “Understood.”
Benimaru gave a curt nod, then turned away. “Good. Now, quit pouting and keep up.” He turned briefly one more time to add. “We don’t slow down for guests, Kusakabe.”
Konro clapped him on the back. “Don’t take it personally. It seems like he actually likes you.”
“That was liking me?” Shinra muttered, dragging his feet after them. “What does dislike look like—arson?”
Konro chuckled. Not denying coming out of his mouth.
It had been a week. A strange, steady week.
Shinra wasn’t exactly thriving—but he wasn’t breaking down in bathroom stalls either, so that counted as progress.
He’d fallen into a routine, thanks to Konro’s quiet guidance and the clear structure of Company 7. Patrols, drills, controlled burns, community work. It was different from Company 8—more physical, more direct. Less time to sit with his thoughts, which suited him just fine. He hadn’t seen much of Benimaru since that first explosive encounter. Their schedules barely crossed, and Shinra was beginning to think maybe the man was deliberately avoiding him.
Which… honestly, he didn’t mind.
So when Konro waved him over at noon for their patrol, Shinra felt—surprisingly—okay. He put on his jacket and jogged up to Konro’s side, greeting him with something close to a smile.
“Ready?” Konro asked, already turning toward the street.
“Yeah,” Shinra said. “It’s actually kinda nice out today.”
They hadn’t made it three blocks when the familiar heavy thump of boots on pavement made Konro sigh. Shinra turned—and froze.
Benimaru was walking toward them, expression unreadable as always. His coat hung loose, half-open, a casual drape that somehow still looked imposing. His hair was a little messier than usual, wind-tossed, and the way the sun hit the edges of his jaw—Shinra blinked hard, brain skidding for a moment.
When had he gotten that handsome?
“Konro,” Benimaru said, not sparing Shinra more than a glance, “twins are raising hell again. One of them tried to trap the other in a futon burrito. Take care of it.”
Konro sighed but didn’t protest. “Fine. But I was supposed to start the patrol—”
“I’ll take him.” Benimaru nodded toward Shinra. “We’re due for a patrol together anyway.”
Shinra’s stomach flipped. “Wait, what?”
Benimaru raised an eyebrow but smirked faintly. “Don’t look so excited, Kusakabe.”
“Right,” Shinra muttered. “Thrilled.”
Benimaru crossed his arms. “We're wasting time.”
Shinra gritted his teeth. “Coming.”
As Konro walked away, he gave Shinra a parting clap on the shoulder. “Don’t bite him unless he bites first.”
Benimaru shot him a look.
Once they were alone, the silence stretched for a minute too long. Shinra cleared his throat.
“So…” he tried, voice light, “it’s been good here. I mean, different, but… good. Konro’s been a big help.”
Benimaru grunted. “He usually is.”
“I’ve been learning a lot. Traditions, patrol routes, your way of doing things—it’s pretty interesting.”
Benimaru gave a sideways glance. “You sound surprised.”
“I’m not,” Shinra said quickly, then added, “Okay, maybe a little. It’s not what I expected.”
“People always expect flash and fire,” Benimaru muttered. “They forget we work for the people.”
“I get that,” Shinra said. “Honestly, it’s kinda… calming?”
Benimaru looked at him properly then, a flash of something unreadable passing through his eyes. “Calming, huh. You don’t strike me as the type who enjoys calm.”
“I didn’t think I did either,” Shinra admitted.
The patrol was uneventful through the afternoon. They moved through quiet neighborhoods, stopping to speak with a few elderly residents who clearly adored Benimaru—he grumbled and scowled through their affection, but didn’t push them away.
By nightfall, the tone shifted.
A sudden commotion was heard from a few blocks from them. A possible infernal.
Benimaru's expression went sharp. “We’re moving.”
Shinra followed, already igniting his soles. They arrived to find a man mid-transformation—still clutching the edges of his shirt, eyes wild with pain. Two people were holding him up, sobbing.
Benimaru didn’t hesitate. He turned to Shinra. “Help me clear the block. Houses first. You remember what Konro taught you?”
Four small homes lined the street. Shinra dashed through, shouting warnings, lifting the elderly and the frightened, one house at a time. He destroyed their empty shells with precision fire, a fast burn that consumed walls but spared surrounding buildings. When he returned to Benimaru, the infernal had taken full form.
“Stay low,” Benimaru barked. “Cover left.”
Shinra obeyed, darting to flank. They fought in unison, his flames spiraling in controlled arcs while Benimaru’s power crashed like thunder. It was almost easy.
When the moment came to end it, Shinra stopped himself.
Benimaru stepped in, nodding once at the infernal. He whispered a short prayer—quick and low—and finished it with a clean, devastating strike.
The flames died fast. The street was quiet.
Benimaru didn’t speak. Neither did Shinra.
But for the first time since he’d been reassigned, Shinra didn’t feel like a guest.
Smoke still lingered in the air, curling in soft tendrils as the fire died down. The remains of the tiny street glowed faintly in the night, ash drifting like snow.
Benimaru stood still, one hand lowered from the final strike, the other resting lightly on his hip. His expression was unreadable, but his body was relaxed in the way it only ever got after a clean, respectful sendoff.
Shinra, a few steps behind, slowly dropped from the hover of his flames. He didn’t speak.
Something in his chest cracked open—quietly, almost imperceptibly—and he realized his cheeks were wet.
“…Oi.” Benimaru’s voice cut through the haze, low and uncertain. “You alright?”
Shinra blinked hard, turned his face away. “Sorry—shit, I’m—” He scrubbed his face with his sleeve, but the tears kept coming. They weren’t loud, weren’t sobs—just steady. “I don’t know why…”
Benimaru stepped closer, stiff at first, and then he paused. He sniffed once—sharp—and something shifted in his eyes.
“You’re not hur?,” He asked quietly.
Shinra shook his head. “No. No, it’s not that.”
Benimaru didn’t touch him, but he hovered close—just enough for Shinra to feel the weight of his presence. Alpha instinct, maybe. Protective. Grounding.
“It’s just…” Shinra exhaled, watching the ash drift around his boots. “That was… beautiful.”
Benimaru raised an eyebrow.
“The sendoff,” Shinra said, voice thick. “The way you let him say goodbye. The trust that people have in you… and in each other. We burned down four houses just to give him peace.”
“…It’s what we do,” Benimaru said finally. “It’s not perfect. But it’s ours.”
Shinra swallowed. “Yeah.”
They stood there in the quiet night, city lights distant and dim behind the haze of smoke and memory.
Benimaru tilted his head, squinting slightly. “You look like hell.”
Shinra barked a short laugh. “Thanks.”
“Come on,” Benimaru said, turning away. “Our shift’s over and we need to clear the area for the workers to start rebuilding the houses. Let’s get food. Maybe some drinks.”
Shinra hesitated, then followed.
They ended up grabbing karaage skewers from a late-night stall, the kind with oil-stained menus and thick paper trays. Benimaru ordered sake and a can of beer, tossing it to Shinra without asking.
They walked to a quiet spot near the small lake just beyond the edge of town, where the lanterns were low and the cicadas sang. Benimaru dropped down onto the grass with a grunt. Shinra followed, still a little dazed, still riding the tail end of whatever had opened in him.
They ate in silence at first. The crunch of fried chicken, the soft lapping of water, the gentle sound of sake being poured.
Eventually, Shinra glanced sideways.
Benimaru’s coat was off. His sleeves rolled. He looked tired, but peaceful in a way Shinra hadn’t seen before.
“You really care about this place,” Shinra said.
Benimaru didn’t look at him. “Yeah.”
“I think I’m starting to get why.”
Benimaru finally glanced his way, one brow cocked. “That right?”
Shinra nodded, then took a sip of his beer. “Yeah.”
They sat in a lull of companionable silence, the kind that didn’t demand to be filled. The karaage skewers were down to the last bits of crispy meat, the beer half-warm, and the sky was deep navy, stars just beginning to show.
Shinra leaned back on his elbows, toes flexing in the grass. “It’s… peaceful here.”
Benimaru hummed in agreement, swirling the last of his sake in the cup. “It’s loud in the day. But nights like this…” He glanced at Shinra. “You fit in better than I thought you would.”
Shinra raised an eyebrow, curious. “You mean you thought I’d screw up.”
Benimaru smirked. “Didn’t say that.”
Shinra shrugged, eyes flicking to the lake. “Whatever.”
“Your scent changed,” Benimaru said casually, like he was talking about the weather.
Shinra sat up, frowning. “Excuse me?”
Benimaru didn’t flinch. “It’s not bad. Just different. You were sour when you got here. Bitter, a little sharp. Now you smell…” He sniffed once, then turned his gaze to the water. “Calmer. More open. Like an open field of wild flowers.”
Shinra blinked. “That’s the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”
Benimaru shrugged. “It was not meant to be one.”
Shinra scowled. “Well, it sounded like it.”
“…Fine,” Benimaru said slowly, “then maybe it is. You smell good now. Really good, actually.”
A slow heat crept up the back of his neck, spreading across his cheeks. “Don’t say stuff like that.”
Benimaru turned to face him, deadpan. “Why not? It’s true.”
“Because—because that’s weird! You can’t just tell someone they smell good out of nowhere!”
“I’m an alpha,” Benimaru said simply. “You’re an omega. It’s not exactly a secret when your scent shifts. It’d be weirder if I pretended I didn’t notice.”
Shinra bit his lip, trying to fight the flush building across his skin. He looked away, jaw tight. “Still. You really don’t filter anything, huh?”
Benimaru just shrugged. “I don’t see the point.”
And then, with the same maddeningly calm tone, he added—reaching lazily for another skewer—“You’re not in heat,” Benimaru said, voice low and maddeningly calm, “so a little teasing shouldn’t have you squirming like this. It’s not like I’ve got you on your back, flushed and panting— yet, at least.” He added the last bit just to tease Shinra. And it clearly worked as Shinra choked on his beer.
He coughed once, twice—and then full-on gagged, turning red as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What the hell, Captain?”
Benimaru blinked, chewing. “What?”
“You can’t just—say things like that!”
Benimaru gave him a sidelong glance, his expression unreadable, calm in that infuriating way that made everything feel ten times more intimate. “It’s just a fact,” he said, voice smooth as smoke.
Shinra tore his gaze away, pulse hammering in his throat. His skin felt too tight for his body, heat licking up his neck and curling under his ribs. The fabric of his uniform clung to him, suddenly unbearable—too warm, too rough, too there. And worse—so much worse—he felt the traitorous stir of slick gathering low and deep, a molten ache blooming like a second heartbeat between his legs.
Mortification clamped down hard.
Benimaru shifted slightly, and then—paused.
His eyes narrowed just a fraction.
He saw it happen—the exact moment the alpha caught the scent. That subtle lift of the head, the faint narrowing of his pupils, the slow curve of a smirk pulling at his mouth.
Benimaru didn’t say a word.
Didn’t tease, didn’t joke, didn’t leer.
He just went back to chewing like he hadn’t just picked up on Shinra’s arousal with laser precision.
Shinra felt like melting into the dirt.
The silence that followed wasn’t just charged.
He swallowed, jaw tight, eyes fixed anywhere but on Benimaru.
And still—no comment. No smug remark.
Just that damn smirk lingering at the edge of the man’s mouth as he stared out over the lake like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Like he hadn’t just turned Shinra into a trembling mess without even trying.
The silence stretched again—but this time, it pulsed between them. Not empty. Not tense. Just… charged, like the space between lightning and strike.
Benimaru reached for the bottle and poured more sake into his cup with the same lazy precision he brought to most things. The soft clink of ceramic against ceramic. The smell of fried oil from the skewers lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy scent of grass, and the faint, ever-present trace of smoke and fire that clung to them both like a second skin.
Shinra watched the sake fill the cup. Watched the way Benimaru's hand moved—steady, practiced, strong.
Then, without looking at him, Benimaru asked, voice low and casual, like he was commenting on the weather:
Shinra's stomach flipped. He hadn’t expected the question to land like that—so direct, so quiet. No judgment, no pity. Just curiosity, as if Benimaru already knew it mattered and wasn’t going to dance around it. He stared down at the grass for a beat, his throat dry. He didn’t answer right away.
The fire captain just leaned back again, cup in hand, letting the silence breathe between them.
“…Arthur,” Shinra said finally, voice almost a whisper. “It was Arthur.”
Shinra didn’t look up. He kept his gaze on the lake, where the rippling surface reflected the deepening blue of the evening sky. A soft breeze skimmed over the water, brushing through the trees, rustling the grass.
He surprised himself with how even his voice was. Detached. Almost distant.
“We were together for two years,” he said. “Scented each other and spent heats and ruts. Took care of each other. Fought like idiots but always came back to the same bed.” He exhaled through his nose, soft and dry. “Then one day, it was just… done. Like someone blew out a candle and forgot to warn me.”
Benimaru stayed quiet beside him, sipping from his cup, his body perfectly still.
“He didn’t even give a real reason,” Shinra continued, a little softer now. “Just said he was tired. That it wasn’t working. As if everything we built meant nothing. Like I was… easy to walk away from.”
He didn’t feel tears. Just an odd, light ache under his ribs. Hollow, but not sharp. Like pressing on an old bruise and realizing it doesn’t hurt anymore.
“I thought I’d be angry forever. I thought I’d fall apart.” He gave a short, breathless laugh. “But I’m not. Not really. I’m just… done.”
The wind shifted. The grass shivered. Beside him, Benimaru poured another slow stream of sake into his cup.
Then, he said simply, “He must be unbelievably stupid.”
Benimaru glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, the faintest crease at the edge of his mouth—his version of warmth. “To let an omega like you go.” He drank again, tilting his head back, throat working.
Shinra’s eyes widened slightly. His heart stuttered.
That shift in scent. Still Benimaru’s usual earthy-spice-and-ash signature, but thicker now, denser. Something deeper coiled beneath it, edged with heat. Not loud, not invasive. But there.
Shinra inhaled again, sharper this time, and froze.
It threaded through the alpha’s scent like smoke curling into fire.
He gasped before he could stop himself, eyes darting toward Benimaru.
The captain didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. There was the tiniest glint of awareness in his eyes now—hooded, unreadable, but very much aware.
Just leaned back again, watching the sky like nothing had changed.
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