You’re Courting Me?!

“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 and I have a womb.

But 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