Chapter Text
Shouta’s fortieth birthday came and went like any regular day. It was the day after when shit hit the fan. Although Shouta could care less, forty was considered old for an omega. The Population Enforcement Agency usually sent out matchings to unmated alpha and omegas by their 25th birthday. Shouta having been an underground war vet stationed outside of Japan for the majority of his twenties was the only thing that kept him out of the PEA’s sights. Returning to Japan as a veteran and amputee on the other hand, seemed to have put him back into their mercy. Finding the red envelope placed in his mail box was of great concern to him. Not only was he older than the maximum age an omega can go unmated in society, he was also just an unusual person to be matched with an alpha in general. Although his jumpsuit covered most of it, his body was honed to be his weapon—all lean muscle with no omegan “squish” anywhere. He grew facial hair and didn’t shave it. The one thing “going for him” was his hair, grown past his shoulders and often worn loose, Shouta did prefer to spend extra time and money in maintaining it. Even with its thickness, his tresses were always soft, tangle free, and covered in his shampoo that complemented his natural omegan scent well.
Thinking he’d better get this over with, he sits at his kitchen counter, coffee in hand, and tears the envelope open. The first page is filled with legal jargon; A summary of who the PEA is, the jurisdiction they have over mating, how this match is legally binding, and that matched pairs must be mated fully with corresponding mating bites within three months. The next page is an info page of his match with a head shot included. Shouta’s first thought is how handsome the man is. His second is that he’s definitely older than the man--at least older than what his picture portrays. Getting past the PEA is nearly impossible, but Shouta really thought he’d at least be paired with someone older than thirty. The third page is filled with contact information as well as a brief background check—something surface level that any civilian could gain access to. Two things come as a surprise, the man is barely older than thirty—his date of birth puts his age at thirty-one—and his occupation is marked as Veteran. Being paired with another vet is probably the best thing for both of them, but seeing such a young man out of service with no other occupation filled in gives Shouta pause. He looks down at his own prosthetic leg and wonders what put this, Takami Keigo, out of commission so soon. He looks through the rest of the file, seemingly lost in thought.
Shouta spends the rest of the day cleaning the house, unpacking some of the house warming gifts his family had sent, and returning back to the file left open on Takami’s headshot. He has never been one to play into designation roles but he felt a small twinge of hurt that the alpha hasn’t reached out yet. He expected a phone call, or a text, or something. Busying himself once more to curve his disappointment, Shouta launches into deep cleaning the bathroom. Its half past eight, and Shouta’s nursing a beer while mindlessly flipping through the TV, when the doorbell rings. Puzzled, he sets the glass down harder than he meant to—He always was a bit of a lightweight—and shuffles to the door. Glancing out the peep hole, he doesn’t see any body and almost turns away before realizing there’s something he can barely see out of the bottom of his vision. He opens the door bewildered to find a bouquet of flowers sitting prettily in a ceramic vase wrapped in a red bow.