Neville slowly woke up and blinked his eyes open. He became aware of the warmth beside him. The naked body embracing its own naked body. The lingering mix of ocean and freshwater pheromones.

He looked at Grayson, who was deep in his sleep, wrapping his arms around him like before. He didn’t have his brows furrowed today; his lips were even parted slightly. It was a delight to see him sleep like this.

For a long moment, Neville enjoyed the eye-candy of sleeping Grayson. Then, he tried to extract himself from Grayson’s arms carefully. Usually, Grayson’s muscles would flinch at the sign escape. He would even growl and tighten his arms, which made Neville feel like a stuffed toy in the grip of a child.

But today, he managed to move Grayson’s arms away easily.

Neville managed to slip freely with minimal wiggling, rolling to the edge of the bed, and swung his bare feet on the floor without much of a grumble of protest from the sleeping Grayson.

This was really strange.

But that’s not that strange.

After all, no matter whether you were the omega or the alpha in the equation, the whole process of rut and estrus period seemed to leave everyone involved exhausted and starving.

He shrugged off the oddity and trotted towards the bathroom. His stomach was already growling from starvation.

After a quick shower, Neville walked out with a simple bathrobe on. He couldn’t find his clothes in the bedroom, so he opened Grayson’s walk-in closet to get a shirt and unopened underwear. Everything was oversized for his body type, but he couldn’t afford to be picky.

He quickly made his way to the kitchen. And the sight that greeted him was... well, exactly as he had left it.

It was really a mess.

Neville looked at the mess and sighed.

He should clean up the kitchen first to make breakfast, then, while he waits for it to cook, he could clean up a little in the living room. Right now, his stomach kept growling, and it was getting painful as time went by.

Neville began to pull out a clean rectangular bowl and grabbed a few ingredients from the system mall. He had already made a few simple dishes that he knew would be good to reveal in the interstellar era. Today, he decided to make another one of those simple comfort foods.

"Baked mashed potato with beef," he murmured to himself, gathering the necessary ingredients. He put the assortment of seasonings on the counter for easy access. As he began to prep, a familiar thought resurfaced, one that had been nagging at him for weeks now.

"I really need to find something that resembles rice soon," he muttered, expertly peeling a potato with more force than strictly necessary. "Or a new type of flour. Anything that could be turned into noodles is good, too. If I have to eat one more Western-style meal, I’m going to start crying and fill myself with nutrient solution to appreciate it even more."

It wasn’t that he had anything against Western-style food; it was just that, not even bread could be seen anywhere. In olden times and history, bread was always mentioned. Even if it was hard, it was still filling the stomach and could be a good base.

He had everything in the system mall but couldn’t take them out for fear of getting questioned. In short, it was utterly useless, like some system guide that was nowhere to be found until now.

The interstellar era, for all its advanced technology and galaxy-spanning commerce, had somehow managed to develop a cuisine that was almost entirely based on what Neville thought of as ’fusion confusion.’

It was a tragedy.

A genuine, ongoing tragedy that no one but Neville seemed to suffer from. Maybe Grayson, too, because of his picky eating.

But now, with Grayson’s rut keeping them both confined to the penthouse, Neville found himself with an unusual abundance of free time. Maybe, once the beef was in the oven and the potatoes were mashed, he could pull up his light brain and do some research.

Just as he was reaching for his light brain, a sound from the hallway made him freeze.

A slow, shuffling footsteps that sounded nothing like the usual Grayson. He seemed to be walking like a toddler who just woken up from a nap and was searching for their parent.

Neville turned, a knife still in hand, and was met with a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

Grayson stood in the hallway entrance to the kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of sleep pants that hung low on his hips. His black hair was standing up in places, flat in others, with one particularly rebellious tuft that defied gravity.

His eyes were half-closed, still clouded with sleep, and he was rubbing at them with the heel of his hand like a child who had been rudely awakened before they were ready. He looked like he was about three seconds away from asking if breakfast was ready and if he could please have juice.

"...Good morning?" Neville managed to say, his voice coming out slightly strangled.

Grayson made a noise that might have been a response, but it wasn’t easy to tell if it was. He moved forward, his bare feet scuffing against the floor. His path seemed somewhat random at first, but Neville quickly realized that Grayson was heading directly from where he heard Neville’s voice.

"Grayson?" Neville called out again, taking a step back that was immediately negated when his hip hit the counter. "Are you... Are you okay? Do you need to sit down? There’s a chair right—"

His words cut off as Grayson reached him and, without ceremony or warning, buried his face in the crook of Neville’s neck.

For a moment, Neville forgot how to breathe. Grayson’s arms came up around his waist, pulling him close, and suddenly, he was enveloped in warmth and fresh water pheromones. The clingy alpha in rut had no concept of ’personal space’ and ’waiting’ in his vocabulary.

"Grayson," Neville said, his voice muffled against Grayson’s shoulder. "Grayson, I’m cooking. There’s a hot stove over here; you will get burned."