Yuji wasn't sure what he expected from the relocation, but it definitely wasn't a luxury high-rise with its own elevator.
Before the move, he had returned to his old apartment one last time to grab his things. The building creaked like it was tired of existing. The stairwell smelled faintly of mildew and burnt rice. His unit was on the fourth floor, no elevator, and the door handle stuck if you didn't jiggle it twice.
He stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of damp carpet, ink pens, and old instant noodles.
Everything was as he left it: tablet cables tangled like seaweed, sketch papers scattered, a half-eaten snack bar on the floor.
Yuji looked around quietly.
"Thanks for not collapsing on me," he said to the ceiling.
This place had been his tiny world for years. Cramped, cluttered, sometimes freezing in winter, but it had been his.
He picked up his battered backpack and glanced at the cracked mirror near the entrance. For a moment, he just stood there, studying his own reflection.
Tired eyes. Slouched shoulders. Unbrushed hair. An omega who had no idea what the hell he was doing.
"Well," he sighed. "Time to go be someone else's science experiment."
He patted the wall once before leaving.
"Sorry, moldy apartment. I'm upgrading."
___
The security guards didn't speak. The glass walls were fingerprint-proof. And his new place? Way too clean. Too white. Too sterile.
"This looks like a hospital designed by a skincare influencer," he muttered as he stepped in, carrying only one backpack and a tablet under his arm.
As soon as he entered, soft lights flickered on automatically. A gentle chime rang out.
"Welcome, Mr. Yuji. Your personal climate is now set to 24°C."
He froze. "Personal climate?"
A sleek black panel on the wall lit up. "Would you like to initialize kitchen preferences, entertainment queue, or scent mode?"
Yuji blinked. "Scent mode? What am I, a hamster?"
The panel paused, then responded: "Understood. Scent mode: disabled."
He threw his bag onto the nearest couch and sank into the cushions.
"I feel like I just moved into a smart fridge."
___
He spent the next hour testing everything like a confused villager in a sci-fi movie. The shower had 27 pressure settings. The toilet could probably sing lullabies. The bed adjusted to his spinal health.
"This place is so advanced, I feel like I should apologize for existing," he mumbled.
Then came the knock.
He peeked through the digital peephole.
A clean-cut team of three medical personnel stood at the door, dressed in minimalistic white uniforms.
They were the fertility support team. Or as Yuji called them in his head: the Baby Avengers.
They were polite, efficient, and not at all shocked by his bedhead.
Vitals were taken. Hormonal baselines recorded. Omega cycle tracking chip offered (he declined). Everything documented without pressure.
"Do you wish to begin scent conditioning with your assigned alpha today?" the lead doctor asked.
Yuji choked on his water.
"Excuse me?!"
The doctor blinked. "Scent pairing is optional, but often accelerates compatibility and comfort prior to fertilization."
"Nope. I'm good. I'll pair with my pillow, thanks."
"Understood."
They left shortly after, leaving behind a sleek medical folder and a bottle of prenatal vitamins.
Yuji sat alone again, staring at the vitamins like they might explode.
___
By evening, he finally settled into his new routine.
He even started a sketch.
A tiny comic idea: Omega Moves Into Haunted Smart House. Starring a very tired artist and a ghost who can program the fridge.
Then the actual fridge dinged.
He turned.
There it was.
A brand-new double-door smart fridge.
Fully stocked.
Yuji stepped closer and opened it slowly.
Imported fruit. Sparkling water. Pre-sliced wagyu beef. And an envelope with his name.
Inside, a note:
You asked. — Nico
Yuji gawked.
"He actually sent the fridge."
Then he laughed.
Really laughed.
"Okay. That was weirdly cute. Creepy. But cute."
He sat on the floor in front of the fridge, sipping a fancy mango juice and scrolling through his emails.
For the first time in what felt like forever, he wasn't worrying about paying rent.
It felt... good.
Unreal. But good.
___
That night, as he curled into bed, Yuji stared at the ceiling.
"Okay. So I might be a surrogate. For a billionaire alpha. Who sends fridge-chan."
He blinked.
"...Yup. Definitely losing it."
He rolled over and stared at the silent silver machine humming politely in the kitchen corner.
"Fridge-chan," he whispered, solemnly. "You understand me, right?"
It made a soft cooling noise in response.
"That's what I thought."
He had no idea why he started calling it that. Maybe it was the late nights. Maybe it was the emotional whiplash of going from borderline broke to bathing in imported mineral water. Maybe it was the fact that Fridge-chan, unlike certain Russian alphas, didn't stalk or hand him medical contracts.
It just... showed up.
Fully stocked. Quiet. Useful.
Honestly? The perfect roommate.
"Goodnight, Fridge-chan," he muttered into his pillow.
The fridge, naturally, said nothing.
Just as he closed his eyes, the bedside panel lit up.
Incoming call: Nicolai D
Yuji groaned. "Bro. It's midnight."
He answered anyway.
Nikolai's face appeared on-screen, barely lit, jawline ridiculous even through a low-res feed.
"Are you ovulating yet?"
Yuji stared.
Silence.
"Seriously bro...It's midnight."
Call ended.
Yuji grabbed a pillow and screamed into it.