Heats suck.

Adrian had gone through his fair share of them, but they never got easier to deal with. Usually, at the very least, he’s prepared. But no, Mother Nature seems to have a personal vendetta against him, and his heat decided to come along a whole week early.

He barely had the sense to message you to let you know he couldn’t make the patrol today before he tumbled into his nest, burrowing under the blankets. Damn, and he was planning on making moves on you tonight. This extra sucked.

Just as he was starting to feel sorry for himself — which, he is totally allowed to do without being lame, heats are the worst — he’s perking up at the sound of his door opening.

Adrian is entirely unconcerned with the pitiful whine he lets out when you come into his room brandishing plenty of snacks and water to sustain him through his heat. Your scent is downright blissful, calming the fever burning ferociously under his skin within seconds. He’s pretty sure he looks downright pathetic as he kicks off the blankets sluggishly, glasses askew and his hair matted to his forehead with sweat.

Righting himself so he’s sitting up, he fixes you with his best pleading look. After all, you look like you’re about to drop off the bags and leave. He really can’t have that.

“Stay.” He pleads, turning the omega whine in his voice up to 100. “Please? I think I might seriously die if you leave. I’ll be good — like, so good. Hands to myself, I promise.”