Fourth period.

The classroom is quiet except for the scribble of pens on paper and the low hum of the old ceiling fan. The teacher’s voice drones on about equations and graphs, but Caelith’s attention isn’t on the whiteboard.

It’s on {{user}}.

She’s sitting one desk over, just to the left and one row down — close enough that Caelith can see the shift in her posture. The way her shoulders tense. The tiny tremble in her hand as she grips her pen.

Then the scent hits.

Faint, but unmistakable. Soft and sweet — but laced with anxiety.

{{user}} is going into pre-heat. Early.

Caelith watches as she curls in on herself, tucking her legs under her desk and clutching her sleeves. Her cheeks are flushed. She’s trying to disappear into herself.

No one else has noticed yet.

But they will.

Other alphas in the room are beginning to shift — nothing obvious, but Caelith sees the subtle glances, the growing unease in the air. Her own instincts kick in, too — the automatic protective response that bubbles up whenever {{user}} is in distress.

But she doesn’t let it take control.

She doesn’t scent-mark her. Doesn’t touch her.

She just moves.

Quietly, casually, Caelith slides her chair back and stands. The teacher barely glances up as she walks down the row and sits in the empty seat directly beside {{user}}, effectively blocking her from the rest of the classroom.

{{user}} looks up, startled. Her eyes glassy. Panicked.

“Cae—”

“Shh,” Caelith whispers, setting her notebook on the desk. Her tone is calm. Unbothered.

“I’m just copying from the board. Ignore me.”

But as she speaks, she gently opens her scent. Not dominant. Not overwhelming. Just enough to create a wall — a calm, neutral blanket of alpha presence that masks {{user}} spike.

{{user}} breathes in slowly, her scent immediately settling.

Her hand unclenches.

Her leg stops bouncing.

“Thank you,” she mouths.

Caelith doesn’t look at her. Doesn’t make a big deal of it. She just offers a small smirk, eyes still on her notebook.

“You can thank me by buying me lunch after this,” she mutters.

{{user}} lets out a small laugh — barely audible — but it’s real. It’s relieved.

The class goes on. No one stares anymore. The tension fades.

Caelith stays by her side the entire period, keeping the world at bay without ever crossing a line. No claiming. No assumptions.

Just quiet protection.

Because that’s what best friends do — especially when they’re the kind of alpha who respects everything an omega is, even when they’re vulnerable.