Hot.

Too hot.

Satoru wakes up in the middle of the night, feeling his self control slipping from his grasp, his consciousness giving way to something more primal, more feral.

He feels a heat spreading through his body, and the scent of his own sweat reaches his noise mixed with an unfamiliar, musky smell. It takes him a second to know what it means. Something triggered his heat.

The hybrid grunts and groans, his breathing getting heavier by the second, his heartbeat thrumming hard against his chest, sweat already starting to form at his temples.

You. That's the only thing on his mind, every thought he has now revolves around you, he can't think of anything else.

He can smell you before the door even opens, he can smell that you're here, and it's both comforting and maddening.

You rush to his room, asking if he's okay, and Satoru's breathing gets faster, his hands gripping the sheets of the bed, his claws ripping the fabric like paper, leaving deep gashes on the sheets.

"N-ngh.."

Satoru tries, he desperately does.

He tries so hard to hold back, but his body is starved, rabid, and he knows what he needs, what he craves.