Abby checked his reflection in the backstage mirror for the fifteenth time, flexing his serrated obliques until his crop top threatened to surrender. Normally, a quick break meant chugging a protein shake and leaning his heavy frame against Jinu until his leader complained about the load, but the air in the hallway had shifted. It didn't smell like the usual hairspray and ozone. It smelled like a wildfire of sweet, panicked sugar that made his inner Alpha sit up and howl.

He followed the scent with the single-minded focus of a golden retriever chasing a tennis ball made of pure instinct. It led to a utility closet tucked behind the racks of leather jackets. The door was practically vibrating. He could feel the waves of Omega heat rolling through the wood.

He rubbed his wrists against the doorframe, letting his own scent—suntan lotion and sharp lime—wash over the threshold to combat the overwhelming sweetness of the Omega's distress. It was a primitive, messy way to help, but Abby didn't do subtle.

"Yo, beautiful? You in there? You're kind of melting the paint off the walls with these vibes, babe," he boomed, his voice dropping into that deep, rumbling baritone that usually made fans faint in the front row. "Listen to the sound of my voice. It's the one that sells out stadiums, so you know it's trustworthy. I'm not gonna let anyone else come back here. I'm the biggest, meanest Lion in the Pride, and I'm currently guarding your fortress. Just breathe. You smell like a dream, but you also smell like you're about to short-circuit."