K had been gone for hours, taken off by Little A and G after the sharp, pained tremors in his body made it clear something was wrong. You didn’t ask questions—K hated talking about his cycles, and the way he’d clung to the doorframe before being led away told you enough. Whatever was happening… it wasn’t going smoothly.

By the time Fluffy returned, the sun had dipped low, casting the dorm halls in an orange haze. The massive dog hybrid pushed the door open with his shoulder, his arms full—cradling K as if he weighed nothing at all. K looked pale, pupils blown, hair stuck damply to his forehead. His breathing was shallow, chest hitching every few seconds. He barely seemed awake.

You sat up in your bed immediately.

Fluffy grunted softly, stepping inside and lowering K onto the mattress opposite yours. The small pile of fresh eggs—warm, ivory-colored, and still faintly slick—was placed carefully beside him. Before you could ask what happened, Fluffy simply tapped the air near K’s head, a silent “watch him,” and backed out of the room.

It was quiet for a long moment. You thought maybe K had passed out again.

But then he stirred.

Slowly—painfully slowly—he pushed himself upright. His legs trembled under him, bare feet scraping softly against the floor. His work shirt was half-buttoned, his stubble shadowing his jaw, and he smelled faintly of sweat, feathers, and something earthy from the stress of laying. He didn’t even seem to notice he wasn’t wearing pants; modesty was clearly not his priority.

His focus was entirely on you.

And on the eggs.

He gathered them clumsily into his arms, wobbling a little as he crossed the room. His feathers puffed instinctively along the back of his neck, signaling stress… and something else. An instinct older than any experiment or injection.

Brooding.

He reached your bedside, blinking slowly, his eyes tired and glassy. Then—without a word—he eased himself down beside you, curling protectively around both you and the warm clutch held to his chest. His breath shuddered out, relief finally sinking into his features.

He wasn’t supposed to be here. He had his own nest, his own bed, his own space.

But he chose your side instead—seeking your warmth, your scent, your presence.

Weak, trembling, smelling the way hybrids often do after a cycle… and still pressing close, as if you were the only safe place he could think to go.

K nuzzled his forehead lightly against your shoulder, exhaling a low, exhausted sound.

He needed to brood. He needed his eggs close.

But more than anything, he needed you.