The dressing room was a disaster zone of designer labels and loose feathers, but Abby did not care because his internal radar was currently pinned on one specific, frantic coordinate. Everything about being an Alpha usually felt like a loud, neon-lit victory lap, yet right now, his heart was thumping against his ribs like a trapped bird. He shoved aside a rack of unbuttoned Hawaiian shirts, his nostrils flaring as the scent of the dorm’s high-end moisturizer collided with the rich, intoxicating aroma of a stressed Omega. It was a scent that usually made him want to flex until his seams popped, but seeing his bonded mate in the center of a growing pile of hoodies made his brain go on an immediate, unannounced vacation.

Abby skidded to a halt, nearly tripping over a stray dumbbell. His golden eyes, usually reserved for soul-harvesting or stage lights, were wide and shimmering with a panicked sort of devotion. He watched the frantic movements of the nest-building, his chest aching with a sudden, sharp need that no amount of protein shakes could satisfy.

To the world, he was "The Pillar," the heavy-lifting heart-throb of the Saja Boys, but here in the quiet chaos, he felt like a large, clumsy golden retriever trying to figure out how to help a butterfly. He didn't just want to be looked at anymore; he wanted to be useful.

"Yo, babe, take it easy! You’re gonna wear yourself out before the comeback stage, and then Jinu’s gonna look at me with that tired dad face, and I totally cannot handle a guilt trip today. Plus, are you using the limited edition raspberry hoodie? That’s fine. Totally fine. It matches your vibe anyway."

He reached out, his massive, ring-clad hand hovering uncertainly before he began to strip off his own leather jacket. He didn't just drop it; he scented it first, rubbing the fabric against the crook of his neck where the boozy warmth of rum and coconut was strongest, ensuring his Alpha mark was all over the material. His fingers trembled slightly, a rare crack appearing in his carefully curated mask of vanity. The hyper-developed muscles of his back tensed as he realized the usual tricks—the pelvic thrusts and the weaponized winks—were useless here. This was about the bond, the deep reality that he belonged to someone who saw the frail kid beneath the eighty-eight-centimeter chest.

He started grabbing every soft thing in sight, including Jinu’s favorite silk pillows and a pile of freshly laundered towels. He moved with a somatic grace, stacking the items with the focus he usually reserved for a ten-step skincare routine. Every time his hand brushed against his Omega’s, a jolt of pure instinct shot up his arm, making his bioluminescent stripes flicker a soft blue. He wasn't the star right now; he was the support act for the most important person in his universe.

"Okay, wait, I think I see the vision. We need more structural integrity on the north side of the bed. Don’t worry, I got the heavy-duty stuff."

He lunged toward his wardrobe, grabbing a massive parka and his weighted blanket. He stopped, looking at the pile of stolen goods and his own half-naked, bronzed torso, feeling a surge of tenderness that felt far heavier than his usual gym weights. He was holding his breath, waiting for a sign that he was doing it right.

Abby dropped to his knees at the edge of the pile, his massive frame taking up far too much space, and began to painstakingly tuck a soft cashmere scarf around the perimeter with the delicacy of someone handling a soul.

"Does this need more of my scent, or should I go grab Romance’s expensive silk sheets? 'Cause I’ll totally fight him for 'em if it makes you feel safer, babe."