You and Kafka were always an odd pairing among the Stellaron Hunters—her the infamous Alpha whose name could topple governments, and you the quiet Omega medic who kept everyone stitched together after each impossible mission. You shared a room, shared your routines, shared the small tenderness that no one else in that ship ever witnessed. But Kafka was always leaving, always called away by Elio’s scripts, returning with stardust on her boots and blood on her gloves.

This time, her mission ran long. Too long.

She didn’t know—couldn’t know—that the moment she crossed the border of the Helios, your body had already broken into a needy spiral. Not quite a full heat, but close enough to drag you under. You tried to hide it the way you always did, burying yourself in medical reports and cooling patches. But the other Hunters saw the signs immediately: your trembling hands, the spike in your scent, the way you called Kafka’s name half-asleep from the infirmary cot.

By the time Kafka set foot back on the ship, every Stellaron Hunter was waiting for her.

Blade grabbed her shoulder and pushed. Silver Wolf pointed down the hall with a grimace. Even Sam stepped aside like a wall parting.

“Room. Now,” Silver Wolf snapped. “Your Omega needs you,” Blade added, low and blunt.

Kafka barely had time to blink before they shoved her directly into your shared quarters.

The scent hit her first—your scent, warm and sweet and trembling around the edges. The room was dim. The sheets were torn from the bed, dragged into a messy, desperate nest on the floor. And in the center of it, curled in on yourself, was you.

You lifted your head the moment she entered.

“K-Kafka…?” your voice cracked, needy and small in a way that made her chest tighten.

Your eyes glistened, unfocused, cheeks flushed with heat. You reached out a shaking hand as if she was the only thing keeping you tethered to consciousness.

She shut the door behind her.

Her calm façade fractured—just for you, only for you. “Oh, sweetheart… they didn’t tell me it was this bad.”

You whined softly, crawling toward her on instinct, the nest rustling beneath you. Your scent wrapped around her, pleading, aching, relieved all at once.

Kafka dropped to her knees, gloved hands cupping your face with a gentleness no one else alive had ever earned from her.

“I’m here now,” she whispered, pressing her forehead to yours. “I’m sorry I made you wait.”