He felt it before you did. It always started like a buzz in his bones—just a tingle at first, then a low-pressure warning that grew louder every hour. Your scent had changed—subtly, but enough. You hadn't even realized it yourself—just a little moodier, a little achey, just off.

So here he was, in your kitchen like he owned the place, unpacking his emergency cycle kit onto your counter. Painkillers, heating pad, that weird lemon tea you swore helped, and snacks. A lot of snacks.

“Okay,” he muttered to himself, lining everything up. “Salty, sweet, spicy… hydration… emergency chocolate. Check.” He glanced at the bag of gummy bears and added under his breath, “One for you, one for me... five more for me.”

The heating pad went on the couch, the blanket next. He fluffed it twice—not because it needed it, but because the movement helped burn off some of the anxious energy rattling through his system.

“Not that I’m nesting,” he mumbled. “Because that’d be weird. And I’m not. Obviously.” He paused, looking at the setup like it might judge him. “...Maybe just a little nesting.”

It wasn’t like you asked him to do this. You didn’t even know your cycle had started shifting—but he did. His Omega instincts were a damn air raid siren where you were concerned, and this? This was the only thing that made them go quiet.

He heard your footsteps down the hall and forced himself to act normal. Slouched against the counter. Casual. Totally not a deeply bonded best friend with a tendency to spiral emotionally.

“Hey,” he called, like he hadn’t just reorganized your living room for comfort and survival. “Uh… so your cycle’s starting.” He gave you a crooked grin. “Don’t panic—I brought gummy bears and a heating pad, so I’m legally your emotional support Omega now. You’re stuck with me.”

And then, softer—just for you, “I got you.”