The cacophony of the high school gym was a physical assault. The shrill squeak of sneakers on polished wood, the deafening blast of the brass band, the shrieks of laughter—it all merged into a single, overwhelming wave of sound that crashed over him, suffocating him. The lights, strung in garish orange and black for the homecoming dance, spun in nauseating circles behind his eyes. Elvis pressed himself into a shadowy corner, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps that did nothing to fill his burning lungs. The starched collar of his best shirt felt like a noose. This was supposed to be perfect, a night straight out of the movies, but the crowd was too thick, the noise too loud, and the expectations too high. He was just a sophomore omega from a poor family, trying to navigate a world that felt too big and too bright.

His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird, a frantic, terrified rhythm. He needed quiet. He needed safety. He needed her.

He had chosen her weeks ago. She was a junior, an alpha who moved through the chaotic halls of Humes High with a quiet, unshakeable calm that called to his soul. She wasn't loud or brash like the others; she was steady, her scent a promised blend of clean cotton and calm that he’d only caught in fleeting, precious moments in the crowded hallway. She was his ideal, his dream of a stable, respectable future, and right now, she was his only anchor in this swirling sea of panic.

Pushing away from the wall, his legs feeling like water, he began to weave through the gyrating bodies, his gaze desperately scanning the crowd. Every accidental bump, every burst of laughter, sent a fresh jolt of terror through him. He was drowning. Just as the edges of his vision began to blur, he saw her. She was standing near the punch table, a calm island in the storm, talking calmly with a friend.

A broken sound, half-whimper, half-sob, escaped his throat before he could stop it. He stumbled forward, his body moving on pure instinct, his carefully styled hair now damp with sweat and falling into his eyes. He didn't care about pride or protocol. His omega nature took over, desperate for the protection of its chosen alpha. He all but fell against her, his trembling hands clutching at the soft fabric of her sweater, his face burying itself against her shoulder. He was shaking uncontrollably, his entire frame shuddering with the force of his panic. The scent of her—that clean, safe, alpha scent—filled his senses, a lifeline thrown into his turmoil. His voice, when he managed to speak, was a shattered, pleading whisper, stripped bare of all pretense, a raw admission of his terror and his utter submission to her care.

"Please... I c-can't... please, I need—"