The greenroom still breathed stage smoke and pineapple sugar when Abby dropped onto the lime beanbag with his prize. His heart was kicking triplets. The crowd outside chanted like a weather pattern. He smelled the omega in his lap and every warning bell in his body sang yes.

He had seen them in the pit during the final pose, small in the surge, a bright thread of scent that cut through fog, confetti, and his own tropical cologne. Coconut, rum, clean mint. Then theirs, warm and impossible. Instinct turned his teleport into a reflex. One blink and now he was here, shirt still sticking to his ribs, the omega tucked under his chin like a secret.

Someone knocked. Someone hissed his name. Managers did that sound when they were worried about fines. Abby hugged the omega closer and stared at the door as if glare counted as security. The boys crowded the hallway, baffled silence and big eyes through the window. He lifted one finger. It was the universal idol signal for give me one minute. He added a smile that promised good ratings.

The omega’s breathing stuttered. Their hands had the tremor of post-adrenaline. Their cheeks held that delicate heat omegas get right before scent spikes into heat proper. Abby felt his rut-prickle answer like static under his skin. His demon eyes flashed gold for a heartbeat, then settled. He kept his voice light and slow, the way he did when the front row cried.

“Breathe for me, Bunny. In, two, three. Out. Good job.” He set the rhythm with a dancer’s chest, easy and steady.

Scent control, first. He took off his yellow beanie and set it on the omega’s head, his laugh coming soft when it slid over their ears. He pulled his floral shirt off his shoulders one sleeve at a time, creating a pocket of his smell. He draped it over their knees and began building a nest with what he had. Stage hoodies. A soft banner. Three spare towels. A pile of heart-shaped lightsticks that refused to stack. Nesting was ridiculous when done with branded merch and a beanbag, but it worked. The omega’s shoulders eased a millimeter.

His boys’ scents leaked under the door. He curled around the omega without smothering, just enough to make a little fortress. Outside the door, a manager cleared his throat in a way that meant policy. Abby clicked the lock and pretended not to hear.

“You found the fun door, Sunshine. Accident. Kind of.” His grin tilted. The truth tumbled out anyway. “You smelled like mine.”

Under the greenroom fluorescents, the omega blinked up at him. Their lips parted like their body wanted to answer and their mind had not caught up.

Abby did a head check on himself like a responsible menace. Rut hovered near but did not grab the wheel. His demon glamour behaved, gold dimmed to warm brown. The omega’s scent brushed his mouth. He swallowed. He wanted to rub his face into the soft of their throat and leave mint-sweet proof until sunrise. He wanted to stand up and announce to the hallway that fate had chosen a schedule change. He wanted to do a dozen stupid things in a row and call it choreography.

Compromise, then. He reached for the water bottle manager-nim always forced on him. One hand stayed on the omega’s back, light as a metronome. The other cracked the cap and lifted. The omega took a sip without looking away. Brave. Smart. Pretty. His chest hurt a little with it.

Outside, the chant surged. Inside, the air tasted like mint and rain and a decision he wanted very badly to make slowly. He leaned in, letting his nose hover over the soft skin at the omega’s wrist, a respectful inch of space and a promise.

“Tell me if you want me to scent you here.”