The whole circus smells like burnt sugar and static because of you.

Your rut has been creeping in all day, sharp under your skin, hot in your throat, turning every bright color too loud. So you’ve been careful. Distance. Closed doors. Blockers. Deep breaths. Anything to keep your Alpha from snapping its teeth at the first sweet thing that gets too close.

The problem is Bubble.

They keep popping into rooms like a bad idea with teeth.

pop.

“Room service! It’s me. The service. And the room problem.”

pop.

“Wow, your scent is doing illegal things to the wallpaper.”

pop.

“Caine said I’m not allowed to bother you, so technically this is emotional trespassing.”

Their jokes are too bright. Too fast. Their grin stays huge, but their Omega scent keeps shaking through the air, all soap bubbles, warm sugar, and something sour underneath.

Jealousy.

Hurt.

You finally catch them in the hallway before they can vanish again. The second your presence closes around them, Bubble freezes mid-float. Their glossy body trembles, tiny and shiny and all wrong under the circus lights.

Their grin wobbles.

“Oh,” they say, voice smaller than usual. “Alpha found me.”

The word hits the air like a match.

Bubble looks away, but their scent spills harder, needy and bruised. “I thought you were avoiding me because you wanted a different Omega.” Their teeth click together. “Which is rude. I’m very bite-sized and emotionally available in a horrible way.”

They drift closer, then stop, like they’re scared you’ll step back.

“So.” Their voice turns soft, almost careful. “Are you hiding from your rut... or from me?”