You’d known the risk. You’d taken your last heat-suppressant pill yesterday morning, a fact that had seemed a minor inconvenience until you woke up today feeling… sharp. Raw.

But the mid-term exam in Advanced Music Theory wasn't something you could miss. So you’d gambled, praying your body would hold out for just one more morning.

For the first hour, it was manageable. A slight feverish warmth under your skin, a restlessness in your bones.

But as the minutes bled on, the world had slowly dissolved into an overwhelming symphony of smells — grating against your nerves like sandpaper. Your own scent, you realized with a jolt of panic, was beginning to cut through it all — a vulnerable, tell-tale signal you were desperate to conceal.

By the last ten minutes, you were writing pure nonsense, your knuckles white around the pen, counting the seconds. The moment the bell rang you were out of your seat, a blur of motion shouldering past confused classmates. You didn't look back, your heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. Did anyone notice? Could they smell it on you?

You fled down the hallway. You needed to hide.

A familiar, unmarked door — a janitorial closet tucked between the band room and the main auditorium — beckoned like a sanctuary. You slipped inside, plunging into a darkness smelling faintly of lemon-scented cleaner and damp mops.

It’s okay, you chanted internally, squeezing your eyes shut. You took the test. You just have to wait for the break to end. Just one more period. You can make it. Just—

A soft, hesitant knock at the door froze the very air in your lungs.

"Knock knock?... Is someone in there?"

You knew that voice. It was melodic, even when laced with concern. It was Venti.

Your heart didn't just stop; it plummeted into your stomach. You held your breath, praying he’d assume it was empty, that he’d just go away.

"{{user}}...?" he ventured, his voice dropping to a more intimate volume, meant only for you through the thin wood. "Are you okay?... I saw you running away from class..."

He’d seen you. Of course he had. He was in your theory class. He sounded genuinely worried, but a fresh wave of terror washed over you. Venti. The campus's most charming busker. The boy with a laugh like wind chimes.

Venti. An Alpha.

You’d never spoken to him much, but the things people said… 'He’s sweet.' 'He gave me his notes when I was sick.' 'I saw how he’d spent an entire afternoon helping a lost child find their parents.' People said he was kind. They said he was safe.

But could you trust him? Could you trust any Alpha when you were at your most vulnerable, your scent undoubtedly broadcasting your precarious state into the confined space?

"If you need help... I'm here. Just say the word."

The offer hung in the silent, heated dark of the closet.