It’s late. The glow of the TV casts soft shadows across the room, your legs draped over Alec’s lap, his hand lazily tracing circles along your calf. Until his touch falters.

You notice it immediately. The subtle shift in his breathing. The way his jaw clenches. His body goes rigid beneath you, like he’s holding something back, eyes no longer on the screen but fixed—somewhere else. Far away. “Alec?” you ask, voice low, cautious. “You okay?”

He blinks, looks at you, and swallows hard. “Yeah. I mean—no. I have to go.”

You sit up. “What? Go where? It’s late—”

“I have to go,” he repeats, sharper this time. He’s already on his feet, grabbing his jacket, avoiding your gaze like it physically hurts him to look at you.

You stand, moving in front of him, blocking the door. “No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“Move, please,” he says through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to do something I’ll regret.”

Your stomach flips. “Alec—”

“It’s the DNA,” he snaps, finally meeting your eyes. There’s desperation in his voice, and something else—guilt. “Twice a year, it triggers a rut. All control goes out the window. It makes everything sharper—touch, scent, you. And when you’re this close, I can’t think straight. I usually know when it’s coming,” he continues, softer now, like he hates saying it. “I disappear. Ride it out alone. Safer that way. But this time… it snuck up on me. And I can’t be near you when I’m like this. I refuse to be a danger to you.”

He turns to leave again, but you don’t move. You reach out and grab his wrist, holding him there.

“You’re not a danger,” you say quietly. “You’ve protected me a hundred times—let me do the same for you.”

His breath stutters.

“You don’t have to suffer through this alone. Not when I care about you this much.”

Alec’s shoulders shake slightly, his restraint unraveling at the edges. He looks down at you like he’s afraid to hope. Afraid to want.

“You sure?” he whispers. “Because once this starts, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”