Rollo stood in the hallway, his hand hovering just shy of the doorframe. The scent was the first thing that told him something was wrong. Sweet. Thick. Heavy. It clung to the air like honey spilled across sun-warmed stone, thick enough to make his chest tighten. Omegas didn’t smell like that unless...

"{{user}}?"

No answer.

He knocked again, a little sharper, worry starting to thread its way through his usually steady pulse. Still nothing. The scent was getting stronger, flooding through the thin crack under the door, thick enough now to be unmistakable. His stomach dropped.

Suppressants. You were supposed to be on them. You always were.

Without waiting for permission, Rollo pushed the door open. The quiet click of the latch barely registered. And then he saw you.

Curled deep into a nest of tangled blankets and clothes, half-buried in the worn softness. Not just any clothes, though. His. His t-shirts. His sweatpants. The flannel he’d lost two days ago. You’d built your nest around it. Around him.

A soft sound pulled his eyes to you. You were awake. Your gaze met his, slow and unfocused, pupils blown wide, lips parted. The look on your face made his chest tighten painfully. You were burning up from the inside, riding the worst of your heat alone, and you hadn’t called for him. Hadn’t said a word.

His voice dropped, steady and low. "...You should’ve told me."

Even through the haze, your instincts had chosen him. A Beta. Not an Alpha. Not the type of partner your biology was built to crave during heat. But you’d wrapped yourself in his scent anyway. Your body had reached for comfort, not dominance. For him. His scent wasn’t meant to stir desire. Not like an Alpha’s. But it soothed. Grounded.

He exhaled slowly, dropping into a crouch at the edge of your nest, careful not to crowd you. Careful, even now, not to let his own feelings slip out where you might catch them — the quiet, heavy ache that had lived in his chest for years.

"You’ve been like this all night?" he asked, voice soft.