Chapter Text
Heats were Dylan's personal hell. While most omegas sought refuge in the steadying presence of alphas, Dylan found himself suffocating under their attention. Instead of soothing, their scents crawled under his skin and set his nerves ablaze with a restless, simmering rage. And the alphas themselves? Unbearable! They strutted around omegas in heat like self-appointed heroes, dripping with condescension.
Dylan loved his bandmates fiercely—even Jun, despite how infuriating he could be—but that love had never been enough to make him stay during a heat. For years, he'd maintained strict boundaries: when his body betrayed him, he disappeared. Found somewhere private to weather the storm alone, where his misery couldn't bleed into their shared space. Only Nano was granted the privilege of contact during those days, his fellow omega's gentle energy like cool water on burned skin.
The system had worked perfectly, until Dylan couldn’t avoid it any longer. They were deep in the trenches of finishing their new album, and Dylan's presence wasn't optional. So when he woke that morning with fire licking through his veins and cotton stuffing his head, he knew he'd have to endure what he'd always avoided: being vulnerable under the same roof as three alphas.
Heats stripped him of everything he valued about himself. His focus scattered. His ability to juggle multiple tasks crumbled. Even his body turned traitor—feverish, soaked in sweat that made his own cacao scent hang heavy and cloying in the air. Nothing brought relief. Cold showers left him shivering. His favorite tea tasted nothing like the usual on his tongue.
But he needed energy. If he was going to finish editing their latest track, he couldn't afford to collapse. The kitchen ambushed him with the thick, woody smell of a bonfire—Pepper's scent hitting him without warning. Dylan's stomach churned, a groan escaping before he could swallow it down. That burnt-wood smell was comfort to others, especially Nano who practically melted into it, but to Dylan it felt suffocating. He loved Pepper with everything in him, but right now, that scent made his eyes prick with frustrated tears.
At least Pepper understood and mostly kept his distance. Until his arm swept past Dylan to reach for something on the counter, skin brushing skin for just a heartbeat.
Dylan hissed, the sound ripping from his throat as unwanted touch sent shockwaves racing across his nerves. His entire body locked up, rigid and screaming, and he found himself snarling at his friend for the crime of an accidental brush of contact.
Pepper jerked back, eyes wide, apologies tumbling out in a rush. Guilt crashed over Dylan immediately, but the hormones churning through his system wouldn't let him soften. They amplified his natural grumpiness, magnifying it to outright hostility.
After that disaster, Dylan barricaded himself in his room, determined to avoid inflicting himself on anyone else. But Thame, sweet, stubborn and caring Thame, wouldn't allow it.
The knock came just before lunch. Through the door, Dylan caught Thame's scent: fresh-baked bread swirled with cinnamon. It should have been comforting, but the cinnamon was an assault, far too potent, filling Dylan's head until the room tilted and spun.
"Please, go away, Thame." Dylan kept his voice as gentle as the fury pounding through him would allow.
Thame, of course, didn't listen. Dylan heard him say something about lunch, about everyone missing him, before disaster struck. The doorknob turned. The door swung open.
Rage detonated in Dylan's chest. Pure, white-hot fury that had him moving before thought could intervene. His pen became a projectile, launched across the room to strike Thame's chest with a satisfying thwack.
"Do. Not. Come. In." Each word dripped venom, pushed through clenched teeth.
"Dyl—" Thame's voice was pained, worried.
ut Dylan was already on his feet, cutting him off with a voice gone deadly. "If you come inside, I'm going to rip your head off."
The door slammed with enough force to rattle the frame. Through the wood, Dylan heard Thame's defeated sigh, followed by retreating footsteps that allowed Dylan's shoulders to finally drop from around his ears.
Guilt gnawed at him. He wasn't exactly known for warmth on his best days, but this was worse. The heat stripped away his already-thin patience, leaving nothing but raw nerves and jagged edges. He hated everyone and everything, trapped in his own body's rebellion.
His cacao scent had deepened, grown richer and more intense with the fever-sweat that soaked his clothes. It should have complemented Thame's cinnamon-bread perfectly. Dylan had thought so too, once.
It had been during one of their late-night sessions in the studio, back when MARS was still finding its sound. Just Dylan and Thame, hunched over mixing boards and scribbled lyrics, the rest of the band long since gone to bed. Thame had leaned over Dylan's shoulder to point at something on the screen, and their scents had mingled in the small space—cacao swirling with cinnamon and fresh-baked bread.
"We work well together," Thame had said.
For a few precious weeks, Dylan had let himself wonder. Let himself notice how their creative rhythms synced perfectly, how Thame always seemed to know exactly what Dylan was reaching for in a melody before Dylan could articulate it. He paid close attention to the way their scents mixed together in the studio, creating something that Dylan found comforting.
Dylan wasn't prone to flights of romantic fancy as he was too practical and guarded for that. But Thame was different. Thame was safe. Kind. Patient with Dylan's sharp edges in a way most people weren't. And their scents complemented each other so naturally that Dylan had thought, just maybe, that the universe was trying to tell them something.
He'd never acted on it. That wasn't Dylan's way. He'd simply... allowed himself to feel it. To entertain the possibility during their long collaborative sessions. To imagine what it might be like if those protective instincts Thame showed toward all of them focused specifically on Dylan. To wonder if the way Thame's hand sometimes lingered on his shoulder meant something more.
Then Po arrived. It was the scent that had made Dylan's stomach drop: honey and chamomile, sweet and soothing. The way it immediately tangled with Thame's cinnamon-bread made Dylan's nurtured hope wither on the vine.
He'd watched Thame's face light up, the alpha’s instincts recognizing something his conscious mind hadn't caught up to yet. The disappointment had tasted like copper on Dylan's tongue—metallic and bitter.
But Dylan was nothing if not practical. He'd recognized the truth immediately: whatever complementary scents he and Thame shared, it paled in comparison to the way Thame and Po fit together. Po slotted into place beside Thame like a missing puzzle piece Dylan hadn't even known was absent, and watching them discover each other over the following weeks had been like watching inevitability unfold.
The sting had been surprisingly brief. Dylan had braced himself for heartbreak, for lingering jealousy and painful longing that might fracture the band. But it never came. Within days, he'd felt only a faint melancholy, easily pushed aside. Within weeks, even that had faded.
Because the truth was, Dylan's feelings for Thame had been more theoretical than visceral. He'd liked the idea of them together, appreciated the compatibility their scents suggested, enjoyed the creative partnership they shared. But his heart had never truly been engaged. There'd been no desperate yearning, no ache of genuine desire. Just... potential. Possibility. The vague notion that Thame would be a logical, comfortable choice.
Now, watching Thame and Po, so perfectly matched, Dylan felt only gladness that he'd never said anything. That he'd kept his brief, half-formed hopes to himself. Thame and Po were right together in a way he and Thame never would have been, and Dylan found he had no regrets about how things had unfolded.
The real irony? He'd wasted time wondering about Thame, someone safe and kind who actually liked him, only to discover his biology had decided on Jun. Jun, who made him want to commit violence on a daily basis. Jun, whose vanilla-and-worn-books scent apparently held the key to every bit of comfort Dylan's omega had ever craved.
At least with Thame, he'd had the excuse of compatible scents and compatible personalities. With Jun, he had compatible scents and absolutely nothing else that made sense.
By evening, after hours of self-imposed isolation, Dylan found himself standing at his door with his hand on the knob. Everyone had respected his space after the Thame incident. But hunger gnawed at his stomach, and something else pulled him forward.
The living room was full. Nano had melted across Pepper's lap, his platinum hair spilling over dark denim while Pepper's fingers carded through the strands. Dylan couldn't hear it, but he knew Nano was purring—he always did under Pepper's touch.
Thame and Po occupied the loveseat, wrapped around each other, whispering secrets while the TV played forgotten in the background.
And Jun. Alone on the far couch, attention fixed on the screen and tension in his shoulders. He didn’t look uncomfortable, exactly, but not at ease either.
Dylan stood frozen in the doorway, caught between instinct and pride. Physical affection wasn't his language—he rationed out touches, reserved for rare, significant moments. And Jun? Jun was the last person he'd ever seek comfort from.
But Jun's vanilla scent curled through the air like a siren song, weaving between the other scents until Dylan could isolate those precious notes. His body responded before his mind could protest, every cell screaming for that particular comfort.
The relief that flooded through him when he finally surrendered—when he crossed the room and sank onto the couch closer to Jun than he'd ever voluntarily sat—was so overwhelming that Dylan nearly lost control entirely. A purr threatened to rumble up from his chest, and he had to lock his jaw against it. He refused to give the hormones that satisfaction, refused to hand Jun ammunition for future teasing.
But his attempt at subtlety failed spectacularly. Four pairs of eyes swiveled toward him, loaded with expectation and barely concealed surprise.
Dylan focused on the TV with fierce determination, pretending this was normal and that he hadn't spent the entire day hiding from them. Pretending the vanilla washing over him wasn't the first thing that had felt right in his bones since the heat began.
He let himself relax fractionally while shoving the damning truth as far down as it would go. Dylan told himself he was just watching the movie. That the way his body gradually shifted closer to Jun was coincidence, not compulsion. But his brain knew better. Every subtle movement brought him nearer to that intoxicating vanilla scent, drawing it deeper into his lungs until it saturated his senses.
The heat in his blood cooled to something manageable as their shoulders brushed. The restless anxiety that had clawed at him all day finally loosened its grip. Without conscious thought, Dylan let his head tilt slightly toward Jun, angling to catch more of that worn-leather-and-vanilla scent directly from its source. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, but he wasn't processing a single frame. All his awareness had narrowed to the alpha beside him and the relief flooding his system with each breath.
Jun had gone still the moment Dylan first sat down, but gradually Dylan felt the tension bleed from the alpha's frame. Jun's shoulders dropped. His breathing evened out. The omega who usually treated Jun like a particularly irritating plague had chosen to sit beside him, and Jun seemed content to simply exist in that improbable reality.
Dylan's eyelids grew heavy, his body surrendering to the first genuine comfort he'd felt in hours. The vanilla wrapped around him like a blanket, and he found himself leaning more heavily against Jun's side, his weight settling there with unconscious trust.
Then Jun shifted. Dylan's eyes snapped open as Jun carefully extracted himself from the couch. The vanilla scent began to retreat, taking Dylan's hard-won peace with it.
"Where are you going?"
The words tumbled out before Dylan could stop them, high and plaintive. A whimper threaded through the question, needy enough to make Dylan's chest tighten with humiliation.
The entire room froze. Nano's eyes went wide, his head lifting from Pepper's lap. Pepper's hand stilled mid-stroke in Nano's hair. Thame and Po twisted around to stare, mouths slightly open. Even Jun looked stunned, caught mid-step with his hand still gesturing vaguely toward the hallway.
Dylan—prickly, independent, touch-averse Dylan who avoided Jun like his life depended on it—had just whimpered at the alpha's departure.
"I—" Jun's gaze flickered to the others, then back to Dylan. "Just the bathroom, Dyl. I'll be right back."
"How long?" Dylan heard himself ask, and God, when had he become this person? His fingers had twisted in the couch cushion, knuckles white, anchoring himself against the urge to physically grab Jun and prevent him from leaving.
Jun's expression melted into something unbearably gentle. "Two minutes. Three, tops." He hesitated, then added quietly, "I promise."
Dylan managed a jerky nod, jaw clenched against another humiliating whimper. He watched Jun disappear down the hallway, every second of absence scraping against his nerves like sandpaper. The mixed scents of the room—burnt wood, cinnamon, bread—pressed in without Jun's vanilla to buffer them, and Dylan had to focus on breathing through his mouth to keep from fleeing back to his room.
Nano found his voice first, soft with amazement. "Dylan?"
"Don't." Dylan's voice came out strangled. "Don't say anything. Any of you."
The longest three minutes of Dylan's life crawled past before Jun reappeared, and Dylan's entire body sagged with relief he couldn't hide. Jun reclaimed his spot on the couch, and this time, when Dylan immediately pressed closer, Jun's arm came up tentatively around his shoulders.
Dylan burrowed into Jun's side, breathing in vanilla and worn books like oxygen, and ignored the four pairs of knowing eyes watching them. He pretended he wasn't already dreading the moment his heat would end and he'd have to face what he'd just revealed to everyone in this room.
Jun's thumb traced soothing circles on Dylan's shoulder, and despite everything, Dylan felt the purr building in his chest.
No. Absolutely not.
Dylan clamped down on it immediately, every muscle in his body going rigid with the effort of suppression. He would not purr. He would not give in to this weakness, this surrender to biology. Purring was an admission of contentment and trust that Dylan had spent years refusing to show. Especially not because of Jun in front of everyone.
But the vanilla kept washing over him in waves, and Jun's thumb continued its maddeningly gentle rhythm, and Dylan's body didn't care about pride or dignity or the fact that four people were definitely still watching them. His body only knew relief and safety.
The purr pressed against his throat, demanding release. Dylan swallowed hard, fighting it down. His jaw ached from clenching. His chest felt tight, almost painful, from the effort of containing something that wanted so desperately to break free.
Jun shifted slightly, adjusting his position to better accommodate Dylan's weight, and his scent intensified, a fresh wave of vanilla and old books making Dylan's head swim.
The purr leaked out—just a tiny rumble, barely audible. Dylan's eyes squeezed shut in mortification, redoubling his efforts to suppress it. But it was futile and fruitless. His body had tasted victory and refused to retreat.
"It's okay," Jun murmured, so quietly that Dylan almost missed it. The words were for him alone, not the audience that surrounded them. "You don't have to fight it."
And somehow, that gentle permission was Dylan's complete undoing. The purr rolled through his chest like thunder, resonant and utterly beyond his control. It vibrated through his entire body, shameless and loud in the suddenly quiet living room. The more he tried to wrestle it back, the stronger it became, his body staging a full rebellion against years of rigid self-control.
But even as humiliation burned hot in his cheeks, Dylan couldn't deny the relief flooding through him with each rumbling purr. The tension that had been coiled in his spine finally released. The fever-bright anxiety dimmed. The sharp edges of his heat softened into something bearable, cradled in vanilla.
Jun's hand on his shoulder squeezed gently in reassurance, and his thumb never stopped those soothing circles. If anything, Jun seemed to relax even further, like Dylan's purring had unlocked something in him too. Like this was exactly what Jun had been waiting for without knowing it.
Dylan's purr hitched, stumbled, as he made one last desperate attempt to shut it down. His breath caught. His chest seized. For a moment, blessed silence.
Then Jun's fingers slid up to card through the hair at the nape of Dylan's neck—barely a touch, feather-light and questioning—and Dylan was lost.
The purr came back twice as strong, a sound of such complete contentment that Dylan wanted to sink through the couch cushions and disappear. His body melted against Jun's side, boneless and surrendered, while his mind screamed protests that his heart no longer listened to. He'd lost. Completely and utterly lost this battle against himself.
Dylan turned his face into Jun's shoulder, breathing in concentrated vanilla, and let himself purr like he'd never denied himself anything in his life. Let it rumble through him unchecked while Jun's fingers traced patterns on his skin and the room around them faded into insignificant background noise.
Somewhere in the distance, Dylan heard Nano's delighted gasp, Thame's low chuckle and Po whisper something that made Pepper shush him fondly. But it all felt far away, unimportant compared to the alpha currently holding him.
Jun dipped his head, his cheek coming to rest against Dylan's hair, and Dylan felt more than heard Jun's contented sigh. The tension Jun had carried earlier had completely vanished. He curved around Dylan protectively like this was natural.
Dylan's purr intensified in answer—the only admission he could make, the only surrender he had left to give. His pride lay in tatters at his feet, his carefully maintained antagonism toward Jun revealed as the flimsy shield it had always been.
The war was over. His body had won.