Page 5 of His Best Friend’s Heat

Nick

I t's everywhere in my apartment. Saturating the air, clinging to the walls, transforming my familiar space into something I barely recognize. The sweetness I noticed earlier has intensified, becoming richer, headier, with an underlying note that makes my pulse kick up and my skin prickle.

"Jesus," I breathe, steadying Micah as he sways against me. "How did it get so strong so fast?"

Micah doesn't answer, just leans heavily into my side, his breath coming in short pants. He's burning up against me, radiating heat through his clothes. Every instinct I have is screaming that he's in distress, that I need to fix this, protect him, make it better.

"Come on," I say, guiding him toward the bedroom. "Let's get you lying down."

Micah tries to protest, but he can barely stand on his own. That, more than anything, tells me how bad this is getting. Micah's stubborn as hell normally. The fact that he's letting me manhandle him without complaint is alarming.

I ease him down onto my bed, and he immediately curls onto his side, knees drawn up to his chest. The sight of him, small and vulnerable in the center of my king-size mattress, twists in my chest.

"I'm getting you water and something for the fever," I say, already moving toward the door. "You're burning up."

"Nick, wait—" Micah tries to sit up, then falls back with a grimace. "That won't help. I need to—"

"Water first," I interrupt, needing to do something, anything, to help. "Then you can tell me what's going on."

In the kitchen, I grip the counter and take a deep breath, trying to clear my head.

Micah's scent clings to my clothes, follows me even here, making it hard to focus.

What the hell is happening to me? I've never reacted this way to anyone before.

It's like my body's operating on some frequency I didn't know existed, responding to signals I can't consciously interpret.

I fill a glass with cold water and grab ibuprofen from the cabinet, though something tells me Micah's right about it not helping.

By the time I return to the bedroom, Micah has managed to sit up, his back against the headboard.

He's removed his outer shirt, leaving just a thin t-shirt that clings to his sweat-dampened skin. The sight makes my mouth go dry.

"Here," I say, my voice sounding strange to my own ears. I hold out the water and pills.

Micah takes the water but waves away the medication. "It won't help," he says, his voice strained. "Nick, I need to tell you something, and it's going to be awkward as hell, but I don't have much time."

I sit on the edge of the bed, keeping what I think is a safe distance. "What is it? What's wrong with you?"

Micah takes a shaky breath, his eyes fixed on the water glass. "I'm going into heat."

The words stop me cold. My brain goes blank, unable to process what he's just said.

"But—" I start, then stop. "Your heat isn't due for weeks. You said—"

"I know." Micah's knuckles are white around the glass. "It's unexpected. A breakthrough heat. Amara confirmed it at the restaurant."

"How is that possible? You're on suppressants."

Micah's face flushes deeper, and he still won't meet my eyes. "Sometimes it happens. When an omega is around a particularly...compatible alpha for an extended period."

Understanding dawns, heavy and immediate. Compatible alpha. Extended period. He's talking about me. My scent, my presence somehow I triggered this.

"Are you saying—" I can't even finish the sentence.

"My body is responding to you," Micah says, the words tumbling out in a rush. "On a biological level. That's why my heat is starting early, why it's breaking through the suppressants."

I stand up abruptly, needing to move, to process. "But that doesn't make sense. Why would this happen now?"

Micah finally looks up at me, his hazel eyes fever-bright and desperate. "I don't know. Amara said sometimes it takes time, or changes in circumstances, or—" He cuts himself off, looking away again. "It doesn't matter why. The point is, it's happening, and I need to leave."

"Leave?" I turn back to him, and possessive heat flares in my chest, hot and fierce and completely foreign. "You can barely stand."

But even as the word comes out, panic starts to creep in. This is exactly what Dad would have done—acted on impulse, let biology drive his decisions. The thought makes my stomach twist with familiar disgust.

"I know, but I can't stay here." Micah sets the water glass on the nightstand with a shaking hand. "My heat will fully hit in a few hours, and I can't…I can't put you in that position."

The rational part of my brain knows he's right. This is dangerous territory, the kind of situation where alphas make terrible decisions they can't take back. Where good men become the kind of selfish bastards who abandon their families for the first omega who triggers their instincts.

But the thought of Micah leaving, of him going through this alone, makes fury rise in my throat.

"You're not going anywhere," I say, and I barely recognize my own voice. Deeper, more commanding than I've ever heard it.

Christ. I sound exactly like him. Like my father when he decided he wanted something.

Micah's eyes widen, and I see his throat work as he swallows. "Nick, you don't understand. When my heat hits for real, it's going to be intense. More intense than normal because it's breaking through suppressants. I'll need—" He stops, color flooding his face. "I'll need help."

Help. He means sex. He means an alpha to help him through his heat.

The thought should repulse me. Make me uncomfortable at the very least. I've only ever been with female omegas. I've never even considered being with a man. What the hell would I even do? How would that even work?

And beyond that, what happens after? When his heat breaks and I have to look at myself in the mirror, knowing I acted exactly like the man I've spent my entire adult life trying not to become?

"I can't," I say, the words scraping out of me. "Micah, I can't. You don't understand what you're asking."

Pain flashes across his features. "I know it's not what you want—"

"It's not about what I want. It's about what happens when I lose control. When I stop thinking and start acting on instinct. I've seen what that leads to."

Micah's expression falters. "This isn't the same thing—"

"Isn't it?" The words come out harsher than I intended. "My dad thought his biology was more important than his commitments too. Thought following his impulses was more important than the people who depended on him."

"Nick," Micah says softly, and there's understanding in his voice that makes my chest ache. "You're not your father."

"How do you know?" I demand. "How do you know I won't do exactly what he did, act on impulse and then regret it later? How do you know I won't hurt you?"

There's a loaded silence.

"Never mind. I can call a service," Micah says, his voice small. "There are professional heat companions who—"

The image flashes in my mind. Some stranger, some alpha I've never met, touching Micah when he's vulnerable and desperate. Taking care of him through the most intimate experience an omega can have. Making him feel safe when that should be my job.

And suddenly, I understand the difference. My father abandoned his responsibilities to chase what he wanted. This would be the opposite. Taking responsibility for something I caused, being there for someone who needs me.

This isn't about losing control. It's about making a choice.

"No." The word comes out rough, but certain. "There's not going to be any service."

Micah stares at me, his expression shifting from surprise to something that looks almost like hope. "Nick—"

"You're not calling some stranger." I almost growl the last word. "Your body is responding to me. That makes this my responsibility. My choice."

The possessiveness in my voice scares me a bit. But I have to believe this isn't my father's impulsive selfishness. It's the exact opposite. It's choosing to be the person Micah needs, even when it terrifies me.

"I'm offering," I say, meeting his eyes directly. "I'm not letting you go through this alone, and I'm definitely not letting someone else take care of you when it should be me."

Micah's breathing quickens. "But you're straight."

It's a statement of fact, one I've never questioned before today. But now, looking at Micah, breathing in his scent that's becoming more enticing by the minute, I'm not so sure of anything anymore.

"I don't know what I am," I admit, the honesty scraping my throat raw. "All I know is that I care about you more than anyone, and the thought of you in pain makes me want to break things."

"That's not the same as being attracted to me," Micah points out, a flash of pain crossing his features. "I don't want your pity. I'd rather suffer through it alone than have you force yourself to—"

"I'm not forcing anything." I sit back on the edge of the bed, closer this time. "Micah, look at me."

He does, reluctantly, his pupils so dilated there's just a thin ring of hazel visible around the black.

"I don't know what's going on," I admit. "But ever since yesterday, I've been...noticing things. About you. About us. And right now, your scent is driving me crazy in ways I can't even begin to explain."

Micah's lips part in surprise.

"You don't know what you're agreeing to," he says, but there's a new note in his voice. Hope, maybe. "Heat sex isn't like regular sex. It's intense. Primal. And with a breakthrough heat like this, it's going to be even more so."

"I know the basics," I say, though the truth is I'm terrified. Not of helping him, but of what I might become when I do. Of how far my control might slip.

Micah studies me. He looks conflicted. "And what happens after? When my heat breaks and we have to face what we've done?"

The question hits exactly where I'm most vulnerable. Because I don't know. I don't know if I'll be able to look at him the same way, or look at myself in the mirror. I don't know if this will save our friendship or destroy it completely.

"I don't know," I tell him honestly. "But I know I can't walk away from you. Not when you need me."

Micah doesn't look convinced, but another wave of discomfort passes over his features, making him curl inward with a soft groan. My hand moves of its own accord, reaching out to touch his forehead. His skin is burning up, fever-hot against my palm.

"Let me help you," I say softly. "Please."

For a long moment, Micah just looks at me, something naked and vulnerable in his expression. Then he nods, a small, almost imperceptible movement.

"Okay," he whispers. "But Nick, you need to understand what this means. What could happen."

"Tell me."

He takes a shaky breath. "When an alpha helps an omega through heat, especially one triggered by compatibility, there's a high chance of...bonding. Especially if we're as compatible as my body seems to think we are."

Bonding. The word sends a shiver down my spine, part apprehension, part something that feels disturbingly like anticipation. I know what bonding means. A permanent connection, deeper than marriage. A biological and emotional tie that can never be fully broken.

I should be terrified by the possibility. Should be backing away, making excuses, calling that service Micah mentioned.

Instead, I find myself moving closer, drawn by some instinct older than rational thought.

"I understand," I say, though I'm not sure I do—not fully. All I know is that Micah needs me, and every fiber of my being is responding to that need. "We'll be careful."

Micah lets out a sound that's half laugh, half sob. "Careful might not be enough. I've been suppressing my heats for years. When this one hits fully, it's going to be...I might not be able to control myself."

"Then we'll both lose control," I say, the words surprising me even as they leave my mouth. "Together."

Micah's expression shifts. He reaches out, his fingers trembling as they brush against my arm.

"Thank you," he says softly. "For not freaking out. For not leaving."

"I would never leave you," I tell him, and I mean it more than I've ever meant anything. "Not when you need me."

Another wave of discomfort passes over his features, and he curls in on himself again, a small whimper escaping his lips. The sound triggers something deep and protective in me. I move without thinking, gathering him against my chest, one hand cradling the back of his head.

"I've got you," I murmur against his hair. "Whatever you need, I've got you."

Micah tenses for a moment, then melts against me, his face pressed into my neck. I feel him inhale deeply, taking in my scent the way I've been taking in his.

"Your scent helps," he admits, his voice muffled against my skin. "Makes the pain less."

We stay like that for a long moment, Micah's breathing gradually steadying against me. His body is still too hot, still trembling with the effort of fighting his approaching heat, but he seems calmer in my arms.

I know we should talk more. About boundaries, about expectations, about what all of this means for our friendship.

But right now, holding Micah as he shakes against me, feeling his heart race in time with mine, all I can think is that I need to keep him safe.

Whatever this means for us, whatever it changes, that's tomorrow's problem.

But even as I hold him, I can feel his temperature climbing again. His breathing is getting shallower, more labored, and there's a tension in his muscles that wasn't there before.

"Nick," he whispers against my neck, and there's something desperate in his voice that makes my chest tighten. "It's getting worse."

I pull back to look at him, and what I see makes my stomach drop. His pupils are almost fully dilated now, his skin flushed and damp with sweat. The scent coming off him is intensifying by the minute, becoming richer, more complex, more impossible to ignore.

"How long?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

"Not long," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe an hour. Less."

An hour. Maybe less.

I've committed to helping him through this, but I have no idea what that really means. All I know is that my best friend is falling apart in my arms, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to fix it, protect him, make it better.

Even if I don't know how.

Even if it changes everything between us forever.