Every omega experiences heats, and I was no exception — though lately, I'd been acting like I was above biology. Between Louis' scandal, Charles' chaos, and my inability to sleep like a normal person, I'd practically forgotten to take care of myself.
Big mistake.
It started subtly — the warmth, the restlessness, the way my skin felt too tight for my own body. At first, I blamed it on stress. After all, what else could explain nearly burning my tongue on my own coffee and still drinking it like nothing happened?
By midday, I knew it wasn't stress. My temperature spiked, my patience evaporated, and every little sound grated on me. Even Charles' humming — which usually made me roll my eyes fondly — suddenly made me want to throw a pillow at him.
"Why are you humming?" I snapped, pacing the living room.
He blinked, clearly taken aback. "Because it's morning?"
"Well, stop sounding so cheerful about it."
He raised a brow. "You okay, Alistair? You look… flushed."
