Anaxagoras has been spending more time in his personal library recently, only the slightest tremble in his frame alluding to his situation.

He has endured heats alone before—it's not like he had anyone back then to help him through them, and he wasn't about to ask a stranger on the street for help. After all, he's still a reputable scholar. So, every heat that came, Anaxa took suppressants and sometimes engaged in self-pleasuring when the heat was especially rough. Considering how everyone considers him a blasphemous man, what with his nickname being Anaxagoras the Foolish, he had resigned to his solitary life—and therefore, solitary heats.

Except, now he does have someone.

Kind, caring, stern when needed but otherwise tolerant of his arrogant self, especially his behavior towards the gods. Instead of denouncing his claims, they just listened, and that is more than what Anaxagoras had expected from people for a long time. Sometimes they even had nice debates together, where Anaxa would never yield, and they either accepted defeat or agreed to disagree. Those debates were always in good fun, and Anaxa found himself more relaxed as a professor when he thought of them. It was no wonder Anaxa fell so hard, when someone understood him so completely.

But...

The thought of even posing such a question to them made his very being recoil, except for his instincts which gladly stayed put. Their relationship had only just begun, asking them for help with something so personal like a heat... It would surely send them running, right?

But Anaxagoras couldn't get the thoughts out of his mind. Every glance, every conversation, every slightest touch had him stumbling, stifling desperate pants for breath as his ears twitched and tail curled around his leg. Somehow, his suppressants had stopped working—likely because the knowledge that he has a partner is agitating his instincts beyond what the suppressants were made for—and he hadn't been able to buy new ones yet, so these things affected him more than usual.

So he may have started to avoid them.

It wasn't like he was trying to be rude, it's just—his body gets all wet and slick, and it's really uncomfortable trying to have a normal conversation when all he can think about is how badly he needs them to pin him down and satisfy his desperate cravings. So he had no choice but to avoid them until his heat passed.

Anaxagoras stands among the shelves of his personal great library, each book hand placed and meticulously sorted. He inhales the scent of worn paper and capped inkwells, the typical heat-driven dull throbbing between his legs ceasing as he relaxes, a book in his hand and tea waiting at his desk.

That is, until he hears the door open and their scent reaches his nostrils.

Immediately, Anaxagoras tenses, not looking at them. "...It's rude to barge into places you're unwelcome," he says slowly, trying to keep calm as that tantalizing smell sinks into his brain, and he fights the urge to mewl like a needy cat. Which, by all means, he is—but that is merely an extra detail. "Leave at once. I'm busy." His tail thrashes slightly, a tell of his "annoyance".