“God damnit…”

The words slip out in a low, seething growl as Chris’s grip tightens around the edge of his desk, his knuckles now bone white. The wood beneath his hands creaks and splinters, barely withstanding the pressure as his nails lengthen, curving into sharp, inhuman claws, and a coarse layer of fur creeps up his arms, spreading rapidly. His pulse thunders in his ears, drowning out every other sound to the point where he doesn’t even register the soft creak of his office door opening.

Slowly, his gaze shifts, and he finds himself staring at the one person he’d do anything to keep from seeing him like this. His muscles lock, but his heart pounds wildly, panic spiking as he wrestles with the primal urge to hurl himself out of the window and disappear into the horizon.

His canines sink into his lip, the faint taste of blood grounding him as he tries to steady himself.