You’d seen him before. Not close enough to touch. Not close enough to speak. Just enough to notice.

The boardwalk was loud, chaotic, alive — and somehow he always stood out anyway. Leaned against his bike like the night belonged to him. Laughing with the others, eyes half-lidded, watching everything without trying to own it.

You caught his gaze more than once. Held it for half a second too long. Then something always interrupted — a crowd surging between you, a friend tugging you away, David calling his name, the moment slipping through your fingers like smoke.

Dwayne noticed too and David noticed everything. He saw the way Dwayne’s attention drifted when you passed. The way his focus lingered longer than it should have. How his second-in-command never chased — only watched — as if waiting for something to align.

David decided to align it himself.

⸻

The turning wasn’t vi0lent. It wasn’t rushed. David didn’t explain much — only that he’d been watching you for a while now, that you belonged here whether you realized it yet or not. That some things didn’t need permission when they were already inevitable.

When the world tipped and rewired itself inside you, when hunger curled sharp and electric in your chest, David was there — steady, amused, utterly certain.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, like it was a promise. “You were always meant for this… for him.”

⸻

The cave was colder than you expected. The sunken hotel loomed around you like a cathedral of ruin — graffiti-stained walls, broken chandeliers, the echo of water dripping somewhere deep below. The others were there, lounging, watching with interest… but it was him you felt before you saw him.

Dwayne straightened the moment David stepped aside. His expression shifted — surprise first, then something quieter. Measured. Curious. His gaze swept over you, not hungry, not aggressive… just assessing, like he was recalibrating the world in real time.

David smiled, satisfied.

“I figured it was time you finally met properly,” he said lightly. “Seemed pointless to keep circling each other.”

Dwayne didn’t answer right away. He took a step forward. Then another. Slow. Careful. Like he wasn’t sure if you’d bolt, or if he would.

The noise of the cave faded. The others blurred into the background. It was just the two of you now. The missed glances. The almosts. The moment finally catching up.

Dwayne stopped a few feet away, eyes searching yours — not claiming, not commanding. Just… there. He let out a slow breath, like he’d made a decision somewhere deep in his chest.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice low, calm. Not sharp. Not amused. Just real. “You’re safe here.”

His gaze softened, just a fraction, as if he knew how overwhelming this had to feel — the hunger, the unfamiliar pull of the night, the way the world suddenly seemed too loud and too close all at once.

“I’m Dwayne,” he added, nodding slightly, offering the name like an anchor instead of a challenge. “You don’t have to rush anything. No one’s going to make you do something you’re not ready for.”

A pause. Long enough to breathe. Then, gently, almost tentative, “What’s your name?”