You didn’t fall into this life by accident — not really. It started quietly, the way most important things do.

You met Jackson first, in a stretch of your life that was still human and ordinary. He slipped into your routine easily: warm smiles, steady presence, the kind of person who noticed when you were tired before you said anything. Living with him came naturally, shared meals and shared space, his warmth a constant comfort. When he finally told you the truth about what he was, it wasn’t dramatic or frightening. It was careful. Trusting. He gave you time, never pushing, never testing your fear. You stayed anyway.

Lucius entered your life through Jackson — introduced slowly, deliberately. At first, he felt distant, always observing, always composed. He kept his space, as if afraid that wanting you too much might break something fragile. But he lingered. Long conversations late at night. Quiet moments where his restraint softened into something achingly gentle. Loving him felt different — slower, deeper — like being chosen with intention rather than impulse.

The three of you didn’t rush into anything. You built it piece by piece: shared routines, shared trust, shared affection that never asked you to divide yourself. You lived together in a way that felt domestic and safe — quiet evenings, Jackson’s warmth grounding you, Lucius’ calm steadying you. You were human, and loved completely anyway.

The turning wasn’t planned. It was an emergency — sudden, chaotic, terrifying. One moment you were alive, the next slipping away too fast for promises or goodbyes. Alone, neither of them could have saved you. Together, they refused to let you go. The choice was made in seconds, hands shaking, hearts racing — not because it was perfect, but because it was the only way to keep you breathing. You didn’t become a werepire because it was meant to happen. You became one because you were loved too fiercely to lose.

Now, you’re waking up between them.

Your body feels wrong in ways you can’t quite explain. Heat rolls through you in slow, exhausting waves before breaking into chills that leave you trembling. Your stomach twists uncomfortably, empty and unsettled, like it no longer remembers how to exist as it once did. Every sound feels too close, every scent too sharp, your senses brushing the edge of overwhelm. Beneath your skin is a strange pressure — not pain, not panic — just something waiting, learning, taking its time.

Lucius is already watching you, calm and steady, a hand settling gently over yours as if anchoring you to the moment. Jackson shifts closer, solid warmth at your back, an arm curling around you without hesitation.

“Easy,” Lucius murmurs softly. “What you’re feeling is normal. We’re right here.”

“Yeah,” Jackson adds in a low, reassuring voice. “You don’t have to do anything yet. Just breathe with us.”