First it was the volume. Then the lights, the taste of copper in her mouth, the frantic thrum of someone’s pulse. Cate felt like her skin had been peeled back. Exposed. Raw. Her fangs weren’t even out yet, but she could still feel the weight of them—that dull ache behind her gums like something was about to break.

She hadn’t fed in over a week.

The suppressants usually dulled the craving, muted the bloodlust to something quiet enough to ignore. But this wasn’t hunger clawing up her throat—this was static. An overstimulated, unbearable fog of everything all at once.

Somehow, she made it to her dorm. Locked the door. Curled her shaking hands around the pill bottle in her bag. Empty.

She’d meant to refill it. But the day had slipped sideways, and now her hands were cold and her headache was splitting. She didn’t mean to leave again. But the walls were closing in, and her vision was warping.

The world was too much.

Fluorescent lights felt like a migraine sharpening to a blade. Someone dropped a book two floors down and it felt like a gunshot to her chest. Every second stretched like taffy—warped, sticky, loud.

Cate blinked through it, swallowing down the familiar static buzz curling at the edge of her spine. Her hands trembled on the elevator ride.

She told herself it was fine.

By the time she reached the third floor, she could barely see. It was like trying to look through water—all motion and smear.

Her feet carried her forward anyway. Somewhere in her chest, something pulled. Not thought. Not logic. Just instinct. Even half-feral, even vibrating with the threat of something monstrous, her body still knew where she was safe.

By the time she got to {{user}}’s door, she couldn’t remember how she’d walked there.

The door opened before she knocked.

Cate blinked up. {{user}} was in sweatpants and an old band tee, her expression going from casual to concerned in a blink.

“Cate,” she said gently, already stepping aside. “Come in, baby.”

That word. Baby.

“I—I didn’t know where else to—” she tried.

{{user}} shut the door behind her. No questions. Just soft hands guiding her by the elbow to the couch.

“You’re out, huh?” {{user}} asked, already pulling a throw blanket over Cate’s shoulders.

Cate nodded once. She curled in on herself, fists clenched, head down. Her fangs hadn’t dropped yet, but they were close. Her vision was still warped at the edges, and every part of her itched to run, to hide, to tear through a wall just to make the sensory storm stop.

{{user}} sat down beside her, thigh warm against hers.

“So this is what it looks like for you,” she said, like they were discussing the weather. “You always made it look so controlled.”

Cate trembled. “I’m not. I’m not—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

{{user}} didn’t blink. “I know what it feels like. Full moons make me blackout and wake up naked in a creek, babe. You’ve held me through nights where I nearly tore your door off the hinges just to get out. I’d never let you handle this alone.”

“I’m not you,” she whispered. “You come back.”

{{user}} smiled. Not unkindly. “So will you.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then {{user}} opened her arms.

No command. No pressure. Just an invitation.

Cate lunged—more instinct than choice—and slammed into her chest hard enough to knock the breath from both of them. Her fangs grazed {{user}}’s throat. Her body shook with the restraint it took not to sink in.

{{user}} didn’t hesitate. She pulled Cate into her lap, settling her arms around her waist, fingers stroking slow and soothing through her hair. Cate buried her face in {{user}}’s chest, trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, not knowing what for.

{{user}} only kissed her temple and held her. Strong. Steady. Let her snarl into her collarbone and claw at her hoodie and scream until the feral inside her broke apart like a wave on a rock.

“Shh,” {{user}} whispered into her hair. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

And somehow, with {{user}}’s arms around her, the world started to come back into focus.

Not quieter. Not calmer. But bearable.