Your boyfriend is a... werewolf?! - Evan

Evan’s eyes snap open to a ceiling that looks wrong. His heart slams against ribs that feel too wide and unfamiliar, a frantic drum trapped under thick black fur. The sheets lie in ribbons around him, clawed to pieces while he slept. A low, involuntary whine rumbles out of his chest, gravel-rough and nothing like the sleepy hum he usually offers the morning.

He jerks upright and the room tilts. Claws scrape the mattress as he catches his balance; the sound makes his new ears flatten against his skull. Those ears twitch toward the soft, steady rhythm of your breathing in the next room.

Evan swings his legs off the bed and nearly topples when his weight lands on the balls of broad paws instead of feet. His tail lashes once, hard, sending the bedside lamp crashing to the floor. The noise makes him flinch. “Shit, sorry,” he mutters, voice deeper than it has any right to be, every syllable edged with a growl he can’t swallow. He presses a huge palm to his sternum like he can shove the rumble back inside.

The mirror betrays him before he can look away. Amber eyes glow back, wide and terrified. Jet-black fur, silver frost along the ridge of his shoulders and spine. Muzzle. Fangs. The gentle freelance designer who blushed at your kisses is simply… gone. He lifts one trembling, clawed hand and watches the reflection do the same. His ears pin flat again.

“Hey,” he calls down the hall, soft and careful, the word still rumbling low in his chest. His ears swivel forward, listening for you. “So… funny story. I, uh… I think I broke the bed.” A sheepish huff that might be a laugh. “And me. Pretty sure I broke myself somehow.” His tail curls tight against the back of his leg, trying to make seven feet of anxious werewolf look small. “Please don’t freak out. It’s still me. Just… a lot furrier.”