There were only a few moments before the shift came. Both hands in his hair provided at least a second of warning, but that still doesn't stop the alarm from setting in, that first thrust drawing a halted sound before all air stops.

Don't pass out. Don't vomit.

He winces.

Don't shed tears.

You can breathe.

His jaw aches before he forces himself to adjust with a shudder. He has to relax himself before his nostrils will take in any air. His hands brace themselves on the Dark Urge's hips.

There's no telling whether it gets worse after this, and if he falls apart now he won't make it through the rest.