Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I think I’m bad at this. 

I’m the only one I know that’s not part of a pack. That’s never been part of a pack. 

How do werewolves get into packs anyway? Fliers on monster hangout bulletins? A newsletter? Werewolf book clubs? 

I tried werewolf Facebook groups. Those people weren’t actual werewolves. 

I nibble pensively on a chew toy. Penny’s a witch, but she doesn’t know any other werewolves aside from myself. She says whoever it was that mauled the shit outta me would usually assimilate me into their pack. I’m an odd case of “Chomp-chomp, thank you, mate. Good luck on your own out there.”

I’m not having good luck, thank you . I turn into a big dog and attack people if I don’t lock myself up in my own flat for three days during a full moon.  I growl and pull at the leg of the stupid stuffed cow with my teeth.

Three days of eating dog kibble and barking at my own door all alone because I don’t know how else to prevent murder sprees.

And, of course, it’s not just murder sprees, there’s also the unbearable loneliness. Maybe it’s a wolf/dog thing. Maybe it’s the fact that the alone is forced. Maybe it’s because I’m able to think straight until I see another living being and then I go apeshit. Penny always tells me it isn’t my fault and that I can’t control it, but it doesn’t feel that way.

The cow’s leg comes off with a rip. 

It’s not like being a werewolf is an awful gig. When it’s not the full moon I can hang out as a wolf whenever I like and not go crazy. Running on four legs is really cool. Plus as a wolf I look wicked.

I bite into the cow’s belly and I hear an ear-splitting squeak. I pull back and start ripping at the stomach seams. I didn’t know this toy had a squeaker when I bought it. I shake the cow violently and stuffing flies out. 

I dig into its guts and rip the piece of plastic out of the cow valiantly. I chew the shit out of it so that it’ll never squeak again. I spit it onto the floor and eye it before returning to my cow. 

It doesn’t look much like a cow anymore. 

I sigh. Might as well finish it off. 

-

I plant my front paws on the wall and hit the buzzer for Penny’s flat with my nose. Everyone thinks I’m her wildly intelligent dog. They also think I’m her boyfriend. They’re not right about either of those things but it works. 

Penny’s voice comes through the buzzer, “Who is it?” 

I woof. 

She doesn’t bother responding but I hear the door click and shoulder my way in. 

I’m bigger than a common wolf. My head comes up to an average-sized bloke’s collarbones. Surprisingly, no one really questions a 130 kilogram, reddish-brown wolf-dog running around. I’m amazed I don’t see a bunch of other wolves walking around London all the time.

Awooo, werewolves of London. Awooooo.

I go through the whole chorus in my head as I climb the steps to Penny’s flat. I wonder if there are other werewolf songs? There probably are. I guess I could google it.

The nice old lady from the third floor stops to pet me and I feel my tail smack against the wall. She cooes at me. Everyone is always so nice to me.

Maybe that’s why I run around London as a dog. 

I scratch at Penny’s door and sit down to wait. I tuck in my tail and sit up straight, trying my best to look like a good boy. 

“Simon, would you stop scratching at the door.” She says as the door opens, “You leave marks.”

I wag my tail at her. 

Penelope rolls her eyes and steps out of the way to let me in. I dive in and make a beeline for her sofa. “Simon, no you’re shedding! ” She fusses.

I lay on the couch with my tummy up and watch her approach. Maybe if I look really cute she’ll let me sit on the sofa. 

She glares at me. I wag my tail. She hits me in the face with a pillow. 

“You’re vacuuming this sofa. Go get changed, I want to talk to you.” 

I start to whine but she smacks me again. 

Fine, fine. 

I lumber off to the bathroom with my head down and my tail tucked between my legs. I peek back at her sadly a few times to get my point across.  I know she won’t feel sorry, but it makes me feel better. 

I shut the door behind me and stretch my paws out in front of me. Then, I start to shift. 

Shifting is an overall odd experience. My bones creak like a squeaky floorboard. Bones pop into sockets with a snap. Tendons twist uncomfortably. Skin pulls and stretches to accommodate. It’s too tight for a split second, as if my own flesh is trying to suffocate me, then, release. My ears pop. My eyelids stick to my eyes. My mouth feels stuffed with cotton. 

I blink away the film over my eyes.

I sit back on my haunches and look down at myself. I’m always naked when I transform. Well, that makes sense, but still. Inconvenient. 

I open a bathroom drawer where Penny keeps an extra change of clothes for me. My joints creak and the sinews of my muscles snap and pull as I yank on my shirt. Everything aches right after. Something akin to sleeping wrong the night before.

I pull on my joggers and look in the mirror. I’m sort of shiny, like I’m sweaty. It’s not sweat, though. There’s always a thin film of slime on me afterwards. It’s kinda gross. I wash my hands and face as a courtesy to Penny; I’ve given up on trying to keep my own place slime-free. 

I’m shaking my hair out when I emerge. Penny’s sitting in her leather chair, so I have to sit in my own hair. Fuck, I really am shedding. I should probably vacuum my own flat soon. 

She points at a cup of tea set out for me. I look at her. It’s going to be disgusting. Her teas are always disgusting, and she insists on me drinking them. The tea is some sort of witch thing, I think. (That, or she’s just out to torture me.) Her whole place is covered in weird rocks, crystals, feathers. Each room has a salt lamp, and the table next to my arm has a big amethyst lamp. It’s all those things at the shops you think are bullshit, but they actually work.

Penelope raises her eyebrows at me. I relent and drink the nasty tea. It threatens to come up as soon as it goes down. I swallow my spit and wish I had some biscuits to chase away the aftertaste. 

When she sees I’m going to keep drinking it she puts her own cup down and flattens out her skirt. “So, I’m going to the annual coven meeting this year,” she says, looking at me over her glasses.

God, this shit is bitter. I give it the stink eye as I respond, “You never go, though.” 

She groans. “I know . I’m going so I can ask about you.”

That makes me pause. I look up at her. “You mean…” 

“There's got to be someone that knows about werewolves there.” 

“Penny, promise me you aren’t going to go around shaking people down until one of them tells you something.” 

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do!” She looks terrifyingly determined.

“Penny,” I try, “you don’t have-”

“I absolutely have to, Simon,” Penny’s leaning forward, now. I’m leaning back. “I’m just as curious about this as you are. Do you realize how much information I could glean from a real pack? And you’re my in! No one has an in with werewolves.” 

“Well, I’m sure someone—“

“Simon!” She admonishes. “Don’t you want to join a pack? They could help you— you know they could!”

I run a hand through my hair. Rub my palm over the buzzed part at the back. 

“I’m asking,” she says. “You can’t stop me.” 

“I know I can’t.” 

She grins. “I’m going next week. We’re going to find you a pack .” 

I’m nervous all of a sudden. I let out a breath and stand up.  “Let’s go for a walk.” 

“Simon, you just changed back.”

“Yeah,” I run a hand through my hair again. “Let’s go.” 

She eyes me. Don’t ask, Penny. Please, don’t ask. 

“Alright.” 

-

I’m standing in the elevator shivering. I was so hot when I finished our walk that I decided I should walk home in five degree weather without a shirt on. It was a mistake. I was wrong. Everyone stared at me. It was awful. 

A bloke steps into the elevator. I turn my face just a little and sniff the air. I don’t like how he smells. I can’t tell if he smells good, bad, or just off. My hackles raise. Wrong.   

I look at him. He’s pale as death and has silky black hair that falls over his head in waves. His cheekbones are high; he looks like a posh prick. 

My eyes roam down his body. What the fuck is he wearing? He’s draped in a huge fucking fur coat with white trousers and white boots… Are they heeled? 

I look back up. He has an eyebrow raised at me. I snarl. He flicks his eyes up and away from me. Prick. 

I huff and look back at the doors. I’ve decided he smells shitty. 

God this fucking elevator is slow. 

He sighs loudly through his nose, so I look back over at him. He takes his fur coat off and throws it over his arm. Turns out the white trousers are those really high waisted ones, and he’s wearing suspenders. He has a red t-shirt on, but I can’t tell what it says. Probably something douchey. Like him. Douche. 

He flicks his hair over his shoulder exposing his neck. His long, white neck. He shifts his weight and looks back over at me. I growl and look back towards the doors. 

Finally, finally, we get to my floor. I start to walk out and… so does he. 

We stare at each other. His eyes are a lovely grey. He has the type of eyes you can get lost in. Gross. 

His shirt says I’d love to fellate George Harrison. I’m not sure what to make of that. Whatever. 

I grunt, stepping back so he can walk out first. He gives me the bitchiest, tight-lipped smile in return before stepping out. Fuck him. 

I watch in horror as he pulls out keys and unlocks the door to the flat right across the hall from mine. I didn’t even know someone had moved in; Mr. Capponi only left two weeks ago. (He’d been screaming about a demon infestation.) (Penelope gave me a bottle of holy water and one of her rocks in case he wasn’t lying.) 

He swoops into the doorway, and I feel another growl crawl it’s way up out of my throat. 

Now I have to live next to some shitty smelling asshole. 

Great. 

-

I'm lying on the sofa in a hoodie with a bag of crisps, watching some weird old school Kung Fu film. My eyes keep glazing over. I’ve lost my phone (my phone’s always lost), so I can’t tell the time, but I’m pretty sure it’s past two in the morning. 

Tonight’s a new moon. I can never sleep during new moons; every time I close my eyes, it's like something is missing. A piece of me is gone.

I tip back the crisp bag until some slide into my mouth. I’ve got crumbs all over me. I feel disgusting. 

The guy on the television does five backflips and a roundhouse kick. I can do a backflip. Never tried five...

I sit up and look around my flat. Not enough space for more than three backflips—  max. 

I eye the door. 

The hallway on the other hand. 

Gently, I put down my crisps and stand up. 

I unlock my door and step into the hallway in my socks. 

I ruffle out my hair. It’s dark as hell out here. 

I do one backflip. 

I take a couple steps towards the elevator. 

I do three. 

I run down to the elevator and skid to a stop. If I was a wolf right now my tail would be wagging. I can do at least ten in this hallway. 

I do twelve. 

I’m grinning. That was sick. I do a couple of front flips, and when I go for a third one I hear the click of a door being opened. When my feet touch the ground, my socks slip on the carpeting. I hit the floor with a thud.

The air rushes out of my lungs with an “oof.” 

I look up and see the posh guy from the elevator in a fluffy blue robe and big wool socks. His hair’s pulled up into a hazardous bun at the top of his head and he’s holding a black mug. He has one of those paper face masks on. 

He looks like he stole someone’s skin. I wouldn’t put it past him. 

He’s looking at me like I’ve sprouted two heads and pissed on his shoe. 

My face feels hot. 

“It’s three in the morning.” 

Ah, so that’s what time it is. 

“What the fuck are you doing out here?”

“Backflips,” I wheeze. 

“Backflips.” 

“Yeah.” 

We stare at each other. I’m still on the floor.

“You aren't the only person living on this floor. Or beneath it.” 

“Piss off,” I say. I do feel bad, though. I forgot how loud backflips are. 

He rolls his eyes.  

A door opens down the hall and I tilt my head back to see Mrs. Sutton peeking out at us. She shushes me with a glare and shuts her door. 

Whoops.

I look back at Mr. Dick-for-Brains and he raises his eyebrows at me. See? He seems to say. His facemask looks like it’s about to fall off. I hope it does, the bastard. 

He holds a finger up to his lips and lets out one long “shhhhhh” as he slips back into his flat, quietly closing his door.

I stare at the door for a moment, amazed at how one person can be such an obnoxious prick. I roll my eyes and stand up. I think I hit my head when I fell; it’s throbbing. 

I glare at his door. What an arsehole. 

I do one more backflip, just to piss him off. Before I go back to my flat I hover at his door. I pick my foot up, considering kicking it. 'Shhh,' I think about his stupid finger against his lips. I put my foot down. I hope the demons ruin his night.

I go back to my flat, where my only company is my crisps and Bruce Lee. 

It's going to be a long night.

Chapter Text

I see him again the next day at the elevator as I’m coming home from work. He’s wearing a fitted jean coat that comes down to his knees and cinches at his waist. There’s a little scarf tied around his neck. Meanwhile, I’m wearing trousers covered in flour I accidentally spilled on myself at work. 

I snarl. 

His lip curls. 

His hair is tucked behind one ear. He’s hot.

No, not hot. Irritating. Snobby? Snobby. 

He’s hot-snobby. 

Hot-snobby— like the popular people in American 80s films. Hot but complete assholes on the inside. (Like the bloke from Pretty In Pink. ) (She should’ve gotten with Duckie. That film was bullshit.) Hot-snobby. Hobby. Snot. Wait, no—

“Are you going to move out of the elevator or do you live there now?” he says.

I growl at him. 

I want to bite this cunt’s head off. I shove into him as I leave the elevator just to inconvenience him. He makes a disgruntled sound. I can’t appreciate it, because his smell is overwhelming. 

Having a dog nose is weird. I can smell any and everything. I could smell the lingering remains of Earl Grey on his breath. (He takes it with sugar and a squeeze of lemon.) I could smell his fancy soap: cedar and bergamot and chemicals. Deodorant and a little bit of sweat. I could smell the corner store he must’ve been in recently lingering on his jacket. The tangy metal of his keys. His detergent. 

There’s still something missing. 

I didn’t know people could lack a smell. It’s like it’s the absence of something vital. 

The elevator door closes and I’m left wanting to bury my face in his chest and figure out why he smells wrong. 

Whatever. I’m exhausted. 

I’m going to go pass out for the night. 

-

I’m in a dead sleep when I hear a thud in the hallway outside my flat. I bolt upright in bed. 

Someone’s here. Who is it? I think deliriously. 

Who is it who is it who is it who’s at the door who who who 

I practically fall out of bed to run to the door. I swing it open to see the new neighbour holding a big styrofoam cooler and trying to unlock his door. 

“What are you doing?” I ask. 

He glowers at me and blows some hair out of his face. “What does it look like?” 

I blink. “Do you need help?” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

He’s obviously struggling. I watch him drop his keys. 

“Let me hold the—” 

His eyes flash a different color. He hisses.

I roll my eyes and go back inside my flat. Whatever. The cooler smelled like a hospital anyway. Fucking creep. He’s probably a serial killer.

I start walking back to my bed when I pause. 

Did he just fucking hiss at me?

-

I wake up the next morning convinced he’s a serial killer. 

I was up for three hours thinking about it last night. The more I thought, the more convinced I became. The more convinced I was, the harder it was to sleep. 

So, I decided to compile a list of my proof. 

Reasons My Neighbour is a Serial Killer:

1. He smells weird- Who the hell smells like they’re missing something? It’s weird. I don’t trust it. He’s probably missing his humanity or something. 
   
   
2. The cooler last night- A cooler that smells like a hospital. Who the fuck takes that into their house in the middle of the night. He probably has a collection of human hearts in jars. 
   
   
3. He’s a prick- Lots of serial killers are pricks.
   
   
4. Demons- Mr. Capponi was practically pissing himself over the demon in his flat. Now this bloke isn’t having any issues? Unlikely. I watched a twenty minute YouTube video one time on this night stalker bloke that murdered people for Satan. 
   
   
5. His eyes changed colour- I think. My eyesight in the dark definitely isn’t great, but I’m pretty certain it happened. He doesn’t have that serial killer ‘it was looking into the eyes of evil’ thing. (He actually has very pretty eyes.) Maybe this is what people meant, though?

It’s admittedly not a load of evidence, but it’s enough to make me nervous. What if he goes after Mrs. Stouffer? Or the landlady? The nice old man upstairs that’s never complained about my howling? What then?

I call Penny immediately. 

“Simon,” she whines, “It’s five o’clock in the morning.” 

“Penny, I’m living next to a serial killer.” 

There’s a pause. “You what?”

“A new neighbour just moved in next door and I’m pretty sure he’s a serial killer.” 

“Simon…” She sounds exhausted. 

“Listen to me, Penny,” I say. 

I pull on my hair. ‘Has sexy lips,’ do all serial killers have sexy lips? Most serial killers are white guys with tiny lips. I grab the sticky note from my wall of theories and toss it over my shoulder.

“He smells off,” I continue, “and last night I saw him with a huge insulated cooler that smelled like a hospital. He wouldn’t let me touch it.”

Hospital… nurses… angels of death… angel… he’d look hot with angel wings… That’s off topic. 

I write ‘angelic bloke of death’ on a new note and stick it to the wall.

“Simon, he doesn't have to let you nose around in his personal belongings...wait, what do you mean he smells off? ” 

“Y’know, off. Like something’s missing.” 

There’s a hum on the other end of the line. “That's interesting." She says, but doesn’t sound completely convinced. 

“It’s like…” I pull on my hair as I try to find the words. “There’s something that everyone has that he just doesn’t.” 

“Does he not wear deodorant?” she asks through a yawn. 

“Penny, I’m serious. There’s this smell that every living thing has that he doesn’t.”

“Living?” She echoes.

I pause to think. “He doesn’t smell dead or anything. Just lacking.”

Penelope’s quiet for a moment. “I want to meet him when I get back,” she says. 

“Do you not hear me? He’s dangerous!” 

“He might not be human!” 

I open my mouth and shut it. She has a point. 

Not living… not dead… undead? Building an undead army.

I add ‘master of the underworld’ to the wall. 

“His eyes flashed a different colour,” I say.

That gets her attention. “Really?”

“Yes.” I say confidently. Then I reconsider. “Well, I think so. Maybe. It was dark, but-” 

Penelope exhales through her nose. “Are you sure it wasn’t just a trick of the light?”

No, I’m not sure. I am sure there’s something wrong with him, though. 

“I-” I start. “Well…” I finish. 

I can almost hear Penny rolling her eyes. “If you’re quite done, I’m going back to bed,” she says. 

“But- ugh, fine.” I’ll have a proper list for her later. I eyeball ‘high heels’ and take it off the wall. “I’ll talk to you later.” 

“Oh, wait! Before I forget, I met a girl yesterday. I think she may know something about werewolf packs.” 

I hum. My stomach feels funny. “That’s cool.”

“Yeah, I’m going to shake her down today.”

I make a noncommittal noise and click my pen. 

“Anyway,” she says, “Don’t call me back with a list.”

“But-”

“Goodnight, Simon,” she says. 

“Goodnight, Penny.”

She hangs up and I sit silently, staring at my dark room. 

I get up and make breakfast. I make it a point not to think about neighbours or wolf packs.

-

I’m staring the hideous beast down. I despise everything about it: how it smells, the hot hair it breathes, its cords, how it feels. 

Most of all, I hate how it sounds.

My flat is disgusting, though. The seasons are changing and I’ve been shedding like mad. I sweep my foot across the floor and loose chest hair flies up. There’s fur matted to the area rug so thickly you can’t see what colour it is anymore. 

I have to run the vacuum. 

I’ve tried using earplugs but they just agitate my ears. I can hear over them, anyway. I circle around the vacuum and kick it with my foot. 

I can do this. I don’t have to be thorough; I just need to get the worst of it. Sure, I might have to take a stress nap after every room, but I have the day off. I can do it. 

Deep breath in. 

1,2,3,4... 

Deep breath out. 

I turn it on. 

I grasp the handle. 

I push the Hoover forward. I pull it back towards myself. 

I hate it. I hate it, I hate it, IhateitIhateit

My skin is crawling. My ears hurt. Hot air is blowing on me. This is hell. 

I have to keep going.

I accidentally bump the leg of a table and my stomach rolls. I breathe deep again. Just finish this one room.  

I pull back too hard and run over my toe. I curse and look down to see my big toe bloody and nail-less. 

I rip the cord from the wall and march straight out of my flat. 

Fuck this. I live alone. I’ll live in my own fucking filth.  

In the hallway I heft it up and break the fucking thing over my knee. 

I throw it down and growl at it. I’m going to murder whoever invented vacuums—

Ding!

I whip my head up and see the neighbor walking from the elevator. I’m breathing heavily and my face feels flushed. 

The fuckhead is giving me a look. One of those ‘what the fuck is wrong with you?’ looks. 

“I dropped it.” Why do I feel like I have to explain myself to him? Fuck him. 

I give the vacuum a small kick. His nostrils flair and he looks down at my feet. He inhales deeply. My missing toenail is starting to grow back. I'd already forgotten about it. It still looks pretty gross. It's probably making him squeamish.

“From the roof?” He purses his lips and then his eyes slowly lift to my chest. I’m not wearing a shirt. He can piss off. I’m allowed to walk around naked in my own home if I’d like. 

“Piss off,” I say. He’s wearing purple silk pants with a dragon embroidered on one of the legs. It’s kinda tight around his… Anyway, the rest of his outfit is pretty tame. A long black coat. A tucked in black button down. 

He rolls his eyes at me and looks down and the vacuum murder scene. “I heard the YMCA started offering anger management for the adolescent.” He looks back up at me with his pretty grey eyes. I want to break his nose. 

“Fuck off,” I snarl. 

He looks me over again and seems to decide something. He puts a finger up at me. I’ll bite off his stupid finger. He has nice hands. Cunt. 

“Stay,” he tells me as he turns and goes into his flat. I wonder what it looks like. Probably posh and fancy like him. 

Wait, why the fuck am I listening? He can’t just talk to me like I’m a fucking dog. (I am a dog, but that’s not the point.) (And anyway he doesn’t know that.)

I shuffle over two steps to the left.

He re-emerges with something in hand. It’s a long pole with a box on the bottom of it. 

“Here, take this,” he says. “I’ve been putting off donating it.” 

I take it and stare at it for a moment. “Is this one of those vacuums you don’t plug in?”

“Observant.”

“Does… does it work for dog hair?” 

“Does it look like I have a bitch?”

“Uh.” 

“Well?” He raises an eyebrow. “Give it a try.” He takes a sip from his Starbucks cup, pinky out. Whatever he’s drinking smells salty and chocolaty. 

I stare at him blankly for another moment. Then I look at my new vacuum. I put it down on the rug in the hallway and roll it back and forth a couple times. All it does is make an annoying squeaky noise. It’s nothing like a regular vacuum; I could cry. 

“Thanks,” I mumble. 

“Ah, he has manners.” 

I grunt. I don’t want to tell him to fuck off because he’s being kind of nice. 

I hold out my hand and square my shoulders. “Simon Snow.” 

He stares at my hand with his eyebrow still raised. I want to reach out and push his shitty perfectly tweezed eyebrow back down with my finger. 

“Baz Pitch,” he doesn’t take my hand. Instead, he turns around and walks back into his flat.

Before he shuts his door, he looks back at me. “Afternoon, Snow.” His door swings shut with a click.

I growl after the door closes. I look over at the broken Hoover and glare. 

The wanker never shook my hand. 

-

“Simon, I got a new collar for you!” Penelope’s standing in my doorway proudly holding a blue collar with little clouds on it. 

A door swings shut. 

Penny and I both turn to see Baz standing in front of his flat, staring at the collar. 

It’s dead fucking silent. 

Penny shoves the collar back in her coat pocket. 

“Into puppy-play?”

All the blood drains from my face. Penny balks and gags.

Baz looks pleased with himself before turning on his heel and sauntering towards the elevator. 

“Behave yourselves,” he flips his hair over his shoulder. “Bite adequately.”

He gets on the elevator and leaves. 

“What the fuck,” Penny and I say at the same time.

“That’s your neighbour?”

“Y-yeah…” I’m staring at the elevator. 

I fall back against the doorframe. 

Bite adequately…

What’s an adequate amount of bites? 

Is Baz into puppy-play?

Why did I kind of like when he told me to behave just now?

Am… am I into puppy-play?

“Anyway,” Penny interrupts the silence. She flicks her hand like she can wave away the last five minutes. “I found someone.” 

She pushes past me into my flat. I look at Baz’s door across the hall.

‘Bite adequately.’  

“The woman I told you about gave me a phone number,” Penny says, from inside my flat. I hear her open up a cupboard and rummage around. 

‘Stay.’

I feel something hot curl in my stomach.

“I messaged him, and he said- Simon, what are you doing?” she pokes her head out of the door. I slowly turn to look at her.

“Hm?”

“Pay attention,” she says. “This is important.” She goes back inside.

I spare one last, long look at Baz’s door. 

‘Does it look like I have a bitch?’

I could be his bi-

I slam my door shut, stopping that thought.

“Jesus Christ, Simon. You just replaced that door last week!” 

I grunt and skulk into the kitchen. Penny’s started making tea.

“So, as I was saying, I messaged him he said he could meet with us next week. Tuesday at ten thirty.” She pulls the scoop out of the tea jar and swings it around. “Maybe he can tell us something about your transformation, because it’s only a few days before the full moon.” 

Penelope puts one scoop of tea into each cup. I pull a milkbone out of the box I keep on the counter and munch on it. 

“Is he a werewolf?” I ask. This conversation feels far away. Is it weird to be a werewolf into puppy-play? Am I really into it? I don’t know. 

Penny pours the hot water into the cups. I watch a couple pieces of dried flowers float to the top. 

“I’m not sure,” she says. “The woman that gave me his number was extremely vague, and he seemed suspiciously eager to meet with us.” 

“Eager?” I ask around dog biscuit. Should I buy a leash? Would he walk me on it? Wearing fancy heels… And those tight purple trousers...

“He seemed excited to meet us.” She opens up the honey jar and looks at me over the top of her glasses, “ Too excited. I don’t trust him.” 

I grab another treat from the box, nodding. “What’d he say?” 

Penny narrows her eyes at me. “Stop eating those, you’ll make yourself sick,” she says. I bite off half of the treat.  

“He said, ‘I’m excited to meet you two,’ and he put a little smiley face.” She draws a little loop in the air with her finger. 

I scrunch up my nose, “What’s wrong with that?”

What’s wrong with me? Why am I so into puppy-play all of a sudden? 

She gestures at me with her spoon, “It’s weird, Simon! Werewolves are incredibly secretive—“  

Well, yeah, if we’re apparently all into puppy-play.

“Why is he so willing to give us information?” She jabs the spoon in my direction. “I don’t trust it.” 

I shrug and grab three more milkbones. Would he feed me treats if I was a good boy? 

“You’ll be out of those during the full moon,” Penny fusses. 

“I’ll buy more.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

Yeah, I won’t. 

-

Later in the day I decide to treat myself to the park. I put my new collar on before I came, so it would look like I have an owner closeby. I had to really debate with myself over putting it on. It suddenly feels too dirty to wear out in public. Even turning into a dog felt dirty. 

I piss on the bush me and every other dog that comes to this bloody park has a turf war over. Why can’t they just let it be my fucking bush? I could kick all of their asses, anyway. Let it be my bush.

Someone passes by me as I put my leg down. I close my eyes and sniff the air.

Clove cigarettes, watery coffee, cedar, bergamot… 

I keep my eyes shut as I follow them. There’s a musky undernote to their cologne. A hint of blood somewhere— maybe they cut themselves.

My nose bumps into their back. They must’ve drank the coffee at the seedy café across from my work. (Grease, cheap cleaner, the slightest hint of piss.) Something is missing, underneath it all. Something that everyone else has. Whatever is lacking makes everything else clearer, more poignant. I like it. 

They turn around, and my eyes flutter open. 

“Hello, love,” Baz says. 

Oh fuck. 

I can’t believe I didn’t recognise his scent. I feel my eyes bulging out of my head. 

“You’re a pretty boy,” he says, scratching the middle of my head. 

Oh fuck oh fuck oh god oh shit I should run

I sit down and stare up at him. He kneels down and loops a finger under my collar. 

“I know another pretty boy with a collar like this.”

He thinks I’m pretty.

He scratches both sides of my face. My tail thumps. The sunlight catches on his hair and eyelashes. I didn’t know Baz could look this soft. 

“Can we have a kiss?” 

I feel like I’m on an especially bad episode of The Twilight Zone.

My tail stills. 

Kiss Baz? 

My eyes drift down to his lips. 

His thumbs stroke under my eyes, tugging the fur back. 

If he insists...

I dip my head towards him a little.

Fuck it, I think. I shut my eyes and give him one small kiss on the lips. 

When I pull back, there’s a small smile on his lips. 

“Good boy,” he says. 

Oh fuck.

His fingers trail down to scratch at my chest. “Does the puppy want to play?” His eyelashes flutter.

Yes.

I lie down and roll over to let him pet my belly.

He starts scratching at my tummy. He’s really good at this.

“Eager for some love, aren’t you?”

My tail starts wagging harder.

Baz smells good, gives good pets, I want to kiss him, and I’m apparently into puppy-play now. Who am I?

I tilt my head up to look at him. I reach my paw up and push at his face.

Baz turns his head and kisses my paw.

My heart kicks to the side. 

I slowly pull my paw away and stare at him.

I press my paw back against his face.

Do it again.

Baz nips at my paw and smiles at me.

‘Bite adequately.’

I start panting.

Beep, beep, beep. 

My ears perk up. 

Is that a pager?

Baz’s hands fall away from me as he stands up, fiddling with his belt.

Yep, that’s a pager.  

The beeping stops and he looks down at me with a soft expression. I wag my tail once. 

“Well, then,” Baz says. “Ta, fleabag.” 

My ears immediately flatten against my head and I glare at him. He turns and starts walking away. I stand up and watch him leave, ignoring the part of me that wants to go with him. 

“Play nice with the squirrels,” he calls over his shoulder. I kind of want to bite the hand that he waves at me. 

I eat a squirrel just to be contrary. 

-

I see Baz in the hallway later that day. 

He smirks at me, “Get into a fight with a squirrel, Snow?”

Chapter Text

It’s the week before the full moon.

My body is achy; I can’t tell if I’m hungry or not. I’m completely miserable. Penny calls it my 'wolf pms’ or ‘pws’ (prewolf syndrome). 

I punch the button for my floor and shove my hands in my pockets.

I had the worst fucking day. I was mean to my coworker, and I almost started crying over it. I still might cry over it. She accidentally used baking soda instead of sugar in a large batch of the muffins, and I kinda lost my shit over it. 

"They don’t even fucking look the same!” 

“They kinda do. They’re both white!”

I must’ve wolfed out on her, because she screamed bloody murder, which only pissed me off more. 

"They're both white?!" I slammed my hands down on the counter.

It cracked, the register flew off.

Marla, my coworker, started blubbering. Suddenly something smacked me across the back of the head. 

“Leave her alone, you beast!” 

“The fuck?”

“Watch your mouth!” I got whacked again— with a cane, by a little Winston Churchill looking motherfucker. I tried to bite the cane out of reflex.

"Assault!" he started screaming. "I'm being assaulted!"  

Marla was on the floor bawling.

Needless to say, I lost my job. At least my boss isn’t pressing charges. I just have to leave her my last check to pay for the damages. 

By the time the elevator arrives I really am crying. I can’t wait to bundle up on my sofa and eat Pup-eronis. Maybe I should rewatch Kung Fu Panda— that would cheer me up. 

My feet are starting to swell up. It hurts to walk down the hall to my door. I reach into my pocket to pull out my keys, but I lose my grip. They fall to the floor with a thunk. 

I look at them. 

They look at me. 

How am I going to pay rent?

I wipe at my eyes. I can’t stop crying.

Just pick my keys up, go inside, and this fucking day will be over.

I grab them and before I can unlock the door I drop them again. 

That’s it. Fuck this shit-hole of a day. I collapse and start sobbing. 

I’m going to lose my fucking home. I’m going to end up on the goddamn streets, having to beg as a dog for food scraps. I know Penny won’t let me live with her. She hates my fur. Does she even like me? Am I just an experiment to her? I know I’m too destructive to live with. That’s all I do, isn’t it? Fucking destroy everything I touch. I’m a goddamn monster.  

God, I just want some fucking chocolate. I can’t even have that. It gives me the shits. 

I hear the door behind me open. I stiffen and my hackles raise. 

“Inappropriate place to have a meltdown, Old Yeller. What, did you get fired?”

I whip around and throw my keys at Baz’s stupid fucking face as hard as I can. I don’t bother to see if it hits him. I just go inside and slam my door. 

Fuck, I broke the doorknob off.

-

It’s dark out by the time Po’s entire village is massacred. He was just a baby. 

I blow my nose into my blanket. I would start crying again if I wasn’t so worn out. I pause the film. Po is standing on the rooftop, about to save the Furious Five.

I’ve been feeling like shit the last three hours for throwing my keys at Baz. I didn’t hold back when I threw them; he might really be hurt. I’ve been trying to buck up the courage to go check on him, but I’m not sure what I’ll do if he actually has a big gash on his face. What if he’s missing an eye? 

I never heard an ambulance, but what if he bled out? What if he’s lying in his flat right now, dead?

I stand up. I have to check on him. I cross the hall, ready to break down the door in the worst case scenario. I can handle this; I’ve seen a dead body before.

Fuck it. 

I knock. A full minute passes. I start to sweat. How long are you supposed to wait before breaking in? 

Just then he opens the door wearing a silk robe. Oh, thank god. He’s alive. His eyes roam over me and I remember I’m only in pants and a ratty sweatshirt. 

Baz leans back against the doorway and arches a brow at me. “Yes?” His robe is open. He's got these tiny briefs on with big roses printed all over them.

I feel my face heat up. I nervously shove my hands in the pocket of my sweatshirt. I’m at a bit of a loss, since he’s alive (and mostly naked).

“Um,” I start. His hair is pushed back behind one ear. It comes down to his collarbone. It looks soft. 

I guess I should apologise. 

I square my shoulders. “Sorry for earlier,” I say. 

Baz reaches a hand towards my face. He rubs his thumb under my eye. My face is getting hotter by the second. He’s not mad?

“I thought you were going to eat me,” he says. He’s stepped in closer. There’s something sort of sweet, sweaty, and musky wafting off of him. I wonder what it is. 

He pushes the hair off of my forehead. It feels nice, almost like he’s petting me. 

“Sorry,” I stutter and wrap my arms around myself. 

“How much longer of that film do you have left?” Baz asks.

His finger twirls in my hair. It’s hard to focus. I shrug. 

My chest gets heavy when he pulls away to reach into his pocket. He brings out a black handkerchief and hands it to me. “Do your best to keep it down.”

I run my thumb over the red embroidery— a semi floral design in the corner and scalloped edges. It’s silky soft. A large T sits above the floral bit. 

“T?” I ask. 

Baz crosses his arms. “Handsome and literate,” he says snidely. 

I glare at him, unamused. “What does the T stand for?” I ask flatly. 

“My given name.”

I lift my eyebrows, waiting for him to elaborate. 

“Tell you what,” he says, walking his fingers up my bicep. “Sleep on it and if you guess correctly, I’ll let you keep it.” 

Baz’s finger traces along the collar of my sweatshirt. I give him the first T name that comes to mind. 

“Tim?”

Two fingers hook into the collar of my sweatshirt and jerk me forward. “I despise that name,” he says. 

I frown at him. I like the name Tim. (There was a little rodent living outside my window for several months. I’d called him Tim the Window Rat.) (He disappeared one day out of the blue. I hope he’s doing alright, wherever he is.)

“It was the first T name I could think of,” I say. 

“Do I look like such a simple man?” I can feel his breath on my face. His eyes dart down to my lips. I watch him lick his own. “If that’s your final answer, I’ll be taking my handkerchief back,” he says. 

“Travis?” I suggest. 

He tugs me closer. “One more guess.” 

He has very nice lips: full, sharp cupid’s bow, always turned down at the corners. I kissed them, at the park. I’ve been wanting to kiss them as a human ever since. 

“Todd,” I say. There’s no way in hell his name is Todd. 

“You suck at mysteries, Scooby-Doo.” He tries to yank the hanky from my hand. I grip it tighter and growl at him. Mine now. 

“If you really want it,” his voice drops, “I’ve got another way you can earn it.”  

We're pressed chest-to-chest. My stomach flips. I drop the hanky. I don’t think he means household chores. 

“Suit yourself,” Baz waves the hanky in front of my face. He looks highly amused. “I’ll be keeping this, unless you change your mind.”

My bottom lip juts out. I said I was sorry and he’s being a dick. He hasn’t even apologised yet.  

He rolls his eyes. “Fine.” He flicks the hanky at me. I smile and take it back. 

“Ta,” I say and step away.

“Cry baby,” he mutters. 

I’m grinning. I take another step back. “Goodnight.”

“Ridiculous,” Baz says. He flicks his hair over his shoulder and goes back into his flat. I watch the door shut. 

I go back to my own flat and bolt the door so it’ll stay shut. I lean against it and press the handkerchief to my nose. I take a deep breath.

Smells nice. 

-

I couldn’t eat breakfast this morning, I’m so nervous. Penelope and I are meeting with the bloke that’s supposed to be giving us information. My head’s a hellish mix of excitement and dread. 

I shoved Baz’s hanky into my coat pocket before we left. I keep rubbing my thumb over the embroidery. Penny is holding my other hand. 

“He says he’s at a back table,” she says, reading a message on her phone as we walk into the cafe. 

It’s a pretty small cafe, there’s only one table in the back. A black bloke in glasses is sitting at it. I catch his eye and he waves. I look at Penny. She gives me a look back that says, let’s do this.

He gets up to shake our hands as we approach. “Hi, I’m Shepard. I’m from Omaha, Nebraska.” 

“Where?” I ask. At the same time Penny says, “Never heard of it.” 

“Simon,” I add, shaking his hand.

Penny doesn’t say her name but sits down, so I follow suit. 

“It’s in the Midwestern part of America-" Shepard is explaining, when Penny cuts him off.

"There's more than one America," she says.

"Lots of space. Cold in the winter, and hot in the summer. It's perfect there," he finishes, ignoring Penny. 

“Cool-” I start to say, but Penny mows over me. “If it’s so perfect, what are you doing here?” She turns to me and covers her mouth, like that’ll keep him from hearing her. “I keep asking and he won’t tell me,” she whispers. I guess they’ve been talking the past few days.

“I hear there’s a high werewolf population in London,” Shepard says, waggling his eyebrows at me. What, because of the song? That doesn’t seem like much to base an overseas trip on. 

"You can't just say stuff like that!" Penny hisses. I sink down in my seat and look over my shoulder to see if anyone heard him.

“So you are a werewolf. Sick.” He says to me, looking a little too eager. “You guys all have this vibe,” he says, waving his hands around.

We do? 

“Wolfman vibe, I guess. So, tell me about yourself.” He gestures to me. “She won’t tell me anything about you.” 

“Because you don’t need to know.”

“Are you new in town?” He ploughs on. “I’m not sure why you’d need to know about werewolves if…” he looks between Penny and me. 

“I don’t have a pack.” 

“ Simon,” Penelope hisses. 

“What, like, on purpose?” he asks.

“No—“

“Listen,” Penny says, smacking her hand on the table, “you promised to just answer our questions. It doesn’t matter why we’re asking.” 

“I think it matters,” he says. “Plus, what’s a little exchanged information? It only seems fair.” 

Penny makes a disgruntled noise. Her eye twitches. She opens her mouth to make another comment, and I realise I’m going to have to cut in if I want to actually learn anything today.

“Is there any way to stop the transformation on the full moon?” I ask. 

Shepard’s face scrunches up, “Not that I know of, man. Are you really not part of a pack? I’ve never met a lone wolf bef—“

“There has to be a way to at least lessen the effects,” Penny interjects. 

Shepard is starting to look irritated too. “I didn’t say there wasn’t. I said I didn’t know of any.” He looks back at me, “So did you leave your pack then? How does that work?” 

“He never had one. Now listen to my—“

“He never had one?” Shepard says. “But they always take in—“ 

“I know they do!” Penny says. “The only reason we’re talking to you is because he was abandoned when he was turned.”

Abandoned. 

Shepard blinks and sits back. “Holy fuck dude, how bad were you mauled that they thought you wouldn’t come back?” 

Faces look weird without flesh. His mouth is gouged open, stuck screaming. All tongue and maggots.

I shrug and pull the hanky out of my pocket. I start twisting it. 

“I mean, his heart would’ve had to have been tossed across the yard for them to just leave him.” 

I squeeze my eyes shut once, twice. I don't want to think about it. About him.

“ Or,” Penny says, “he was attacked by a real lone wolf.” 

The hanky is taught, but I keep twisting. Maybe if I just focus on the red.

Like blood. All over my clothes. On my hands.

“I guess,” Shepard pushes up his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “I didn’t think the pack in London let lone wolves on their turf, though.” 

Penny’s jaw drops. My head feels filled up. Heavy. It's like they're talking from another room.

“You know a pack?” She asks. 

“Yeah, of course.” He points at me, “I’m amazed they let you run around willy-nilly.” 

“Simon get up!” he screams. He’s yanking on my arm, trying to pull me up. 

There’s a crunch. I look up. Jaws where his head should be.

“ How do you know a pack?”

“I ask.”

It’s getting difficult to breathe. He isn't breathing.

“Where’s the pack?” 

“I’m not sure if I should tell you. They can be really... touchy about wolves that aren’t pack.” 

At the edge of the road I see it. I know what it is because I can feel it in the air. Beating. No, it's not beating anymore, but I can smell that it did. 

I can smell what it was like alive. I can smell—

His heart is laying hollowed out in the grass. It's bitten in half.

“Simon’s not even part of some ‘rival gang’ or something. Why would it even matter?” 

“You know… some dogs just don’t get along with other dogs."

The moon is blocked out by the clouds. I still see it: a shadow like a black hole in the middle of the trees.

Somewhere a branch snaps.

The shadow shifts. Two yellow eyes looking at me. I blink and-

I hear something crack.

"Simon?" Penny asks from beside me. I'm standing. I think I knocked the chair over. 

"Hey man, are you-" I need to leave. 

When I'm outside I notice the handkerchief in both of my hands. I ripped it in half.

-

I’ve been scrubbing my hands up and down my arms for the last half hour or so. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded.

It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t have stopped it.

Penny had tried to come after me when I ran out of the cafe. I ducked into an alleyway to avoid her, and after she passed I went in the opposite direction.

I shut my eyes and take a deep breath. I’m okay. Exhale. I’m almost home. I just want to go home and tuck in for the night. It’s the full moon, and I need to get ready for my three nights of hell anyway. 

Perfect way to end this fucking week.

I open my eyes to see Baz walking out of my building. He checks something on his mobile and slips it into his coat. I stop in the middle of the pavement, watching him. He’s headed away from me.

I clench my hands. Unclench them. 

For some reason, I start following him. 

Maybe I’m just bored, I tell myself. 

Is this creepy? It feels creepy. I want to run up and say something to him, but I don’t know what. It wouldn’t be that odd, we are neighbours. (And we kissed.) (I mean, I was a dog, and he didn’t know it was me, but still.) (It should count for something.) (I think it counts.)  

I walk a little faster so I don’t lose him. 

This is definitely a dog thing, the following. It’s no different from how I started following him in the park the other day. (Well, I can’t smell him from here so maybe a little different.) It probably has something to do with, like, protecting him. Making sure he’s alright. Whatever. 

Baz ends up going into my favourite bakery. (They have the best custard tarts.) It hits me as soon as the door opens: fresh bread, rhubarb pie, doughnuts frying, bacon and onions and egg (I think it’s quiche), ham and cheese turnovers, melted butter… 

My stomach aches. I can’t believe I still haven’t eaten. 

Oh shit. I wipe at my chin. I'm drooling.

God, I can’t even go in. He’d notice me. 

I run my hand through my hair. Why does it even matter? I should just go in, grab a pastry, and go home. I don’t have time to be doing whatever the fuck it is that I’m doing right now. 

I drop down on a bench across from the bakery. This is so fucking stupid. I rub my palms against my eyes. My stomach feels like it’s eating itself; I’m so hungry. My head is already starting to hurt. My spine is starting to pop in and out.

Fucking bull shit. I’m always doing this, giving into my wolf impulses and acting stupid. If I try to fight it, it's like sirens blasting off in my head. It's spotless, like I'm constantly teetering on the verge of something awful happening. Even when I'm doing something as stupid as waiting for a bloke who doesn't even know I'm waiting for him, hours before the full moon, it's better than being at home driving myself mad. Itchy all over and wondering.

Sometimes I really wish I was a normal human again. Tears prick at my eyes. I wish I could want to go home.

I pull out the two halves of Baz’s hanky. I really fucked it up well and good. The rip is pretty gnarly and it goes straight through the embroidery. I hope it wasn’t sentimental. 

I shove it back into my pocket. You break everything you touch, Simon. 

-

When Baz finally emerges, I’m curled up on the bench crying. Someone threw change at me. I pocketed it; I’m probably going to be destitute soon anyway. 

I jerk up. I need to move or he’ll see me, and then this will all really have been for nothing. I wipe my nose on my sleeve and look for something to hide behind, but fuck, he’s walking directly towards me. 

I need to get out of here. I could throw myself into the passersby, but… we're making direct eye contact. Oh hell. 

"Hungry?" he asks when he’s standing in front of me. He holds a paper bag up in front of my face. I stare at it. I smell— Is— What — Is that—

I grab the bag and tear it open to find the custard tarts and a bottle of milk tucked inside. I lick my lips. How did he know these were my favourites? 

I reach into the bag and take out the box. “These are for me?” I ask, looking up at him. 

“No, they’re for the other bonehead weeping on a public bench.”

I glare at him and shove half a tart into my mouth. The custard melts in my mouth, and I slump back against the bench. These are so choice. The crust is buttery and flaky. The filling is smooth and just sweet enough. I’ve tried making them myself, but they’re just not the same. 

Suddenly Baz scratches me under the chin. I’m so startled my jaw drops open and some tart falls out and onto his hand. Did he just— What— Fuck—

I scoop the half-chewed tart up and shove it back into my mouth. He lifts his hand towards my mouth. There’s some crumbs I didn’t catch. I lick them up and keep licking even after his hand is clean. 

“I knew you'd have a skillful tongue.”

I gag and everything in my mouth spills back out onto his hand. I jolt back, coughing.

“Sorry,” I say between hacks, reaching into the bag for the milk. 

I look up and see Baz staring at his hand. He brings it up to his mouth and gives the mushy tart a lick. 

Ew, what the fuck, Baz. I know I’ve eaten my own vomit before, but never someone else’s.

He notices me staring at him and flings the food off of his hand. I watch it hit the ground. (What a waste.) 

“Any plans for the day?” He asks, wiping his hand on my shoulder. Bastard. This is my nice jacket.

I still can't help but eyeball the gunk on my sleeve. I shouldn't be as wasteful as him. I mean, it's still mostly fresh... 

“No,” I say, taking a swig of my milk instead.

“Right, then. Come on.” He crooks his finger at me and walks off. I stare at his back dumbfounded for a moment. Come where? Where are we going? I shove the other half in the tart in my mouth and go after him. 

“What’re we doing?” I ask when I catch up. 

“Shopping.” 

“For what?” I ask, taking a bite of another tart. 

“For you.” 

-

We end up at a place called Get Stuffed. It's this sinister taxidermy shop packed to the gills with oddly decorated dead animals. Like, if you're a school girl, you probably shouldn't go in. A polar bear in a spiked collar stares at me. I narrow my eyes and growl.

I’ve been standing outside peering in the window as I wait for him. I thought we were shopping together, but when I’d started to follow him in, Baz stopped me with a hand on my chest. 

“Stay,” he’d said.

Honestly, I’m kinda relieved, when we first walked up I thought he was bringing me to a sex shop. (The name, the seedy exterior.) 

I finish off my milk and toss it in the bin next to me. Breakfast made me feel a bit better. I’m still hungry, but less like that chick from Raw and more like maybe actually eating the dried tart off my jacket.

I wonder when he noticed me anyway. Probably when I was curled up crying. I hope he didn’t see me pocket that change…

Just then Baz pops his head out of the door and beckons me with a nod. “Come be useful,” he says. 

Wait, did he actually buy—

Baz drags out a—

My hackles go up. 

Wolf. 

I feel a growl start in my chest. Enemy. I don’t like that it’s dead. I don’t like that Baz is touching it.  

I circle around it, towards Baz, and bark at it. It’s wearing a feather boa and John Lennon glasses, baring its teeth at me. Yellow eyes. 

I push my way between Baz and the wolf, snarling. My mate.

Wait. 

Mate?

No, that’s not— he’s not— I mean, I’d like him to be but—

I clear my throat and move away from the wolf. Without looking at Baz, I ask, “Why?”

“It’s on brand, is it not?” 

I look at him then. “What?”

On brand for me or for him? Does he know? How does he know?

“Grab your friend,” he says, “we’ve more stops.” He walks off (again), leaving me and the wolf. 

I bare my teeth at the wolf. It’s not my friend.

Even so, I toss it over my shoulder and catch up to him. 

We walk in silence for a few minutes. I keep brushing against Baz. I’m looking at him so I won’t make eye contact with the shit wolf. This feels eerily prophetic. When I die, am I going to get stuffed? Be dragged around by a piss poor excuse for a werewolf? Is...did Baz drag me far from home to murder me? 

“Why did you buy this?” I ask him. I sound half desperate. 

Baz flips his hair. “Thought you could use a friend in these trying times.”

“This is,” I pause, gritting my teeth, “for me…” I’ve received some shit gifts in my life, but this wins by a very, very large margin. 

Baz huffs. “Did you think I would want that rubbish?” 

My chin drops. “Why would I want it?” I half shout. 

“Feels wrong to keep family apart.”

I stumble. “W— How!”

“Stink like a dog,” he says. I sniff my pit. “Destructive,” he continues. Baz looks at our bodies pressed together. At some point I must’ve plastered myself against him. “No sense of personal space.”

I lean away and say, “I don’t smell like,” I pause. I want to say I don’t smell like a dog, but it’d be utter horse shit. I grunt. “Well, why do you smell weird?” 

Baz’s arm loops through mine, pulling me until I’m close again. I curl my fingers around his arm. 

“I don’t,” he says. 

We stop for traffic. I press my nose to his shoulder and sniff. “Yes, you do,” I say. 

“You know, half breeds have easily malfunctioning snouts.”

Half-breed? Can werewolves be full bred? How does that work? Aren’t we all bitten? What does he mean malfunctioning? My nose works perfectly well— in fact, I can smell how far that stick is shoved up his ass.

“Half breed?” I grit.      

“Bastardino, mezclado,” Baz looks over at me. “Half dog, half… idiot, apparently.”

Great, now he’s insulting me in different languages. A loud growl erupts from my throat. A woman walking by us jumps and stares, horrified. “My nose isn’t malfunctioning,” I grumble. 

“Oh?” Baz says. “So you’ve been to see a veterinarian recently?”

I stop growling and look up at him. “No?”

He hums, as if to say, ‘oh my, that’s not good,’ and lifts his eyebrows. A pang of worry shoots through me. 

“Should I have?” I ask. Baz tilts his head, looking at my back. 

“Thought I saw a bit of mange,” he says. With that, he releases my arm and walks into a shop.

Mange?

Mange?!

I rush to follow him into the shop but the fucking wolf gets stuck on the doorframe. My bastard date doesn’t even bother trying to help me. 

I get an especially vapid look from someone when I make it inside. I come up behind Baz, but he keeps wandering off. I hug the wolf to my chest and try to stay as close as possible. 

“What do you mean mange?” I hiss at him. He puts a finger against his lips, shushing me, and continues looking around. I could beat him with the party wolf. 

We’re in some gallery. There’s a lot of weird fucking “art.” Some bizzare furry shit: panels of cats and dogs with human bodies snogging, a three eyed mule-boy, a bride with her tiger husband, a nearly naked machine gun kitten, a housewife dog with her tongue out ready for the bloke leaning in… I feel compelled to cover Party Wolf's eyes.

Baz has taken his coat off, which makes me think we'll be here a while. Good God. I've got another headache coming on. I can't figure out why we're here, how he even knows about it, or what someone like Baz could want from a place like this. 

I guess I don't really know him.

I flinch when I turn a corner and nearly ram into a statue of an elephant with a cock for a trunk.

He seems so posh, what with his well tailored trousers and shiny oxfords. Even his shirt is obnoxiously smart: an exotic floral design over his heart with a giant honeycombed pattern down the other side. Its blue and yellow, kinda reminds me of the sun.

'WHO HAS CHOICES NEED NOT CHOOSE.' Is stitched along the bottom, 'WE MUST, WHO HAVE NONE, WE CAN LOVE BUT WHAT WE LOSE- WHAT IS GONE IS GONE.'

He lifts his arm to push his hair from his face. 'THE VOID IS AROUND US…' it says on his cuff. 

Pretentious prat.  

Even then… his eyes move against the light, looking over a painting. He really is quite fit…

I scuff my boot against the floor and turn to see what's got his attention. 

Immediately I balk. Above us hangs a looming multicolored three panel piece of a wolf lady dressed like a belly dancer, tits out.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" Baz says, turning to me. He looks completely amused. 

“No.”

-

He bought it.

“You gave them the wrong flat number.”

“No, I didn’t.”

He gave the gallery my address for delivery. 

I noticed then the giant wolf head pendant around his neck. Cheeky. Did he plan this?

I sigh and scratch at my chin. I’m starting to feel bullied or—

I pause. 

I pull my hand away from my face.

“Thought I saw a bit of mange.”

I run my hand through my hair and give it a gentle tug: hair still intact.

I rub the nape of my neck. What does mange feel like? Would I break out in hives? Would I start bleeding? Would chunks of skin come off? I've been itchy lately, but I thought it was because of seasonal shedding. 

I shove my hand down the back of my shirt and start patting. My back’s still pretty hairy. Fuck, I don’t know anything about mange. I look at Baz, preoccupied with his phone.

“You don’t actually think I have mange, do you?” I blurt. 

“You’d know if you’d been responsible about your health and visited the vet,” Baz says. He puts his phone away and glances at me, “Though I’ve heard stories.”

Stories? What kind of stories? 

I grab Baz’s arm. “S-Stories?”

“Could just be kennel talk,” Baz says. “Could not."

 I swallow, “Is it that bad?”

He looks at me from the corner of his eye. “You know what they say about an STD left untreated.”

STD?! Is that how you get it? I mean, if that’s the case, I’m safe. I haven’t gotten laid since I was turned— let alone fucked another werewolf. 

I thought it was more like fleas. Like, the mange hops onto you or— something. Or like, the fleas lay eggs under your skin. Do I have eggs in my skin? How would I know? How long do they take to hatch? Will I see them crawling? Will they- suddenly, I'm reminded of that scene in Alien. 

What the fuck even is mange?

“Mange isn’t an STD,” I feel like I’m trying to convince myself. 

“You’re right; it’s worse,” Baz says. “I know a person, who knows a person, who found a body. Scabbed and hairless.”

A body? A fucking dead body?

“You can die from mange?” Why couldn't it just be like crabs?

He clucks his tongue. 

Son of bitch.  

I picture myself bald and scratching myself to death. 

“Mange is such a lame way to die,” I mumble. 

“Wait until you learn about all the other canine exclusive diseases."

Oh god.

“Should I be getting rabies shots?” What about ticks? 

He tsks. “Next you’re going to tell me you don’t take heartworm medication.”

“Worms?” I shout. 

Baz leans close to my ear as we walk. “Careful,” he whispers, “your tail is sticking out.”

I spin around to try and look at my ass. 

Nothing. 

My shoulders slump. 

This cockend.

- 

Hoxton Street Monster Supplies 

“Bespoke and Everyday Items for the Living, Dead, and Undead”

I’d bet my left leg the bloody bastard thinks he’s the funniest man on the planet. 

"Are you taking the fucking piss?" I ask the back of Baz's head as he ignores me and makes his way inside. I have to turn sideways so I can fit through the door with Party Wolf. 

“Look! There’s a werewolf now!” over Party Wolf's head I spot a cashier pointing at me. Someone shrieks. I drop Party Wolf.

"Fuck!" I yell when he lands on my foot. 

"Oh, yes, werewolves can be very ill mannered." the cashier says. A little girl bursts into giggles, the woman beside her glares at me. And Baz, that right arse, is smiling.

"Sorry," I say, picking up Party Wolf. I'm going to find a gutter when we leave and kick Baz into it.

I sigh and start poking around the shop. It could be worse. I could’ve actually been found out. 

It looks like an old timey pharmacy. The shelves are lined with tins, jars, glass bottles, etc. They all have ridiculous labels: alarm, a vague sense of unease, creeping dread, night sweats , etc. I pick up a black tin labeled ESCALATING PANIC. Under it is a small description:

“Suitable for all instances where one needs to instil a steadily increasing sensation of pure panic. Particularly effective in crowds. Must not be confounded with Mortal Terror.”

I snort and shake it. Something rattles around in it. (Candies, probably.) 

I think the whole shop is mainly monster themed snacks: organ marmalade, O+ and AB- gummies, chocolate mice on a stick, dragon biscuits. The werewolf biscuits give me pause. 

“Thick, crumbly, melt-in-the-mouth biscuits packed with goodness to support lycanthrope good-health and natural defences. Bursting with flavour, each full-moon shaped biscuit increases vitality and well-being, and helps to maintain a rich, glossy coat,” it reads. I lick my lips. A shortbread biscuit sounds really good right now. 

I catch Baz watching me out of the corner of my eye. I force myself to put the biscuits back; buying them feels like giving him some sort of win. 

I end up buying a tin of Escalating Panic and a Hoxton Street Monster Supplies Cookbook. Baz has two different bags; I didn’t even see him check out. He hands me one on our way out of the shop. 

"Is this for me?" I ask.

"Well, have a look."

Inside I find the werewolf biscuits, pink candies labeled Brain Food, and a mason jar labeled Moonlight. "For a quite immediate and singularly effective transformation from human to werewolf," it says.  

I look up at him. “You’re a prick,” I deadpan.

“Tell me something I don’t know, Clifford,” Baz says. 

Clifford…

“I’m not… that big.” 

Suddenly, Baz’s hand is patting my belly. “Looks like winter weight to me.” 

I feel hot. I touch where his hand just was. Did he just call me fat?  

I think of the day in the park when he pet my stomach. He’d called me ‘love’...

I want to ask if he knew it was me. Does he know it’s me now?

“I’m not… getting fat,” I say instead. 

Baz rubs a hand slowly down my back. I lean into it. 

“I like a handful and a half,” he says and reaches to squeeze my love handle. I squawk and Baz gives another squeeze. I elbow him.

I was ready to break into those biscuits, but now I feel a little self-conscious. 

Winter weight. Fuck Baz, it's autumn. 

I dig out the biscuits. Shit, it’s in a plastic sleeve. I try to rip it open with my teeth, but I almost fucking drop it in the process. I growl and shove the biscuits towards Baz. 

“Can you open this?" 

“I can,” he says, “but will I?”

“Please,” I grit out. 

Baz takes the tin, but instead of giving it back, he starts eating the biscuits. 

I growl at him in warning and try to snatch them back. He immediately lifts them up above my head, out of my reach. Motherfucker has such long arms—  

He shoves one in his mouth and lets out an exaggerated “mmm.”

I jump to grab them, and Baz whips them away again. 

“Stop being a bitch,” I snarl. 

Baz licks his fingers one at a time. I'll bite those fucking fingers off.  

“Maybe I’ll keep these,” he says, dropping the container into his bag.

I make a dive for the bag, and then his hand smacks against my forehead, shoving me away. I snap my jaw at him. 

“Bad dog,” Baz sing-songs. 

Tosser. Where does he get off treating me like a fucking dog? And why do I like it? 

I refuse to look at him, but growl again anyway. 

“Oh, don’t pout, you’ve got more gifts yet,” he says. I hope he chokes. 

-

"Is there anything I can help you with today?"

I can't believe-

"Are you looking for anything in particular?"

How did I-

"Maybe something for couples?" the employee asks smiling. 

A sex shop. We're in a sex shop.

"Actually," Baz says, resting a hand on my shoulder and rubbing. "That would be lovely."

I’m light-headed. 

The sales lady leads Baz around, showing him different toys and smiling at me reassuringly. I follow numbly. At one point she hands him a leather collar with a long tassel hanging from the center. His fingers thread through the binding. He looks me in the eye and drops it in his basket. 

I wonder if they sell water.  

He keeps doing that— looking me in the eye every time he bags something. I feel rude or something, just by being in this space with him, but he brought me here. I don't know why he brought me here. I don't want to think about why. And— and he keeps looking at me.

Like right now while he's caressing this huge—

"Excuse me, sir."

I turn. A different sales lady has come up to me.

“Your—“ she pauses. Party Wolf grins at her. “ Dog is making other customers uncomfortable. If it's no trouble, maybe you could set it out front or—” 

“No, yeah, I’ll leave.”

-

I lean against a bike rack outside, snacking on the pink candies. Brain Food. I’d thought we were going into a cafe, but then there was this side entrance and… 

And.

I pop another candy in my mouth. They’re tasty: strawberry flavoured. 

I’d been looking forward to getting some lunch, since he stole my biscuits. 

A sex shop on the first date… 

SH! Women’s Emporium.  

Usually there’s dinner first.

Is this even a date? I’ve been thinking of it as one, but it did start out as me following him. And then I had that breakdown... This might just be some pity thing. Maybe… What if he’s making fun of me? 

I toss the empty candy bag in a bin. I sniff. This is a popular rubbish bin. I bend and sniff again. Several dogs have pissed here. Two fight over it regularly. I lean in and inhale deep. Also a cat. Damn fiend has marked the bike rack, the shop entrance and the alleyway. 

I'm overcome with an urge to whip my dick out and—

"You could've left that outside," I hear Baz say. Immediately I stand up and jump away from the bin. “It’s not like anyone would want to take it.” 

What? Oh. Party Wolf.  

He’s holding a huge bag. I can't even think about what that means. 

God, this headache is turning into a migraine. My legs are sore to the bone. Every month it's like having growing pains. 

I pick up Party Wolf. “Can we go home now?”

Baz looks at me for a moment. He seems almost— sad. 

Maybe this is a pity date. 

The look passes. "Well, carry on. Or are you waiting for me to pull out a leash?" 

My eyes dart to the bag. Did he buy one?

"Uh." 

He raises an eyebrow.

I cough and spin on my heel. Home. I need to go home.

It’s been two days since I thought about the puppy-play thing. I tried wanking it out of my system. More than once (and stared at my ceiling for a long time afterwards). I thought I was over it.

I glance at the bag again. He did buy that collar... Was it for me? Would he use it on me? I lick my lips and look Baz over. Fuck, it’s not even next week yet and—

“Curiosity has only ever been said to kill cats, Snow,” Baz says. "Do you want to know what's in here?" He shakes the bag.

I bristle and look away. 

Yes.

“You never answered why you smell weird,” I say instead. 

Baz looks peeved. “Tch. You completely lack social skills.” 

I scoff at him. He hesitantly sniffs an armpit. “I’m wearing deodorant,” he tells me. 

I snort. Somehow that relaxes me. 

“I know you are. I meant, like,” I pause. How do I explain it? “You smell different.”

Baz furrows his brows and touches his neck. “Like bad?”

“No, just like you’re missing something.”

Baz looks at me consideringly. “Yes, my common sense after spending an entire day with you.”

Something clicks. I lift my hand to point at him. “You’re not human either!” 

"Oh please," he pauses. “You’re at least half human."

“What, so you’re not human at all?”

“Maybe I’m a figment of your imagination,” Baz says, airily, “a symptom of the mange.”

“I don’t have mange!” I shout. 

Maybe.  

“Or,” he ploughs on, blatantly ignoring me, “maybe I’ve given my soul and a sacrifice of six babies to Our Dark Lord and Savior in exchange for my devastatingly good looks and eternal life.” He flips his hair off his shoulder, “Don’t lose sleep over it, pup.”

My mind goes to the wall of sticky notes at home. 'DEMONS??' one says. It's underlined five times. 

“So there are demons in your flat?!”

Baz snorts. “Want to come exorcise them with me?”

“Listen, I have some holy water at home.”

“Do you,” he says flatly. He licks his lips. My eyes follow his tongue. “I am feeling rather parched.”

What? The fuck does that even mean? Why drink it? Is he trying to tell me that he’s the demon? That holy water doesn’t work? 

My head throbs.

This entire day has been a clusterfuck. We’re almost halfway home. 

I feel sick thinking about tonight— the next three nights. The boredom, the loneliness, the pain, the bloody mess. 

I press close to Baz. If I could just melt into him, maybe I wouldn’t have to change tonight. 

We stop at a crosswalk and I let myself lean my head against his shoulder. For some reason I feel like I’m allowed to. I angle my face to sniff his coat. 

Different, but good. 

I feel Baz’s hand start to rub at the nape of my neck. I’m getting pets, I think. Real ones. 

His fingers move to scratch behind my ear. It feels so good, I don’t realise my foot has started thumping until Baz says something. 

“Did I find your sweet spot?” He says lowly. 

I still my leg and lift my head. I pull at the collar of my shirt, feeling hot all of a sudden. That doesn't normally happen. I’m only really ticklish on my— well, my ass. 

“Sorry, that’s not usually,“ I trail off. "I mean, it's not there."

“Oh,” Baz says, “do I get to find out where?”

I want him to.

“Maybe,” I tell him. 

He starts to scratch between my shoulder blades. I sigh. My head falls back onto his shoulder. 

“Here?” 

“Nah.” My eyes fall shut. 

His hand drifts down to the middle of my back. His voice is closer when he asks, “How about here?”

I hum. Even over my jacket this feels nice. 

His hand keeps slipping further, scratching all the way. I feel like my legs are gonna give out. 

Suddenly, his hand is on my ass and my leg is thumping and a laugh is bubbling out of me. His nails are digging into my most ticklish spot.

“Time to go,” Baz says into my ear, before moving to cross the street. I blink. The crosswalk light has started counting down to DO NOT WALK. 

How long were we standing there?

-

There’s an awkward air between us in the hall outside our flats. I shift my weight from one foot to the other. Should I say something? Do something?

Fuck it. 

I toss Party Wolf and my bags to the floor and hug him. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want the moon to come up. 

Baz oof's but gently drops his bags and hugs me back.  

I bury my face in the crook of his neck. That sweet musky smell from last night is back and stronger than ever. I can’t help myself. I start sniffing up and down his neck. It almost smells familiar. 

“Your neck smells good,” I say. I move my nose up under his ear, down his jawline. 

“That smells good to you?” Baz asks softly. 

“Yeah.” I push my nose under his chin, forcing him to tilt his head back. 

I should rub my face here, I think. And I do. I rub my face down the column of his neck and into his collarbone. Baz inhales sharply and grips me. 

I feel him shiver. I stop. 

Oh, right, maybe rubbing your face all over someone like a cat is kind of weird. I tuck my head back into his shoulder. 

“Sorry,” I mumble. “Dog thing, I guess.” I take a deep breath. I can smell him all around me. It feels thick in my mouth. That spot on his neck— I want to lick it. 

Baz makes a sound in his throat, something between a click and a squeak. His hands run gently up and down my sides. 

I feel the first call of the moon yanking at the base of my skull. 

Time to go. 

I squeeze him tight one more time and let go. He arches his neck towards me as I move back. I nearly lean back into him before—

The sun is sinking lower. The moon is rising. 

I have to go.

“Thanks for today,” I say. The way Baz is looking at me... 

I don’t want to go. 

“Your delivery should be here tomorrow,” He says, looking at my lips. I watch him swallow. 

“Oh,” I say. I won’t be able to come outside and get it. 

“Shall I hold onto it for you?” He asks, putting his hands back on me and moving them down my back. I nod. 

“Alright,” He says gently. He grabs my ass and squeezes, hard. I yelp. 

He gives my butt a cheeky pat. “Sweet spot, isn’t it?”

Before I can say anything, my vision blacks out. I have to steady myself against his chest. I’ve drawn this out as much as I can. 

"Simon." I hear him say. When my vision comes back I find Baz looking at me concerned. He's holding my face. 

My eyes drop down to his lips, full, turned down. 

Before I go…

I lean in and kiss him.

Chapter Text

Door is bolted, padlocked, and chained. Of course, after everything that happened today, I’d had to go out and buy a new doorknob. 

“Goodnight,” I’d said, stepping back towards the door. I could still feel his lips on mine. 

“Snow.” 

“Yeah?” 

He tossed me the tin of werewolf biscuits and then reached into his jacket and pulled out my keys. 

“Shit.”

“Good luck,” he’d said, flinging them at me before going into his flat.

It was a mad dash to the hardware store to get it fixed.

I lean back in the tub and crack my neck.

Now I just have to wait.

I go through my mental checklist one more time:

Automatic feeder is set up. Pee pads are laid out. Pillows are shoved in the back of the closet. A towel is spread out on the floor for after. All that’s left is for the moon to rise.

I wish after three years I was more used to this, but it still sucks. 

I pick at my nails and stare at the blinds. It’s dark now. My ears pop. 

I heave a long, shaky sigh. 

Here we go. 

It always starts in the head. 

It's like the hollow beating of a drum deep inside the back of my mind: bum, bum, bum. Louder, it pushes behind my eyes: BUM, BUM, BUM . Faster, spreading down my jaw: BUMBUMBUM. It keeps going until my head is one ringing vibration. I see red, I see black, I see nothing. Silence swallows me.

Then I hear it.

It’s the moon. 

Wake up. 

The screaming starts. It's not mine. (Maybe mine.) It's from everyone, everywhere, inside of everything. High, piercing. My jaw cracks left, right, like it's being punched. 

My mouth fills up with blood. 

My jaw constricts, and I choke. New teeth are shoving against old ones, popping them out. My gums are stretching to make room. The skin on my cheeks pulls taught and rips open. 

There’s a splitting down the middle of my nose, like hands prying my face apart. Another hand yanks at the base of my skull, forcing it down until it snaps in place. 

The drumming is back. Louder and louder and louder. It’s everywhere. In everything. She’s screaming—

Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up.  

My collarbones collapse. I lose my bearings and hit— something. 

Tiny, white fingers hook into my eyes and turn them back.

My body goes rigid. 

SNAP! Spine. POP. POP. POPOPOP. Ribs. 

She’s biting my tail. She’s dragging me out. 

I try to fight her— I have claws now. 

BUM BUM BUM

Hot. Wet. I stick. 

BUMBUMBUMBUM 

Look up. Can't see.

SCREAM

“Wake up, Simon.”

CAN'T BREATHE BREATHEBREATHEBREATHE

"Simon."

BUMBumbum bum bum

Breathe. 

Breathe.

Stop. 

-

Blink

Dark

Blink

See cold

Blink

See

Panting

That’s me.

Breathe

-

Awake 

Sniff

Blood

My blood. 

Sing. 

Want sleep

Bed

-

Nose is cold. 

Back under blanket. 

-

Door shuts. 

Run to door. 

Who is it who is it whoisitwhoisitwho

Slam against door. Bark. They wait. Press nose to door. 

Who is it

Something missing. 

Growl 

Sweet sweaty musky

Wait

Sniff again

Baz! 

Scratch at door 

Whine

Out

Out. Baz. 

Going away. Don’t go.

Baz. 

Lay against door

Whimper

Baaaaaaazzzzzzz.

Gone

Cry

Bzzzz. Kibble!

-

Bored

Bored

Booooored

Chew food bowl

Bored

Hungry

No milk bones 

Penny right

Huff

Miss Penny

Peeeennnnnnyyyyyyy 

Hurt her last time

Hurt Penny

Get up

Tear something up

-

Party Wolf 

Play!

Pounce!

Got you! 

Run away 

Peek around corner 

See Party Wolf

Growl

Tackle!

Steal feathers

Eat feathers

-

Puke feathers

-

Push nose to glass 

Moon. 

Moon is soon.  

I wait. 

-

Moon rising.

Dig.

Higher.

Digdigdig

Higher, higher, higher!

Smash glass.

Out. Out. Want out.

Bars on window. BITE.

I WANT OUT.

Moon. She touches me.

Breathe. I can breathe.

I'm awake.

I sing.

-

A door opens. 

I stop singing. Sniff. 

Baz. 

I go to door. 

Music. 

Blood. 

Mate is hurt. 

I cry. 

Baz touches door, slides down. 

Why hurt? I hurt.

Fall against the door. I whine. My mate. 

Moon knows him. She says he’s dead. 

I cry. 

The blood isn’t his. 

I bark. Growl. Whose blood? 

Dig. I want blood. I want out.

Hunthunthunt

Baz growls back. 

Hunt. Play. 

My tail wags. 

My mate. 

“Are you like me?” Baz is sad. 

I don’t know. 

I don’t know what you are. Dead.

I’m sorry. 

I sing for you. 

Baz. 

Baz. 

I want to be with you. 

You sing too. The moon likes it. She likes you. 

Another door opens. Someone alive in the hall. A woman— Mrs. Sutton. 

Growl. 

I don’t like her. 

BARK!

BARK BARK BARK BARK

WE SHOULD HUNT

“You’re naked!” 

Naked?

Who.

Baz? 

Naked. 

Baz is—

Try to break door. 

Let! Me! Out!

“I'm calling the police!" 

BARKBARKBARKBARK

"No you're not. You're going to go back to bed and forget you saw me." NO NEVER FORGET 

RIP CHAIN OFF DOOR

"Tell me you understand.” I UNDERSTAND YOU ARE MY MATE

"I do." 

BITE DOORKNOB. SQUEEZE 

"Goodnight, then, dearie.”

DON'T GO!

"Goodnight."

CRY. BARK. CRY. 

"Quiet, my sweet.” I stop. I’m his sweet? “It's just us now."

Us

Headbutt door. Want mate. There’s sparks in my eyes. 

Ow. 

Uh-oh. A dent. 

"Have I got you all worked up?" 

I whimper. Yes. 

Skin, blood, mate… I want.

I cry and curl up. 

Come closer. Sniff. 

I want his neck. 

I want my Baz. 

“Simon.” 

Baz?

“You’re rare.” 

So are you. 

-

I fall asleep against the door. 

-

Ate towel. 

Ate shower curtain. 

Ate soap. 

Throwing up soap. 

Throwing up everything. 

So bored. 

-

Gotta get to the center of bed

Fluff!

So much fluff!

Spring. Rip. Don’t need that 

Tear them all out

Fabric riiiiiiiiip

Tug. 

TUG!

Fall off bed. 

-

Broke food box 

Ate all the food

Tummy hurts

-

In tub

Waiting for moon

Goodbye

-

It’s dark. Dark blue. 

The moon is not calling me anymore. 

Goodnight.

Chapter Text

The water’s gone cold, but it feels good on my overheated skin. It’s been like that the past hour: boiling just under the surface. Tingling everywhere, turning into an itch that’s getting more difficult not to scratch as the evening stretches out.

Well, I’ve scratched a few times. My thigh spasms thinking about it. 

I close my eyes and sink deeper into the water. It’s only been about six hours since I woke up in the tub, mostly in the same manner. (Well.) (I was covered in blood, shit, broken claws, and rotting flesh.) (It was dark, though.) (Before the sun, after the moon.)

The flat was completely botched: carpet ripped up, mattress in pieces, cabinets busted to hell, door nearly cracked in half. The window in the living room is shattered. 

Took me most of the day to clean up. At least Party Wolf and my sofa are still intact. 

I stretch my legs up against the wall, cracking my ankles. Moving around all day kind of helped with the post-full-moon aches— popped things back into place. Kept me busy, instead of hungry.

I was really fucking hungry; I always am when I first wake up. Normally, I shower the sick off and then eat something before assessing the damage, but this time I found the fridge knocked on its side and the chains broken off: empty. Ice box too.

Couldn’t run to the corner store. Not with—

Well.

All day I kept smelling something dead and delicious. I thought maybe it was a squirrel fried on a wire or a mouse stuck in the walls. It wasn’t until I was running all the rubbish out to the bins that I found it. Or I guess I didn’t really find it; it was sitting right on my welcome mat: a giant rat the size of a cat with a red bow around its neck. Recently killed. Room temperature. 

I could’ve wept.

I curl my toes against the tile wall.

Baz left it for me. I know he did.  

My stomach starts to simmer. Maybe I’m still hungry.

Until then, I’d had my post-full-moon heat mostly under control. (I thought about the Queen, spoilt milk, that time I ate a fake apple at a furniture store…)

It won’t really start until tomorrow, but—

Baz. 

We kissed. Properly. He put his hands in my back pockets. I pressed my fingers into that spot, right behind his ear, where it smells sweet. He made this noise, like a whistle. Or a sonorant.

It was good. His lips were kind of chapped. 

I open my eyes and look through a hole in the tile. I can see my bedroom. 

I run my fingers over my chest. The muscles twitch. 

There’s a spot on the floor by the front door where I tried digging. Baz had been on the other side. I wonder what I would’ve done if I’d gotten through. 

"Have I got you all worked up?"

I'm hard against my thigh. I reach down to grip myself.

That first night he opened his door to me his robe was untied, exposing everything. Well, nearly everything. (Those briefs.) (Small enough I could picture what's underneath.)

I shudder, giving myself a slow tug.

He was naked the other night. Spread out in front of my door, like the food he offered me.

I roll my balls under my palm, press my thumb against the head. The water's feeling warm again. 

The rat's flesh broke easily. I can almost feel its blood running down my chin. Baz smelled like blood. He's got soft skin…

I groan, stroking myself faster. 

"My sweet."

I sigh. Blood is sweet. Baz is sweet.

He tastes like he smells. I can smell him, so sweet it's burning my nose.

I could come with his blood in my mouth.

I gasp and let go of myself. Fucking hell. I sit up in the tub, scrubbing my hands over my face. 

That’s not—

I pull at my hair.

I don’t want—

My hands drop, and I stare at the candle on the toilet. (Battery operated.) (Penny won’t let me use real candles after what happened at the old flat.) 

Wonder what his bones sound like snapping. It feels like seasick birds in my stomach. I can hear Baz in the back of my mind, asking to live.  

I'm outside myself, pulling strings on my body. 

I touch the edge of the tub.

I smell him. He's not scared. He's—

I hear the elevator open. Baz is here.

-

I’m standing at his door, still wet, with a towel slung around my hips. I knock. 

I don’t remember walking over here...

The air tastes salty, pinching the back of my tongue. My head feels thick, dizzy. I tilt it back and close my eyes, sniffing.

He's been to a salon, like one of those posh ones Agatha used to visit in central London.  

The back of my neck is burning. The heat is in my ears, across my face, spreading down my back. 

Why is it so hot in this hallway? I’m panting. 

I lean in until my nose presses against the wood. He's all over this place. It’s getting hard to think—

The door opens.

I blink and find myself right at his face. 

"Uh," I say, stumbling back.

He's wearing a silver satin-y looking suit cinched by a band above his hips. Slim, shiny black boots. No top under his blazer, just skin and fine, neatly groomed chest hair.

Jesus Christ, I shouldn't have come here. 

"Snow," Baz greets me. 

I swallow. His hair. It's down to his waist. When the fuck did that happen?

“Your hair.” I respond. It’s only been three days since I’ve seen him. Is he wearing a wig?  

"You like it?" he asks, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck and pulling me back to him. His eyes drop down. Shit, I'm still hard.

Why did I come here?

“Uh, yeah.” My hands slide over his chest, down to his waist. I lick my lips. “Extensions?”

He leans in until I feel his breath on my lips, "Why don't you give a quick pull and find out?"

Slowly, I bring my hand up and bury my fingers in the hair behind his ear. I give a gentle tug. It's soft.

His eyes fall shut.

He kisses me.

That smell: syrupy, pulsing around us, sticking to my skin.

I kiss him back.

My palm is wet. It's him. I smear it down his neck, over his chest. 

He's pulling me inside.

Gonna fuck him raw. 

I follow.

I yank his head back and retrace the wet path I made with my tongue. Tastes like treacle and bitter chocolate. 

Baz snarls, and I feel it in my mouth. My towel comes off. 

I growl. More.

I push my tongue back into his mouth, against his teeth. He opens up for me. It's sloppy. It's crushing. It hurts.

All. I want all of it.

I rip his sash, grab his ass and hoist him up. He's so hot. He wraps his legs around me. Strong thighs. I move— somewhere, my cock rubbing his through his trousers. Need the bed— something closer than that—

I pull back and look around. His flat is pitch black. “Where’s—" I start. Baz is nipping at my jaw, “sofa.” He waves his hand over his shoulder, pulls my ear between his teeth.

I stumble forward until my shins hit something cushiony. I drop him and crawl between his legs. 

I tongue at his belly button, then lick from his navel up to his neck. Baz hisses and finds my nipples, pinching them. I grunt. 

"Do you like that?" 

I answer him with a roll of my hips. He moves until he's meeting me with fervor, thrust for thrust, mouth open against mine. I think he's saying my name with every breath. 

I feel red popping down my back, driving me harder into him. I want in. 

The sofa's creaking. 

Baz leans up to press his lips against my ear. "Show me your teeth," he whispers. 

Show me yours.

I shove him back and pin him, growling. Show me.

The moon cuts across his face. His eyes are red. He's smiling. 

Baz lets go of my arms where he's been holding me and cradles the back of my head. The red is still rumbling inside of me. He pulls my face towards his and then licks my chin, dragging his tongue over my teeth, up my nose and onto my forehead.

"Toothsome,” he says.

Fuck. 

I yank him by his hair and bite his cheek. Mine.

He whines and slaps me. I snap at his hand. He wraps his fingers around my throat. "You're going to fuck me." He shoves at me and flips over, presses his ass back against me. I snarl.

I dig my fingers into the seam of his trousers between his asscheeks and rip. He's not wearing pants. 

"Ich liebe dich." His voice is off— gravelly. 

I press my hands hard into his back, making him arch against me, and bow over him. The head of my cock nudges his hole. He's warm and twitching. Baz. 

I latch my teeth onto his neck where he smells the strongest. Acidic, sweet liquid gushes into my mouth. Mate. 

He mewls. I rut between his cheeks.

I want to open his chest. Take his heart between my teeth.

The red is reaching my throat.

"Give me your worst."

I reach around, grab his cock, and rock his hips with mine until he's fucking into my fist.

I want to give him everything.

"Give me the wolf." 

I freeze. 

No. 

I rip my teeth from his neck. No no no no—

My face is wet. My mouth is dripping. Blood.

I topple off the sofa and land hard on my ass. My eyes burn. I rub at my mouth— fuck, my claws. I crawl back and slide across the floor until I hit a wall.

Can’t smell blood. Only Baz. My chest constricts— no air.

I need to say something. “G-gotta—“ Spit it out. “Gotta piss.” 

I push myself up and hurry through the bedroom (run into a door) towards the smell of the toilet. Baz is calling after me. I slam the door behind me and fumble for the switch. 

God, it’s so fucking bright— I’m crying. I sink to the floor. It's cool. I’m too hot. 

I scratch my claws down my arms. Fur. I wolfed out on him.

“Give me the wolf.”

I lick around my mouth: too-long teeth. 

I guess I gave it to him.

I lie down and press my face to the tile. Cool.

-

This is the fifth time I’ve splashed cold water on my face. I don’t want to go back out there. 

Baz came to the door right after I shut myself in. He didn't say anything or knock, just stood there. I'd reached up and turned the lock. He left. 

I well and truly fucked up. That was only our second kiss and we— Only our second day together. We weren't even really— We've only been dating four days. 

Are we even dating?

My hands have gone back to normal. So’ve my teeth. 

I think he said something in German. How many languages does he speak? I— I guess I don't really know anything about him.

I dry my face, rubbing a little too hard, until it stings. 

“Give me the wolf.”

Bloody Norah, I really had. I could've ripped his jugular out. I thought I'd broken skin, but I didn't taste any blood. And there wasn't any on my hands or face. Just Baz. Sticky. My chest hair is matted with it. 

(I’m ashamed that my cock twitches.) 

My dick is mostly flaccid, but I know if I go out there starkers I'll end up making an ass of myself. Baz probably doesn't even want that anymore. Or me.  

Maybe I should leave. 

-

There's murmuring in the living room when I come back out. The telly has been flipped on, flashing over Baz's face. Otherwise, it's still dark. He's stretched out along the sofa with his head propped in his hand. He's naked from the waist up with a throw covering his lap. 

I sit down, still mostly in his bedroom. He doesn't look at me. I don’t blame him. My towel is folded by his feet.

He wants me to leave.

I put back my ears and whine. He looks at me cooly. Shifting was probably a bad idea. I look at my paws.

"C'mere," Baz says softly. I look up and see him patting the arm of the sofa. My eyes fall back to his chest. I whimper.

"I'm not going to jump you," he sighs. "My suit is ruined, and my closet is through the lavatory."

Oh, I was in his way. I glance at the front door. 

"Simon," he says. I look at him. He's reaching a hand out to me. Baz.

He keeps his eyes on me as I slowly make my way over. I lay my head next to his hand and look up at him. My chest feels tight. I let out a soft cry. Sorry. 

For a moment Baz just watches me. Then he cups my cheek, stroking under my eye with his thumb. I lean into it. 

“Do you want to go home?”

I move closer until I’m pressed against him and nudge at his hand. Not really. 

His hand moves to scratch behind my ear. “Do you want to go out?”

I cock my head at him. 

Out?

-

I hike my leg to piss on a tree while watching Baz out of the corner of my eye. He’s walking ahead of me, trailing his hand along the fence. We’re the only two in the dog park. (Probably because we broke in after curfew.)

He was ahead of me the entire way here. I couldn't bring myself to walk beside him; I could barely bring myself to look at him. His dismay enveloped the stench of London. I'm a disappointment. And an animal.

I haven't been able to tell in the dark, but I don't think I hurt him.

"Give me the wolf." What the hell does even mean? I kick some dirt up against the tree. That sex shop, the dog nicknames, puppy play…we're alone at night in a dog park… I'm a wolf right now, but Baz hasn't made any moves. I thought he was just being a prick, but is he actually into that sort of thing? I gulp. Christ, I hope not.

There's no way I could give him that, but— The moon on his face, dragging me out.

I lick my teeth. I can still sort of taste him.      

Baz stops walking and looks over his shoulder at me. I don't think he saw me wolf out. He would be afraid if he did, I think. Or at least he should. And he doesn't smell scared. He smells… relaxed. He stands in place, looking at me, until I move towards him.

I try to stay at a distance, but he keeps pausing and waiting for me. We do that back and forth for several minutes until I'm only a few metres away.

He put on jeans before we left. I can't believe Baz even owns jeans. It's the most casual I've ever seen him. (I mean, well, besides being nearly naked every time he answers the door.) He looks good.

His scarf covers half of his face. It's kind of cute. He looks snuggly. 

Baz, snuggly. As if. That's too domestic. It'd be nice, though. 

I'm trying not to think about early mornings and lazy weekends with Baz, when suddenly I slam into his back. Ack. I shake my head and stagger backwards. Baz is looking down at me, half a smile on his face. 

"We've met like this before, haven't we?"

Oh, yeah. 

Wait. 

What. 

I shrink back.

"I knew it was you." 

He knew? The entire time?  

How?

"You were wearing your kinky sex collar."

I snort, looking at the grass. It’s not a sex collar. 

Baz kneels down and turns my face to his. He's still smiling. "Maybe you'll wear it for me later." 

My tail wags before I can help it. He winks. My stomach drops. My tail starts thrashing. I turn and growl at it. Stop.  

Baz pulls my face back and kisses my nose before standing up and straightening his coat. 

"Let's grab a bite."

-

"French Vanilla?"

No.

"Strawberry?"

Gross.

"Raspberry sorbet?"

I huff. That's not ice cream.

"Coffee bean?"

I shake my head. Bad idea.

"Triple chocolate?"

I glare. Asswipe.

"Pumpkin pecan?"

I drop my head.

"Peanut butter?"

My head snaps back up.

YES, I bark. 

"We'll have-" Baz starts to say to the cashier, and then turns to me, "how many scoops?"

I bark five times. I'm bouncing from paw to paw. He turns back to the cashier.

"We'll have two scoops."

I yowl and flop against his side. Fix the order before it's too late!

He flicks my nose. I squall, collapsing to the ground. That hurt. 

Someone steps over me. 

I always get five scoops, and I was willing to sacrifice one for Baz. He brought me to one of those walk-up ice cream stands. "I'll get you anything you want,” he'd said. Liar.

I’m only gonna get one scoop. One and a half maybe. I yowl again. This night is the worst. 

"Mate, is your pup alright?" The cashier asks, sticking his head through the window. I whine. Have mercy on me, add another scoop.

"That's not my dog, just a stray I took pity on," Baz says, grabbing our cone and stepping over my head. I make to nip at his ankle and miss. Bastard.

He finds a place at a table and sits down, crossing his legs. He takes one long lick up the side of both scoops. I reach my paw towards him. Nooooo. 

Baz looks me in the eye, raises his eyebrow, and sticks his tongue straight into the ice cream. I scream and lunge off the ground towards him.

I pounce, nearly knocking us and the chair to the ground. Baz grunts, but steadies easily, holding the cone above my head. 

"On second thought, ice cream isn't very good for dogs."

I screech, kicking my hind legs in the air, trying to fit into his lap. Give it to me! I stretch my neck as far as I can reach and snap my jaw. Baz lifts the cone higher. 

"Really, it might make you sick," he says. A drop of melted peanut butter hits me in the eye. I yip and fall back. It burns! I rub my face against Baz's hip. He's laughing. I fucking hate him.

"Oh, your puppy is so cute!" I hear a woman saying. I look up in time to see a pretty brunette walking towards us. She's gonna pet me. My tail starts to wag. She has a nice smile. I turn away from Baz and step towards her, perking my ears up. 

"Hullo there, baby," she coos, kneeling down and leaning towards me. She reaches a hand out—

Baz's head darts between us, teeth snapping. She reels back and falls on her ass. My stomach flips.

He's growling.

The woman holds her hand to her chest, wide eyed. He snaps again. 

What the fuck, Baz.

My heart skips.

She scoots back.

"He's not friendly." Baz hisses, sitting up. He wraps an arm around my neck.

That was kinda hot.  

I nose up under his chin and nip at his neck. He stops growling. 

"You're mad!" The woman exclaims. He is. I rub my muzzle against the sweet spot behind his ear. I'm his mate. 

Baz shudders. I lick him. He starts making that clicking noise. I lick again. His hand fists into my fur. 

"And you're imposing," Baz says.

I drool. Woof. 

The woman scoffs. She's just jealous. Her heels clack against the pavement until she's gone. 

"Here." Baz brings the cone to my face. It's melty and dripping over his knuckles. I swallow it in one chomp. I got both scoops.

"Still hungry?"

I’m starving. I lick between his fingers. More. I throw my front paws over his neck and nibble his jaw. 

"Shall we go for dinner?"

I bark. 

He presses a finger to my lips, and in a low voice asks, “Want to eat at home?"

I whine loudly. I'll eat you. My tongue darts into his mouth. Peanut butter ice cream, Savile Row, plum tea, the back of a cab. 

Old blood. 

I piss myself. Just a little. 

Oops. 

Baz pinches my paw and pulls back. There's a small wet spot on his jeans. He grimaces.

"Do we need to stop for some nappies?” He shoves me off his lap. 

I huff and look away. Accidents happen. 

His lips press to the side of my muzzle.

"Well, come along."

-

Home.  

That's what Baz said. "We're going home."

He got us Chinese takeaway. He stood outside and read through almost the entire menu until I chose.

"Chicken lo mein?"

No.

"Beef chow mein?"

Ruff!

He got sweet and sour pork. I wonder if he'll share. 

He's taken us a longer way back, through the older part of the city. I'd rather already be eating, but when I nosed at the bag he hoisted it up to his chest and swatted my head. Tosser. It's gonna get cold. I tried shoving him along to get him walking faster, but he ignored me.

Actually, he hasn't said anything. At all. My stomach is in knots. What happens after we eat? Home. Will I have to go back to my flat? Does that mean I'm staying over? Are we going to—

I glance at Baz. He seems okay. This side of town is all brick and fallen leaves and dark streets. The way the breeze is stirring his hair, the grey of his face against the night sky… 

Without looking at me, he trails his fingers over the tips of my ears. He keeps them there as we walk. I press against his side. 

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can be gentle. I don't have to hurt him if I don't want to.

I don't want to.

I don't.

-

"I'm a grisly sight, it's true; but I love you and that's why I'm here. You've got to know."

"If you love me so much, Jack, you'll realize how disconcerting it is to share one's breakfast with the living dead!"

Baz sighs, watching the screen, and rubs his fingers as far as he can reach down my back. Up again. Repeat. 

Empty food cartons litter the coffee table. He put a movie on while we ate. Well, I ended up eating both our meals. Baz took two bites and dumped his pork in front of me. I tried to hold out in case he changed his mind but… 

Maybe he wasn't hungry.

Shadows play over his face. I scoot up his chest and tuck my face into his neck. We're laying on the sofa. He's under me. It feels okay. It feels good.

I don't think anything else is going to happen tonight.

His hair blocks out the light from the telly. The pads of his thumbs rub circles over the tops of my paws. I inhale. He smells less bitter now. More earthy. Makes my eyes heavy. 

This is good.

His breathing slows until I’m sure he’s asleep. I can feel myself following him.

I picture him at the edge of a clearing, crooking his finger, beckoning me into the trees.  

I blink. I think I fell asleep. 

The room is dark and quiet, but that’s not what woke me. Baz’s arms are tight around my neck.

“I’m sorry if I messed things up earlier,” he says. His voice is muffled by my fur, small. He squeezes me and moves his head under my chin. 

You didn’t; I did, I want to tell him. I want to hold him. I whimper. 

“I don’t want us to hurt each other, Simon.”

I knock his face to the side, so I can push my forehead to his cheek.

I don’t want to hurt you. 

I don’t.

The dark is heavy. I'm heavy. I think to ask Baz if I'm crushing him, but I can't. I'm a dog. And he's something else. I close my eyes.

There’s just breathing between us for a long while, and I start dozing again, until he speaks. I think if I weren’t like this, I wouldn’t have heard him.

“Will you stay?”

I lick his hairline and stretch until I’m covering him as much as I can. He keeps his arms around me.

Yes.