Archive of Our Own

Sapnap gulps as he skates over to the referee and lines up for the penalty shot. Logically, it shouldn’t be a terrible shot. They’re playing the second worst team in the league and their goalie is a pretty small guy, probably a freshman.

But he can feel his heart pounding in his ears. He got tripped in the final seconds of the game, so it’s this or nothing. Everyone is relying on him.

He briefly glances out toward the crowd. There are only six people here at the rink supporting their team, and he knows three of them pretty well. His best friend, George, has actually peeled his gaze up from his phone for once to watch the shot. He enjoys hockey well enough but there’s a difference between an NHL game and watching a bunch of teenagers clumsily skate across the ice for two hours. The two others that he knows are Tommy and Tubbo, who are both photographers for the school newspaper and yearbook conglomerate and come to almost every home game. Tommy’s always been pretty good friends with his brother so he was forced to babysit for their little friend group when they were younger a few times. Two of the other people that he doesn’t know that well the are parents of his teammates.

And the last one, well, he knows that he’s seen him around school before. He’s pretty sure that he’s in his year there are only about a hundred people in his class but Sapnap is slightly terrible at keeping track of names. He’s got a thick beanie pulled over his ears and is watching intently as he chews on the back of a pen, occasionally scribbling in the notebook sitting on his lap.

The ref blows the whistle, tearing his attention away from the mysterious guy in the stands and back toward the manner at hand. He has to shoot. He needs to make this shot for the people that actually did bother to come out to their game this week.

He takes a shaky breath and lines up his shot and then something just kind of takes over him, something primal burning through his veins. With something akin to a growl, he takes the shot and the puck goes flying, faster than any shot he’d ever taken before.

The goalie dives after it a little too late but it doesn’t even fucking matter. The shot’s wide. They lost again, 6-0 this time. It’s the fourth game of the season and they’re getting shut out for the fourth time. No wonder nobody goes to their fucking games.

“We’ll get ‘em next time,” one of his teammates says, patting him on the back as he sits on the bench and pulls off his skates.

Somehow, Sapnap’s not sure if he believes him.

He takes his time heading back to the showers. He’s gotten a bit hairier in the past few weeks and even though he knows it’s perfectly natural for a guy his age to have hair on his chest and he knows that his teammates wouldn’t even pay attention to shit like that, he’s kind of self-conscious about it. He hit puberty like three years ago. There’s no reason for there to be a forest of black hair starting to coat his chest now.

When he steps out into the lobby of the ice rink, George is leaning against a pillar with his eyes glued to his phone, a frown on his face. He catches a brief glimpse at his screen and sees Dream’s smiling face on top of a series of messages that George hasn’t bothered to reply to.

Part of Sapnap is bitter that their mutual ex-best friend still texts George after he ditched them to play hockey at some fancy private school. He hasn’t sent Sapnap a single message since a particularly heated argument they had three months ago but he’s also a bit relieved about that at the same time. He doesn’t know how he’d deal with that kind of thing.

“Ready to go?”

George’s head shoots up from his phone and he hastily pockets it. “You were in there forever. Of course, I’m ready.”

He looks around for a moment. “No Tommy or Tubbo?”

Usually, he gives them a ride home after games since they’re just freshmen and the games usually end decently late. It’s too far for them to walk and he knows neither of their parents particularly want to drive out to the ice rink at ten o’clock, so he always just offers. Tonight, neither of them are there. Maybe Wilbur came to get them or something.

George shakes his head. “I think they might have gotten a ride from Quackity instead. By now, they both know that you take forever.”

Quackity must be the guy that he only sort of recognized from earlier with the beanie. Based on the notebook on his lap and the fact he’s friends with Tommy and Tubbo, Sapnap guesses that he probably works for the school paper too. He just had no idea why some journalist is covering their flop hockey game when their football team, which is only marginally less terrible, had a game two towns over like an hour earlier. He gets that Tommy and Tubbo cover a lot of the less exciting sports teams since they’re freshmen and some of it’s for the yearbook, but Sapnap is like ninety-percent sure that Quackity’s a senior like he is. Shouldn’t he be writing about something more exciting?

He brushes it off fairly quickly. It doesn’t really matter to him either way. If anything, he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to carpool tonight.

Sapnap twirls his keys around his finger and goes out to his car, George trailing behind with his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker.

Since they don’t have any freshmen to drive home, he pulls off for food at the Taco Bell near the highway. He’s been hungrier than usual recently, especially after a big game, and he knows that George isn’t going to complain about stopping for food.

Taco Bell is pretty empty for a Friday night. He supposes it’s because the football team was away today; people probably went to get food out there instead of back home. Still, there are only two occupied tables. One of them seats a middle-aged couple enjoying a bowl of nachos together and the other is-

Shit.

In the corner of the restaurant, there are two tables pushed together and there’s a small group of people from his school, split between sitting on the chairs and the table itself.

In the center of the group, laughing as he sips on his Baja Blast Freeze, is Karl Jacobs, the guy that Sapnap’s had a crush on pretty much for his entire high school career. He looks good, mousy brown hair falling softly over his hazel eyes. He’s wearing his white and green letterman and when he turns slightly to listen to whatever his friend Foolish is saying, he can see the growling face of a tiger embroidered on the back, along with colorful patches that he’s added in addition to the original design to make it pop more.

Briefly, Sapnap regrets not wearing his letterman. He’s a varsity athlete too, after all, even if his team fucking sucks. But, at the same time, he knows that having a fancy jacket won’t make him any less of a loser, just like how Karl wouldn’t be any less cool if he took his off.

George nudges him in the back almost hard enough to bruise. “Order, idiot.”

Sapnap steps forward and fumbles through his order, getting something entirely different than what he’d intended to buy because he’s so distracted. He can practically hear George holding back his laughter behind him because, even if he wears a straight face, George always finds some amusement in Sapnap’s misery.

As if to prove his point, George pulls him into a booth that’s like two tables away from Karl’s once they’ve gotten their food. Sapnap’s going to have to spend his entire evening pretending not to stare.

The thing about Karl is that he's not just popular, but he’s super nice too. Like sure, he’s the captain of their varsity soccer team, the only men’s team at their school that’s actually decent at anything but he’s also the type of guy to know the names of almost everyone in their school and to always greet people with a compliment, even if he’s not their friend. He’s smart too, and volunteers to tutor at their school during lunch. That’s how Sapnap met him three and a half years ago. Karl was the only reason he passed world history.

“Which of them will notice you staring first,” George says, loud enough for him to hear but not loud enough that Karl’s table will notice them talking about them.

He forces himself to look at George, who seems to be dissecting his crunchwrap with two different forks. It’s completely open and he’s methodologically piling up tiny pieces of tomato on a greasy brown napkin. He guesses that they got his order wrong again but this seems like a bit much.

“I’m not staring,” he lies, partially transfixed by George’s commitment to never willingly eating a tomato.

George hums without looking up from his little project. “I think Tina’s probably going to notice first. She’s definitely more attentive than Foolish and Karl combined. Could be Callahan but he’s not going to call you on it. He knows how to mind his own business.”

Sapnap briefly thinks about a hypothetical universe where George also minds his own business. At this point, he’s pretty sure that universe doesn’t exist.

Now, Sapnap makes a point not to stare and instead focuses on eating his burrito as tidily as possible. Maybe, if he’s lucky, Karl will see him eating his burrito across the restaurant and instantly fall in love with him.

“You know, if you want to get his attention, you should just go over there.”

To this day, Sapnap doesn’t understand George’s innate ability to read his fucking mind. At least he’s being genuine about it instead of giving him shit this time.

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to bother him.”

There used to be a time, back before his friendship with Dream took a turn for the unhealthy, that Sapnap was bursting with confidence. He knows his life would probably be better if he could get just a little taste of that back.

George stares at him for a second as he takes a sip of his drink. “You know, if you really want a chance to talk to him, there’s a party tonight.”

A party. Truth be told, Sapnap hadn’t exactly been to very many in his time at El Rapids High. Before he left town, Dream had kind of been the center of their friend group, and certainly the most popular of the three of them. But Dream didn’t drink so even if he got invited to parties, the three of them never went.

Honestly, Sapnap isn’t sure how exactly George knows that there’s a party. Sure, he’s on the soccer team, but he’s the type of quiet where people don’t really pay much attention to him.

He must see his confusion because he adds, “It’s at Foolish’s house but it’s in Tina’s honor. She scored three goals at their last game.”

That makes a little more sense. The girl’s and boy’s soccer teams were pretty close and George and Tina were decently good friends because of that. He’s pretty sure they’re also lab partners in AP Physics, but he’s not in their class so he doesn’t know for sure.

But Sapnap doesn’t really know if it’s his place to go to this party. He doesn’t really know Tina all that well and George was the one that was invited. Sure, he’s George’s ride pretty much everywhere, but that doesn’t give him a pass to walk into Foolish’s house.

“She invited you,” he reminds him.

George rolls his eyes. “It’s a big party. Nobody’s going to care if you join in.”

He thinks about it for a moment. Technically, his curfew is at 11:30 and it’s already pushing 11. He thinks it’s probably a little late for a party to be starting but he supposes that the football game is to blame for that. But if the party hasn’t started yet and they’re still here, there’s no way he’s getting home before curfew.

And, fuck, has his dad been adamant about curfew recently. Bad was usually the type of parent that didn’t care too much as long as he stayed safe and was open about when he needed help but he’d been weird over the past few months. Part of him thinks he’s just sad that he’s growing up. The other part of him doesn’t fucking care. He just wants to be able to hang out at George’s house past midnight.

But Bad also goes to bed pretty early. He’s probably in bed now, in fact. Is he even gonna notice if Sapnap got back a few hours late? Probably not. Plus, Foolish’s house is only like a twenty-minute walk from his. He doesn’t even have to worry about a ride home.

He does the math in his head and, the way he sees it, risking getting in trouble for a rule that’s stupid in the first place seems well worth it if he might have a chance to actually have a proper conversation with Karl for once. Besides, he needs a pick-me-up after their crushing loss earlier.

“Let’s go to the party,” he nods.

“Cool,” George replies, taking another bite of his reconstructed crunchwrap. He’s pretty sure that he doesn’t care about the party either way.

The two of them drive back to his house before the party and park his car in the driveway. He thinks that it’ll be better to walk there and back than to get his car in the morning, especially because his dad wakes up at the crack of dawn and might notice that it’s missing.

As the soft light of a full moon illuminates both of them, Sapnap and George trudge through his neighborhood toward Foolish’s house.

Foolish’s house is kind of notorious so, even though Sapnap has never been there in his life, he knows exactly how to get there. It’s just outside his neighborhood, right along the main road that carves through the entire span of their marginally small town, and the place is fucking huge . It’s this big sandstone mansion with Egyptian-inspired architecture. As Sapnap sees it up close for the first time, it looks almost like gold is lining the edges of it, radiating a sense of opulence that Sapnap never thought he’d see in a town like El Rapids.

When they loop around to the backyard, he sees a fountain spurting jets of water high into the air, the pattern changing ever so slightly in a way that’s borderline transfixing as it falls back into the body of it. It looks like it might flow into the pool next to it during the summer but there’s a tarp over it and a mechanism on the fountain is turned upward to stop the flow. Party or not, these autumn nights seem like they’re starting to get too cold for a pool party, even if it’s only September.

The sliding glass door that leads to the kitchen has been left open. It’s cold enough for most everyone to be inside but not too cold for a nice breeze to make a party a little more bearable. Sapnap and George push their way inside among a crowd of already tipsy teenagers.

When he sees the inside of the house, decorated with the same elegance as the outside, he thinks that there has to be at least a hundred people here, probably more. It’s impressive, seeing as his school has 400 students total and he’s not convinced that a quarter of their school is in Foolish’s mansion right now. There must be visitors from a few towns over here too, maybe even some older kids that graduated in the past year or so.

It’s almost overwhelming how full of life this party is. There are a few sophomores crowded into a corner, gossiping about how Foolish is so rich because his mom’s a pirate or something, which certainly isn’t true, even if he’s pretty sure that she did build her wealth in some boat-related industry. To his right, Punz and Hannah are sitting on the kitchen counter and having a drinking contest. Hannah’s bottle is nearly empty and Punz’s is still half full, something he notes so he can give him shit for it later. In the middle of it all, Foolish jumps from group to group, fretting over vases and potted plants. He’s clearly terrified that something is going to get broken and Sapnap doesn’t blame him. Before the end of the night, he’s sure that something worth hundreds will be shattered on the floor somewhere.

George squeezes his shoulder. “I think I might get a drink. Do you want anything?”

He pauses for a moment. He doesn’t even know what he’s supposed to drink at a party like this. Beer? He’d tried it last time he slept over at George’s and the bitter taste had made him wince and lingered on his tongue for hours, even after he’d tried to wash it away with a can of Sprite. He had tried wine and champagne before, his dad encouraging healthy experimentation with alcohol on the occasional special occasion like Christmas or New Year’s Eve. But he’d only liked a certain kind of wine and he isn’t even sure that’s something that they’d have here.

George snorts and pats him on the back. “I’ll get you a seltzer.”

He steps into the next room as he waits for George. The living room is huge, with a massive crystal chandelier hanging in the center of it. Most people at the party are here, whether they’re clinging to the walls and chatting or dancing in the body of the room to the beat playing through a giant set of speakers that might be worth more than Sapnap’s car.

In the center of the room, nodding his head to the beat between swigs of whatever’s in his red solo cup, is Karl. He’s not entirely on beat but he’s enthusiastic. He dances like he doesn’t care if anyone is watching and, fuck, he probably doesn’t. He’s just that kind of confident.

Tina is dancing with him, but a few feet away. She’s a little more subtle with her dancing and it seems like she can’t stop laughing. Sapnap wishes he was standing in her place.

He feels a tap on his back and George presses a cold white can into his hands. “I know you don’t drink often. Take it easy.”

There’s a rare earnesty in George’s eyes, the type of seriousness that he hadn’t really seen from him since they were little kids and he’d nearly broken his ankle playing tag.

“I will,” he promises him.

George nods. “I’m going to go chat with Tina. You’re welcome to join if you want.”

He shakes his head but regrets it the moment that he sees George walk over to greet them, both Tina and Karl smiling brightly as he approaches.

A part of Sapnap wishes Dream was here. George wasn’t the type of person to push him to do something like talk to his crush or make friends at a party. As much as he appreciates that George doesn’t get involved in his business beyond the occasional joke at his expense, he knows he needs a little push. Dream was always the friend that forced him to step out of his comfort zone.

He takes a swig of his drink. He can taste the alcohol burning down his throat but it’s not that bad. He wishes that it was a bit sweeter, but it’s a free drink so he’s not really complaining. He takes another swig and prays that getting buzzed will make him confident.

It kicks in fast, or at least he thinks it does, but it’s not exactly pleasant. It feels like he can hear bits and pieces of a million conversations at once but nothing coherent and the acrid smell of sweat and beer permeates his lungs. And, fuck, it’s hot in here. Sapnap feels like he’s running a fucking fever just standing still and drinking his seltzer. He wants to get out but he just got here and George is having fun.

He finishes off his drink all too quickly and goes back into the kitchen for another, partially just because he needs something to cool him off and a combination of a fresh drink from the fridge and the breeze filtering in through the door seems like the perfect combination.

Everything just gets louder as he walks over. It feels like his head is pounding and swimming all at once. And the smell. It feels like he can smell everything in the fucking room from Hannah’s perfume to the sweat on Foolish’s brow to the steak in the fucking freezer.

His hands are shaking when he grips the handle of the fridge and pulls it open. He swears that he can see a thin layer of black hair growing on the backs of his hands but it might just be the alcohol talking.

He grabs a can with so much force that he starts to crush it, only letting up when he can see the slight crinkle in the metal.

For a few seconds, he stares in wonder at the can. Shouldn’t the air pressure stop him from doing that to a closed can? He’s not exactly a scientist but that feels like it’s probably true.

Sapnap feels a light tap on his arm and flips around in a flash, slamming the fridge door shut with a shake.

Quackity, the boy who was at his game earlier, is looking at him with an amused look in his eyes. “Hey.”

From up close, he can see that he’s a lot prettier than he’d noticed before, with a cute mole next to his nose and deep brown eyes that crinkle up slightly as he smiles at him. His hair is still tucked under that same beanie even though it’s like a million degrees in here, but what peeks out from underneath looks incredibly soft, like touching it would be like running your fingers along shiny silk sheets.

“Hi,” he says back.

“Can we talk outside?” Quackity asks, nodding toward the door. “I’m writing an article on your team and I saw you here so I thought that it’d be the perfect chance to get a nice insider take.”

Usually, he would probably say no. Talking about the shitty hockey team that he captains doesn’t exactly sound like a pleasant experience, especially because he has no idea how anyone could ever spin a story about them into a positive light. But he feels like he’s about to fucking set on fire and the cold air outside might temper it, so he nods.

He notices two things about Quackity as they make their way outside. The first is that even though Quackity is an inch or two shorter than him, he walks like someone who’s six feet tall. Every step he takes oozes the confidence of a businessman, as if he was born to lead and finds pleasure in doing it. But the second thing that he notices is a slight hunch in his shoulders, a twinge of fear that doesn’t seem to be directed at Sapnap. It feels almost like his confidence is a front. Like he has something to prove.

But what does Sapnap know? He hadn’t even known Quackity’s name until two hours ago.

As soon as the cold air hits his skin, Sapnap is able to relax significantly. It smells nicer out here too, the sweet aroma of the colorful chrysanthemums in the garden flooding his senses. He can hear every drip of the fountain as they stand beneath a vibrant orange and yellow maple tree across the yard and he doesn’t really feel like he’s going to throw up anymore.

Now that he’s able to take a deep breath and gather his senses, he goes to open his drink.

“Sapnap, no!” Quackity shouts just a little too late.

Sapnap cracks open the can and cold seltzer bursts from the seam, dripping down his face and soaking the neckline of his shirt.

His cheeks flush a bright pink color. First, he can’t work up the courage to talk to Karl and now, he’s humiliating himself in front of the cute guy that he just met. God, he probably thinks he’s a fucking idiot.

Except, Quackity doesn’t call him an idiot at all. Instead, he just keeps smiling.

“Here,” he laughs, reaching up to wipe it away with the sleeve of his deep blue hoodie. “You built up pressure when you squeezed the shit out of the can while you were getting it out of the fridge. It was bound to blow.”

“I’m stupid,” he tells him.

Quackity shakes his head. “Could’ve happened to anyone, dude. You’re certainly not the first person to spill booze at a party. You’re probably not even the first person to do it at this party.”

He nods, taking a sip of his drink because he’s not sure what else to say. This one’s a different flavor and the vague essence of clementines sinks into his tongue, stronger than the last one by a long shot.

As he savors the taste of alcohol and oranges he slowly drags his tongue across his teeth, wincing slightly when the tip of it catches on one of his incisors and sends the metallic taste of blood into his mouth, even if it’s just a drop or two. He’s noticed that his teeth have been weirdly sharp lately. He needs to ask Bad to schedule him a dentist appointment.

“So, Sapnap,” Quackity says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a pen and one of those mini flip-notepads that Sapnap didn’t even know still existed. “I’m doing a piece on the various different sports teams at El Rapids High and I just was wondering if you can give me a vague description of what your experience on the hockey team is like?”

He considers lying and telling Quackity that tonight’s game was a fluke but he can already tell that he’s probably a pretty good reporter. Chances are, he pulled up their stats before the game even started and already knows they’ve been shut out every game this season.

“We suck,” he says simply, unsure of how else to even put it. “We were like a normal level of terrible last year but our star player transferred to another school so now we’re extra godawful.”

Sapnap goes to chew on his thumbnail, a typical nervous habit of his, and finds that in the last few seconds it seems like it’s grown abnormally long, curving into a sharp point. His eyes widen as he stares at his claw-like hands. Now, this is something he can’t write away as being a little bit drunk. He needs to get home now, before someone sees.

Quackity lifts his head from the notepad and Sapnap rushes to hide his hands behind his back before he can see that his turning into some kind of fucking freak. He raises an eyebrow but, thankfully, moves on with the interview.

“Do you think that the low attendance at your games makes you feel unmotivated?” he asks him. “Would you play better if there was somebody there cheering you on?”

The burning feeling is back and, when Sapnap looks down at one of his arms, he can see the black hair that adorns it growing thicker and longer. He can kind of feel it too, pushing out from almost every inch of his skin.

The worst part is this weird feeling in his face. It almost feels like the shape of it is slowly shifting, bones moving under his skin in a way that’s not necessarily painful, but very unusual to him.

“Uh, I mean it would probably help,” he mumbles. Thankfully, Quackity is focused on writing rather than looking at him. “My best friend comes and watches us every week and he doesn’t pay too much attention but it would be cool to impress him or whatever. And my dad usually comes but he works late some nights. Now, I should probably go. I mean-”

Quackity looks up to him and his eyes go comically wide as he stumbles backward, foot snagging on a root and sending him crashing into mud and leaves. “Holy fucking shit, dude!”

Sapnap feels an itch in his nose and instinctually makes a sound that’s halfway between a sneeze and a growl. He goes up to touch his face and finds that his nose has been replaced with a furry snout. He carefully drags his tongue over a set of sharp teeth.

There’s no way any of this shit is real. Werewolves aren’t fucking real and he’s definitely not one of them. This was some terrible, awful dream.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of the full moon, its light falling down on him more like an intense beam than a soft glow. Something primal takes hold of him and he lets out a fucking howl.

He turns to Quackity again and finds his own fear paralleled in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he tells him quietly. “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

A laugh from inside the kitchen catches his attention. Nobody else from the party has noticed him yet but it’s inevitable that they will. He needs to get out of here. Now.

Without much of a thought, he drops his drink onto the ground and bounds away into the woods behind Foolish’s house, running on all fours rather than just his two feet.

Even though this is all fucking terrifying, he finds that there’s something freeing about it . It almost feels like this is meant to be, like a fundamental part of his core self is making itself known, even though he’s not in the fucking headspace to process it.

Sapnap feels wild and, admittedly, he doesn’t hate it.

The following morning, he wakes up to the relentlessly bright sun shining down between tall pine trees. He’s covered in mud, there are fucking twigs in his hair, and the once-tasteful rip in his jeans has been torn so wide that he can see the bottom of his boxers.

His head is pounding and he feels a crook in his neck. He desperately wants it to be a hangover, but the events of the previous night rush back to his head and he’s not sure how less than two full drinks can explain that away.

Maybe someone dropped acid in his drink or something. Psychedelics can make people hallucinate all sorts of shit, right? Except the only other person that touched his drink last night was George and he knows that he would never do something like that to anyone.

And if it was a dream, he wouldn’t be laying in a ditch in the woods.

It was real. He’s a fucking werewolf. He’s a monster that runs around wild in the woods and attacks people and eats live chickens or something. God, he kind of wants to throw up just at the overwhelming thought of it. How is he supposed to hide this from people when he’d already changed in front of someone who was basically a stranger? Fuck, he’s going to have to come clean about this to his dad.

But how is he even meant to tell him about this? “Sorry, Bad. You know that toddler you adopted like fifteen years ago? Yeah. He’s a fucking- sorry- flipping werewolf.”

He can’t foresee that going over particularly well.

Staggering to his feet, Sapnap realizes that at some point last night he lost a shoe, which makes everything just that much worse. At least there’s no blood on his shirt— he’s immensely thankful for that— and his claws and teeth have seemingly retracted to their normal state.

His phone is dead so the best he can do to tell what time it is is look at the position of the sun, and the best that he can tell from that is that he’s a few hours off of noon, either way. He prays that it’s morning and uses the sun as his established east and uses it to navigate his way home.

When he approaches his house, it seems pretty quiet. His dad’s car is still in the driveway, which is a good sign, but he thinks that he’s probably awake by now. Since it’s still the morning, he won’t expect that Sapnap is up right now, which is a pretty good sign. He probably doesn’t even know that he’s gone.

Slowly, he creeps up to the house, ducking under a windowsill and slowly lifting his head to peek through it. He’s looking into the living room but he can just barely see Bad in the kitchen, dancing around as he flips pancakes with a plastic spatula. He’s obviously listening to music, which is a good sign because it might mask the noise of the door, but the front door is also the loudest door of the house so he’s not sure if it would be better to go through the garage and risk him seeing him when he tries to run past.

“What are you doing?” asks a voice behind him, making him jump.

Eryn is standing outside the open garage, leaning against his bike with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Are you only just getting home?”

He scowls. “No.”

“Oh.” Eryn raises an eyebrow and shrugs dramatically. “Well, if you don’t need any help-”

Sapnap purses his lips. There’s no way that his brother is helping him of his own volition unless there’s something in it for him. He knows that there’s some sort of catch.

He sighs when he realizes that this is his only real shot at getting inside without Bad catching him. “Can you distract him so I can sneak upstairs?”

“Twenty bucks,” Eryn offers.

Twenty?

“Five.” Sapnap crosses his arms over his chest.

Eryn shakes his head. “Give me something I can work with, Sapnap. Fifteen.”

“Ten. Final offer,” he tells him. “And I’ll drive you to Tommy’s whenever you ask for the next week.”

Eryn considers it for a moment. “Two weeks?”

“Fine,” he says, reaching into his wallet and handing him a crumpled-up $10 bill.

As he goes back into the house, Eryn leaves the door wide open for him. He shouts something to Bad about a missing textbook, which has him turning off the stove and running upstairs after him.

Quietly, Sapnap brushes the sticks out of his hair and creeps in through the front door, wincing at the slight sound as he clicks it shut behind him. He makes as little sound as possible as he creeps up to his bedroom, only breathing as he falls back into his bed to the noise of Eryn and Bad fussing over a missing book in the next room

He kicks off his remaining shoe and pulls off his ripped-up jeans before throwing them and his muddy jacket into his hamper even though he doesn’t even know if you’re supposed to put jackets in the normal wash.

Sapnap lets out a sigh of relief as he plugs his phone into the wall and settles back into his bed. He thinks that he might just sleep the rest of the day away after whatever the hell last night was. He feels like all the energy has been zapped from his body though, to be fair, he can’t have slept that well on the cold ground.

His phone lights up and he sees that it’s just after nine, which is still pretty early for him to be up, and that he has three missed text messages.

The first makes him smile. It’s from Karl, saying that he was sorry that he had to leave the party early and wishes they could have chatted. He supposes that George was doing his duty as a wingman after all.

The second one is from George and is from late last night. It’s short and succinct but the message is clear: George is pissed off that he ditched him last night. He supposes that George is justified in his anger; he has no idea what happened last night. Besides, he was supposed to crash at Sapnap’s last night so he wouldn’t have to worry about getting to his house on the other side of town. He feels guilty as fuck even if it wasn’t his fault and he doesn’t even know how to explain himself. Fuck, he hopes he got home safe.

The final text is from a number that he doesn’t have saved in his phone, sent just a few minutes ago, but the first line declares that it was from Quackity, which he finds surprising. The last time he saw Quackity, he seemed fucking terrified of him but he was still texting him the next morning. The next few lines of his text are simple: Can we talk about what happened last night? I think I can help.

And, fuck, as much as he wants to initiate a conversation with Karl or set things right with George, Quackity is the only person that knows what happened to him last night. If he thinks that he can help him control it somehow, he needs to follow up. It feels weird relying on a stranger but he thinks it might be his only shot to get this whole werewolf thing under control and avoid a repeat of last night.

He texts him back asking when and where and hops out of bed, gathering a fresh set of clothes for after his shower including a t-shirt that he knows hugs his form probably just a little more tightly than it should. If he’s going out anyway, he might as well look nice.

As he’s trying to leave after his shower, he runs into Bad, who’s wearing an apron with a muffin on the front and placing a plate of steaming pancakes on the table.

Sapnap reaches onto the pile and grabs one, taking a bite even though it’s still pretty hot. For some reason, the heat of it doesn’t burn as much as he thought it would. Maybe werewolf blood runs hot or something.

“Wait a second,” Bad says, just barely catching his wrist as he’s about to head for the door, a serious look in his eyes.

He stops and turns toward him with a questioning look. “I’m just meeting with a friend for coffee.”

Bad frowns. “You weren’t home last night. I told you that you needed to be back by 11:30 but you didn’t get in until this morning.”

Yeah. He’s not going to be driving Eryn anywhere anymore. Clearly, he wasn’t very good at distracting.

He briefly considers lying to him but the thing about Bad is that he always seems to know when Sapnap’s making shit up. He knows that Bad will appreciate an honest answer and that, at the end of the day, it might decrease any possible punishment that he has in store.

“I went to a party,” he admits. “With George. It was walking distance from home so I didn’t have to drive but I barely drank anything anyway. Sorry that I didn’t tell you.”

He fidgets with his hands a bit as he waits for Bad’s response.

“Why didn’t you come home after?” he asks, more genuine than stern. “And where’s George?”

Well, he can’t tell the truth about the next part. He needs to know a little more about this whole werewolf thing before he can tell Bad. Because, while he knows that his dad will ultimately be understanding about it, he doesn’t want to freak him out. He doesn’t think that finding out your adopted son is a werewolf is something that should be done in a brief Saturday morning chat.

 “We crashed at his friend’s house and then somebody else drove us home,” he lies, absently playing with the stud in his earlobe.

Bad frowns. He knows he’s lying. How the fuck does he always know?

“Are you sure that there’s nothing else that you want to tell me?” he asks. His eyebrows are furrowed and his frown seems to sink deeper. “If there’s anything important that you want to share, I’m here.”

Icy cold panic shocks through his veins. Bad can’t know. There’s no way that he knows. He can feel his nails slowly growing again so he balls his hands up into fists, wincing as the sharp tips of his claws poke into the skin of his palm.

“There’s nothing,” he says shortly. “I really have to go, though. My friend’s waiting on me.”

Bad lets out a weary sigh but nods anyway. “We can talk about this later then. Tell George that I said hello. I’d love to have that muffinhead over for dinner again soon.”

“Will do.” He doesn’t feel like explaining Quackity to his dad. He’s not even really sure what he could say about him anyway.”

Sapnap rushes out of the house and climbs into his car before he can wolf out any further and risk someone seeing what’s happening but when he looks at his hands the claws have completely retracted. If it weren’t for the shallow crescents of punctured skin on his hands, he wouldn’t have been sure that they actually showed up at all.

The café that he meets Quackity at is a local place all the way across town, just down the street from the library. Their coffee, while delicious, is kind of pricey but that’s not really what he’s here for so he orders a small and settles into a booth near the very back, where Quackity is sitting with a pen between his teeth as he thumbs through a dusty book the size of his head. There’s a stack of similar books sitting next to him and his laptop is open too.

“Hey!” he greets when he sees Sapnap, eyes going wide as the pen falls out of his mouth and clatters on the table. “You’re looking considerably less hairy than you were last time I saw you.”

He looks around frantically to see if anyone heard what he said but this part of the café is entirely empty. The barista up front has an earbud in one of her ears and doesn’t look all too bothered.

Sapnap feels a gentle hand settle over his wrist and looks up at Quackity, who’s offering him an earnest smile.

“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to fucking oust you or anything. Just jokes.”

“Well, be careful with them,” he says, settling back into the booth. “I don’t want anyone to overhear.”

“This place is empty on Saturday mornings. I come here a lot when I’m working on an article for the Gazette.”

He nods, able to relax more fully. He supposes that they can always go down to the library if it gets crowded at some point. There are plenty of little tables scattered throughout the stacks.

“So, you think you can help me?” he asks. “You know something about werewolves? Or like whatever I am. I kinda just assumed, you know?”

“I can help,” he replied. “Do I know anything about werewolves? Not at all, beyond what I’ve seen in movies. But I’m a journalist. I love a good investigation and I have the skills I need to help you figure out whatever’s going on.”

Sapnap feels his hope plummet into the pit of his stomach. He thought that Quackity had some real actual information but it turns out he’s as clueless as he is about this stuff. As much as he appreciates his help, he can’t help but feel like he’s hurried across town for nothing.

But, then again, there’s a bit of a sparkle in his deep brown eyes. Quackity is excited about this. He wants to help Sapnap understand who he is and, honestly? It’s kind of cute. And some help is better than no help. He might as well indulge him.

“What have you got so far?” he asks, taking a sip of his overpriced latte.

“Well, a lot of old accounts of werewolves include the werewolf removing their clothes so I guess we can count that one out,” Quackity says as he sticks the pen in the book he’s reading and flips backward. “But usually the origins come from witches, devils, or gods. Did you piss off any powerful people recently?”

He thinks back and nothing in particular comes to mind. The closest he’s got is when a particularly terrifying science teacher figured out he was copying George’s homework in 7th grade, but he thinks that it’s probably unlikely that he got a week of detention, a D in chemistry, and cursed with lycanthropy in one fell swoop.

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “I don’t particularly remember getting bitten or scratched recently either.”

“Yeah, well the whole biting someone to turn them into a werewolf thing is a modern invention,” Quackity explains. “Werewolf legends have been around for thousands of years and that shit only sprung up in the last hundred years or so. Same with the bullshit about silver bullets.”

“Well, you don’t know that,” he points out.

“And I don’t want to test it either,” he says with a smirk. “You’re too pretty for that.”

Sapnap feels heat rush to his cheeks as he fidgets in his chair. He’s not exactly used to getting flirted with. “So do you think it’s like a genetic thing then?”

He nods. “I think that’s my best theory. Have you talked to your parents about it?”

Briefly, Sapnap wonders if his biological parents are running around in the woods somewhere together. Truth be told, he doesn’t know anything about them. He’s not even sure whether they’re alive or not, or if they even knew his dad. All he knows is that Bad adopted him when he was two and that he’s the only parent that he’ll ever need. It doesn’t help with the wolf stuff, though.

“I’m adopted,” he tells him. “I don’t know much about my bio parents and I don’t know if I really want to.”

Quackity frowns slightly and it makes his stomach flip. Sapnap doesn’t want anyone’s fucking pity. He had an awesome childhood and the implication that it’s any worse because his dad doesn’t share the same genetic makeup with him is absolute bullshit.

But it seems that Quackity doesn’t actually pity him at all because he doesn’t offer an apology for bringing it up but rather says, “I guess we’ll have to skip the origin part for now then. Did you experience anything else beyond what I saw?”

“I don’t exactly remember much,” he tells him. “I was running and it felt kinda awesome and then I woke up in the woods covered in mud.” He lets his head fall into his hands as soon as he realizes how fucking insane that sounds. “God. At least there was no blood.”

He hums as he continues to flip back through the book a bit more slowly. “I actually have a theory about the whole violence thing. I mean, I’m not gonna lie, that’s like the most widespread thing you can find about werewolves besides literally the act of turning into a wolf. I mean, there was a time in Europe where the existence of werewolves was pretty much believed to be unequivocally true, especially in England and Germany. A lot of that was because of a violent legacy.”

Sapnap chews on his thumbnail. Even if he didn’t hurt anyone last night, was that an inevitability? Is he going to need to feed on animals at the very least? He doesn’t even remember last night. Who knows if it’s something that he can even control?

“But here’s the thing about stories,” Quackity continues. “A lot of times, the violent ones are the ones that we remember. Maybe the violent stories are the ones that we hear the most because everything else flies under the radar. Plus, society is always looking for a scapegoat anyway. It’s easy to pin the murder on the werewolf, you know?”

“But how do you know that applies to me?”

Quackity laughs. “Dude, I saw you shift last night. It freaked me out at the time because I didn’t know what was happening but now that I’ve thought about it for a bit, I know that you would never hurt me. Because you looked scared too and I think that’s why you ran off. I can see it in your eyes, Sapnap. You don’t want to hurt anybody.”

He only just met Quackity yesterday, but the confidence that he has in his character is incredibly uplifting. They barely know each other but he believes that he would never hurt anyone. Sapnap finds a strange sense of comfort in that.

“Even with all the stories of violence I found in my research, I also found more than one that characterizes werewolves as protectors,” he smiles and pushes a finger into Sapnap’s chest. “And that is what I see in you.”

He’s flattered and unsure of exactly what to say. He realizes that maybe this massive crush that he’s had on Karl for the past few years has blinded him to pretty much every other person at their school. Part of him wishes that he’d met Quackity sooner.

Maybe that’s a bit dramatic. One day of werewolf research hardly counts as a date, even if they’re meeting over coffee.

“Where do we go from here?” he asks finally. “I need to figure out how to control this.”

Quackity grabs three books from the stack and places them in front of Sapnap. “We do a little bit of light reading. Beyond that, it’s probably gonna be trial and error. We need to figure out what triggers your shifting beyond just the full moon. We have like a month before we can do more moon tests.”

Sapnap chews on his lip for a moment. “Are you sure that you want to help me with all this?”

“Are you kidding me?” he asks with raised eyebrows. “Dude, you might be freaked out about all this now but this is awesome. There has to be some sort of way to spin this to your advantage and I’m willing to help you out. Maybe you can turn the hockey team around and I can get a good story out of it.”

A story. That’s the catch to all this. Quackity is only helping them so he has something decent to publish in the school’s paper. He tries to mask the way his face falls as he flips open one of the books and starts to skim through it.

Even if he’s only helping him for the sake of the newspaper, he’s still glad that he’s not doing this alone. Besides, Quackity’s investigative skills are something that can help him a lot. It’s better this way.

And if he can subtly glance at him over the top of his book and watch the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration, well, that might be a perk too.

Their research is both productive and pointless. As it turns out, it’s nearly impossible to differentiate fact from fiction when it comes to the supernatural. Everything is wrapped in a story, something that might be dramatized or just straight-up incorrect. Legends build on each other like a fucked up game of telephone, leaving Sapnap stuck as a werewolf who has no idea what he’s fucking doing.

The only thing that they’ve figured out for certain— and it’s more due to Sapnap’s experiences than anything else— is that his transformation can be triggered by an emotional stimulus, as Quackity told him. Basically, he freaks out and he wolfs out. It seems like it could be manageable if it isn’t for the fact that he’s a teenage boy. This is like the most emotional time of his life.

But he drives home determined and when he’s locked away in his room he does a series of exercises that Quackity cooked up to try to trigger an intentional transformation. It spans all across the emotional spectrum: from thinking about his first crush to watching the first five minutes of Up  to writing down a detailed account of his most embarrassing memory. Nothing works but, as Quackity told him that morning, half of an experiment is independently modifying the right variables until you see a noticeable change and the other half of it is repeating it over and over and over.

It’s still a little discouraging, though.

In the meantime, he carefully crafts a response to Karl’s text and considers inviting him to his game on Monday night so he can watch his team brutally lose at some school that’s 20 minutes away but he chickens out. First of all, he doesn’t want Karl to know how pathetic he is. More importantly, he’s scared that he’ll blow it.

He also considers texting George but he’s just not sure what he’s supposed to say. He’s never been particularly good at apologies and neither has George. Dream was the type of person to apologize until he stopped meaning it but Sapnap and George had always kind of resolved their issues with explanations. He knows that the truth means far more to George than an apology, but telling him about the werewolf thing seems like a fucking terrible idea.

Like a coward, he doesn’t text him back. George doesn’t reach out to him either. He has a special talent for cutting people off when he’s pissed. He’s the type of stubborn that ensures that he’ll never be the first person to reach out in a fight. It’s his responsibility to fix this and he doesn’t think he can yet. Maybe he’ll try school on Monday.

He takes Sunday much more slowly than the previous day. He wakes up late, bones still aching with the residual exhaustion from Friday night, and then spends some time finishing up his homework. He does the same set of exercises that Quackity prescribed, once again to no avail, and then finds himself sitting around the house and avoiding his dad, who clearly still wants to talk about him going to a party the other night.

When the balance between boredom and guilt becomes suffocating, he hops into his car and drives over to the ice rink. They have open skate every afternoon around this time and, even though nobody tends to show up on a Sunday in September, it seems way better than hiding around the house all day.

He gets there and the guy in charge waves him inside without asking for the $5 fee since he knows him pretty well by now. He tells him that there’s only one other person on the ice so it’s alright if he wants to practice taking shots as long as he stays on one side of the ice.

Sapnap ducks into the locker room where he keeps most of his stuff and swaps out his shoes for skates, grabbing his stick and a bag of pucks before stepping onto the ice.

Except, when he sees the one person on the ice, he nearly drops his bag of pucks in shock.

It’s George, slowly skating around the very edge of the rink with both his arms outstretched and his face as pale as snow as he wobbles and barely stays upright.

The thing is, George can’t skate and has never expressed any interest in learning. He claims that he doesn’t have the balance for it and that he’d rather not embarrass himself by falling over in front of people over and over when soccer is the only sport he’ll ever need. Dream tried to change his mind over and over again, even going so far as offering to pay him if he let him give him lessons, but he’d always said no. But now here he is, teaching himself the skill he’d always been too mortified to learn.

“George?” Sapnap calls out.

George looks back at him with wide eyes and leans just a little bit too far to the left, stumbling forward as he tries desperately to correct his balance and falling chest first onto the ice. He slides a few inches forward but he’s been skating slow enough that it’s nothing catastrophic. Still, he swears to himself.

Usually, Sapnap might laugh but he really doesn’t feel like it’s the time. Instead, he skates over to George and helps him to his feet, catching him when he nearly falls again.

“Can we sit on the bench?” George asks through gritted teeth, gripping onto Sapnap’s forearm like it might magically disappear.

He nods and slowly skates him over to the bench, helping him lift himself over and onto it before effortlessly hoisting himself over the barrier.

“Nobody comes to open skate on Sunday unless it’s like December,” George says, chewing his lip and not bothering to glance at him.

“You don’t go to open skate at all,” he points out.

George doesn’t meet his eyes. “I thought it was about time I learn how.”

Sapnap shrugs and fixes his gaze down at his scuffed-up skates. “I guess that I’ve just had a lot on my mind this weekend.”

“I don’t suppose texting me was on your mind?” he asks.

He can feel the weight of George’s gaze on his cheek. Reluctantly, he turns to face him. He doesn’t look as mad as he thought he’d be.

“I didn’t know what to say,” he confesses. “Something happened on Friday night but I’m not sure that you’d believe me.”

George crosses his arms over his chest. “I know what happened. You ran off with Quackity while I spent the entire night talking you up to Karl. Do you know how embarrassing it was when I was singing your praises and then you never bothered to show up? And then I had to turn around and ask him to help me find a ride home because I couldn’t go back to yours. If you were over Karl, you could have told me that instead of running off with someone else.”

He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not over Karl. Who said I’m over Karl?”

“Well, Niki told me she saw you and Quackity on a study date at the café yesterday so I thought it was safe to assume,” he explains.

Sapnap shakes his head. “Well, it wasn’t. That wasn’t a date. I still like Karl a lot. He’s the guy that I’m into right now.”

As he says it, he realizes that maybe it’s not strictly true. His crush on Karl hasn’t waned at all but he finds that he’s drawn to Quackity all the same. It should be confusing but it isn’t. He likes them both just the same.

“Well, that doesn’t change the fact that you fucking ditched me.”

He frowns. “Did you get home safe at least?”

George just gestures to himself. He seems to be all in one piece and Sapnap supposes that’s answer enough.

With a heavy sigh, George leans back and braces himself against the bench to stay upright. “I just don’t understand why you left. I’m sick of people leaving without even considering how it affects other people and expecting forgiveness without the courtesy of a decent explanation. We’re meant to be best friends.”

This isn’t about Sapnap at all. Not really. It’s about Dream, and how he was supposed to be a best friend to both of them until he stopped caring about them as more than just a means to an end. And until he disappeared at the drop of a hat.

Sapnap understands George’s insecurities because they’re his insecurities too. They are the only two people who have each other’s backs and he fucked George over the other night. As insane as he knows that he’ll sound, George deserves the truth.

“I think that I’m a werewolf,” he blurts out.

“What?!”

George is looking at him with an incredulous expression. He doesn’t look pissed or even skeptical. He just seems confused.

“At the party, I felt really hot and everything was just like super fucking loud and smelly. I went outside to cool off and then I grew these sharp claws and thick black fur and a fucking snout. Next thing I know I’m waking up in the woods,” he explains. “And, dude, before you ask, I'm not lying.”

He just stares at him for a moment, unblinking. He supposes that if their positions were reversed, he’d probably be at a loss for words too.

“It sounds like you know you’re a werewolf,” he says finally.

He blinks. “You believe me?”

George shrugs. “You’re not a very good liar. Can you show me?”

“You want me to show you me turning into a werewolf?” He still can’t believe he’s just kind of rolling with this. “Well, I’m not really able to do it on command yet.”

For a moment, George is quiet. He doesn’t seem to be mad at him anymore, he’s just thinking.

“What about parts of it?” he asks eventually. “Like have you tried isolating the parts of being a werewolf without fully transforming like with that penalty shot on Friday?”

He hadn’t even realized that there was something up with that shot but now that he thinks about it, George is right. He’s never shot a puck that hard in his life. Maybe Quackity was right about him spinning this into an advantage on the ice.

“Come be my goalie,” he tells George as he clambers over the barrier and back onto the ice. “There’s gear in the locker room that you can borrow.”

“No!” George calls back. “I’m not letting you routinely knock me on my ass as you shoot chunks of heavy plastic at me at superhuman speeds. I’ll watch, though.”

Fair enough, he supposes as he dumps the pucks onto the ice near center ice and lines up a shot.

Sapnap closes his eyes for a moment, considering everything that Quackity said about emotion informing his transformations. He thinks about the pressure of a game as he slams his stick into the puck as hard as he can. The puck flies toward the goal so fast that he can barely track it, shaking the rim of the net as it slams into the back.

He stares at it in wonder as George lets out a cheer. He’d text Quackity about it if his phone wasn’t back in the locker room.

If he tones it back a little bit he can use this at the game tomorrow. Maybe being a werewolf is what he needs to score a fucking point.

“Do it again!” George shouts.

With a nod, Sapnap lines up another shot. And then another one. Then another one. He finds that love for hockey that had set him onto the sport in the first place as he actually finds some confidence in his abilities for the first time in years. This werewolf thing was turning out to be way more beneficial than he thought it was.

With George cheering him on as he nails shot after shot, his accuracy improving greatly as he starts to actually feel comfortable in his own skin, he finds that he’s excited for his game tomorrow. So excited that he nearly doesn’t notice the sharp claws poking through the tops of his gloves.

Sapnap had started to transform without even noticing because he was so caught up in this excitement. He’s going to have to be more careful at the game tomorrow, but he knows he has to use his abilities anyway. What’s the point of being a werewolf if you can’t use it to your advantage?

“I think it’s a terrible idea,” Quackity says when he explains it to him at lunch the next day.

They’ve never eaten together until now. He hadn’t even known that they shared a lunch period until he’d asked to meet up, but here they are, eating their food while hidden away in an empty math classroom.

“I thought you wanted me to turn the team around,” he reminds him. “Isn’t it a good story?”

“While you turning into a fucking wolf on the ice would be the best story I ever wrote I happen to be concerned about your safety, asshole,” he scowls. “Do you remember reading a single legend where the werewolf gets a happy ending?”

“Well, not exactly, but-”

“No!” Quackity throws his hands up in the air, exasperated. “They get tried for violence or heresy or whatever and then the people fucking kill them. I don’t think you’re ready for the fucking El Rapids Werewolf Trials.”

“I won’t get caught,” he insists. If he has these powers, it feels like a waste not to use them. He just has to be a little careful about it.

For a few seconds, Quackity just stares at him with his lips pursed before sighing and letting his back fall back against the back of his chair. “Fine. But you have to be really cautious. And if anything starts to change you better haul your ass off the ice. I guess it’ll be good to try this kind of shit out anyway.”

“It’s like a little test run,” he nods. He knows that he doesn’t need Quackity’s permission to do this kind of thing but it feels good to have it. Only George and Quackity know about the whole werewolf thing and it’s good to know that both of them have his back.

“It is,” Quackity agrees before lifting one finger into the air. “One condition, though. We meet up to chat and try a few tests out after the game is over. If we’re doing a test run, we’re going to make sure we fucking learn something from it. Plus, maybe it could be cool to get food together after the game.”

As he says the last part, Quackity looks away from him and plays with his fingers. It’s hard to tell if he’s nervous or disinterested.

Sapnap, however, is very interested. “That sounds like a great idea.”

Quackity perks up a little. “Perfect! I’ll meet up with you after the game then.”

“It’s a date,” he says as blush blooms on his cheeks and crawls down his neck. He’s pretty sure he can feel his teeth sharpening in his mouth. Something about a strong emotional response.

They finish their lunch together, the conversation turning to their classes and the school paper, and then continue with their days. It’s that time of the semester when classes are really starting to pick up so Sapnap doesn’t really have time to think about the werewolf stuff in class other than when he swears that he can hear some teacher talking three classrooms away during a particularly stressful pop quiz.

After school, he goes home for a bit to drop off his gear and get everything together for his game in a few hours. It’s easy to avoid Bad because he knows that he works late tonight. He’s not coming to the game either which is a little disappointing but also completely understandable. Sometimes he has to put in a little overtime when his paycheck supports two teenagers, especially when college is just on the horizon for Sapnap.

He eats something quickly and fills up a jug of water before jumping in his car and driving over to the rink to pick up his things and hop on the bus. He thinks it’s dumb that they have to bus to away games even though he has a perfectly good car but it’s not really up to him.

On the ride there, he practices using his new skills. He listens in to conversations people are having in the back of the bus and smells the turkey and provolone sub sitting in the driver’s lunch bag. As he does it, he can feel the hair grow on his arms but he pushes it down. He thinks that the reason why it’s much easier to control all this now is that the full moon is over.

He’s a bit nervous about the whole shifting thing as he steps on the ice that night but he also knows that he can do this. The werewolf thing is a part of him now. He just has to embrace the helpful parts of it to succeed. There’s a sense of confidence that comes with accepting that.

Though, his nerves return when he looks back at the crowd. He expects Quackity to be sitting out there with his notebook in his lap. He’s partially doing this for him, after all.

What he’s surprised to see is Karl, sitting next to George and waving at him, both of them still clad in their team pullovers from the practice that they’d had right after school that day, long socks rolled around their ankles and shin guards stripped off.

Confused, he waves back. If George dragged him here after their game even though he’d embarrassed him when he ran from the party last week, he kind of owes him a lot. Maybe he’s just sick of all the fucking pining.

He takes his spot in the center circle, face to face with a boy that’s half a foot taller than him with a bored look in his eyes. The Tigers are pretty infamous in their division for having a shitty hockey team. The school they’re playing isn’t the best team in the league by a mile but with El Rapids High’s record, he probably thinks that they have nothing to worry about.

It only makes Sapnap more determined to prove their team wrong.

The referee blows his whistle and drops the puck and, in the half-second that it takes to clatter onto the ice, Sapnap laser-focuses on his opponent. He smells the confidence laced with Old Spice rolling off his body, which is hardly useful so he focuses on the sounds instead.

In a whistle of the wind, Sapnap can hear the way that he’s moving. In a split second, he ducks just the right way to snag the puck and fly down the ice.

As he skates, he finds that he can tell exactly where everyone on the ice is without looking. He can hear the panting breaths of people skating behind him and smell his own goalie not paying attention on the other side of the ice.

He feels his teeth changing and sinks one down into his lip, the metallic taste of blood leveling him and holding him back from shifting as he continues to dart between his opponents.

When Sapnap sends a puck rocketing into the corner of the net in the first minute of the game, his small section of supporters and his teammates erupt into a cheer. It’s their first goal of the season and he’s the one who scored it.

He looks back to the crowd and sees Quackity smiling proudly as he claps, notebook tucked under his armpit. Up a few rows, Karl and George are standing together and Karl is jumping up and down excitedly as he grips George’s arm and lets out a loud “whoop.”

But Sapnap doesn’t have time to dwell on it too much— he has a game to win.

For three periods, Sapnap plays his heart out every moment that he’s on the ice, which is a lot considering that he’s his team’s smoking gun right now. He’s not used to playing this much but he finds that his endurance is much higher than it used to be. Another perk to being a werewolf, he supposes.

They win by three points, which is practically historic given their record in the four years that Sapnap has been at El Rapids High, and he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his teammates or their tiny little crowd so excited.

When the final buzzer rings, Sapnap scrambles over to the bench and strips off his skates as fast as he can before running back to the locker room, ignoring the pats on his back that he’s getting from his teammates. He can feel his body changing as he runs faster and faster. He can’t hold the transformation back anymore.

He dives into the stall at the back of the bathroom portion of the locker room just in time for black hair to burst from his skin as his face shifts into that same snout from the other night. He spits a mouthful of blood into the toilet as he carefully runs a clawed hand— no— paw through his unruly black fur.

It was a close call but he made it. They have another game in a few days— a home game against a rival school— and he thinks that by then he might be able to get an even better handle on everything now that he knows what to work on. He was going to give Quackity an awesome fucking story to write and hopefully score a few scholarships along the way.

After he’s calmed down enough to shift back into a human, something that feels surprisingly natural considering that his bones are moving under his skin, he leaves the stall, washing his hands and fixing his hair before hitting the showers, no longer all that worried about what his teammates might think about his hairy chest.

Sapnap has a swagger in his step as he steps out into the lobby of the rink, his bag thrown over his shoulder. He sees Quackity wave out of the corner of his eye but he presses on, making his way to the pillar that George and Karl are chatting by.

“Hi,” he greets when he comes to a stop between them.

“You didn’t suck as much as usual,” George tells him.

Karl smiles softly. “That was an epic game to watch, Sapnap. I’m glad this nimrod made me drive him here and talked me into staying. You played really well.”

He feels his cheeks flush pink. “Thanks, Karl.”

“We didn’t have a chance to eat after practice so we were going to get food,” George tells him.

Karl nods along. “Yeah. I was really hoping that you’d come with us. I feel like we’ve barely talked this year, you know?”

Sapnap glances back at Quackity for a moment. He’s standing over on the other side of the room and waiting for him with a smile that’s just starting to falter. But the thing is he can always reschedule plans with Quackity. This whole werewolf thing is important to both of them. He knows that they can find time for it later whereas a meal with Karl seems like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, especially after he’d fumbled the bag at the party on Friday.

“That would be great,” he tells him with a grin.

As the three of them walk out toward Karl’s obnoxiously purple car, Sapnap doesn’t look back at Quackity. He doesn’t think that he can stand to see his face right now.

When he texts him to let him know that something came up and finds that it says Quackity read the message without responding even though he’s like 90% sure that he didn’t have read receipts turned on before, he finds that he’s happy he didn’t look back.

He takes a breath and tucks his phone into his pocket, smiling over to Karl in the driver’s seat. The whole Quackity thing could be dealt with in the morning. Tonight, he was going to enjoy his late dinner with Karl and George.

Sapnap has a marvelous time with them. He forgot that Karl was so easy to talk to since he’d had this weird idealized version of him in his head but once the conversation starts, it doesn’t stop flowing. They talk about hockey and soccer and school as they swap stories and reminisce about the days that Karl spent tutoring him a few years back.

George doesn’t talk much, seemingly happy to third wheel. He doesn’t really have much interest in romance and is probably just happy that Sapnap can actually talk to Karl instead of talking to him about Karl.

At the end of the night, when Karl drops him off at his car in their hometown, he invites him to come to watch their soccer game tomorrow. Sapnap was going to go anyway, seeing as he always supports George, but he accepts the offer pretty enthusiastically anyway.

And then Karl asks him if he wants to get dinner alone on Wednesday as a real and proper date. Sapnap tries and fails to mask how excited that makes him as he agrees, earning a warm laugh and smile from Karl.

He goes to sleep that night with a smile that reaches his ears. Sapnap thinks that maybe becoming a werewolf is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

The following morning, he trudges to school half an hour early because Eryn has some dumb club meeting and he’s responsible for driving him around. George isn’t here yet because he takes the bus and Karl only replied to his good morning text about five minutes ago so he just kind of roams the halls.

He freezes when he passes the classroom where the newspaper kids meet. The door is open and Quackity is frowning at the screen of his laptop and absently tapping his finger against his jaw. There’s a firm no-hats policy at their school but his signature beanie is pulled over his hair anyway.

Sapnap must have been staring a bit too long because Tommy all but materializes in front of him and pats him on the back. “Hello, Sapnap!”

Quackity’s head snaps up and he stares at him like a deer in the headlights.

“Hi Tommy,” he mumbles, unable to look away from him as guilt settles in the pit of his gut.

“Sad that I missed the game last night. Heard that you hit a fucking shot for once,” Tommy continues, clearly unaware of the weird staring match that he’s having with Quackity.

He forces his gaze away from Quackity and looks to Tommy. “Erm, yeah. We actually won.”

“Big Q was telling me all about it,” he says, nudging him in the gut before speaking in a whisper. “Between you and me, I think he’s taking a liking to you. What he sees in you is beyond me.”

Sapnap blushes and reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, pulling away when he draws blood. His nails had changed into claws without him realizing it.

Quackity must notice it because his eyes widen and he gets up from his seat, pushing past Tommy so he’s standing between them. “I need to talk to Sapnap for a second,” he tells him. “Why don’t you go help Tubbo in the darkroom.”

Tommy wanders off and Quackity drags Sapnap down the hall and into an empty men’s bathroom.

“Stop being a fucking idiot. You can’t transform in school,” Quackity spits, but he can see genuine worry in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean to,” he tells him. “You know that it’s linked to emotions and shit.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, I guess that’s not really my fucking business anymore.”

Sapnap freezes. “What do you mean? I thought we were doing this together.”

Quackity tilts his head away from him, ever so slightly so he doesn’t have to meet his eyes. Instead, Sapnap focuses on his trembling lip. “I thought so too. But it seems like you’d rather run off with the fucking popular crowd.”

“We can reschedule,” he insists. “Look. I have plans tonight and tomorrow but maybe after my game on Thursday we can try all this again!”

He clenches his fists at his sides. “Sapnap, I asked you on a date and you ran off to hang out with another fucking guy.”

“Things are complicated right now, dude,” Sapnap tells him with a shake of his head. “I found out I was a werewolf like four days ago, I met you, and the guy I’ve been into for four years finally noticed me. It’s all happening at once!”

Quackity chews at the inside of his cheek for a moment as he looks up at the ceiling, nodding slowly before turning back to him. “Fine. Just look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn’t do it again.”

“Huh?”

He steps toward him and sets his jaw. “If you’re sorry, which you haven’t said that you are, you can look at me and honestly tell me that you wouldn’t ditch me for Karl again. You’re not my boyfriend, Sapnap. I don’t give a shit if you see other guys. Hell, I’d be fine with it if you were my boyfriend as long as everyone was on the same page. But what upsets me is the fact you made plans with me and ditched me to go hang out with another guy with no fucking warning. So look at me, Sapnap, and tell me that if you could redo last night you wouldn’t do it again.”

It’s not fair to make him choose. On one hand, Quackity is this awesome new person in his life and he doesn’t want to lose him. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to lose Karl either. The thing about Karl is he’s the person that Sapnap’s been in love with for several years. He’d have to be an idiot to blow his shot with him. And even though Quackity is intelligent and gorgeous and funny, Karl is just as beautiful and, more than anything, he’s kind. Plus Karl brings with him the kind of popularity that every high school loser dreams of. If he hadn’t ditched Quackity last night, he wouldn’t have had a shot at even landing on his radar.

“Fine,” Quackity says, pursing his lips when Sapnap goes more than a minute without replying. His silence is clear enough of an answer for him. “Good luck with the whole werewolf thing. I hope you don’t get caught but, if you do, let me know. The least I could get out of this shitshow is a decent fucking article.”

He stomps out of the men’s room, not looking back as the door shuts behind him.

As he watches him go, guilt sloshes around in the pit of his stomach. He’s still not sure that he’s made the decision. Maybe it’s a right-person wrong-time situation. Maybe Quackity isn’t the right person at all.

Maybe Sapnap’s just a fucking idiot.

In a fit of frustrated rage, he turns around and sends a hairy fist plummeting into the wall. Chunks of the broken wall clatter to the ground, white tile stained with the crimson from where it had sliced into his paw.

As he shakes it off, it turns back into a normal hand. He’s getting better at the changing back thing but he can’t find it in him to be that excited about it. Not when he was doing this on his own.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he opens it to see that Karl finally replied to his good morning text. It’s a reminder that he needs to focus on the good things in his life, the things that he hasn’t managed to screw up within a matter of days.

Sapnap steps out of the bathroom and back into the hall and tries his best to forget about Quackity.

El Rapids High School’s men’s soccer team is probably the third best team at their school, behind women’s basketball and soccer. Given the unfortunate tendency of people to take men’s sports more seriously, that means it’s also the most popular team at their school, even more so than their football team.

They’re pretty entertaining to watch too, though Sapnap might be biased because he’s gone to almost all of George’s games during their high school careers. They’re best friends and, if he can support him, he’s going to be there.

George is a winger, which means he’s a key part of the offense. He’s one of the fastest players on their team and probably one of the fastest players in the league but he’s not one to brag about it. He’s also the type of guy to play surprisingly dirty and it’s not unusual for him to get carded, much to the dismay of his coach.

Karl’s the captain of the team and pretty much the only person that can hold him back because George actually deems him worth listening to. He’s a keeper, so he’s not up in the action most of the time but he’s awesome at what he does and, according to George, he’s far better at strategizing than their coach. Karl is the reason that they’re probably going to state this year.

He usually sits alone or with his brother and his friends, if they choose to go. This time, Tina and Foolish wave him up to their spot in the bleachers. Karl must have told them to look out for him.

His stomach churns as he sees Quackity sitting near the bottom of the bleachers, notebook in hand as he chats with Fundy, who’s a senior photographer for the newspaper. For a moment, he’s thankful that he seems too caught up in his conversation to acknowledge him but then he gives him a brief sidelong glance that tells him that he’s probably being intentionally ignored.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Sapnap!” Tina greets him as he sits down, smiling brightly. “Karl’s talked a lot about you!”

Sapnap blinks. “He has?”

“Well, not that much,” Foolish clarifies. “He just said that you guys knew each other freshman year and that he was excited to get to know you again now that he and George are closer friends.”

Tina rolls her eyes and gently pushes at his head. “Stop underselling it. Karl was super excited about him coming to the game today.”

It makes his heart flutter. Karl was talking to his friends about him, just like he’d been talking to George and Dream about him for years. Even though Sapnap feels like his romantic life has been a minor rollercoaster over the past 48 hours, he really feels like it’s on the incline. As guilty as he still feels about the whole thing with Quackity, having a chance with Karl feels like a dream come true.

He turns his focus to the game. As always, they’re kicking the other team’s ass. It wouldn’t be surprising anyway but it’s extra expected seeing as George had told him earlier that they weren’t playing a particularly difficult opponent.

Karl’s playing style is surprisingly analytical. It’s something that he’s noticed before but it always surprised him because Karl seems like the type of person who relies more on his impulses and emotions. He watches the field like a hawk from the goal, anticipating every move even when the ball is on the opposite end of the pitch. He never stops moving, never slacks off. Karl is always ready which means he’s always on the ball when he needs to be.

He’s definitely a bit impulsive too. The nature of being a goalie, from the vague memory Sapnap has from when they rotated positions back in peewee hockey, is one that relies heavily on quick thinking and taking the right risks. It can pay off to jump up into the fray from time to time, but it can also be absolutely devastating. It’s about finding the right balance and not being afraid to put your body on the line to keep the other team from scoring. Karl seems to have that down better than anyone he’s ever known.

George is having a good game too. He’s aggressive just like he always is and, even though he got a yellow card after a particularly dirty slide tackle, he’s otherwise playing a clean game. It’s paying off since he ends up scoring two goals and getting two more assists.

Because Sapnap is George’s ride, he waits around for him to get out of the locker room. Tina and Foolish have already left because they both have homework and Karl can drive himself home, so he’s standing alone and leaning against the brick wall next to the door George always leaves through.

Karl emerges from it first, smiling and walking over to Sapnap instead of going straight to his car. “Thanks for coming to my game.” He pauses for a moment. “And thanks for arriving here too.”

Sapnap furrows his eyebrows. “Huh?”

He barks out a laugh and slaps his shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“It was really fun,” he tells him. You’re really good and your friends were super nice. I usually come to these things for George anyway unless he’s racked up a suspension, but I’m extra glad I came to this one.”

A soft smile blooms across Karl’s face, the setting sun illuminating his hazel eyes and falling onto the subtle pink of his cheeks. Sapnap has never been a religious guy by any means, but he thinks that Karl looks a little bit like an angel.

“I meant it when I said that we should get dinner tomorrow night,” Karl says, reaching over to grab his hand and gently play with his palm. His hands are extra soft, probably because they’ve been padded by his gloves for the past few hours.

“Yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” Karl says, his purple-painted nails on display as he gently thumbs his way over each of Sapnap’s fingers. “I was thinking that we could get pizza, maybe. I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Sapnap blushes as he tries his best to keep his nails from turning into claws while Karl is so fixated on them. He feels a shock of hair spurt from the back of his neck instead, thankfully obscured by the wall behind him.

“That sounds really great, Karl,” he barely stutters out.

Karl’s grin widens and he presses a gentle kiss to the back of his hand before dropping it entirely. “Perfect. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

He adjusts his duffel back on his shoulder and walks off to the parking lot as Sapnap desperately tries to keep himself from wolfing out. He’s not used to people coming on this strong, especially when flirting with him. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible.

“You’re welcome,” George said, emerging from the doorway a second later. He must have been waiting for them to finish their conversation. “You owe me like a million favors at this point.”

“Thanks,” he mutters out, feeling the thick black hair spread all the way down his back and start wrapping around his legs.

George frowns and points to his mouth. “Your teeth.”

He gently taps his tongue against a tooth that’s grown long and sharp. “Shit. I don’t think Karl noticed.”

“I don’t think so either,” George says, examining him for a moment. “It is kind of epic, though. Let’s get you in the car before I have to walk you home on a leash.”

He can already feel himself returning to normal as he follows George to the car. While people like Karl and Quackity have a tendency to get him riled up and make him wolf out, George’s presence is centering and calming. It’s easier to control himself when his best friend, the person he trusts most in life, is standing beside him.

It’s something that he files away in his mind for later. If George is able to calm him when he’s here, maybe thinking about him will be able to hold him back in the future. For a moment he’s excited to report back to Quackity, but his heart sinks when he remembers what happened in the morning.

George throws an arm on his shoulder. “You look sad. Stop. We’re meant to be celebrating my win.”

Somehow, it makes his lips turn up into a smile again.

Less than thirty minutes before Karl’s supposed to pick him up from his house, Sapnap realizes that he has no fucking clue what he’s supposed to wear on a date. The thing with Quackity that he canceled a few days ago had been easy partially because something about hanging out with him had come surprisingly naturally to him and partially because it was meant to happen right after his game without time to change into something fancy.

For his date tonight, he has all the time in the world. He just didn’t realize that he needed that time because he just kind of assumed that he’d know what to wear when it came down to it.

Sapnap’s never had a proper date before. He likes to think that he’s a fairly attractive guy but it’s hard to get out there when you’re crushing so hard on one person. He has no idea what to wear or what to say or what to order once he gets there. And maybe he’s overthinking this whole thing but he blew the blossoming thing that he had with Quackity to get a real shot at being with Karl. He can’t screw up this thing too.

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and Sapnap pulls his bathrobe back on before replying. “Come in!”

Bad appears in the doorway with a serious look on his face. He’s clearly wanted to talk to him all week about something, probably the party. He was avoiding it before but, at this point, if his dad wants to have a conversation with him about underage drinking or whatever he’s willing to deal with it. The problem is that he’s so caught up with the werewolf stuff and his tumultuous love life to have the time for that kind of conversation.

“Do you have time to chat?” his dad asks politely, slipping inside and gently closing the door behind him.

He shakes his head. “Not really. I’m getting picked up in less than an hour and I still don’t know what I’m going to wear.”

“Are you and George doing something?”

Telling Bad about his love life kind of sounds like his worst nightmare even though he already knows that his dad will be supportive. He had been really great when he came out to him a few years ago and he just wants to see him happy. But the thing is Bad is his dad and it seems weird to talk to him about that kind of stuff, especially when it’s all so new.

But, at the same time, he doesn’t really want to tell Bad even more lies. Ever since he was a little kid, Bad has always trusted him to be honest and do the right thing. Since last Friday, it seems like that trust is on its way to teetering on the edge. He doesn’t want to push it over.

“I have a date tonight,” he admits. “My first date, actually.”

Bad smiles and he can swear that he sees his eyes watering up a little. “Oh my. My little muffinhead is growing up. What’s their name?”

God. He thinks that this is somehow worse than he expected. There’s something incredibly awkward about being interrogated about your love life by your own father.

“His name is Karl,” he tells him, thankful that he never once opened up about his embarrassing crush on him. “He plays soccer with George and he’s like the nicest guy on the planet.”

Sapnap chooses to leave out the part about Karl being mind-blowingly beautiful. That part goes beyond what he’s willing to go.

“Where are you two going?”

“He’s taking me to Hutt’s Pizza,” he says. “Which is like the most casual restaurant ever so I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear. You’re supposed to dress up for a date, right?”

“Well, I’d swap out the sweatpants for jeans if that’s what you’re asking,” Bad laughs. “But as long as you wear something you’re comfortable in that you think makes you look nice, I’m sure that Karl will think you look wonderful.”

At first, he thinks it’s the least helpful advice ever but the more he thinks about it, the more he understands. This isn’t a pity date. Karl genuinely wants to go out with him. And if he doesn’t really care how Karl dresses, why would Karl care what he wears? It’s a pizza date at the place that sells it by the slice. He’ll be fine in anything.

“You know, now that you’re getting older, I think it’s about time that we talk about something,” Bad tells him.

He winces, distinctly remembering getting a dumbed-down version of “the talk” a few years ago in the most painful conversation that he’s ever been in. Listening to your dad talk about safe sex is a terrible experience in itself but there’s something about the fact that Bad refuses to say any word that could possibly be interpreted as a swear that made everything about a hundred times more awkward.

“I really don’t think you have to worry about that,” he tells him. “It’s the first date. I don’t even know if he’s interested in that kind of stuff. I’m certainly not ready for it.”

“What?” Bad asks, furrowing his eyebrows. “I was just going to tell you that-”

Sapnap’s phone buzzes on the dresser and, when he looks at it, he sees a text from Karl declaring that he’s on his way over and will be there in the next ten minutes.

His eyes widen as he pushes Bad toward the door. “I have to get ready. We can talk later.”

“But Sapnap I-” he starts, sighing after a moment. “Never mind. We’ll talk later on. Have fun and be safe tonight.”

“Thanks, Bad,” he replies, all but slamming the door in his face as he rushes to get ready. He needs to pick out clothes quickly and he still hasn’t brushed his hair.

He ends up throwing on his nicest pair of jeans under a soft orange sweater that Bad had bought him for Christmas last year. After slipping on his vans and brushing out his hair, he glances in the mirror for a moment. He doesn’t look too fancy for a pizza date but he thinks that he looks pretty nice.

His doorbell rings and he rushes downstairs before anybody else can answer it. He doesn’t want Karl to meet Bad quite yet or, god forbid, meet Eryn, who would certainly spill all of Sapnap’s embarrassing secrets immediately.

Throwing the door open, Sapnap greets Karl with a breathless smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

Karl smiles back at him. He looks gorgeous, his brown hair swooping so softly above his eyes like it always does. He’s wearing an oversized purple knit sweater with little green swirls stitched into it, a white-collared shirt poking out around his neck. With that, he’s wearing light gray plaid pants and dress shoes, but something about the way he styles it doesn’t make Sapnap feel like he’s underdressed.

“Good to go?” Karl asks, nodding toward his car. “You look really nice today, by the way.”

“Uh, yeah,” he says with a gulp.

He feels hair crawling up the back of his neck and he tries to think of George. If he was here, he’d tell him to chill out and that he was being an idiot even worrying. It helps the hair recede again.

Karl’s car is a lot cleaner than it was when he rode in it last and he finds that a bit endearing. Karl went through all of the trouble to clean out his car just for their date even though he knew that Sapnap wouldn’t care if it was a little bit messy. Then again, maybe he’s a little nervous too.

It’s a short ride to Hutt’s Pizza, filled with small talk about school and their respective sports. Once they get there, they’re seated instantly. Karl knows the owner, apparently, and made sure to sort out a reservation in advance even though they don’t usually take them.

Soon enough, they’re sitting across from each other with glasses of water in front of them, their orders already in the kitchen. That’s when it hits him fully. He’s actually on a date with Karl Jacobs. The guy that he’s had a crush on for the past few years is sitting across from him and giggling at all his jokes.

It makes his senses heighten dramatically. He can hear Karl’s laugh just as much as he can hear someone ordering at the other end of the restaurant. Karl’s cologne is nearly overpowering, mixed with the Italian seasoning and pizza grease dripping off of every corner of this restaurant. Just like at the party last week, it feels like the heat is getting to him even though it’s not a full moon.

He tries to think like George. Because, while Sapnap thinks with his heart, George is able to logic his way through most things in life. Maybe if Sapnap tries to think his way through it, he’ll be able to calm down and stop changing.

This is just a dinner. He’s just eating pizza with a friend. Maybe they like each other but it’s mutual, right? And Karl doesn’t know he’s been pining for years and years. It’s just one little date. It’s fine.

It does nothing to quell his nerves.

Karl frowns. “Are you okay?”

Sapnap can feel a bead of sweat slowly trickle down his forehead as he does everything he can to keep himself from transforming in the middle of a crowded restaurant but he thinks that his anxiety about potentially turning into a wolf in front of the guy he likes is just piling on top of the nerves that he already has just from the date.

“Perfectly fine,” he lies.

“You sure?”

He gulps and then nods frantically. “Yeah. I guess that I was just remembering this group project that I’m supposed to do with George for Spanish class.”

Sapnap isn’t in George’s Spanish class. Sapnap doesn’t even take Spanish. Fuck, there’s probably not even a Spanish project anyway. Hopefully, Karl doesn’t know any of that. He thinks he might throw up if he calls him out on his lie. Or transform completely.

His frown deepens. “Do you have to get home by a certain time to finish it?”

“Nope,” he shakes his head. “It’s not due until Monday. I just remembered it and freaked for a moment.”

“Right,” Karl says slowly, skepticism still written across his raised eyebrows. “Well, I was just wondering how you felt about the game tomorrow. It seems like a lot of people are going since you guys were fucking awesome on Monday and it’s a big game. Feeling confident?”

God. He’d forgotten about the game entirely. He knows that he can conceal his transformation on the ice based on what had happened on Monday but now that he’s struggling to control himself at dinner, he’s a little bit scared that he’s going to get nervous and fuck it up.

His teeth begin to sharpen in his mouth. He pictures George’s hand on his back to stop them but it doesn’t work. Fuck, he can’t talk to Karl with a mouth full of wolf teeth.

He just shrugs instead. Hopefully, that’s enough of a response.

From the look on Karl’s face, it’s not. He looks upset and a bit abandoned. “Okay.”

By some sort of miracle, their pizza arrives after that. Digging into his food is enough of a distraction for his senses to draw back just a little and he’s able to disguise his teeth better when he’s chewing.

“We can hang out after the game tomorrow if you want,” he says with a mouth full of food, his hand in front of it to conceal both his chewing and his teeth. It’s really the only way that he can talk right now.

Karl makes a face. “Yeah, maybe. I guess.”

Sapnap’s heart falls. He’s fucking blowing this all because he’s a stupid werewolf. This would be so much easier if it was Quackity instead. Quackity already knew that he was a werewolf and he’d liked him anyway. Maybe he should have tried harder to keep him.

Fuck. It’s not fair to think about another guy when he’s on a date with Karl. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with him.

As Sapnap shoves the last bite of his pizza into his mouth he wills his teeth to shrink to a more reasonable size. It works, at the cost of shocks of hair spurting up along his arms, thankfully concealed by his sweater, and his nails growing out into claws. He quickly draws his hands back and puts them on the booth beside him.

Karl raises an eyebrow. “Desperate to leave?”

“Not at all,” he tells him once he swallows his bite. “I’m having a great time.”

The last part comes out more flat than intended. It’s technically a lie. He’s happy to be here but he knows how much of a fucking wreck it is. He’ll be lucky if Karl ever texts him again.

As he pinches the bridge of his nose, Karl lets out a heavy sigh. “This was a mistake.”

“Huh?”

“I like you, Sapnap. I really do. It’s just-” he sighs before continuing. “You’ve been giving me the most insane mixed signals. Like when I tutored you I thought we really got along but then you’d run away as soon as we ended. And then you always smile at me at school but you never talk to me unless I say something first. On Friday when George told me about you I figured that you were into me and then you ran off with somebody else. Now, we’re on a date after we had a moment the other day and you clearly don’t want to fucking be here. I just don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to think!”

Karl throws up his hands in frustration, falling back in his seat and adding, “I really like you but you don’t even seem to give a shit.”

Sapnap can feel the hair growing on his body as guilt and anxiety consumes him. “I do like you, Karl. It’s just complicated right now.”

He eyes him for a moment before speaking. “Because of Quackity?”

His eyes widen.

“He’s an awesome guy,” Karl tells him. “I was kinda into him for a while until George made it seem like you were interested. I wouldn’t have cared if you wanted to see both of us if that’s what you wanted. But the least that you could do is give me attention when we’re on a date together.”

Sapnap isn’t sure if he’s screwed anything up this badly before. He could have had Karl and Quackity but he was kind of an asshole so now he’s walking home with neither. The two guys he likes fucking hate him now and there’s nothing that he can fucking do about it.

He shudders as he feels his feet transforming in his shoes and his hands starting to turn into paws. He wants to apologize to Karl but he can’t do that without explaining the truth and he doesn’t have the fucking time. He’s gonna be a wolf in a matter of minutes at this rate.

Hastily, Sapnap climbs to his feet and slaps a twenty-dollar bill on the table. “Sorry,” he says all too quickly. “I really am but I have to go.”

Karl’s heartbroken face is scorched into his brain, right next to Quackity’s from a few days prior, as he practically sprints out of the restaurant and ducks into an empty alleyway. He swears that he hears Karl call his name as he goes, probably to offer him a ride home or something, but he can’t turn around.

He hears his jeans rip as he turns into a full wolf, pacing up and down the alley as he tries to calm down enough to walk home without getting animal control called on him. Fuck, he doesn’t even live on this side of town and he didn’t drive here.

How had he managed to fuck up two relationships in a week? He thought being a werewolf could help him and well, on the ice it did, but it also fucked everything up. He ruined two separate relationships he’s been lying to his dad.

But maybe if he played well tomorrow Karl or Quackity would give him another chance. They're probably both going to be there, even if it’s not necessarily for him. They’re playing the best team in the league but he knows they can win if he uses his skills to his advantage. And if they do, Karl will be impressed and Quackity will have his story. Maybe with the right communication, he could have a shot at both of them.

With renewed confidence, Sapnap is able to calm down enough to shift back. His clothes are mostly ruined but George’s house isn’t that far so he shoots him a text and makes his way over to his place.

He can still fix this. If he uses his werewolf abilities in the right ways, he can win the game and get them back. Then he can focus on managing it a little bit better. The research part isn’t really important to him anymore. It’s winning that matters.

Something about Thursday morning feels quiet. He doesn’t know if it’s the cold glares that he’s getting from Karl and Quackity every time he passes them in the halls or just the anticipation for the big game tonight, but it’s quiet and tense and he doesn’t like it. Something about the tension has him breaking out in claws three separate times for virtually no reason. He wonders if he’s somehow getting worse at the whole werewolf thing but he has a feeling that the issue has more to do with his inability to control his emotions.

George notices, somehow, because he’s the only one who really gets him, and he brings it up while Sapnap is dropping him off after school. “The game will go well tonight. And whatever happens with Karl and Quackity, I’ll be there afterward, alright?”

“So you’re not optimistic about me winning them back,” he infers.

He lets out a weary sigh. “People aren’t something to be won, Sapnap. I don’t know when you started thinking they were. Or when you started pushing them aside so easily. Your actions hurt them. I wouldn’t expect to be forgiven because you landed a puck in the goal.”

It’s not like he expected George to sugarcoat anything— that’s not the type of person that he is— but he had thought that he’d at least be a bit more supportive. The way he’s talking makes it seem like Sapnap’s the next Dream which isn’t true. He’s not the type of person to abandon his friends.

“I’m not like him,” he insists, clenching his fists. Sharp claws start to poke into his palms.

“He wasn’t like that until he was,” George replies. “But that’s not the point. Winning isn’t going to impress them. They don’t like you for your hockey skills or because you’re a werewolf. They like the person you are.”

George pats him on the back and slips out of his car, leaving him alone with his thoughts as he drives home to eat and get changed for the big game.

As he gets ready, he considers George’s words. He can see where he’s coming from, but he thinks that this week is just a fluke. Once he wins the game tonight, he can work on fixing everything else. One thing at a time.

And he’s going to need every advantage that he can get for this game. The team that they’re playing is undefeated, having shut out a team that shut them out just two weeks ago. If he doesn’t use his werewolf abilities, he’s going to lose. He needs to use them.

Why wouldn’t he use his werewolf skills anyway? They can do so much for him. Being able to sense where other people are on the ice is an unmatched advantage and the force he can put behind his shots makes them near impossible to block. Being a werewolf makes him a better athlete.

He tries to relax as he warms up on the ice that night. He needs to calm his mind before the game starts otherwise he’s going to risk wolfing out on the ice. It might be the biggest game of the year, but it’s still just a hockey game.

Then again, it’s hard to relax once the crowd starts filing in. He’s never seen this many people come to their games before, not even when Dream still played with them.

Tommy and Tubbo are sitting in the front with their cameras, snapping pictures of Sapnap whenever he skates by even though the game hasn’t even started yet. Being in charge of photography for the worst team has quickly turned into snapping photos of the most exciting game of the year so far.

Quackity sits next to them, looking somewhat disgruntled as he scribbles in his notebook. He seems like he’s trying not to look at Sapnap but every time he looks over he catches his conflicted gaze before soft brown eyes quickly flicker away.

Karl is sitting in the row behind him surrounded by his friends. He’s chatting with them animatedly, giggling at jokes and smiling so brightly it makes the cold rink feel a bit warm, but whenever he looks at Sapnap that smile falters. It’s a small glimpse behind a facade that he’s so carefully crafted.

Just at the edge of his little group, George is sitting, only partially invested in whatever they’re talking about. He’s actually paying attention, watching Sapnap skate around the ice even though the puck hasn’t dropped yet. The rest of his group is mostly here out of school spirit of a general enjoyment of sports, but George is here to support him. He finds some comfort in that.

His dad sits near the middle, smiling brightly and snapping occasional pictures with his phone. Bad’s been working quite a lot recently so it means a lot that he’s still found time to come to one of his games. Eryn is sitting next to him, entirely immersed in whatever’s on his phone. It means the world to him that he’s here anyway.

Up in the top corner of the stands, sitting alone, Sapnap can just barely make out the figure of a tall-looking guy in a green hoodie, blond hair nearly obscuring his green eyes from where it peeks out from under his raised hood. He doesn’t know why Dream would be here— whether George texted him or he’s here of his own volition— and he doesn’t really know how it makes him feel either. He shouldn’t care but it fuels his need to impress anyway.

He’s forced to focus on the present again when the buzzer sounds to indicate that it’s time for the game to begin. As some of his teammates skate toward the bench to wait for their turn on the ice, he skates to the center circle for puck drop.

This time, his opponent has fire in his eyes. Word of their recent win has traveled fast and now people know that the El Rapids Tigers might not be that guaranteed win that they were banking on. Sure, he can still smell the confidence on his skin, but the rivalry has him fired up. He thinks that a fight or two might break out tonight, though he knows it’s probably best if he’s not involved in them.

The puck drops and Sapnap has no problem getting it and racing down the ice. He knows where everyone is and where they’re going. He’s unstoppable.

Except, he can smell someone on him and can’t seem to skate fast enough. A particularly hard check sends him flying into the boards. It’s rough but it’s a clean play. Even his advanced levels of awareness can’t help him from being outskated sometimes, especially when he’s focused on analyzing every player on the ice instead of his own speed.

There’s a way that he can have it all, but it’s risky. The wolf in him already wants to claw its way to the surface. If he gives it too much, it might take control. He can’t transform in front of all these people.

“Come on, Sapnap!” he swears he hears George’s voice say through the frenzy of the crowd. He shakes it off and gets his head back in the game.

He feels almost as if his world is spinning as he skates. He’s trying to skate fast, keep track of where everyone is, even if that means differentiating eleven different people at once and trying to keep track of the fucking wind, and he’s also trying to keep his fingernails from poking through his gloves and his nose from shifting into a snout. It’s overwhelming and he can’t stop sweating but when he thinks of the cheering crowd, he can contain it just enough to play on.

When other lines go on, he guzzles his water and dabs the sweat off his brow. It’s shockingly hard to turn the werewolf thing off once he’s spent so much time focusing on it. He feels like it’s a hundred times worse than last game, but it’s also just a far more intense game in general. The pressure is higher and the team they’re playing is far more skilled.

By the end of the period, Sapnap has only netted one goal but, luckily, the other team hasn’t scored at all. They’re up now, they just have to keep it that way. He needs to do more.

So during the second period, he ignores all his human instincts screaming at him to calm down and pushes harder. His team doesn’t need Sapnap; they need the wolf. And even if he can’t show them that, he’ll give every other part of it he can if it means that they’ll win.

He skates faster and gets lost in his over-awareness. It gets to the point where his vision is tunneling to some extent and he’s more aware of the motion than what he’s actually seeing.

Eventually, he gets a clean breakaway and skates and skates down the ice. As soon as he has a clear shot, he takes it, slamming the puck as hard as he can toward the goal so that the goalie doesn’t have the time to block it.

Except, he sees the goalie’s hand reach out anyway. Then he hears a scream, followed by the blaring of the goal horn and cold, dead silence.

He winces for a moment, scared of what he did, all of his senses slipping back to normal all at once.

When he opens his eyes, there’s no blood. Just a goalie clutching his arm to his chest from inside the goal as two coaches and the trainer lean over him. The refs are talking but there’s not much to talk about. It’s an unfortunate shot, but it’s a clean one.

Still, Sapnap feels like he deserves to spend the rest of the night in the penalty box. He pushed too hard and somebody got hurt. Maybe the werewolf part of him was a bad thing. He’d driven Quackity away and then he’d driven Karl away. Now somebody was hurt and even though nobody on the ice knew it, he was to blame.

He skates over to the bench and as he does, he notices Quackity and Karl are sitting together now, looking down at him with matching grim expressions. He brushes them aside and turns to his coach, telling him that he needs to sit out the rest of the game. He can’t go on right now.

Sapnap pulls off his skates and marches back to the locker room. He feels like he’s going to throw up. Winning a hockey game wasn’t worth someone getting hurt.

He looks in the mirror and even though his face is the same as it’s always been, he doesn’t recognize the person looking back at him.

The door slams open and George walks in. He half expects Dream to walk in behind him. In his mind, it’s always been the three of them. Now that he thinks about it, though, George is more than enough.

“Did you see that Dream was here?” Sapnap asks, not looking up at him.

“I asked him,” George replies, dropping down onto the bench next to him. “I told him it would mean a lot to you.”

Before this game, maybe it would have. Now, though, he realizes it doesn’t matter. It’s not about what Dream thinks about him. It’s not about what Karl or Quackity think about him either, or even George. It’s about what he thinks of himself.

Right now, that opinion isn’t all that favorable.

“Are you going to go back on?” George asks after a beat, looking toward him with curious brown eyes.

He shakes his head. “It’s not worth winning if I have to be the wolf to do it. That’s not me.”

“Except it is,” George replied. “It’s part of you, whether you like it or not, just as much as the human is a part of you too. You’re not a werewolf sometimes and a human other times. Really, you’re always both. Isn’t that the entire point?”

It’s like homeostasis. Living creatures must balance all parts of themselves to create some level of constancy, of true equilibrium, or they will die. George is right. Being a werewolf isn’t about being a man, nor is it about being a wolf. He’s both and treating it like he’s not will only tear him down. Maybe there will be a day when he can hone his hearing or his smell without shifting but that day will probably come with practice and dedication, not after fucking around for a week. He can’t push so hard on his werewolf abilities and expect not to shift.

What’s more, he can’t be ashamed of the hair and the snout and the claws. That’s all part of him too and, while it’s not a part he can share with the world, it doesn’t make him any less than anyone else. The hair and the strength are meant to go hand in hand. He can’t separate them.

But at the same time, he’s taken the ice hundreds of times before last Friday. And, sure, he kinda sucks, but he doesn’t need to start transforming to play hockey. He’s never gone out there to win before, only to play the game that he loves.

“I need to go back out there, don’t I?” he sighs. “I need to play the rest of the game without any advantages.”

“I think that you’ll regret it if you don’t,” George tells him. “It’s up to you, though.”

He nods and climbs to his feet. This is something that he needs to do for himself and for his team. He owes them his best effort and he owes himself a clean game.

“I believe in you,” George tells him, wincing as he says it. He’s never seen George be serious so many times in one week.

He smiles and wrangles him into a brief hug, which George eventually leans into despite the initial struggle. “Thanks, George.”

With a deep breath, Sapnap walks back to the bench and slips his skates back on, letting his coach know that he feels much better and is ready to go back on.

It’s the third period now and the other team has scored three points. His team has scored once without him, making it tied. It bolsters his confidence a little. If they can score against the strongest team in the league without Sapnap using his werewolf abilities then maybe they can hold down the last twenty minutes of this game and try to slip one more in.

His coach sends him on as soon as his line is meant to go up again. They’re playing a defensive game now. He missed the strategy talk they had on the bench, but he guesses that his coach said to keep the other team from scoring at all costs. If they manage to push through this period and overtime into shootouts, they might have a better shot. There’s a lot of randomness and luck that goes into that, even if they aren’t the best shots. The problem is, that’s a big if.

But he prioritizes defense anyway. He might be the captain, but he’s not the coach. He doesn’t decide the strategies, he just makes quick decisions on the ice and pushes his team to do their best.

It’s probably the tensest twenty minutes of hockey that Sapnap has ever played in his life. The other team isn’t as tired as they are and they just keep pushing. Still, they fend them off. Nobody scores but he knows that’s kind of the point.

It’s a surprisingly clean period. A few fights broke out earlier in the game but people are pretty hands-off despite the tension. This is a big game for both teams with a lot of eyes watching. Nobody wants to blow it because of a fight, even if Sapnap would love to punch the other team’s center in the nose.

In the last seconds, Sapnap finds an opening, he dashes across the ice as fast as he can without pushing past his base threshold and lines up for the shot.

Suddenly, he feels like he’s flying through the air as he crashes onto his stomach on the ice, knocking the air out of his gut.

His ears pound as he sits up, vaguely registering the sound of the whistle being blown. Is that the end of the period? Certainly, the buzzer would be going off.

A ref skates up to him and holds out a hand. “Are you alright, kid?”

With a nod, he takes his hand and climbs to his feet.

The ref pats him on the back and motions toward the open ice. “It’s your shot.”

An intense feeling of deja vu envelops him. He’s been here before, not even a week ago. The night that started it all.

The new goalie has a fierce look in his eyes as he watches him. He’s not the starter, but he’s been holding his own for half the game now. He’s good.

It feels like the entire room falls silent as Sapnap takes a shaky breath and lines up the shot. One last shot, if this goes well. He doesn’t need to transform a single bit of him to make it. He’s practiced this over and over and over. If one thing has improved, it’s his accuracy.

With one final breath, he shoots and the puck flies for what feels like a century, flying into the top corner as the goalie dives after it just a second too late. The goal horn and the buzzer ring at the same time.

A moment later, his teammates are piling on top of him, laughing and cheering. When he glances out to the crowd he sees Dream give him a curt nod and a proud smile before leaving the stands. He’s not surprised that he’s going and something about it doesn’t hurt so much this time.

After the game, Sapnap showers quickly before making his way out toward the waiting crowd in the lobby. It’s a bit of a frenzy, with groups of teenagers excitedly chatting with each other in every corner.

He can see Karl and Quackity standing with George near a pillar, chatting animatedly.

Tommy and Tubbo stop him before he can reach the crowd, his brother trailing behind him as they snap pictures. He winces at the sudden flash.

“These pictures are going to be on the front page of the paper, Tubbo,” Tommy says. “We’ve finally made it.”

“Thank you?”

Tommy pats him on the back. “It’s just a hockey game. Don’t go getting an ego over it.”

They run off again and Sapnap finds himself face to face with his dad, who pulls him away from the crowd before hugging him tightly.

“I’m so proud of you,” he tells him. “You played so well, and you played as yourself.”

He blinks for a moment. “What?”

Bad laughs. “You think I don’t know about the werewolf stuff, you muffinhead? It’s normal to struggle with this kind of stuff at your age. I know I did.”

He’s even more confused now, furrowing his eyebrows as he tries to recall if Bad has ever said anything about his biological parents.

“Little werewolves need a grown wolf to guide them,” he continues. “I adopted you two for a reason.”

“You couldn’t have explained this sooner?”

He throws up his hands. “I didn’t even have the chance! Besides, sometimes it skips a generation so I didn’t know for sure.”

Sapnap has about a billion questions and he has no idea which one he should ask first. He should have talked to Bad about this a week ago.

Bad must see the expression on his face because he chuckles and ruffles his hair. “We can talk about this at home tomorrow. Go have fun with your friends.”

He watches him run off after his brother and his friends, presumably because he’s their ride, and then turns back to where George is standing with Karl and Quackity.

Sapnap takes a deep breath and then walks over there. “Hi!”

“Hey,” Karl and Quackity say at the same time, laughing right after. They’re holding hands but he doesn’t really know why.

George smiles. “You were awesome out there. Come find me after you three chat. You’re still my ride.”

He disappears into the crowd, headed in the direction of Tina and Foolish.

Being alone with Karl and Quackity is slightly terrifying. He hasn’t faced either of them since those two very negative experiences but they don’t seem as mad as he thought they’d be.

But he owes them an apology anyway.

“I’m sorry,” he says, turning to Quackity first. “I’m sorry if I used you for research and then ditched you as soon as I had a chance to hang out with Karl. I just assumed that you’d hang around but that wasn’t fair of me. I treated you like a second choice but I did like you a lot. I didn’t treat you fairly, even though I did really care about you.”

He turns to Karl next. “Karl, I was an ass on our date and I’m so sorry for that. I should have been upfront with you about everything that was going on with Quackity. And, well, there’s something else. It’s just that I’m-”

“A werewolf?” Karl fills in with an amused smile.

His eyes go wide. “How did you-”

Karl laughs. “When you left the restaurant last night you had fucking claws, dude. I texted Quackity to see if he knew what was up. Turns out, he still cared enough to explain if it meant that the two of us might fix things. I guess he still cares about you.”

“Or both of you,” Quackity mumbles, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Do you guys want to go out to eat tonight?” Sapnap asks them. “All three of us?”

Karl grins widely. “Are you asking both of us on a date at once, Sapnap? How scandalous!”

He flushes red. “I just wanted to be transparent about it. Maybe I like you both.”

Quackity uses his free hand to grab one of Sapnap’s squeezing it lightly. “Well, maybe we like you too, asshole.”

Lifting his other hand, Karl thumbs across a long, curved nail. “Claws and all.”

Sapnap smiles. He has nothing to hide anymore, not with them. Karl and Quackity giving him a second chance makes him the luckiest guy in the world. He won’t let them down this time.

Karl and Quackity drop each other’s hands and each of them takes one of Sapnap’s as they walk out of the ice rink together, George walking with them and smiling because he’s part of their group even if not romantically.

The light of the moon shines down on him and Sapnap realizes that he’s happy to be a werewolf, not because of what it can do for him, but just because it’s a part of him. He’s even happier to be surrounded by people who accept each and every part, regardless of how weird or scary it might seem.

Maybe being a werewolf isn’t about howling at the moon or running through the forest. Maybe it’s about surrounding yourself with your pack, with the people that you care about most in life.

If that’s what being a wolf is about, Sapnap thinks it’s the best thing you can be.