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“That’ll be $25.50.” The middle-aged cab driver says as he sets your luggage down on the gravel road. You grab your wallet from your coat pocket and count $35, telling him to keep the change. He smiles and thanks you before getting in the yellow taxi and driving off. You grab your luggage - one rolling suitcase, a duffel bag, and the backpack on your shoulders, before you walk toward the front gate. It’s an old-school wrought iron fence that’s at least 15 feet tall and seems to surround the land around the house on all sides. You see the keypad on the lock of the main gate and grab the paper in your pocket. It would be easy to call Jack and ask him to let you in, but he’s unaware that you’re here at his home. You’d been planning to surprise him. Thankfully his mom was always a phone call away and had been more than happy to provide you with the combination. You punch in the code and step back to allow the gate to roll away.
Stepping through, you make your way across the expansive lawn, following the stone path that leads up to the porch. You look at the multicolored trees scattered throughout your short trek. It’s a pretty visage of greens, yellows, reds, and oranges. They become more clustered and dense as you scan the forest Jack’s yard leads into. On the left side is the adjacent garage and you spot Jack’s old Buick parked. Well, good to know he’s actually home. Near the far right of the lawn you spot the two massive doors that lead into the cellar, locked up tight with an almost comically giant padlock. You’ve never been down there. Jack claimed it was a pretty grim place. He used it as an emergency shelter and stored some of his homemade wine there but other than that it was nothing special. You’ve pegged him as a Doomsday Prepper ever since. Once you reach the front step, you spot the porch swing on the right-hand side. That’s new. You smile, picturing Jack sitting in it with a cup of tea in his hands. You go to the front door and hesitate for only a moment before knocking. After three knocks, you set your fist down. The brick-red mahogany door swings open and he’s standing there with a questioning look that quickly morphs into a surprised grin. You raise your hand again and wave.
“Ay, no lo puedo creer , what are you doing here?” He asks, sweeping you up into his arms. You smile at him and hug him tight. As always, he’s too-warm, but with the biting cold from outside, you definitely don’t mind it this time. You look him over, taking in his charcoal-grey longsleeve and black sweats. When you’ve both pulled away, you take a minute to settle your gaze on him. Your hands cup his jaw and he smiles, placing his palms over yours. He’s just as handsome as ever, with a few more greys throughout his salt-and-pepper hair and the scruff along his jaw but still the same sweet hazel eyes. His golden tan is paler than last time, but you blame that on the lack of sun there’s been lately. He always got a little paler around the colder seasons.
Jack Russell was your closest childhood friend, had been since you could remember. You two had grown up together in the same town your parents had met. You’d gone your separate ways as adolescents once you both went off to start your careers, but you’d always kept contact. You wrote letters every day, sent cards and gifts on Christmas and birthdays, and always visited when you could. This time though, you hadn’t given him prior notice, wanting your visit to be a surprise.
“Are you here for long?” he asks, and you realize you failed to answer his last question, too distracted by him and your embrace.
“That’s a bit of a long story,” you admit, finally moving away from him.
“Okay, well come on in, I was making tea.” He grabs your rolling luggage from you and you thank him as he leads you inside. The house is just as simple and unassuming as its exterior. It's done up in off-white and neutrals, with little decorations. It would come off as creepy or strange if it was anyone else, but it seemed perfectly up Jack’s alley. He liked to hide his true untidiness in his room and study; you’d witnessed it firsthand the many times you’d slept over as a child and then stayed over as an adult. You never gave him flack for it though, knowing it was just who he was. Besides, if it didn’t interfere with his health or daily life in any way, why should it bother you, right?
The scent of your favorite tea hits you and you smile, quirking an eyebrow. You spot a copper kettle on the stovetop to the left, heated by a ring of blue flames, then the snowman smiley mug you got him two Christmases ago on the counter further down.
“Did you know I was coming??” You ask, genuinely surprised. He shakes his head slightly, a light chuckle passing his lips.
“I didn’t! I was thinking about you, though. I was just about to read your last letter. It arrived this morning.” You’ve entered the kitchen now and he gestures with his chin towards the white oak table. You spot the unopened envelope settled on top, just waiting for Jack to open it and read its contents.
“Don’t bother, it’s actually the reason I’m here,” He turns to you, intrigued, and sets the rolling luggage between you two.
“Oh yeah? Tell me then: what brings you into town?” He asks.
“Ok, well I… got fired.” You admit in a rushed breath as you set your bags on the chair next to you.
“Again?” He says through a soft laugh. “Isn’t that the third time in four months?” He asks.
“Yes,” you respond with an eyeroll. He laughs again, walking over to the kettle that’s begun to sing. “Hey, it’s not my fault customers and upper management are idiots.” You mumble.
“I’ve told you you’re wasting that Bachelor’s Degree in retail.” He says.
“Hey, plenty of educated people work in retail!” You argue. He nods, grabbing another mug from the cabinet. This one is just as festive, a mug that resembles a birthday cake with pink frosting and sprinkles you got for him the first birthday after he moved to this town.
“I know. But, I know you’re capable of accomplishing so much more… If you set your mind to it.” You roll your eyes, waving it off dismissively. He meant well, of course he did, but you couldn’t help the bitter taste the comment left in your mouth. It wasn’t that you were angry necessarily, he was right. It was just that you couldn’t seem to get a handle of being a full adult yet. And you both were already closer to adults than children. It felt like everyone else in your life had their shit together - including Jack - and you just couldn’t seem to no matter how much you tried. It was infuriating, and you didn’t know how to handle it. So you acted nonchalant about it all, constantly changing jobs and moving from town to town. Speaking of which:
“I know. You’re right. That’s why I'm here: I’m looking to start over again and I figured, why not come to a place where I can have at least one person I know?” He turns, surprised.
“Here??” He asks. His surprise isn’t the excited one that greeted you at the door. There’s something almost nervous about it, neurotic in its execution as his dart all over the room. There’s a shift in the mood that’s palpable.
“Yeah.” You backtrack, realizing now that maybe you’d been wrong in assuming he would be ready and willing to help you out. “I mean I didn’t intend to stay here exactly. I have savings, I could rent a hotel for now-”
“No, what? No, claro que no , it’s just-” He sighs. “Tonight’s a full moon.” You nod, understanding his behavior now.
“Oh crap, I completely forgot.” It had begun on his 18th birthday. The other cultural holidays he celebrated, like Dia de Los Muertos, you knew up, down, and sideways and had even taken part in over the years. This one though, you knew next to nothing about, other than it was religious and familial tradition - Jack and his family kept very hush-hush about it all. You also knew that he took it seriously. It was sacred. He would shut himself away for three nights on every month’s full moon, and wouldn’t eat or sleep or come out even once. It was scary really, the dedication he showed. But you were used to it now and you never questioned him about it. It was one of the only secrets he kept from you, and you respected his privacy about it. “Well, like I said, I can book a hotel for the next few days and just come back once you’re done.”
“And like I said,” he grabs your hand and meets your eyes. “Of course not. I’m more than happy you’re here and this is your home as much as it is mine.” You smile and so does he.
You two drink your tea together, and you wash and put away the mugs once you’ve finished. Grabbing your bags again, he leads you past the kitchen and living room, all the way upstairs. The second floor contains his study, three bedrooms, and a bathroom. One room is his, the other for guests, and the third is yours. You hadn’t meant for it to be Your Room exactly but it was the one area of the house you liked most since it let in the most natural light at all hours of the day. It provided both sunlight and moonlight. Jack leaves, giving you space to unpack, once again reminding you of how happy he is that you’re here, and lets you know that he wants to have dinner in a couple of hours before he has to lock himself away. Agreeing, you thank him and watch as he goes into his study before turning your attention to unpacking.
An hour and a half comes and goes once you’ve finished settling in. Soon the smell of food hits you and your stomach grumbles. You hadn’t realized you were actually hungry. You rush down the stairs and spot Jack at the stove, two pots with steam rising. The smell is stronger now and you recognize it instantly, your stomach grumbling again. You grin and walk over, peeking over his shoulder.
“Today’s all about me, huh?” You ask, overjoyed that he made your favorite of his dishes. He shrugs, nodding.
“Just today.” He says with a soft wink your way. You laugh softly and walk over to the dish cabinets, grabbing everything you need to set the table. You go to the fridge and there’s a pitcher with lemonade already waiting. Once he’s turned off the stove, you pour your drinks for you both and grab the plates to serve yourselves.
“This looks amazing, Jack. Not that I’m surprised.” You say as you look over your food.
“Thank you, I hope you enjoy it. I didn’t have all the spices I needed so I had to improvise a bit, but it should taste just as good.” With that, you two go quiet as you begin to eat. It’s perfect. It’s hot and fills you up well. The lemonade is perfect too. Not too sweet, not too bitter. Refreshing, and it doesn’t dry out your throat as quickly as concentrated stuff does.
You two finish your food in comfortable silence, occasionally stealing glances at one another. Smiling each time your eyes accidentally meet. You enjoy the rush of rosy pink that blossoms along his cheeks, down his throat, and the tips of his ears every time it happens. That was untouched territory in your relationship with Jack, but it was common for you both at this point. An unexplored something that you’re unsure will ever be ventured into. You don’t mind it, though. You know you both care deeply for one another. Things have just never lined up enough for you both to make substantial efforts towards each other. Still, he’s a rock in your life just as much as you are in his. You’re sure of it.
“So, how’s the research coming?” You ask as you two sit on the porch swing outside. It’s chilly now, but the body heat radiating off of Jack keeps you warm as you two sit close together. He had also brought out a small throw from the living room to cover your legs. He’s turned almost fully towards you, knees resting against yours and the golden hour’s rays casting lovely shadows on his profile.
“Good, yeah I think it’s going well.” He says, using his left hand that’s been resting behind you on the edge of the seat to scratch at the nape of his neck. You smile a bit, recognizing his tell.
“You sure?” You ask. He smiles, nodding.
“Yeah only…” He trails off and meets your eyes, becoming sheepish. “Things have been a little slow.” He admits.
“Don’t beat yourself up about it. It can’t always be about making huge breakthroughs.” You didn’t pry much about his job either. Not for a lack of interest, but it was a lot of technical jargon that you weren’t at all familiar with. He attempted to explain it all to you but it all sounded so clinical. Besides, you knew he worked with a close-knit team of well-respected individuals who were all working towards bettering the world and to you that was all that mattered.
“Yeah, you’re right.” He says.
“Besides, I’m sure it relieves the stress.” He nods, suddenly yawning a little and stretches his arms high over his head, his sweater riding up a bit and showing you glimpses of his lower torso. His soft stomach and the dark hair that trails under the edge of his pants. You smile to yourself and avert your eyes, scanning the horizon. “Wow, that sunset sure is beautiful.”
“Sunset??” He jumps out of the seat and looks over at the sun in the distance, finally seeing the dark red orb that’s just begun to dip.
“Woah, easy. You’ve still got time. It’s not getting dark for another half-hour.” You say, not wanting to be away from him just yet.
“Sorry I’ve-I’ve got to go prepare. Get everything set up.” You try not to show your disappointment too much.
“Well, is there anything I can help with? I don’t mind, really.”
“No, no. It’s ok. Stay here and watch the sunset. Enjoy it for both of us.” He quirks his lips up into a small smile, trying to act playful, but you can feel his nervousness.
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” You ask. He nods, already heading to the door. You give up, nodding. “Ok, have fun.” You half-joke and this time he smiles genuinely, thanking you before heading inside.
You go inside yourself just as the sun’s last few rays are becoming a memory in the evening sky. You take the throw back into the living room and fold it, placing it on the cushion it was occupying when you got here. Making your way upstairs, you spot the door to the study. Jack’s surely in there. With soft steps, you make your way towards it, determined to knock. You want just one more moment with him before he locks himself away for the next 72 hours. You raise your fist but hesitate. You know how important this is to him. It wouldn’t be ideal. You lose your nerve and slink back to your room, plopping down on the bed. You grab the remote and turn on the TV, flipping through the channels until you find a random sitcom you’ve tuned into before. You’re asleep just after the third commercial break.
A piercing howl wakes you. The TV is still on and you use the remote to shut it off. Grabbing your phone, you check the time: 12 a.m. You sit up just as another howl stuns you. It sounds as if it were coming from right outside. You’d heard these howls before, but Jack always reassured you that he had placed traps all around the estate and the gate always remained locked. No animals could come in. You should be reassured by that, but you’re not. You stand up and go to the window. You’re greeted by an enchanting, luminous full moon and plenty of stars sprinkled throughout the indigo sky. One of your favorite reasons for visiting Jack. There was no view like this in the city. Here it was so crisp, so clear-
What was that? Out of your peripheral you’d seen it. A large, dark mass had run through the edge of the trees… you could tell it was inside the gate. It was too large to be anywhere near human. A shot of fear runs down your spine. Well, as long as you stayed inside, it should be fine, right? Another round of movement catches your eye and your gaze finds it immediately. It stands near the edge of the gate, looking directly into your bedroom window, right at you. Its eyes glow, tracing over every inch of you. They’re the only thing you can make out. You gasp and move away from the window, putting the curtain back into place. Now you’re scared. Maybe you should go tell Jack. He’ll know what to do. You almost run to the study door and knock. First gently, but after three tries your urgency is noticeable.
“Jack! I think-I think there’s an animal outside! It’s hiding in the trees, but it’s inside the gate!” No response. “Look, I know you said not to worry but it’s kinda freaking me out so could you just tell me if we can call Animal Control or something??” Again, no response. You don’t think he’s ignoring you, he wouldn’t do that. So maybe he’s not in the study? Trying the knob, you find it locked. Crap. You decide to search the rest of the house to see if maybe he’s come out instead.
No luck. Not on any of the rooms on either floor. His Buick is still parked in the driveway. You try the study one more time, but still no sign of life comes from the other side of the door. A terrible, awful, downright stupid idea crosses your mind, but it’s the only inkling to where he might be that you’ve got. The cellar. You mull it over for another few minutes but another deep howl spurs you into action. You’re glad you forgot to change into something comfortable and grab the largest chef’s knife from the knife stand in the kitchen. Seems pointless, but hey better than nothing.
Your heart is already racing as you grab the knife and as quietly as you’ve ever done anything in your life, you exit the house. Consequences be damned, you book it across the right half of the lawn, glad your bedroom is on the opposite side. When you reach the cellar, your theory is confirmed as you see the cellar doors wide open. Your heart plummets into your stomach as you see crimson blood on the doors. It’s fresh. Oh god, Jack. Your self-preservation flies out the window as you walk down the steps of the cellar, guided only by adrenaline and moonlight. Finally, you see it.
You hadn’t meant to gasp, hadn’t meant to even breathe , but you drop the knife in pure shock. It loudly clatters to the floor. As soon as that thing turns its head and locks its gaze onto yours, you realize your grave mistake. A microsecond too late. With shocking speed, it snarls and crosses the room, tackling you down and pinning you under a mass of pure muscle and coarse fur against the bottom steps of the cellar. You can’t see where the knife went. You can’t even scream as it holds you down. As you lock eyes, it suddenly roars, mere inches from your face, forcing you to shut your eyes. Its breath smells like blood and rotting flesh and you almost gag if not for your fear. Your heartbeat is a deafening drum in your ears as you don’t dare move. A minute passes. Then two. They feel like centuries.
Why hasn’t it killed you yet? Against your better judgment, you slowly pry your eyes open and it's just looking at you, making you feel like one of those prey animals in nature documentaries. Right before the predator rips it to bloody, sinuous shreds. Still, the monster doesn’t move, just bares its teeth at you. You feel the rumble of its quiet growl all over your body. Its body heat is scorching, suffocating you along with the weight and the fur. Up close you can get a better look at its face. The blood that coats its lower jaw and chest, black lips pulled back to reveal white teeth with the sharpest canines you’ve ever seen on another living thing. The wet, black nose at the end of a long snout. Its coat is a mix of blacks, greys, and whites. The eyes, so hazel that they’re almost yellow, burning like hellfire. Wait… hazel? No way. All the pieces of tonight’s puzzle suddenly click together. Somehow, you’re able to slowly move an arm free, and it takes every bit of courage you have to speak,
“J-J-Jack?” It doesn’t answer, of course it doesn’t answer, but it doesn’t kill you for speaking either. And there’s almost… a flash of recognition in its - his - eyes? You vaguely remember reading something about dealing with new dogs. What was it? Get him used to your scent. “Jack, is that you?” He snarls harsher, but still doesn’t attack you, even as you slowly bring that free arm closer to his face. He flinches for a moment as you tentatively place your open palm on his scruffy cheek. You expose your wrist to him and he seems to know what you’re trying to do, leaning towards it and sniffing. With more speed that makes you gasp again, he roughly grasps your limb, his claws almost digging into your forearm as he holds your wrist up to his nose. He closes his eyes and inhales again, deeply. He lets out a strange sound, almost like a trill. It’s softer, kinda sweet. When he releases your arm, you notice the shift, his hair no longer standing on end and his posture slightly more relaxed. He adjusts his stance on top of you, moving some of his body weight from you and you almost laugh from pure disbelief as he runs his nose over every inch of you he can reach, sniffing and sniffing. When he pulls back from you, you almost smile at him. You feel a little more sure now as you grab his face in your hands, and he doesn’t flinch or growl this time. You look deeply into his eyes and force yourself to relax. “Jacob, it’s me. It’s just me.”
He abruptly pauses, almost as if stunned, and looks around, as if he’s just seeing where he is for the first time. His eyes trace the cellar from corner to corner, before landing on you again. A bone-deep chill runs through you as he throws his head back, letting out another loud howl. But this one’s different. You’ve never heard such a heartbroken sound. You feel every timbre of it in your abdomen as the low baritone reverberates off the walls of the cellar. When his gaze meets yours again, his eyes are almost glistening. He lets out a soft whine from between his lips and is gone before you know what to do. You sit up and yell after him, but he’s already out of the cellar. Only then do you spot the cage. It’s near the back wall of the cellar. It’s round, made of the same wrought-iron as the gate. There’s another padlock, smaller this time, on that door. Inside it’s empty, but you see the deep claw marks and indentations all over the floor and the wall behind it. And the shackles hooked to the wall too.
You don’t remember the walk to the house, all you remember is suddenly being upstairs and passing out as soon as your head hits the pillow. What you do remember though are the dreams that plague you. Dreams about white teeth, salt-and-pepper fur, and hellfire eyes.
You know it's late when your eyes open, both from the oversleeping headache and the smell of breakfast food that greet you into consciousness. You sit up, disoriented, and look around. You spot your muddy boots, placed neatly in a corner of the room and there’s a blanket on you, shielding you from the cold of the house. You don’t recall doing either of these things before falling asleep last night. It all comes flooding back to you then. Jack, the cellar, the cage. The monster. Jack . You get up and off of the bed, seeing that you’re still in last night’s clothes. You make your way out of the room and quietly make your way downstairs, to the kitchen. Just as you suspected, breakfast is being made. Huevos rancheros and frijoles a la olla with the tortillas. The cook is Jack, who’s whistling softly under his breath to the song playing on the radio next to the sink. He’s just turning off the stove. You step further in, the strong scent of fresh coffee overtaking you. You clear your throat loudly and he turns, a little startled.
“Oh, good morning.” He says quietly, a gentle smile on his face. You notice the bashfulness in his eyes as he avoids direct contact with your own piercing stare. “You were still passed out when I got up so I just let you sleep in.”
“Good morning. What happened last night?” You ask, getting directly to the point.
“I had to meet up with some… people from work. They said on the news that there was some feral beast loose in the woods. When I got home, you were asleep.” All of it stumbles out of his mouth with little to no pause. He’s a terrible liar. Always has been.
“No.” You say firmly as you cross your arms over your chest. He finally meets your eyes. “What. Happened.” It’s not a question. His eyes are begging you not to push this, but you need answers. “Jack, whatever it is, I can handle it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t meet his eyes, rueful and weak.
“I know you can. I just don’t know if I can.” He admits, walking over to the kitchen table and sitting down.
“What do you mean?” You ask as you do the same. He stands again, pacing for a moment and running a hand down his face. You let out an exhale of slight frustration. You remind yourself to be patient as he crosses over to where the coffee is, pouring two mugs for you both. You see he’s prepared yours already just how you like it and his is pure black. He retakes his seat, both of you taking a sip of the fresh brew, before he tries again.
“I have this… condition.” You raise an eyebrow but don’t say anything, giving him the freedom to continue. “It’s been in my family for generations. For three nights, every full moon, we transform. We become - I become-” He hesitates, cutting himself off.
“A wolf. You’re a werewolf.” You conclude. He nods, unable to say it himself, as if his tongue will bring another transformation into fruition. You both let those last words hang in the air for a moment before your curiosity beats you. “Does it hurt you?” You ask. He looks up at you again, as if surprised by your question.
“Yes. But it’s fast and easier if I don’t try to delay it.” He replies.
“How long does it last?”
“From the moment the moon is out to sunrise.” He responds.
“Have you-?” ever killed anything? Was going to be your question. You cut yourself off, your brain supplying you with a response. “Last night, you had blood all over you.” He looks away from you again, nodding.
“That’s the other thing: I’m not a researcher. I’m a hunter.” He raises his eyes again. “A monster hunter.” You almost laugh, all of it sounding ridiculous when paired with his tone of sincerity, but his eyes are telling the truth.
“You’re a monster, who hunts monsters?” He winces at you calling him a monster but doesn’t dispute it, nodding silently.
“And the cellar is your… lair?” Again, it sounds ridiculous outloud and this time his tiny smile is genuine.
“Not exactly. When I’m not hunting or I’m about to begin or end a transformation, I go to the cellar because it’s familiar. It’s safe. Even in my wolf form, I recognize it. I’m usually aware enough to remember to lock myself in the cage when I need to.” You notice his hesitation.
“Uusally?” He winces again, likely hoping you wouldn’t push on that.
“Sometimes I’m more of a monster than a man. It just depends on the night.” You sit back, taking a moment to process all of this. “I know this is a lot to take in.” Your eyebrows raise and you nod.
“Yeah, that’s one way to put it.” You respond, your hand going over your face. Jack’s a werewolf. Your closest friend, who you’ve known since you both were in diapers, is a werewolf. A ginormous one at that. You’re not sure what stings more. The fact that he’s a werewolf, or the fact that he’s a werewolf and never told you. It feels surreal, but the longer you mull it over, the more real it becomes. Hell, at this point, you shouldn’t be surprised. If superpowered humans, aliens, and half-gods were real, why couldn’t monsters be? You hear him click his teeth and look over at him. “What is it?” You ask.
“I’m sorry. I never meant for you - for anyone - to find out.” He says.
“Why?” You ask.
“I’m not the only monster hunter out there. Besides, if people ever found out, they could use it against me.” He says.
“Do you think I’m gonna use it against you?” Your tone is wounded.
“No. I know you won’t.” He says. “With you, I was just worried it would change things.”
“Change what?” You ask. He shrugs a shoulder.
“Change our relationship. I’ve been keeping this from you all this time. Constantly lying to cover my tracks. Now that you know the truth, maybe you’d be scared of me. Angry for keeping my secret from you. Maybe you’d hate that monsters are real and I’m one of them.” He says this with a dazed stare as he looks off into the distance, his mouth turns down into a frown, eyebrows furrowed. He’s thought about this before. Knowing Jack, he’s probably thought about it ad neasuem. You’re quiet for a moment. You want to reach out and comfort him, like you have a million times before. But you can’t bring yourself to just yet. Like it or not, things had changed.
“I couldn’t hate you.” You reply and he turns to you again, back in the present. “I won’t lie to you: what happened last night did scare me. It scared me a lot.” He drops his eyes from you immediately, even bowing his head slightly. “But, when you came to your senses and you recognized me, I could tell that you were sorry.” He nods. “Besides, this isn’t something to be shameful of. It’s part of who you are, and if I’m your friend, I’m going to be friends with every part of you, not just Jack Russell.” He smiles, looking like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. “As a matter of fact, I’m proud of you for telling me, even if it’s not what you wanted. And thank you for being honest with me. I know what I’m getting into now.” Now it’s his turn to raise an eyebrow at you.
“Getting into?” He asks.
“Well, you’ve been doing this alone, right?”
“Not always, I have a friend. His name is Ted. He’s a monster too. He used to look after me. But he’s been out of the area the last few years.”
“Do you know where he is now?” You ask. He shakes his head, remembering his coffee and taking another sip, visibly more at ease.
“No. But I know he’s alive. Word travels fast in the monster world.” He says. You actually smile at that and he smiles too.
“Well, considering Ted isn’t here, I can help you. You’re already letting me stay here rent free, I might as well earn it. On the nights you transform, I can keep watch over you and help you with anything you need. I can cook for you too.” You say.
“Oh, yeah? Finally learned to make something other than scrambled eggs?” He teases and you click your teeth at him.
“Shut up.” You mumble, making both of you laugh softly. The mood shifts again as he mulls it over.
“I can’t ask that of you.” He says.
“So don’t ask. I’m offering.” You smile at him reassuringly and he smiles in return. You see his hand reach out, but he stops himself. You notice, and the tension in the air is there as you stare at his hand, unable to stop yourself from seeing it as one of the clawed hands that gripped your forearm. You pull back a bit and his eyes darken a little as he notices, but he brightens up anyway.
“Thank you.” You nod and take a drink from your now-lukewarm coffee to distract yourself, feeling a twinge of guilt. Baby steps.