Work Text:
Neil is a werewolf--a full shifter--this is common information. Andrew had known since the day that he and Kevin met him in the dingy school gym, a poor remedy of an exy court, that he'd been a wolf, one of them. At the time it had been a risk factor, a vulnerability, a mystery. Nowadays, though, it was a source of comfort, as Bee would call it.
Neil was not a rabbit anymore--ultimately being a wolf in sheep (rabbit's) skin, but that was fine. Andrew didn't feel much about it; he didn't feel much at all. It was a fact, irrefutable, unchangeable as the rise of the sun or the phasing of the moon. There wasn't a point to feeling when something couldn't be changed--it did nothing, just caused more pain. It was better to radically accept and move on, he knew.
Yet, he couldn't stop feeling a burst of emotion in his chest every time Neil did something or another. Sometimes it was related to being a wolf, most times just relating to Neil himself. It was un-nameable, but undeniably real, exploding like glass dust picked up by the wind.
(1)
The first time Andrew felt something significant after coming off of the meds was a few weeks after his initial return. He hadn't said much to anyone besides getting the updates of what he missed, and his pseudo-interrogation with Neil. It had been only a couple minutes since the departure of Neil for his evening run, when he, in his wolf form, walked back into the house.
It was unusual, the sudden switching between forms. Though Neil well preferred to be in his wolf form, oblivious to the social constructs of American society, he also wasn't keen on shifting. He hadn't had much practice growing up, thanks to an asshole mother, and his bones weren't completely used to the shifting of the weight and balance. He didn't shift unless he was avoiding saying something, was feeling a particularly strong emotion, or there was some sort of an emergency.
There wasn't an emergency, though. Neil looked utterly relaxed, happy, even. His tail wagging low on the ground slowly, pleased. His ears were floppy, down, not alert.
Andrew watches as the reddish wolf treads the floor and makes his way to him. Andrew knows he's a rather small wolf and probably is more of a risk to himself than to Andrew, but the familiar spike of danger-danger-danger presents itself as always when something or someone comes towards him. He dismisses that, though, in favor of watching him sit down just a few feet away of him.
The wolf looks to the floor, as if bowing--and only then does Andrew realize he has something in his snout. It hits the ground softly, and he nudges it forward with his snout. It's covered in slobber, unavoidable when carrying something as a wolf, but still it lays on the floor with all of its essence.
Then Andrew watches as it trots back outside as if pleased with Andrew's non-reaction, and circles itself, chasing his tail twice before running off--that stupid wolf. His eyes come back to the item on the floor, and he finds it to be a rock of some kind. A pebble, maybe, he doesn't know what every type of rock he finds is, and he isn't interested in finding out.
He picks it up and holds it to the light, enduring all the wolf-saliva to see the glimmer of hazel, a greenish golden hue. It looks frighteningly similar to the color Aaron's eyes are when he's particularly happy. He figures that's what he looks like, too. Without another thought, he wraps it in a hankerchief and shoves it in his pocket, unwilling to let it go.
(2)
They are on the only flat portion of the roof of the house. It's in a cramped corner, only to be accessed from the attic. The stars are gleaming bright and shining, and through the cigarette smoke the moon, in all it's glory, hangs from the gallows. Andrew is tired, if anything. He doesn't think anything else is fitting for what he is right then, or what he's feeling, rather. Neil is with him, in his wolf form, always getting a tad bit more nervous as the full moon nears.
How Neil manages to climb the ladder to the attic as a wolf, Andrew might never understand, but that doesn't erase the fact that he's there right then. He's stuck at Andrew's side, curled up in a ball with the side of his body touching Andrew's thighs. It was something he was okay with on any given day, or atleast as a wolf; something they had agreed upon.
Seemingly sensing his thoughts about him, Neil perks up, blue meeting hazel. Wolf or human, Neil has the same eyes: cerulean emptiness with an unphasable stubborness. Then, interestingly enough, he wiggles his body around so that he's on his side, then opens his front legs up--essentially rolling on his stomach to have it exposed.
It's submissive, something done between a strong alpha and a weaker one of conflicting pacts, for peace. Or done for acceptance or defeat. It is not something Neil would do, ever.
There is, though, another reason why wolves bare their stomach: trust. As they expose the soft underbelly, easily their weakest spot, they are letting the other wolf (or in this case, person) know that they trust them not to be violent to them, and that they trust them to protect them if need be.
It is a pre-mating ritual, that final bit of trust-giving. An exercise of control. Neil probably doesn't even know the meaning behind it, the significance. He just does it because he wants to, and that thought matters more than it being some shitty expectation. Andrew brings a hand down to the soft fur and cards his fingers through, feeling Neil breathe. And Andrew thinks a star explosion is an adequate visual for the feeling mounting in his chest.
(3)
It had been an objectively bad day, though some ofthe responsibility layed on Andrew's own doings. He hadn't ate breakfast--too anxious, done a check around the perimeter of their property too fast, hadn't caught something he should have. He had let another wolf walk in five feet of the established line, further than ever before. It could stain his reputation, it could be dangerous for his pack. He had attacked the intruder right away, killed, his snout stained with red, but it hadn't been fast enough--they had come into Andrew's space.
He had made sure everyone was okay after that, checking on everyone regardless of where they were. He had to know, he just had to.
Afterwards, he had turned back and scrubbed the blood off his skin viciously, until his skin turned pink and the blood-stained water ebbed down the sink. Putting his clothes back on was simply another task too much, grating on him.
He had stepped into their room (when had it turned into "their" room? last time he remembered, he was still calling it his room) and found Neil in his wolf form sitting by the bed.
Upon the sight of him, Neil's tail wags furiously. This had been the first time that day they had properly seen eachother--asides from Andrew's impromptu check in. His tail hits the floor and the soft mattress of the bed, marking time like a metronome with the rhythmic thumps.
Andrew sits down on the bed next to him, and Neil shuffles closer but then gets into a position for sleeping. Still, even though he's lying down and Andrew isn't doing anything at all, his tail moves.
They sit there quietly (besides Neil's tail) for a couple of minutes, and Andrew waits for Neil's excitement to go down. But it doesn't. Neil's tail is still whipping as it was seven minutes ago, eager to be in his mere presence.
It was confusing, it didn't add up. There was no logical explanation for the continued joy Neil's body expressed, and Andrew knew he wasn't good enough company to be so excited like that. Except, Neil evidently thought so. The idea that Neil wanted to be near him, even without doing anything at all, makes his fingers twitch and his jaw flex, he doesn't think there'll ever be a word to describe this, at all.
(+1)
This time, Andrew was the one in his wolf form. Neil was laying in bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating whatever dumb thoughts he formed in his little brain. The man could be so stupid for how smart he was, so Andrew took to assuming idiocy in him, better to be wrong than to be right, he supposes. He wouldn't do this for anyone else, undermining their abilities was near-always a bad a idea, but with Neil, he couldn't see the point in not doing it.
It was a day, not a bad one, nor good. It was ordinary, by all means. Activities, food, their behavior. But something in Andrew's chest felt, off; it had felt like everything was shifted a centimeter to the left so he's not familiar with it despite everything looking the same.
He had forgotten to mention that Neil was lying on top of him, head elevated by his body and fur. The red contrasted to the muted greys of his coat, and Neil always looked so good next to him--in any form.
At some point, Andrew gets bored. There are infinite thoughts to be had, but none of them interesting. He decides to go outside, maybe check the perimeter again, see that nothing has crossed it and that everything is in place. He starts to get up, and Neil shifts so that he's also getting up as Andrew leaps off the bed.
Neil follows, shedding his clothes in a pile, stark naked, a beautiful sight but one that others would not so readily expose. Andrew watches as Neil shifts, bones cracking and reforming into another physical creature entirely. When he's done, Neil "play bows" to him, a challenging look in his eyes, before yipping at his ear. Then, he runs out the door, presumably outside. Andrew was wrong, there would always be a part of a rabbit in Neil, it was unavoidable.
Andrew chases him out, watching out for the wispy end of his tail as he curls around the hallway out the door in the common room. He knows Neil is faster, but Andrew is stronger, and quicker to think. Whereas Neil outruns, Andrew outsmarts.
He knows Neil's running patterns go in a flower-like shape, infinity symbols connected together, very circular. Though he's not very fast, he knows he can cut through and predict Neil's next direction, catching him there rather than chasing him directly.
He does just that, he watches as Neil shifts as he runs, and he knows the next direction Neil will go towards is directly infront of him. He runs, and runs, and he makes it. He tackles Neil to the ground, rolling together on the grass. It elicits a yelp from Neil, clearly happy, though, so he doesn't pay it any mind.
No one else knows Neil like Andrew does, not even his running pattern. He is the only person capable of catching him, the fastest wolf to date. It comforts some secret part of Andrew, that knowledge that he can catch him if need be. That if Neil was forced to run, because Neil would only run if he absolutely couldn't afford another route, Andrew could catch him, bring him back safely.
Andrew knows it comforts Neil, too. They both hate therapy terms and wishy washy feeling words, but its the word that most accurately describes it. Andrew being able to catch him, even if Neil was genuinely putting significant effort into running away, gave him a sense of belonging, of want--or rather, he had said Andrew's not-care, but semantics.
Neil licks Andrew's face, tail wagging underneath him. Andrew does the same right back, if only to get Neil to experience the gross feeling of wolf saliva on his fur. They lay like that for a while, and Andrew thinks, with Neil there with him, he might just be on his way to being okay.