Chapter Text
I spoke about wings
you just flew
I wondered, I guessed, and I tried
you just knew
I sighed
but you swooned
I saw the crescent
you saw the whole of the moon!
— “Whole of the Moon,” The Waterboys
Trevor popped the tab on his beer, smiling at the hiss. “Ahhhhh,” he sighed, mimicking that fizzy sound.
Jamie whacked him in the shoulder from his lawn chair alongside Trevor’s. “Dork,” he laughed.
“You love it.”
Leaning back, Jamie grinned and raised his own beer in salute. The moon was full and blindingly white, despite the light pollution from the city that surrounded them. Trevor tapped the volume on his phone and Lindsey Buckingham’s voice poured forth. He let his eyes drop to half mast. The night was humid but up here there was a light breeze that kept it from being oppressive. Jamie was living here now, and that felt right, the way it should have been from the start. He pushed that thought away. Things were good now. Great. No point in dwelling on the past.
He heard Jamie shift beside him. “I’m going to hit the head,” he murmured. “You need anything from downstairs?”
Trevor turned to look at him. He was standing over Trevor, patient. For once he wasn’t wearing his ever-present snapback, and his pale face was like a second moon shining down. He seemed to be glowing. Trevor shook that thought away. Glowing?
“I’m good; just don’t get lost, ok?” Jamie loved to sleep; could do it anywhere. It wasn’t unusual for him to find his bed on a beer run and never return, but Trevor wanted to hang out. It was a beautiful night, music was good, and it was early, not even ten p.m.
With a smirk, Jamie was gone.
Trevor took a pull off his beer. It was weird how well they fit, honestly, but Jamie had become his touchstone in Anaheim. If it were up to Trevor he’d be back on the east coast; he missed seasons, and Cali people didn’t always appreciate his sense of humor. But even if that were an option, he couldn’t imagine being split from Jimmy. His friends from USNTDP were so confident, bordering on cocky. Jack treated every room like he was the captain of it, didn’t matter if it was a locker room or a house party. And Cam had that dad energy, like he was responsible for the other guys even though they were the same age. Trevor liked it; they had pushed him and he had become the player he was in large part because of them.
But Jamie was different; quiet where the boys were loud, shy where they were brash. He felt bigger than he was, but he could also disappear into a room like a shadow when the lights go out. He didn’t challenge Trevor so much as he gave Trevor a reason; to do well, to win, but also to be kinder. Trevor loved his boys, but kindness had not been the watchword. With Jamie he found himself wanting to check in, and, maybe even odder, wanting to be checked in on.
He finished his beer and glanced at the time on his phone. He shook his head. Jamie was probably curled up on their couch like a cat, snoring faintly, every light in the house still on. Screw it, tonight he was getting woken up. They hadn’t had a chance to hang in a while. They were healthy young men; Jamie could stay up for another hour and shoot the shit with his best friend.
Leaving his phone so the music would continue to flavor the night air, Trevor headed downstairs. He popped his head in the living room first, but surprisingly the couch was empty except for a Ducks throw that one of them had gotten in a swag bag. The apartment was quiet, but there was something almost at the edge of hearing, tickling Trevor’s ear. He couldn’t make it out, and it got quieter as he approached Jamie’s room.
“Hey, man, wakey wakey,” he called out, pushing the door open with his elbow. Huh. Jamie’s room was dark, his bed neatly made. Had he left? Trevor couldn’t imagine he’d go out without even a text, but he did have odd habits. A couple months ago he’d walk of shamed himself on a morning when Trevor was up early. He’d had a big gash on his arm, but no matter how much Trevor begged he refused to explain. Trevor was convinced he was in a fight club but Mason thought he had a thing for BDSM. They were both joking, mostly.
He walked back down the hall, and as he did the noise grew louder. Whatever it was was totally incongruous with their apartment, as out of place as if he’d come home to find a crystal chandelier in the kitchen. It was rough and rhythmic, and, Trevor realized as he approached the door to his own bedroom, alive. He tilted his head toward the sound and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone was breathing, wet and heavy, and they were in his room.
His mind flew to Jamie. Had he been hurt? Was he the victim of an intruder who was now hiding in Trevor’s room? A crazed fan, maybe, or a thief, or just a random evil aimed inexplicably at his friend? Trevor looked around, but the hall held no weapons. He backed up towards Jamie’s room, not taking his eyes off his own door. When he felt the doorknob nudge his back he let himself in. Jamie had some fuck-around street hockey gear in the corner of his closet, and Trevor outfitted himself with a stick and a face mask. There wasn’t time for anything more; for all he knew Jamie was unconscious or worse, laid out on his bedroom floor.
He came out of the room slowly, ears perked for any change in the noise. It was still coming from his room, but now he could make out footsteps as well. The intruder was pacing. Waiting for him to go so he could finish the job? Trevor set his jaw. Not on his fucking watch.
He flew down the hall and flung himself at the door to his room. For a moment he saw nothing. He stood in the entrance, stick up, breath heaving, but he was alone. No Jamie on the floor, no intruder lurking in a corner. Then came the hit.
It was a little bit like taking a big check you weren’t ready for, but it caught him low on the body and it hurt. He didn’t think he’d ever been hit by anyone this strong. He still couldn’t see his attacker but as he fell hard across his mattress he heard a snarl. His blood froze at that snarl; it didn’t sound human.
Trevor rolled across the bed and onto the floor, holding his stick above him like a shield. He started to scurry backwards on his elbows, adrenaline pouring through him. From the darkness on the other side of the room he heard another growl, and then a pained sound, almost a whimper. Then the thing was on top of his bed, a dark mass like a black hole. And it was looking at him.
Trevor couldn’t help it; he shrieked. The creature was swaying slightly, feet (paws??) unsteady on the memory foam. A sliver of moonlight struck it through the blinds and Trevor saw teeth, sharp and curving, jaw pulled back to expose red gums.
He swung wildly, slashing at the creature’s bulk. It yelped and he saw its front leg drop. He had winged it across the shoulder; not with enough force to stop it, but maybe enough to slow it down.
With one last burst of fight or flight, Trevor threw the stick at the beast. The pliable wood bounced right off its massive flank, but it was distracted for just long enough that Trevor could squeeze himself through the door into his bathroom. He squashed himself back against the door, holding it closed, prepared for the full weight of that thing to come slamming into it.
Nothing happened. Trevor sat, palms pressed into the cold tile floor for leverage, and tried to quell his panic. He could still hear the creature’s breath, close by, broken every few seconds by that same whining mewl. Very slowly, Trevor took the mask off and turned, holding his breath. He pressed his face to the gap between the door and the frame and peered out.
With a shout, he fell backwards. From the other side of the door the creature had locked eyes with him. It must have angled its head to see through (like a person would, Trevor thought wildly). Trevor stared at the door, his mind reeling. He had heard about coyotes coming down out of the hills and into the city, but he had never heard of one making its way into a fourth floor apartment and then playing peek-a-boo with the residents. Anyway, this thing had been heavy, more like a small bear than the fox-like things he knew tormented the outdoor pets of Anaheim.
Very slowly, cringing at the squeaky sound the toes of his sneakers made on the tile, he crawled back to the door. After a deep, grounding breath he put his eye back to the gap. At first, just darkness, but then a swish of fur and that eye was looking back at him. It was as if the creature had been waiting for him. It whimpered again and scratched at the door, but it didn’t attack. Trevor stared back at that eye and listened to the monstrous breathing for a minute that felt out of time, out of reality, out of life as he knew it. Because the creature was strange, but the eye looking back at him was not. He knew that soft blue-green gaze, those upturned corners, the way he always felt smiled upon when those eyes turned to him. He’d know them anywhere.
“Jamie?”
From the other side of the door, the wolf howled.
—
The next morning, Trevor’s body ached. He picked himself up off the bath mat where he had slept fitfully once it became clear he wasn’t in immediate danger. Steeling himself, he lifted the side of his shirt. Where the wolf had hit him, he sported an angry reddish-blue bruise. The ache was centered there but wrapped around to his ribs. He groaned. How was he going to explain this to the team trainer?
At the door, he paused. In the heat of the moment, he had been so sure. But the animal that had invaded their home, it was just an animal. People didn’t turn into wolves, wolves didn’t have human eyes. He’d been freaked out and telling himself a story. Jamie would never hurt him, not for real, and so if it was Jamie in wolf form, he was safe. It was childish, really. A fairy tale.
Listening at the door, he breathed a sigh of relief. It was quiet on the other side. He opened the door, cautiously at first and then with more confidence when the room remained still. He surveyed the damage; not as bad as he’d expected. His navy blue sheets were a lost cause, torn apart with gashes he suspected might go all the way through to the mattress. His lamp was knocked over and the bathroom door had three deep gouges, spaced like they were made by claws he was happy he hadn’t gotten a closer look at.
Other than that, the room looked normal. He righted the lamp and turned to make his way around the bed to the door. He narrowed his eyes; something pale and curled was on the floor, poking out from the space by the foot of his bed. He took a tentative step, and then another until he could see over the bed frame. He fell to his knees.
“Jamie!”
His friend was collapsed on the floor, one arm stretched long, eyes closed, the hair at his temple sweaty and matted. Almost as surprising as his presence; he was completely naked. Trevor raked his eyes over him, noting cuts and scratches on his arms and feet, as well as small bruises decorating his hips. With a sinking feeling, he traced his eyes over Jamie’s broad shoulder. A narrow red welt aggravated the skin, at an almost perfect ninety degree angle to his collarbone. Trevor remembered the feel of the hockey stick in his hand, how it had trembled when he had used it against the creature in his room. He felt panic rising in him again and he looked down at Jamie, so vulnerable, so beaten up. He needed to get his shit together and help his friend. Everything else could wait.
He had taken a first aid course as a kid, and he tried to remember it now. He gripped Jamie’s wrist, pressing two fingers into the almost translucent flesh below his thumb. “Oh, thank fuck, buddy.” He had a pulse.
Shaking his roommate’s gently by the shoulders, he repeated Jamie’s name, quiet at first like he was waking him from a nap, then louder, until he was practically shouting at him. Frustrated, he blew a short burst of air into Jamie’s face, and then Jamie’s eyes flew open. As soon as he saw Trevor his expression went wild and he struggled against Trevor’s hands.
“No, no, Z, don’t touch me, you gotta get out of here, go, I’m sorry, go, man, fucking RUN!”
Despite the ache, Trevor threw his body over Jamie’s torso and held him tight in place. He seemed so uncontrolled; Trevor was sure if he let him go he’d bash his already broken body against the wall. Jamie was strong, though, and determined. He flailed out with the arm Trevor hadn’t been able to pin and, with eyes full of chaos, whacked Trevor in the cheek.
Trevor grunted in pain and Jamie wilted, seeming to realize what he’d hit. Only then did he glance at the window, where the sun was streaming in, bathing them both in light.
“Fuck,” Jamie groaned. “Oh, god, Z, what did I do?”
—
They spent the next few minutes in the same position, Trevor draped across Jamie, Jamie huffing and puffing like they’d spent the morning doing suicides. Trevor didn’t know what to say, or how to say it, so he just muttered “It’s ok, you’re ok, we’re ok,” like a mantra while he waited for Jamie to relax enough to talk.
Finally Jamie’s breathing slowed and he pushed up with his elbows. “Hey, man,” he said softly, “can I get up?” He asked it like a question, not a request, like he needed Trevor’s permission.
“You gonna be chill?”
Jamie nodded. Trevor pulled himself up on his knees. He looked away, giving Jamie some privacy. When he turned back Jamie had pulled on a pair of his shorts. They were tight around him, elastic digging into his waist. Trevor winced, thinking about the painful pinch, how the skin would be red and angry later. Jamie didn’t seem to care, though. “Uh, we should probably talk. Do you mind if we…” he gestured at the door and Trevor somehow understood that he was hungry. They were so close, sometimes Trevor thought he could read Jamie’s mind. But, he thought, obviously he can still keep some stuff from me.
Downstairs Jamie plopped himself on one of the barstools along their kitchen island. He folded his arms and let his head drop heavy onto them. Trevor hesitated; Jamie was usually the cook. But he seemed completely drained. Staring at the stove with trepidation, he figured he could start small. After starting the coffee maker he filled a glass with filtered water and pushed it across the granite.
“Drink something, buddy.” He nudged Jamie’s arm with the cool glass until Jamie took it from him. He chugged it down, letting it drip out of the glass and down his neck. Trevor retrieved the glass and refilled it, watching Jamie with fascination. “You want me to make you some eggs, man?” Jamie glanced at Trevor and quirked his mouth to the side, a small apologetic gesture before nodding. Trevor started gathering the ingredients for a Western omelette, his kitchen go-to.
“So. Jim. You want to, uh, talk about last night?” Jamie’s head fell back down, this time making glancing contact with the countertop. “Woah, man!” Trevor put down the egg he had been about to crack and reached out a hand to clasp Jamie’s elbow. “Please don’t hurt yourself, J. Just talk to me.”
Jamie didn’t raise his head but he turned to the side so his words could be heard. “I am so fucking sorry, Z, I’m so fucking sorry, I don’t even know…”
“Take a breath, Jim, I’m fine. I’m worried about you. Can you tell me what happened?” He cracked the egg and started stirring with the fork, knowing Jamie could get a little zen about cooking. He hoped he would be soothed by the soft scratch of the tines against the bowl.
It seemed to work, at least a little. “Yeah, ok. I never meant to put you in danger. It usually never happens until midnight, I was going to leave early but the night was so nice, I just wanted to hang some more. I thought I had more time, Z, I swear I did. Then I went downstairs and…it came on and…I don’t know why I went to your room. It just felt right, like I’d be safe there…but I could have killed you, Z. Oh, god, fuck, I could have killed you!” He was looking at Trevor with naked horror, hands clawing into his own forearms.
“J, J, hey, buddy, I’m right here, you didn’t kill me. I think in a weird way you were maybe trying to protect me?” He had hit Jamie twice with the hockey stick but Jamie had just taken it. He’d let him get to the safety of the bathroom and then let him stay there.
Jamie shook his head mournfully. “I hope so. When I’m…changed, I don’t really think like a person. But it seems like I remember certain people, certain…” he smiled sheepishly, “smells.”
“Are you saying I stink?!” Trevor laughed and flicked a hand towel at his roommate. Jamie’s smile grew and his posture relaxed. “Whatever it takes, I guess. So, Jim, does this mean you’re a…”
“An Aries?” Jamie’s smile twisted into a little smirk. “Yeah, I guess I am. It’s a family thing.” He shrugged.
“I don’t think zodiac signs are genetic, bro,” Trevor replied, pouring the omelette mixture into a pan.
Jamie nodded, and his expression was pinched again. “No. But…lycanthropy is.”
Something fell like a weight inside Trevor. It was real. It wasn’t a bad dream, or a silly joke, or a hazing gone wrong. His best friend, his roommate, the first person he thought of for practically anything, was a werewolf. A goddamn made up, mythical monster. Was Mason a Frankenstein? Was Stolarz the Creature from the Black Lagoon? Laughter bubbled up from within, an unrestrained cackle that vibrated through him. Jamie looked at him in alarm.
“I know it’s a lot.” Even by Jamie standards, his voice was soft and pleading. “Don’t worry, Z. I’ll be out of here before next time, I’ll get my own place. I’ll never put this on you again.” He was watching Trevor closely.
His words shook Trevor out of whatever mad fugue he’d succumbed to. “No! No, Jim, you can’t…don’t leave.” Jamie shook his head like he didn’t understand. “Last night only happened because I didn’t know. Now that I do, we can plan ahead!” He delicately flipped the omelette so it would brown a little, the way Jamie liked it. “Like, where were you going to go? I could come with you. Make sure you’re safe.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I mean, obviously. But it sort of sounds fun? And anyway, I hate the idea of you being all alone, waking up like that. Isn’t it freaky?” He plated the omelette and pulled some breakfast sausages out of the microwave, daubing them with a paper towel.
Jamie was tracking him with his eyes, jaw hanging open. He took the food and shoveled a few bites in. Trevor thought he could actually see the color returning to his face.
“I guess I’m just used to it,” he said between bites. “My dad used to drive me out to the woods back home, but since I’ve been with the team I just…had to deal with it. I usually head into the Santa Anas, or sometimes the state park. It just feels good to run.” There was a little peach in his cheeks now and he had a longing look on his face. “I’m usually not dangerous, I have a little control, but the wolf—he’s the boss. So it’s best if I get away.” He chewed thoughtfully. “The next morning is always disorienting. Sometimes I don’t know where I am, or why. Today I thought I was still about to change, that’s why I freaked out. But I, you know, handle it the best I can. Knowing I have to be back for practice helps. Structure helps.”
“I get that.” Jamie raised an eyebrow. “No, really! I don’t know who I’d be without hockey. Probably kind of a loser, honestly.”
“You could never be a loser, Z.”
Trevor turned to the coffeemaker to hide the blush those words inspired.