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He doesn't have enough time to lock his door.
Really, he should have watched the time, the sun's movement and his own body's signs closer. But at the end of the day, it's once again Curly's fault that he's all over the place.
What do you say we go on a trip next time? Just the two of us, out in the woods.
It feels stupid. It's not the first time Curly has gone back on a promise. Not even the first time they don't talk for a while. This time is different, though - Curly hasn't reached out to him in weeks, and even if Jimmy tried to call him, he would cut the conversation short or not even pick up. A little over two weeks ago, he stopped showing up for work. Not to mention...
Jimmy is skipping steps running down the building's staircases. The walls feel like they're suffocating him almost as much as the memory of those words. Curly's promise. The last time they had a real talk. Jimmy takes deep breaths as he lays his hand on the main gate's handle and pushes it down. The early autumn evening air hits him in a blow of wind, but instead of oxygen, it feels like living, angry flames in his lungs. He wanted to get out, out of that tiny, cramped space he calls his home, but now that he's outside, he's at a loss as to where to go. He bites down on his lower lip, looking around. Grey, hard concrete and red brick, gasoline stench making it even harder to breathe. People out on the streets passing by, not even noticing his miserable, shaking form. He wants to change. He needs to change. Get away from the nightmare that is the thoughts in his head, biting and pulling him apart with iron teeth. But not now, not here. He can't do it here. He's too late - he's still too early. His head hurts. He feels like he could throw up at any moment.
Think. He needs to think before it becomes too hard.
Swiping the sweat off his forehead, Jimmy takes a deep breath. He needs to find a place, somewhere far from the noises and foul smells of the town around him. He takes a wobbly step forward. Then another. He really shouldn't be alone tonight, not in this state, but what can he do? He swallows a whimper and starts walking. Focus.
Keep it together. Just a little longer.
The familiar layout of the town is fading from his mind, like his memories are being drowned out by his nausea. He doesn't have enough time to leave any inhabited areas, he knows that. Still, there has to be someplace safe nearby.
Jimmy shoves his aching hands into the pockets of his jacket, pulling his shoulders forward. The cool autumn air is swallowed up by his rising body heat as he sniffs into it, relying on the smells swirling around him rather than his eyes or his memory, letting people bump into him and ignoring their curses and insults. He picks up on a faint but drastically different scent - fresh and cool compared to the stale stench surrounding him. His steps pick up pace. He's gonna make it, he tells himself desperately, he's gonna find a place and change and it will be all right then. He won't have to think. He can take a break from it all then. He can forget Curly's very name and let the meaning of his words fade to nothing, at least until dawn.
His clothes feel tight and ill-fitting by the time he reaches the source of the smell - a small park nearby that he sort of recalls having visited before but doesn't have the capacity to remember in detail. Its gates are still open to late visitors, but there's no one nearby by the time the sun sets and Jimmy finally lets himself fall on his knees between the back of a bench and a bush. He gets rid of his jacket and shirt swiftly, letting out a high-pitched keen fidgeting with the fly of his jeans - his cramping fingers struggle to solve the mystery of the button and zipper, his fingernails already darkening, growing longer. He could use some help right now, but it just won't come, will it. He hates having to do this alone, but it's fine, it's okay, he doesn't have to put up with all these heavy thoughts for much longer, he thinks to himself as he kicks off his trousers, underwear and shoes, and lets the change take over with a warm, familiar tingle all over his flesh and a satisfying ache deep within his shifting bones.
Jimmy curls up under the leaves as his spine expands, staring at his hands, still so small and weak, made for complicated tasks he cannot bother to even think about. He watches them grow, nails and bone pushing out into long black claws and palms ballooning out into rough pads. He stretches out his toes, the same sensation washing over them. He pants in relief as the warmth of his fur coat envelops his growing body and the heat of his arousal catches his attention. He growls, closely watching his foreskin pull back into a soft sheath and his shaft reshape, growing longer, his base swelling into the beginning of a knot, but he doesn't grab onto it immediately. He lays a paw on his face and feels it pushing out into his muzzle, whiskers tickled by leathery pads, but it just doesn't feel as freeing as it should.
Something is off. He's just not feeling it.
The wolf finally reaches down to halfheartedly stroke his cock, squeezing his eyes shut and focusing on the physicality of it all. He cums fast and disappointing, his tail almost angrily slapping at the branches above and the soft soil under him.
He doesn't get up from where he lies, staring up at the full moon through the trees above him. He doesn't understand.
Hurt.
He's supposed to be loving this. This form fits him better than anything, nothing about it is wrong. He should be relieved to be back home in his body.
Hurt.
He lets out a pained whimper. He doesn't remember what hurt him so bad. He doesn't have to think anymore, but the feeling of hurt remains, leaving him sad and confused, clawing into his flesh and ripping into his soft belly as he pulls himself tighter into a ball of messy fur and distressed whines. A voice echoes in his ears as they flatten back against his skull in distant, meaningless words.
Where is he?
Curly knows he's late: he arrives to the apartment building Jimmy lives in long after the sun has set. His lungs hurt from running while he punches in the code to the gate, and he takes the steps upstairs by three. It was still light outside when he last tried to contact Jimmy, but his calls remained unanswered. He hopes to at least find him in his tiny flat, a hope crushed as soon as he makes it to the fourth floor and finds his door hanging wide open. He leans against the doorframe, waiting for his breathing to slow down and his legs to stop shaking. He tries to think of nearby places where Jimmy might feel safe to transform, but he's not familiar enough with the neighborhood. Even if he tried checking those safe sounding places he can recall one by one, nothing guarantees that Jimmy will stay where he is until Curly gets there. He drags a palm across his heated, sweaty face. There is a loose werewolf roaming the streets, hungry and spiteful, and it's his fault.
He should have been there for Jimmy, like he promised. He shouldn't have cancelled their trip, not in the last moment, not without an explanation. He didn't even mean to do it. Things have gotten complicated in his life since that wonderful night they've spent in this very flat, and he forgot about it completely. He lost track of the days in the chaos that has become of his everyday situation, and when Jimmy called him this morning, he could only answer with a brief "Not now, sorry" before hanging up. It wasn't until many hours later that he remembered the full moon and figured out why Jimmy sounded so miserable - by then, the sun was already low on the horizon, and Jimmy wasn't picking up anymore. His mind is spinning, digging him deeper down a spiral with every new thought.
What if he gets in trouble? What if he gets hurt? What if he never comes back? What if he--
"Excuse me, sir?" a voice snaps him out of it. Curly spins around.
A tall, sleepy looking woman is standing across from him, eyeing him suspiciously. A braid of thin black hair rests on her shoulder, her hands holding a worn night-robe closed over her bony frame.
"I said excuse me," she repeats slowly, as if unsure whether she was heard the first time. "Would you mind me asking what are you doing?"
Curly stares at her for a moment before he realizes what she means. A strange man standing in someone else's open door while they're away. He takes a step back hurriedly, throwing up both hands defensively.
"This is not what it looks like!" he explains, shoving a hand into the pocket of his jacket. "Jimmy knows me, we're close. See, he gave me keys to his place!"
The woman observes him in silence. She doesn't seem very threatening, Curly would rather guess she's uncomfortable talking to him. She pulls her robe closer together at her chest, her anxious doe eyes scanning his still shaking form. Certainly, he must be a sight with his disheveled curls and bright red face, not to mention the clashing combination of the black biker jacket he threw over his Nordic turtleneck.
"I suppose you don't exactly look dressed for burglary," the woman finally says, more to herself than Curly. "You're not exactly sneaky either, waking me up at this hour."
"I apologize, miss," Curly chuckles nervously. "I just need to pick up some of his stuff that he forgot. Nothing worth breaking in for, really."
She ends up letting him in after some silent consideration; she stands in the doorway, though, watching what he's doing, just to be sure. Curly can feel her gaze on his back. He wastes no time. He grabs a plastic bag from the bunch Jimmy has collected under his kitchen sink in a bigger plastic bag, shoving some of Jimmy's warmer clothes inside it along with one of the well-used chew toys lying around on his floor. As he's about to leave, he notices a small, rectangular tin box among Jimmy's shoes. He picks it up - he recalls his boyfriend explaining to him the wonders of these Soviet-made flashlights, one of the few personal belongings he'd brought with himself when he left his homeland, and Curly thinks he's probably going to need some extra light while searching. The woman watches his every move closely as he locks the door behind himself.
"I cannot thank you enough," he sighs, the knot in his stomach a little less tight than when he entered the building. He stops. His head is finally clear enough to logically think about potential places he could find Jimmy at. "You don't happen to know if there's a park or anything of the sort nearby, do you?"
"There is," the woman replies after a short pause. "About two streets down, I doubt it's still open to the public, though."
"Great," Curly gives her a faint smile, then adds," We were supposed to go out tonight but I couldn't reach him to specify details. Tried calling his workplace too, nobody knew anything."
The woman frowns, a long finger scratching her chin nervously. The smile fades from Curly's lips at the concern in her dark doe eyes.
"You said you and Jim were close. How come he hasn't told you?"
Curly only stops at a convenience store - thank god it's still open at this hour - to grab a bottle of water and the best looking two of their pathetic remaining steaks. Jimmy's neighbor gave him clear enough directions, he finds the park easily. It's bigger than he expected from this part of town, and seems to have no lighting installed. There is, however, a tall fence guarding it, with the gate already closed with a heavy looking chain and padlock. Curly tries to calm his breathing, slowly strolling along the fence, looking for a way of entrance - a couple iron bars missing from its length, any damage to its height, a back door someone forgot to close. He's lucky; the small building of the park's restrooms has a window left open, and fortunately, it's big enough for him to squeeze through. Whoever missed the window also forgot to lock the doors, apparently, and so Curly steps outside into the cold night air without having to make a mess or getting stuck. He fishes out the flashlight from the bottom of one of his plastic bags, and, after a couple failed attempts, turns it on under the dim light of the full moon. The cold metal box feels odd in his hand, but Jimmy was right about its capabilities: it provides him with more than enough light to search the park. He cannot predict what emotional state Jimmy is in, and he would rather not find out the hard way, running into him unprepared or - which is the more likely scenario - getting caught. The grass is soft under his shoes, making no noise as he sets out on his search.
"Jimmy?" Curly calls out, not too quiet but still too nervous to raise his voice. No response - not like he really expects one.
He leaves the lining of trees along the fence, making out the faint outlines of a designated gravel path and a small lake reflecting speckles of moonlight like stars fallen from the sky. As he walks just beside the path as to not make too much noise, he can't see or hear anything betraying the presence of an angry werewolf.
On one hand, he's relieved that Jimmy hasn't done any damage to himself or his surroundings. On the other hand, the silence of the park unnerves him to no end.
Curly is convinced Jimmy is still here somewhere, or at least he very much hopes so. If he really wanted to escape, the tall iron fence would be no serious obstacle for his now much larger frame and muscle strength. The streets, however, still must be overstimulating for him with their lights, noises and scents, abandoned as they are at this hour. Curly breathes a small white cloud of a silent prayer into the nighttime air. He turns the beam of the flashlight towards the gate of the park - if he wants to find Jimmy fast, his best shot is to take the risk of being seen and start looking there and figure out how far he got before his changes took over.
The grass quietly rustling under his shoes, Curly slowly marches on. He checks behind the benches along the path, holding his breath every time. He's about four benches' distance away from the gate when he notices something under the bushes, a piece of fabric almost blending into the dark green surrounding it. He steps closer, carefully, putting his plastic bags down and squatting down to take a better look. He recognizes the embroidered logo among the canvas folds, pulling out one of Jimmy's old, beaten up and endlessly mended jackets from under the foliage. Looking up, he notices more of Jimmy's clothes, pulled off in a hurry and thrown away without any care. He picks them up, laying them on the bench carefully, then turns the flashlight back to the area.
Not far from where he found Jimmy's sneakers, footprints catch his attention, big canine traces left in the soft soil of the park.
Lifting the small tin box higher to look for further footprints, Curly notices a large patch of grass flattened under the weight of a large body.The image of Jimmy lying there, curled up and helpless stings him with a flash of guilt. He should have been here. He promised he would be, and he wasn't.
Curly doesn't have to follow the paw prints too far when he hears a quiet noise of wood creaking and breaking. He turns the flashlight in the sound's direction - and there he is.
Jimmy doesn't look great, to say the least. As far as Curly can tell, he's curled up under a tree with his tail between his legs, his handlike front paws desperately holding a thick, broken tree branch against the ground as he chews on it rather aggressively, his nose scrunched up into an angry looking grimace. His ears lie flat against his head. The whites of his eyes flash sharply in the sudden light, green guard flames drawn to Curly. A low, quiet growl bubbles up from his throat, dying into a whimper.
"Jimmy," Curly calls out in relief, lowering his bags to his feet and setting the flashlight down next to them. He takes a step towards the werewolf. Carefully, slowly. No sudden movements. He tries to sound as gentle as possible as he gets closer. "Poor thing, you must be terrified."
He doesn't think as he reaches out a hand towards Jimmy to touch him. It only hits Curly when he locks eyes with him that he's making a mistake.
Time slows down as the werewolf lunges at him and strong jaws close around the arm Curly holds up to shield himself.
The moment of blind rage fades away like a summer downpour, and the sharp, pained noises finally reach his ears. The air is heavy with the stench of fear. He's not supposed to smell like that, the curly man under his paws. He's not supposed to sound like that, either.
The wolf relaxes his jaws, recoiling from the weakening sobs hurting his ears. He runs his tongue over his teeth - he doesn't taste blood. The curly couldn't possibly be that hurt then, right? But then why is he making these awful noises?
Stop. Stop. Stop.
He reaches out, pressing a paw against that familiar, wet face, flushed and teary, to cover his mouth, to make him stop. It doesn't work. He's still crying. It worked the last time. The wolf lets out a whimper. This expression, these sounds, they used to be fun. It was fun when he did it on purpose. Remaining slivers of reason battle relentlessly against overpowering instinct within him. His teeth ache to finish what he started, bite and tear until the noise stops, his claws twitch at the fleeting thought of sinking them into damp skin and soft flesh. His nostrils flare in a loud huff. Hunger that has gone ignored for so long is now hitting him in a nauseating wave.
In the end, reason wins by a hair's width. His paw shifts slowly, cupping the curly one's warm face. The gesture is answered by a soft nuzzle. He's speaking to the wolf. He doesn't sound angry, that's relieving. His voice is strained but soothing. Pointed ears perk up, the wolf is listening despite his inability to make out any meaning of the words - a single row of sounds catches his attention in particular. It's familiar. The curly says it a lot. Was that his name before the moon came up? He used to have one, he thinks. The wolf likes the sound of it, the way the man beneath him breathes it into the night air with a teary-eyed smile.
He backs down, letting the curly catch his breath and sit up. The wolf then turns his attention to the arm he grabbed onto, cradled by the curly's left protectively as it hangs limp in his lap. He leans in, sniffing at the thick, torn leather and the sheep-smelling layer underneath - so that's what stopped his teeth -, but, again, he can't feel the scent of blood. There is no wound, but still he must have hurt the man, he can try and hide it behind gentle words and gritted teeth all he wants - the wolf knows he's in pain.
His head feels heavy again. He sits back onto his haunches. Chewing on that branch helped him calm down somewhat, but with the distraction gone and the harm done, the miserable helplessness of origins forgotten is back, digging into his flesh like rusty nails. This form should have been his shelter, comfortable and safe, free of anguish and distress, not a cage of red-hot confusion. He remembers being so small and pathetic and wanting to wrap himself in thick fur and sharp claws and get away from every worrisome thought weighing down on him. But it doesn't matter now. He curls into himself, paws wrapped arround his head. What a mighty beast he is, keening like a beaten dog begging for his owner's forgiveness. The pain and despair aren't leaving, and neither does the guilt burning in his very bones like acid. He really didn't mean to hurt the curly one. Not this much, not this time. For the first time since blooming into what he is now, he wishes for nothing more than to be small and pitied.
The wolf is tired and hurt and hungry, and he has nowhere to turn to.
A sweet, earthy scent fills his nose before a hand is laid gently between his eyes. It's damp and hot and nowhere near big enough to bring him real comfort, but still the wolf lets his paws fall to his lap, and leans into the touch. The sounds in his ears change their ring, quieting down and stringing together.
"...Jim."
He didn't realize it was so late. The wolf leans forward, embracing the man petting his head and feeling that gentle hand sliding down to his neck, his shoulder, holding him just as close. He inhales that sweet, sweet scent deeply as his body tenses up and the chaos in his head starts organizing itself into distinct thoughts again.
Curly. My Curly.
He missed remembering his name, Jimmy realizes. Cool air hits his skin as his body loses height and mass and fur, and he wraps his weakening arms tighter around the blond's warmth, burying his shifting face into his shoulder. Curly pulls him as close as he can with one arm, his hand gently caressing rough fur thinning into messy hair.
"It's okay," he murmurs softly, his breath hot against Jimmy's ear. "It's all okay, Jim."
His voice is shaking, Jimmy notices. Soft padded fingers and blunt nails dig into the black leather under his palms. He swallows, his last whimpers dying into a building sob.
"Fucking dumbass," his accent is slipping as he sniffs. He doesn't care. "Stop acting tough for me. You're hurt."
"Well, yeah," Curly chuckles weakly. "Gonna need a trip to the hospital once I took you home."
"I'm coming with you. I..." Jimmy pauses, straightening his back and resting his cheek on Curly's shoulder, words stuck in his throat. It still feels weird. "Curly, I don't wanna go home." He remembers now. The thing that set him off so badly. "This morning, I got..."
"I know. Your neighbor told me."
Jimmy doesn't want to say it out loud. He has nothing left. He doesn't want to go back to the dirty hole he calls his home and calculate how much longer he can pay his rent. He doesn't even want to think about that right now.
"I don't know what I'm going to do," he mutters in defeat.
"Jim," Curly gives him a squeeze. "We can figure that out later. I'm so sorry I weren't here for you in time. Are you feeling better?"
"Where were you? All this time?"
Curly takes a while to answer, like he always does when he has to admit to having done something stupid.
"I quit."
There it is.
"Fucking dumbass."
"I didn't want to tell you until I found something else," the blond hurries to explain. "Something that would allow me to spend my time better with you. It... it's just taking longer than I expected."
Jimmy huffs, but he doesn't let go. It's nice, being held like this. He doesn't care about the dawn air giving him goosebumps. He just wants to enjoy this moment, however long it may take, wrapped up in Curly's loving warmth.
"Why are you doing all this for me?"
"Isn't it obvious?"
"I could have killed you tonight."
"I came prepared."
"I could have turned you."
"...would it be really that bad?"
Jimmy pauses. No doubt, Curly would make a wonderful, beautiful wolf. He sort of wants to see it.
"I like who I am, Curly. For the first time in my life, I feel at home in my body. But it's enough that one of us has to reorganize his entire life."
Curly hums.
"I got you some clothes and whatnot. And I think my arm is broken. Maybe we should get going soon?"
"Yeah," Jimmy mumbles, pressing his face against the blond's shoulder again. "We probably should."
But he doesn't move. The moment is not over, he wants to let himself have it.
Curly is all loving warmth and gentle strength as he holds his nude, human form protectively.
Jimmy wishes they could stay like this forever.
It's nice.