Melodramatic Metathesiophobe

Worthless

Mikey leaned his forehead against the window, watching, gazing out at the woods as Ray's dark fur disappeared between the trees. He felt a little bad that he couldn't go with, what with the asthma and his generally inferior body. Even if he was a wolf, he feared, he wouldn't be able to keep up. Ray was so fast; strong and confident and somehow graceful, and Mikey just wasn't.

He stood, tearing himself from the woods, pulling himself to the den instead, sinking into the couch and taking out his book on wolves. He'd been doing research ever since he'd known Ray was turned. It was strange, there were books on werewolves, but it was all folklore--nothing quite fit their situation. Ray hadn't been cursed as a result of an affair. There was nothing interspecies. He hadn't done anything he shouldn't have, he was just walking in the woods. Mikey just wanted to do his best to understand and help with what Ray needed. He wanted to be a good friend. A good boyfriend.

A sigh passed his lips. He gazed back towards the window, wondering what running through the woods was like, the wind on his fur, the moon illuminating his path, his paws thudding on the ground... Well, he could imagine. He could think of whatever he wanted, he could picture whatever he wanted, but it wasn't real. He wasn't sure it would be, either.

After standing, he walked himself to the kitchen, filling a glass with water and taking a few sips. Ray had told him to get some rest but he couldn't, he never could on full moons. He would sit and wait and watch for Ray to come back, scraggly and tired, his body in need of replenishing as the cycle began anew. Mikey took the job with flourish. It was nice to feel helpful. He turned to the window once more as he could hear howling.

His heart ached. Every howl he'd heard from Ray was one too many; they came after he'd run and were always so saddened, so hollow-- there was nobody--no wolf--to return his call. He supposed Frank could, but... he was in a different woods.

That was more than likely why Mikey's blood iced when he heard a howl he didn't recognize.

He shot up, rushing to the door and into the backyard, listening. There it came again--one howl from Ray, high and piercing, and another howl from off into the brush, low and guttural. His heart thudded as he rushed into the trees, fearing Ray's safety. He was playful as a wolf. It had landed him in trouble with squirrels.

Mikey followed the howling, doing his best with his inferior human ears and the sight of paw prints on the ground, his heart and brain running quicker than he could stand--

He came upon a clearing free of trees and could barely see Ray's curly brown fur in the dark, the moon being his only light, and as he saw a flash of tan cross his vision, terror washed over him. It was another wolf, there was another wolf-- Ray had angered it, surely, it was about to attack and Ray wouldn't fight back and he'd get hurt--

But Mikey was wrong. The flash of tan fur belonged to a wolf, yes, but the wolf simply rushed to ray, brushing against his side before gnawing at his neck, pulling him down to wrestle. They played and growled with each other, childish and excited, even their growls soft and light. Mikey watched them. He observed how they never hurt each other, how they seemed to simply know what the other could take. They then walked circles around each other before converging and lying with each other, Ray licking the other's fur gently. Mikey had since identified it as Frank. He was jealous. He watched Frank roll onto his back as Ray pawed at him, soon ending up draped across the other, both of them panting from their game.

Mikey turned away to leave. He'd seen enough. He didn't want to be there anymore. He wished it was him who Frank had bit, wished he could run with Ray in the night and wrestle with him and end up exhausted, having to pad back home, giggling with him about nothing as they tried to find their way back. But he was only human.

Only human.

He turned once more as he heard a different howling, one even the two wolves perked up at, getting out of their pile of fur to investigate. Mikey followed along with them, creeping as they padded much faster, their shape and form made for the purpose of slinking in the woods. Mikey's thin body and frail bones were not.

They paused and the woods went silent before another wolf pushed through the brush, one Mikey didn't recognize.

At least until they too were tackled by Frank.

Mikey's heart plummeted. He could tell by their eyes--his eyes--that it was someone he knew. Someone he knew well.

It was his own brother.

His own brother was a wolf.

Mikey watched as they all three wrestled, playing and yipping and growling playfully, and Mikey's belly wrenched.

He turned away. Everyone but him. Everyone but him was a wolf now. They all turned and they all could play and they all were together. And Mikey was alone. He wasn't a wolf. He had nobody.

He walked back to Ray's house, his head empty, lanky arms hugged around his stomach in some crude mimic of comfort. He got inside and tossed his jacket on before leaving.

He walked his frigid way home, eyes cast to the ground. Was he just not special? Was he not worthy? What could make him worthy? What could he do to deserve it? He didn't know, and he walked inside before pulling his jacket off again and setting it on the coat rack.

The house was uncomfortably quiet. Nobody was there. They were all out having fun. They were all out with no thought about him. Mikey wasn't a wolf, what did he matter anyway? He wasn't strong, he wasn't helpful, he wasn't special. He just kicked the door shut and stomped to his room, locking the door behind him and throwing himself to the bed, chucking a pillow at the wall. What was he worth if Ray didn't even care to let him join their little club? What was he worth if Ray didn't like him anymore?

He rolled over, pulling his blanket over himself, covering his head with it too, not wanting to see the world. He just wanted to go to sleep. Maybe he had dreamt it all. Maybe Gerard wasn't a wolf. Maybe this was just a sick dream.

Maybe if he fell asleep in the dream, he could dream of being a wolf with Ray.

Wishful thinking, he supposed, because sleep didn't come easy. He longed for the woods, to be embraced by the wind and the moon and the grass on his paws and Ray's breath by his side--

He thrashed over and shoved his face into the bed.

That wouldn't happen even if he was lucky.

If Ray didn't think he was worthy now, surely he wouldn't ever be.