Melodramatic Metathesiophobe

Adrenaline

Ray let his wrist fall limp; let his left hand sag against the frets of his guitar as the audience erupted in applause. It was the sound he lived for— the laughter and shouting and whooping and whistling, it fueled him. Knowing he made such an impact—an impact at all—was exhilarating. He took a breath and let it out, hearing James call out that they were going to take a break and mingle. Ray's smile crept back to his face. It meant a chance to have a drink with Mikey before he had to play again.

Excitedly, he scanned the room (with both his nose and eyes), setting his things down and hopping offstage, giving fist bumps to the more involved fans. He always loved the interactions.

He searched for a flash of caramel brown, for a shine off Mikey's glasses, but he was surprised that it was harder than expected. Was he in the bathroom? No, Ray'd be able to smell him.. he was nervous. Mikey was almost to his first moon but he'd insisted he'd wanted to tag along, was he wrong to try..? Had he been found out and been forced to run?? No, he'd have called—

A glimpse of his hair. A rush of his scent.

Ray turned, finally locating him, but there was no relief.

His skin bristled.

Mikey was against the wall, bottle in hand, head down as the person in front of him continued trying to advance. Ray could only imagine how long this had been going on as Mikey shied away from their prying gaze and roaming hands, their face getting much too close to Mikey's neck for anyone's liking. Ray's stomach churned and his head swam and he didn't know how his legs moved but he was over by them sooner rather than later.

"Yo, Mikey," he said over the loud music, "who's this? They bothering you?" He kept his tone steady and almost threatening. His heart had started to beat in his ears and he could feel the pulse of a growl building in his throat. Mikey's face showed horror for one moment before the person turned around.

Immediately, Ray's instincts went mad.

The smell, the look, the sense, the smirk— there was a wolf— he was a wolf—

"I ain't bothering nobody," the guy waved his hand—nails sharp and painted black—before looking Ray up and down, his piercing, yellowed eyes making the hair on the back of Ray's neck stand high on end.

"That's my boyfriend," Ray snarled, clenching his fists as adrenaline mixed into his system. His wolf was going mad—

"So what? We're all a pack, no shame in letting him explore a little," the guy smirked again as Ray's cheeks went a deep red with anger. Mikey had never seen him so upset.

"You don't even know us," Ray spoke through gritted teeth, "leave him alone. Now." He couldn't hold back the growl that slipped by.

The guy just laughed.

"Aren't you adorable! What a weak sound— I've never met a wolf like you," he giggled, turning to Ray and laying his hands on his pecs, a gesture that made Ray's skin flare, "plus, and this may come as a surprise, but we know each other well, don't we? I've seen your band, a certain night, a certain bar, a certain... accident," his eyes shone with a sickly amusement.

Rays body went still.

The guy who spilled his drink.

That felt like forever ago— but the hair, the brow, the eyes—

He was a WOLF?!

Who WAS this guy—

"And another incident.. hm, I must say, I'm sorry for being so aggressive, can't help it when I find a nice piece of meat in the woods," and he laughed.