Black Dog

Chapter One

     The two sat across from each other in the apartment's living room, Flynn bent over, head in his hands, fingers twisted into his hair, confusion distorting his face. "But that.. No. How? How is that even—" He leaned back into the leather recliner he was sitting in, staring up at the ceiling like it was some strange three-headed monster with a mullet and well trimmed goatee wearing socks and sandals. Then he focused his gaze on the guy sitting across from him.

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     "I'm a werewolf." Three simple words, but they sent Flynn reeling. "A—A freaking werewolf?! Honestly, how do I get myself into these kinds of situations?! And I just plucked him—you—off the street in the middle of the night! I shouldn't have even been out that late—I could have been kidnapped—and. . . dude! You could have been dognapped by some creepy rando! What were you thinking?!" Flynn scolded him, standing up from his position on the couch and pacing back in forth. "You could have gotten yourself stuck in the pound, or a crazy scientist could realize what you are and experiment on you, or what if an animal abuser had gotten to you?" He scowled. "Well, ya know, when you haven't eaten or really slept in a couple of days, it's a bit hard to keep in mind what insane things you're doing. If ya know what I mean." Aicher responded, seeming slightly taken aback at Flynn's outrage at his carelessness. "Wh—days?! Jesus, Aicher! What the heck? That's the last straw, mister! You're gonna have to come to lunch with my friends and I today, and you're going to eat something, understood?" Flynn snarled, downright furious that Aicher hadn't been able to care for himself. "You're crazy if you think I'm going anywhere with other people." Aicher complained, swept up in his annoyance and slight fear at the thought of other people—but mainly in his frustration that Flynn was bossing him around, even if he did need to eat something. . . "You don't have a say in this!" Flynn said sternly, pointing a finger in the direction of his room. "Now, you're gonna go change into something of mine and find some shoes so you look presentable and we're gonna leave." He commanded him. With a loud sigh and a snort of anger, he stalked off towards Flynn's room, making a point to stamp his feet as loudly as possible. There was a shout from below.

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     Aicher only realized how easily he'd let himself be swayed by the stranger when one of his dark grey shirts was halfway on, and he froze for a moment. Wait a minute— He thought, realizing his situation. Wait an actual minute. What the hell was he even doing here? Well.. I mean, I am pretty damn hungry. Step up from milling around on the streets. And the company isn't too bad, either. I guess seeing some other people couldn't hurt. . . He slipped the grey shirt over his head, glancing at himself in the mirror above the bathroom sink. I probably need a shower too. Aicher glanced around, honestly, feeling strange—being in a human body again. It was so odd. So is Flynn—odd. I mean, I'd expect him to throw me out immediately. Especially after learning what I am. He was actually concerned, worried about me. Why the heck does he care so much? He tightened a belt at his waist, frowning. Maybe it was a trick. . . ? He slipped on some nearby shoes, not bothering to find socks. It would be just his luck, his horrible luck, after all, but. . . Flynn didn't seem like the kind of person who would do that.

     Aicher shook his head to clear his mind, running his fingers through his hair a few times to tame its wildness, then tiptoed back into the living room, half expecting Flynn to be holding some kind of weapon—an actual weapon, not an empty water bottle. But, as he rounded the corner, Flynn was sitting on the couch where Aicher had previously been sitting, and there was no trace of
anything close to a weapon. Flynn glanced up from the floor as Aicher entered, then stood up. "Ready to go?" He asked, not bothering to change his own clothes—his friends wouldn't notice, anyway, since they hadn't seen much of him the day before. Aicher narrowed his eyes. They flitted around the room—maybe he hid something somewhere that he's gonna pull when my back is turned? But nothing had moved from the moment before, and he saw nothing else. He paused, then inhaled sharply, "Uh—Wh—? Yeah." Aicher nodded, hand on his hip, blowing a strand of hair out of his eye. "Where are we going, anyway?" He muttered. "Oh just a nice old restaurant. Kinda nostalgic, really. I think you'd like it."