Where The Wild One Rests

"It's me, love. Open up."

The voice was muffled through the heavy wooden door. It was hoarse, rough - like a throat scraped raw from too much howling.

He was already on his feet, fingers aching as they curled around the upper iron latch of the door.

"You're early.", he said. Exhaling, pressing his forehead against the cool wood. It was solid, reassuring. "Are you hurt?"

A silence. Then, the voice again, low and rough, familiar as his own name. "No. Just tired. Let me in."

The breath in his chest loosened. A weight fell off him, letting him breathe again. As if his entire night had been spent holding it.

The upper latch was undone, a massive thing, two fingers thick. He reached for the lower one as a push on the door made him chuckle. "Wait a moment."

He pulled, the lower one was always a bit stubborn, because-

"It's me, love. Open up."

The hairs on his arms stood on end.

He froze. His stomach turned to ice. That was the same sentence. Exactly the same. Not an answer. Not a conversation. A repetition.

He didn't move. Didn't breathe. The door groaned again from another push. And then - soft, coaxing - "Let me in?"

The deathly chill that ran down his spine prickled his skin all over and made him react in an instant. He punched the upper latch back into place.

The door shrieked in its frame. Not from a push. From a blow — a strike so violent it rattled the walls, sent dust spilling from the rafters. The whole cabin lurched.

Something shuffled over the floorboards outside. Another voice came through.

"Wait a moment."

He almost choked on his own breath. His own words. Spoken back to him in his own voice.

No. Not quite.

The cadence was *wrong*. The vowels dragged, the ends clipped. Like something trying to stretch its throat around human speech.

His blood turned to ice.

"It's me, love."

The mimicry was closer this time. Smoother. Almost right.

He heard how something scraped over wood. Claws?

"Let me in?"

The voice was nearly perfect now. A breath off. A single note flat.

He rushed off with pounding heart. He rushed for the fire poker by the hearth. Grabbing it and holding it tight like a talisman to protect him from the night.

The voice stopped, but he heard faint steps wandering about, coming around the cabin.

The shutters were sturdy, locked tight like the door, but they rattled like a storm howled against them.

"It's cold tonight.", the voice was low, thoughtful, *his*. But that wasn't something he'd said tonight.

"Your hands are cold."

His heart nearly stopped. That was something his lover had said to him - just days back.

The crunching of snow beneath feet stopped. He heard scraping again, then a thud, then another.

The roof.

His heart clenched so hard it hurt.

*Scrape.*

His breath hitched. It was on the cabin. It was looking for entry.

He forced himself to move, lighting candles and putting more wood into the hearth. Just in time, too, because he heard that scraping again, this time coming through the chimney.

The adrenaline pumped, his heart pounding in his ears, he grew hot under his collar, and he readied the fire poker, ready to give it his all should that scraping come closer through the chimney.

He heard a hissing sound, something a cat would make if distressed. He heard scraping again.

And he waited. The anticipation being worse than any voice, any noise. And yet, noting. He stood there and held his ground, ready to swing as hard as he could. His knuckles turning white, his muscles starting to cramp, but his readiness did not falter.

A knock-

From the door.

"Hey love, I'm back. Please open?", there was that voice again. The voice of his boyfriend.

He averted his burning eyes from the fireplace and walked over to the door. Carefully, slowly, trying not to make any noise.

"Is that you, Charlie?", he asked quietly. His eyes turning to the fireplace every few seconds. Now torn between two places.

"Who else?... Wait, is everything alright, love?"

That sounded authentic. Worried. Honest. He wanted to believe it real, but how could he?

"Where did we first kiss?"

"What are you even... Please just let me in I'm tired.", Maybe-Charlie sounded so damn convincing.

"Please... just answer. Please!", he must've sounded pathetic, but he didn't care.

"In your apartment, before this all went down. Your phone number was zero-four-eight-"

"Okay! Okay!", he interrupted. "Are there tracks in the snow around you?"

"Kaleb, you are starting to worry me. Are you alright? Can you please open the door now?"

"Please check."

"Fine.", a moment of silence passed. He heard more crunching of snow as feet stepped around, before they came back. "Deer tracks by the looks of it."

That was no damn deer. Not even close, and he sighed in defeat. Finally lowering the fire poker and unlatching the upper latch again.

"Please stand a few steps back. Please."

This time Maybe-Charlie didn't complain or question it.

The second latch was stubborn again, but after it probably had saved his life, he appreciated it all the more.

He opened the door the tiniest bit. A crack through which he spotted into the snowy night outside. Glowing yellow eyes looked at him in a slightly tilted manner. A good 3 feet above his line of sight.

"What happened, love?", Charlie asked carefully from the dark. He stepped closer, revealing his hulking form.

The thick coat of grayish fur, accented by white snow stuck on him, bristled in the winter winds.

Kaleb opened the door just a little farther, daring to poke his head out and check around. His eyes lingered on the "deer" tracks in front of the cabin before facing Charlie again.

"Come in. Quick.", he ushered, opening the door, checking the outside warily.

Charlie, to his credit, didn't object, didn't question, didn't push. He simply stepped inside, lowering his head through the doorway.

As Kaleb closed the door again, he heard Charlie sniff behind him. A long, deep inhale. The one he did when he smelled something. The latches jammed shut and he turned to face Charlie. The werewolf looked worried, his eyes lingered on the fire poker.

Though Kaleb, too, looked worried. His mate's fur was bristled, his hackles raised just slightly. And he couldn't shake the feeling that Charlie had smelled something that was off, but had decided not to show it.

"Kaleb, love, what are you doing with that fire poker?"

Kaleb just sighed. Sighed like the first time the thought Charlie had come back. The sigh of relief and discharge of tension. His muscles uncoiled.

"It's fine, big guy."

Kaleb went back to the hearth and put the fire poker away. The light of this little space felt good. It felt like a different world. The radiating warmth did the rest.

He sighed again, taking a look at Charlie. The werewolf looked not much better, than Kaleb was feeling. He had multiple cuts and bruises along his flanks and arms. There was a gash on his eyebrow going all the way up his large skull up to his pointy ears.

At least he was in one piece. Not that it made this much easier.

Kaleb went for his stash of medical supplies.

It was their nightly ritual. As long as Charlie would come back, Kaleb would wait for him, tired, miserable, full of anxiety and paranoia, and then patch his boyfriend up.

As long as he came back...

Charlie sat by the hearth, his massive frame looking out of place in the cabin. He tugged his legs in, his head lowered. He waited patiently for what was to come.

Initially, no words were spoken. It was the scary truth that this nightly ritual was one of apparent necessity and unfortunate circumstance. The nights weren't what they used to be.

Kaleb remembered when nightly walks were one of his favorite hobbies. He had met Charlie on one. Quite unusual, but what wasn't about their relationship?

Back then, times were easier - well, not entirely. Back then his worries had been different ones. Less lethal, but still of existential dread. That never seemed to change.

In essence, nothing really changed in the end, except that he now also had to worry about his werewolf boyfriend that roamed the night and couldn't promise to come back in the morning.

It wasn't that he roamed by choice either. He roamed because he had to. Because it kept... things at bay and dangers away. It wasn't the fact that he roamed at night, that worried Kaleb sick. No, it was the fact that he kept coming back hurt and injured.

Kaleb had stopped asking about his nightly journeys. Charlie wasn't willing to tell him what he was facing, what was injuring an almost nine-foot-tall werewolf, built like a tank. Probably because his boyfriend didn't want to unsettle him further.

His last words on that subject had been ominous. "I'm not the hunter out there."

And so they both resigned to what needed to be done. Charlie venturing out at night, doing what he did and Kaleb staying behind. Waiting, worrying and patching his lover up, when he inevitably returned bruised and battered.

Kaleb went about his work, grabbing a clean piece of cloth, pouring water on it and starting to - very carefully, very deliberately, very slowly - clean the cuts and bruises. Werewolves seemed to heal much better than humans ever could, but that still didn't make wounds magically disappear after a day.

The flush expression on Charlie's face didn't go unnoticed. The blush beneath his fur. It was the cutest thing for him. His big, strong guardian felt embarrassed about being taken care of by his much smaller human boyfriend. It was just adorable.

He took the chance and pressed a smooch on the werewolf's cheek. "You're so handsome, cutie."

Charlie's tail started wagging wildly. On the outside, in the wilderness he was a savage beast, a creature of horrors and nightmares, but in here, in Kaleb's skilled hands? He melted like butter in the sun, like a puppy getting belly rubs.

Within minutes Kaleb had wrapped his werewolf in bandages, but instead of packing his things away, he pushed Charlie over onto the pelt in front of the hearth. He sat himself on top of the surprised Charlie and laid himself on his broad chest.

"You came back.", Kaleb sighed, wrapping his arms around the massive body beneath him.

Charlie didn't respond. He wrapped his arms around and held him tight. Rolling onto the side, facing the hearth.

"I have to ask security questions in the future."

"Okay.", Charlie said.

He didn't question it - just like Kaleb didn't question what he did out there.

What he fought.

What he survived.