“Drunk friend, people! Nothing to see here!” Jean yelled to the confused people he did not expect to see walking down his hallway at four in the morning.

The one time I can talk to people without crying is when I'm dragging a body around.

He dumped the comatose wolf-man on the carpeted floor and quickly brought out his keys from his satchel, opening his front door.

“Jean?”

He nearly slammed his head through his door, opting to sigh heavily and turn around to glare at his neighbor.

She looked surprised though less freaked out than everyone that had seen him with the wolf-man that he was half hoping would wake up by then. Clad in her Spirited Away nightgown and a spatula in her hand, he wondered what exactly the petite woman thought was going on.

And why grab a spatula?

“Drunk friend,” he said for what felt like the millionth time, opening his door and taking in a deep breath before bending down to drag the guy inside the small apartment.

“B-but you don't have friends!” Jack exclaimed, walking out of her doorway then taking a step back as she stared at the wolf-man when he groaned.

Jean stopped and looked up at her, eyebrows furrowed and lips open in disbelief, trying to look like he was insulted by her words.

“Here I thought we were friends,” he said with a scoff for effect, placing the wolf-man on his floors after turning on the lights and rushing to shut the door, kicking wolf-man’s legs inside before doing so.

He quickly locked the door and ignored Jack’s attempt at an apology, pulled the wolf-man further into his apartment and left him flat on his rug, the creature’s ass in the air.

That was when Jean paused and stared at the back of the unknown being’s shaved head, silence enveloping him and the brief pause gave him too much time to think. Enough time to remember the creature's glowing red eyes and teeth, the smell of what he could've only described as death wafting off it in waves.

And then he ran forward, headed for his kitchen to throw up again in his sink.

Groaning as he washed away what was left of his writing snacks, he stood up straight and took deep breaths. He placed his satchel on the small dining table and marched forward.

Jean stopped in front of the wolf-man’s feet and pushed his curly hair back, letting out a shaky sigh.

What am I supposed to do now?

“Oh God,” he croaked. His eyes were brimming with tears again as he fully realized what his night had led to and that there was a naked man on his rug.

And the naked man had been a--

“Focus, Jean,” he said, sniffing and rubbing his face with his hands.

“You've got a werewolf in your apartment. Calm down and react like you normally would. Deep breaths,” he said to himself, breathing in and out, in and out. Eyes closed and body slowly relaxing.

Opening his eyes, he squealed, “A werewolf!”

He jumped, suddenly excited beyond words before rushing around his couch to get to his bedroom.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” he said rapidly, jumping over a pile of used clues to get to his dresser.

“Where is it? Where is it?” he mumbled as he opened each level one by one, stopping at the fourth and brought out a chain with a padlock, a smile on his face.

He reasoned with himself soon after that since it wasn't a human exactly that he was chaining up, it wasn't exactly all that bad. After all, he didn't know if the guy was still all werewolf and could kill him.

At least Jean covered him with a blanket before placing him on his three-seater.

All that done and in a new pair of pants, Jean sat on the chair facing his couch with a metal baseball bat in his hands. He took another puff of his inhaler just to help with calming his racing heart and to take his mind off the fact that from an outside perspective, what he was doing was something that'd end with him in jail.

Either way, it didn't matter. There was a dangerous legend around and Jean may be a fan and may want to learn everything about the gut, but he also didn't plan on getting killed.

So staying up and keeping an eye on a muscular, naked muddy man covered with his baby blanket was all he needed to focus on at that moment.

#

Jean heard his last snore as he woke up, the sound of it making him scrunch up his nose in displeasure.

He sat up immediately, hearing his bat land on the ground and roll away but was too busy cringing at the smell of his morning breath to care.

Jean groaned, wiping his crusted eyes and yawning after. Then he stretched out his hands, legs, and neck before slumping against the seat. He smacked his lips over and over again, tired eyes stared at the muddy spot on his previously clean cream colored couch, broken pieces of chain on it and on the floor.

It took him a good couple of seconds to fully remember his previous night, and even longer to realize that it was not a dream or a hallucination caused by sleep deprivation.

“Love, love me do. You know I love you-”

Jean got off his seat and turned to his right, eyes wide and body tensing up when the wolf-man casually came out of his room.

And he was wearing Jean's clothes, singing an old song while reading what looked to be one of Jean's many sheets of random short stories and scripts.

“I'll always be true. So please, love me do. Whoa, love me do.”

He sang on, voice deep and smooth, cheerfully with hints of an accent, as he got closer and closer, his towering height able to intimidate Jean enough to stay where he stood, fear taking over again.

Jean should've thought of the possibility that wolf-man was stronger than the average human, and that was looking like it was going to be his last mistake before he got killed.

The man stopped singing when they were a foot away from each other, flipping the stapled pages closed then raising his head to look down at Jean.

Jean felt like he was going piss himself again when he looked at the guy’s face, full lips in a frown and almond-shaped eyes revealing nothing about the wolf-man’s thoughts or hints as to what he would do next.

Then those reddish-brown eyes seemed to twinkle and the next thing Jean knew, the guy was smiling and looking like the friendliest person in the world.

“The Beatles,” the guy said, handing the papers over to Jean who took them with shaky hands.

“What?” he asked without thinking, confused.

“The song. It was by the Beatles. Also,” the stranger said, putting his hands in the pockets of one of Jean's large hoodies, “you might wanna work on your descriptions. They seem a bit flat. Add some flair, beautiful.”

Jean blinked rapidly, not exactly sure what was going on. He hadn't expected that.

Or to be called beautiful for that matter.

“So Jean,” Jean jumped when the smiling wolf-man said his name, squeezing the papers in his hands, “do you usually kidnap the Lycans you meet in dark forests at past midnight, after shocking them with a stun gun and chaining their wrists together, then put them on your couch while you watch…or am I just special?”