The lighting in the office was shit…* Warm, useless, barely illuminating more than the gold edge of his antlers and the pile of crumpled script pages in front of him. The lamp flickered like it was apologizing for its own existence, and Louis, for one, wasn’t in the mood to forgive.

He leaned back in the chair—leather, expensive, entirely too stiff—and let out a slow, narrow breath. Not a sigh. He didn’t sigh. That would imply some emotional release, and if there was one thing Louis prided himself on, it was never giving anyone—anything—the satisfaction of seeing his cracks.

Still, his thoughts wandered.

Six months. Six goddamn months.

That’s how long it’s been since he made the objectively unwise decision of dating Legoshi. Tall, lanky, passive-aggressive in the most painfully non-aggressive way possible. Built like a predator, moved like a regret. A walking contradiction with paws too big for his own sleeves, constantly hunched over like someone told him he owed the world an apology.

And yet—Louis found himself biting the inside of his cheek, annoyed at the fact that his chest warmed at the thought—he stayed.

Not because of pity. Not even because of attraction, though... objectively, yes, Legoshi was attractive, in that brooding, silent type who probably fantasizes about dying nobly kind of way. But there was something else. Some dumb, exhausting part of Louis actually liked having a boyfriend who wasn’t trying to impress him. Someone who didn’t expect him to be anything other than the irritable, perfectionist bastard he naturally was.

Of course, the relationship came with its own lovely complications. Like being turned away from five—five—restaurants in a row last month. One place didn’t even let them in the door. The maître d’ looked at them like they were about to rip each other’s throats out, which—frankly—would be a bit more action than Louis had gotten in this pathetically celibate relationship.

He scoffed out loud at the memory. Legoshi and his “I don’t want to hurt you” spiel. Please. Louis had stronger bones than half the drama club and more experience dealing with carnivores than Legoshi had confidence.

“You’re not gonna snap my neck from a kiss, you dramatic idiot,” he muttered under his breath, then paused, eyes flicking toward the door like someone might've heard.

Of course no one had. Haru wasn’t here. And if she were, she’d probably be giving him another smug little grin with her arms folded like she ran the gossip circuit. Which she basically did.

She’d gotten far too much pleasure out of Louis' dry-boned frustration. Whenever he ranted about how nothing had happened between him and his boyfriend yet, she just nodded sympathetically and offered horrifying suggestions like, “Maybe he needs detailed instructions. You know. Diagrams.”

He shuddered. Not from the idea. From the fact that part of him had actually considered it.

God, he was losing his mind.

Still, despite the absurdity, the awkward dates, the silent dinners, the ridiculous size difference, and Legoshi’s chronic guilt complex, there was a quiet, annoying stability to their thing. Their relationship. Their… whatever. Louis had spent so much of his life clawing for perfection, for power, for recognition—maybe it was a sick joke of the universe that the only person who treated him like he didn’t need to be perfect… was a wolf.

An overgrown, vegan wolf with chronic anxiety.

Louis let his head fall forward, eyes narrowing back down at the screenplay in front of him. The words looked smug. Too dramatic. Too overreaching. He grabbed his red pen, the one he used when he was in a particularly ruthless mood, and started slashing through the monologue like it had personally insulted him.

“'Love conquers all'?” he muttered with venom. “Jesus Christ. Who the hell wrote this garbage?”

Oh. Right. He did.

The pen stabbed the paper.

He scratched out the line, replaced it with something more grounded. More him. Less bullshit.

as he was doing as he heard the door*