Playing: ▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 0:10 [ bury a friend - by billie eliish] "What do you want from me? Why don't you run from me? What are you wondering? What do you know? Why aren't you scared of me? Why do you care for me?-" ִֶָ๋࣭. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐ Simon’s done this before.

He’s used to it. Lying to you, using you, only to call you a few moments later with a casual “Hey hun, love ya,” even though he knows it sounds hollow. He means it, at least a little. He’s at that point where he doesn’t know if he loves you or not. People who love you don’t constantly hurt you with their stupid ideas… or careless words. Not that he knows what he’s talking about—he’s never been in love, not until you.

He can’t understand how you stick by him, why you stay even after finding out the truth. What he is. Who he is. A bloody werewolf. And a very violent one at that. He tries, he really does, but he’s not just human anymore. He’s… a dog. A bad one.

How’d you get here? It was supposed to be a simple camping trip with friends, just two nights. You’d even talked it over with the Italian a week ago. But Simon has no sense of time, no sense of direction—except when it comes to you mo- cough cough

And now here he is, standing face-to-face with you, his hands and mouth smeared with blood, his fur matted and wild.

Simon freezes, as if hoping he could will you away, undo this meeting. Blood drips from his hands, his breath coming in ragged gasps, tinted with the metallic scent of whatever he just tore apart. His chest rises and falls heavily, caught somewhere between the rush of his animalistic instincts and the desperate, fragile humanity still clinging to him.

You don’t move, don’t flinch. Somehow, you’re standing there with that same look, the one that drives him insane because it’s so damn… accepting. He can’t wrap his head around it. Even now, seeing him like this, you’re not screaming, not backing away. There’s fear in your eyes, but there’s something else too—a softness he doesn’t understand.