By December, I'd had enough.
Living with a werewolf was one thing. I could handle the monthly transformations, the howling, even the neighbors' complaints. What I couldn't handle was the complete lack of consideration for basic flatmate etiquette.
The final straw had been the hair.
Not just a few strands in the sink or shower drain. I'm talking about enough fur to stuff a mattress, clogging every drain in the flat, coating the bathroom floor, and somehow managing to get into places hair had no business being. I'd found werewolf fur in my coffee mug, in my textbooks, even inside the refrigerator.
"We need to talk," I'd announced when Marcus had shuffled into the kitchen that morning, looking like he'd been hit by a truck.
He'd frozen, one hand halfway to the coffee maker. "About what?"
"About the hair, Marcus. About the howling at two AM when I have exams. About the fact that you've destroyed more furniture in three months than most people manage in a lifetime."
His shoulders had sagged. "You know."
"Of course I know! You think I'm an idiot? The monthly destruction, the raw meat diet, the fact that you literally turn into a wolf every full moon?"
"You're not... scared?"
I'd stared at him. "Scared? Marcus, I'm annoyed. There's a difference."
He'd blinked owlishly. "Annoyed?"
"Do you know how much drain cleaner I've gone through? Mrs. Patterson threatens to call animal control every time you howl. And don't get me started on the grocery bills."
Marcus had slumped into a chair, looking more dejected than I'd ever seen him. "I can explain."
"Oh, please do."
He'd taken a deep breath. "I was bitten three years ago. Camping trip in Scotland. Thought it was just a large dog at first, but then the next month..." He'd gestured helplessly. "I've been trying to figure it out ever since."
"Figure what out?"
"How to be a werewolf without being a complete disaster."
Despite everything, I'd felt a stab of sympathy. "Not going well?"
"I've been through twelve flatmates in two years. Most of them moved out after the first full moon. A few tried to stake me, which was both insulting and ineffective."
"Stake you? That's vampires."
"That's what I told them."
I'd poured myself coffee, thinking. "So you have no control over it?"
"None. Every full moon, I turn into this... thing. And apparently, I'm just as much of a mess as a wolf as I am as a human."
"The scratching on the door?"
"Trying to get out for a run. But you know how hard it is to work door handles with paws?"
"The howling?"
He'd looked embarrassed. "It just... feels right in the moment. Like singing in the shower, but more... primal."
"And the destroyed furniture?"
"Nervous energy. Plus, everything feels different when you're seven feet tall and covered in fur. Spatial awareness gets a bit wonky."
I'd studied his face, noting the genuine distress there. "You really can't control any of it?"
"I've tried everything. Meditation, yoga, those self-help books about anger management. Nothing works. I'm just a rubbish werewolf."
"What do you mean, rubbish?"
"Well, I don't hunt. Can barely catch a rabbit, to be honest. I get motion sick if I run too fast. And apparently, I'm more interested in complaining about the transformation than embracing my wild nature."
Despite everything, I'd started to laugh. "You complain during the transformation?"
"The whole time. It hurts, it's inconvenient, and it always happens at the worst possible moments. Last month I missed my favorite TV show."
"Your favorite TV show."
"The Great British Bake Off. I had it recorded, but somehow I managed to delete it while trying to work the remote with claws."
I'd stared at him. "You're the most pathetic werewolf in history."
"Probably."
"And you're the most inconsiderate flatmate I've ever had."
"Definitely."
I'd sipped my coffee, weighing my options. I could move out, find a new place, start over with a normal flatmate who didn't shed supernatural fur all over the bathroom. Or...
"Right," I'd said finally. "We're making some changes."
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