"Rule number one," I'd announced, pulling out a notebook I'd bought specifically for this conversation. "Hair management."
Marcus had looked confused. "Hair management?"
"You shed more than a sheepdog in summer. I want industrial-strength drain covers in every sink, daily hoovering of common areas, and for the love of all that's holy, stay out of the kitchen when you're molting."
"I don't molt. I just... shed occasionally."
"Marcus, I found enough of your hair in the fridge to knit a jumper. That's not occasional shedding."
He'd had the grace to look embarrassed. "Right. Hair management. Got it."
"Rule number two: noise complaints. The neighbors are ready to lynch us. If you absolutely must howl, do it into a pillow."
"That seems to defeat the purpose of howling."
"The purpose of howling is to annoy me at two AM?"
"No, it's about expressing the wild, untamed spirit of the wolf."
"Express it more quietly."
"Can I compromise with very soft howling?"
I'd made a note. "We'll trial it."
"Rule number three: furniture destruction. You break it, you replace it."
"That's fair."
"And not with something you found on the street corner."
Marcus had opened his mouth to protest.
"I saw you eyeing that broken office chair outside the charity shop. No."
"It just needed a wheel..."
"No."
"Fine."
"Rule number four: advance warning. I get that you can't control the timing, but you can check a lunar calendar. Give me a heads up so I can plan accordingly."
"Plan accordingly?"
"Study at the library, visit friends, invest in better noise-canceling headphones. I'm not asking you to stop being a werewolf, Marcus. I'm asking you to be a considerate werewolf."
He'd nodded slowly. "That's... actually reasonable."
"Rule number five: grocery expenses. We split everything equally, but your raw meat habit is bankrupting me. Either contribute more to the food budget or find a cheaper source."
"I could try the discount butcher on Mill Road."
"Perfect. Rule number six: bathroom etiquette. Clean up after yourself. All of yourself. Including the bits that don't normally shed."
"What do you mean?"
"You know what you did to the shower curtain."
Marcus had winced. "I thought those were artistic claw marks."
"They were holes, Marcus. Large, expensive holes."
"I'll replace it."
"With something that can withstand supernatural encounters."
"They make those?"
"We're about to find out."
I'd closed the notebook, feeling oddly optimistic. "Think you can manage all that?"
Marcus had nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. This is brilliant, actually. No one's ever tried to make it work before."
"Make what work?"
"Living with me. Everyone else just runs away screaming or tries to perform exorcisms."
"Anyone ever try an intervention?"
"What kind of intervention?"
"The kind where we acknowledge you're a werewolf but focus on harm reduction instead of total avoidance."
Marcus had stared at me like I'd just invented fire. "You mean... work with the lycanthropy instead of against it?"
"Exactly. You're going to be a werewolf whether we like it or not. Might as well make it as painless as possible for everyone involved."
"That's..." He'd paused, looking thoughtful. "That's actually quite mature."
"Don't sound so surprised."
"It's just, most people respond to discovering their flatmate is a supernatural creature with more panic and less practical problem-solving."
"Most people haven't lived with you for three months. I've developed a tolerance."
"Is that good or bad?"
I'd considered this. "Ask me after the next full moon."
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