You would think living in a house like Haley Sinclair's would make one more inclined to go home at the end of the day, but when it's getting late, Haley asks if he can stay over. I don't know if he really is just too tired to drive home, like he says he is, or if he's trying to make the day last longer, because that's what I'd do. That's why I say yes, even though Kurt's house only has beds for the exact number of inhabitants it accommodates. This doesn't seem to deter Haley, though. He graciously accepts the couch, which is to say he demands I sleep in my own bed when I offer it to him because I barely fit on that to begin with, let alone the couch.

When I wake up the next morning and traipse into the living room, I expect to find him still there—it's early—but the couch is empty. After checking the bathroom and the kitchen, which are the only other rooms in the house beside Kurt's bedroom and mine, I look through the window and find his car still parked out front.

And then I see him, on the curb, enveloped by a cloud of smoke.

I grab my jacket and put on a pair of shoes before stepping outside. He doesn't notice me until I sit down beside him. He startles and says, "Oh. Morning."

"You good?"

He looks away from me, scratching his cheek with the back of his hand with the cigarette still between his fingers. "Yeah . . ." He shakes his head. "I just had a weird dream and couldn't fall asleep again after."

"What was it about?"

"You don't wanna know," he says, laughing.

"Last time you said that, it wasn't even half as bad as you thought."

He slowly takes a drag, then mutters, "Well, you know how dreams are. Sometimes I think it'd be cool if we could record them, and sometimes I think it's good that we can't. Some things are better left unsaid."

"Fair enough."

I can think of a few things I'd rather not tell anyone about.

"I might take you up on your offer," he says.

"What?"

"You know."

"Oh, I know what you mean." I've only made him one offer, and I've made it three times. "But why did you suddenly change your mind?"

"Because I feel like I'm gonna explode," he sighs, looking down at his cigarette, "and this isn't helping. I need something bigger. Something better. I've got that party to look forward to—at least, I'm counting on it being something I can look forward to, but it seems so far."

"It's only five days."

"I know . . ." He sighs. "Maybe I just need to get laid."

I laugh. "Call Davy."

"Hm. I don't know. Maybe."

"Well, if you want to, uh, get a sample, you can come by after I get home from work or whatever, and we'll . . . figure something out. This doesn't really seem like something we should do before school."

He nods. "Okay."

☽〇☾

When I get off work that night, I have no notifications and while I'm walking home, still, I receive none. I half expect Haley's car to just be parked out front by the time I arrive, but the driveway is empty, which is strange. I don't remember him telling me he had plans, and radio silence is not his thing. Not even while I'm working.

It's easy to think he's changed his mind. Something happened while I was at work, and now he doesn't want to be friends anymore, let alone come over to my house to let me help him. Why would he? He rejected my offer so many times. In a moment of weakness, he gave in, but now that his head is clear again, he's realized he doesn't need me.

I know it's ridiculous, but I can't help thinking his silence is intentional. Why else would he suddenly stop talking to me? He normally always tells me if he's going somewhere. I mean, he even sends me goodnight texts sometimes.

you alive?

💰💰💰💰💰

yeah i'm alive

why?

idk man you were offline for hours

First, I see him typing. Then, he stops and calls me. I can already hear the engine of his car before he speaks up. "I'm driving."

"I figured."

"Davy asked me to come over."

"Ah."

"I was like, hell yeah, just what I need, but no, he wanted to talk!" He groans. "He wouldn't shut up about you. Gus Reed this, Gus Reed that. Like, dude, are you jealous or something? Anyway, I guess he finally got the hint."

"Did you just leave his place? How long did you guys talk?"

"Oh, well, we fucked after."

I snort. "Naturally."

"I'm going home now. I think I'll be good for . . . a while."

I can only imagine what he means with that, and I'd rather not. Shaking my head, I bend down to untie my laces and ask, "Do you think Davy might actually be jealous, though? I mean, you guys have a very different relationship."

It takes him a moment to reply. "It's . . . complicated."

"Explain."

"I'm trying to figure out how to do that without giving you too much information."

"Wow, look at you. You're learning."

"Thank you," he says, sounding not at all grateful.

I laugh and put my shoes by the door before heading to my room.

"Well," he says, "I think a more accurate word would be . . . possessive."

"I mean, all of your friends are kind of possessive."

"No, I mean—it's, like, sexual possessiveness."

"So he's Nela number two? How many of those have you got?"

"No, you don't get it," he sighs. "He's not possessive in a creepy way. Fuck Nela. Look, have you ever been with someone and it's, like—it's just really good because you fit together, and you kind of doubt it can be that good if they're with someone else?"

"I'm gonna be honest, Haley, I've never had sex."

He all but screams, "What?!"

"I'm a virgin."

"No way."

"I swear."

"How?"

"As you might have noticed, I'm not very popular. I also don't have a lot of time."

"Not even for a hookup?"

"I don't think I'd like hookups very much."

He hums. "Valid."

I lie down on my bed with a sigh. "I did have a girlfriend once. We worked at the same restaurant. She was really nice, but we just couldn't spend a lot of time together, so we broke up. And then I moved here."

"That sucks."

I shrug, even though he can't see it. I don't really mind. I'm sure I'll meet someone at university. Until then, I'll focus on getting through pre-uni and, apparently, traversing this tumultuous friendship with Haley. "Okay, question."

"Yeah?"

"If you and Davy 'fit together' so well, why do you have sex with other people?"

"Uh . . ."

"Just tell me."

"Well, sex is like a distraction for me," he says, "and I get bored easily, because it's always the same thing over and over again. I know that sounds awful, but I can't really help that it's not stimulating enough for me if it's—if it becomes a routine, you know? A lot of people don't know how to keep it interesting. It's fun the first few times, when I'm still getting to know them, but then it gets repetitive."

"Wow."

"I know."

"Don't tell Davy," I say.

"It's actually been a while since I've had sex with anyone else."

"Okay, maybe you should tell Davy."

He laughs. "Maybe I should. Anyway, I'm almost home. I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you."

☽〇☾

One of the Harding twins—Davy, I presume—finds me at my locker the next morning. All he does is nod at me and say, "Sorry about last week." And then he walks away.

I spend the rest of the day wondering if it actually happened.

☽〇☾

It's Thursday, and still nobody knows how to talk to me. Mostly, I'm content with the peace and quiet, but I can't help but wonder if they're all just waiting for something. It's like when I'm in the woods and suddenly everything goes still and dark, and then the sky explodes in light and thunder, crying rivers.

Haley's party is tomorrow.

I haven't decided if I'm going yet, and I guess that's what they're waiting for, to see if I'll be there and force them to spend time with me in the same room—a room that's not a classroom, anyway. Who knows what they'll do then? The only person who doesn't treat me any differently is Margie. Haley has made a habit out of spending part of his lunch with his friends and the other part with me, as if to remind everyone where we all stand with one another, and she doesn't even look up when he joins our table. She doesn't talk to me, but she doesn't talk to Haley, either, so I can't be too mad. When I ask Haley what social class she belongs to, unable to resist my curiosity, he shrugs and says, "I thought you knew."

"Why would I know?"

"She's from St. Richard, too. She moved here two years ago."

"St. Richard is a very big city."

"I just assumed you sat with her because you knew her."

"No."

"Well, if I had to guess, I'd say she's middle class. I can ask my mom, if you really wanna know."

I glance at Margie, who continues to tap her phone, oblivious. She's wearing black makeup today, and lots of it, which makes her look even more unapproachable. I wouldn't dare talk so openly about her if I knew she was listening, but Haley effectively tested her hearing earlier this week. (He complimented her tits, and she didn't even look up.)

Once upon a time, I hoped I could be friends with her.

Two weeks ago, a part of me still did.

But now?

"No," I say. "I don't need to know. I was just curious."

☽〇☾

I ask Stacie if I can take Friday off. I know it's a pointless question—she never says no—but I need an excuse. If she says yes, I'll go to the party.

Of course, she says yes, and thus, I take my punishment.

In theory, this change of plans is not a problem. I can go into the woods after school since I won't be able to do so at night, and then I'll go to the party. In practice, I might get killed. Fall is my least favorite season for several reasons, many of which are merely petty annoyances. The only significant one is that fall is bear hunting season. Granted, I've got the advantage of a human brain inside my skull (don't ask me how that works—I imagine there's magic involved) and I know all the ways to avoid bear hunters, or any type of hunters, but I don't like to take chances.

I've resolved to take this one, when Haley asks me if I'm riding with him after school. "The party technically doesn't start until ten or whatever," he says, "but I gotta prepare, and I could use your company."

I sigh. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Your party infringes on my . . . date with the woods."

He snorts.

"So I moved it."

"Can't you go after?" he asks.

"I really don't wanna put it off. I'm already feeling restless and I don't think partying will have the same effect on me as it does on you."

For a moment, he just looks at me. Then he says, "I'll go with you."

"How, exactly, does that help you prepare for your party?"

"It doesn't." He shrugs. "I'll just ask George."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

"She owes me."

And so he goes with me.

I feel slightly better about it now, even though I'm well aware he would not be able to protect me from a gun any more than I could. He stands out, at least, in his white shirt and red jacket. As we're trekking through the woods, he asks, "So what do you do, normally? Do you just kinda walk around like we did last time?"

"Uh . . ." Honestly, I only walked with him because he was talking to me and it seemed rude to run off. "I don't know, just . . . bear stuff."

"Bear stuff?" he repeats.

Somehow it seems embarrassing to say it out loud. "It's not very exciting. I just, like, climb trees and swim and eat." I run my hand over the top of my hair, brushing back the curls. "Sometimes I hunt."

This seems to excite Haley. "What do you hunt?"

"Whatever's available. Well, small animals, anyway. No deer or anything like that."

"Why not?"

"They take a lot of time and effort to catch. And I can't eat all of it. If it doesn't get eaten by something else, it'll just rot."

He nods.

"How many hours have we got?" I ask.

"Five—ish," he answers after glancing at his phone.

"Okay. Let's go for a swim. I'm craving fish."

With a smile, he says, "Lead the way."

It doesn't take us long to find the closest lake, which is one of my favorites; it's wide, deep, and full of fish. When Haley stands on top of a rock, looking out over the surface of the water with a hand shielding his eyes from the late afternoon sun, he says, "Wow, I can't believe I've never been here. Can you?"

I don't respond, because I'm a bear.

He takes no offense—he sits down on the rock and starts taking off his shoes. I warned him the water would be cold, but he's determined to join me, so he strips down to his underwear and jumps into the water. The splash is enormous. Once he resurfaces, he wades over to me and attaches himself to my back, commanding, "Swim!"

With an amused huff, I start swimming, letting him tell me where to go. After a few laps around the lake, he starts shivering, so I deposit him on the rocks, and he shakes himself dry—he tries to, anyway—while I hunt for fish. He shouts something to me about stealing my jacket, which I ignore, because I'm a hungry bear.

When I've caught a fish, I join him on the rocks to eat it.

"Does that taste good?" he asks.

I tear a chunk off in response.

"Nice."

For a long while, we sit side by side, and I take comfort in the gesture, small as it is. I never thought I'd be able to be like this in front of anyone else, to be myself. The first time Haley followed me into the woods, it was rooted in curiosity and mistrust—a test. Now, we are as we are, bear and shapeshifter. Friends.

"You know, I've been thinking about what you said," Haley says eventually.

I have no idea what he's referring to, so I wait for him to elaborate.

"When I was talking about my . . . gender, I mean."

Ah.

He sighs, folding his legs under him, and I look at him to show him I'm listening. "I think you're right. It doesn't matter if I feel the way I do because I'm a shapeshifter. What matters is that I do. I just kept putting it in this little drawer in my head, along with all the other things I have no answers to, because I didn't know how to process the information. And it's not exactly something I can bring up with a therapist. Hey, doc. I think my gender identity is tied to my thirst for blood. Help." He laughs at himself, but there's a mocking tone to his laughter. "But then you asked me how long it's been since I've tasted anyone's blood, and I was like, shit."

I want to ask what conclusion he drew from that realization, but I don't think I need to. Shapeshifter or not, male or not, above all else, Haley Sinclair is just . . . a person. And I guess I already knew that. Haley's known for a while—a long while. He just needed someone to help him see that it was always there, that he's always known the answer.

Suddenly, I feel proud.

Proud of Haley.

Proud of our friendship.

Without thinking, I put the remains of my fish down and move over to hug him, and he shrieks in protest. I know it's not so much an embrace as being crushed under the weight of an adult bear, but I do try my best to keep him alive. It's not until he says, "Gus, get off me!" that I realize I'm still soaking wet.

☽〇☾

A/N: So I actually wrote the scene between Haley and Davy! NOKMBY is entirely from Gus's POV, and I wanted to show Haley through somebody else's eyes, so Davy is the one narrating this one-shot, and it's basically just 3.4K words of them talking and fucking.

Here's a sneak peek:

If you wanna read the rest of it, you can find it on my Patreon, under the $5 tier, titled: [No One Knows Me But You] BONUS: Refresh My Memory.

And I will be doing ONE (1) live reading in the Literary Lounge next Sunday (May 15) at 10PM CEST, which is free for everyone to attend. You just have to show up on time, because I will not be reading it again.

You can find the link in my bio!