To Haley's credit, he doesn't slobber, but the whole thing still feels kind of gross. It's like being licked by a dog, except wetter, and not quite as chaotic. He starts about halfway down my forearm and runs his tongue along the line of blood until he reaches its origin, where he lingers, lapping up blood as it trickles out of my skin. It feels like an eternity until he pulls back. In reality, he probably didn't spend much longer gathering blood than thirty, maybe even twenty seconds.

I don't mean to look at him when he stands up straight, but I do. He's licking his lips, which he quickly covers with a hand when he notices me watching, but there's no hiding the way his eyelids are heavy and his pupils dilated to hell. I know for a fact that I'm right about it being more than information. By all definitions, he looks high.

"Um," he says.

I raise a brow. "Done?"

"Yeah."

I start rinsing off the excess blood in the sink. It's a mess, but it cleans up well since it hasn't dried up yet. In the meantime, Haley seems to remember it might be smart to get some antibacterial cream and takes a bandaid out of the box for me. Neither of us says a word until we're in his room again, sitting side by side on the edge of his bed, my sleeve rolled back down over the wound.

"Is it weird to say your blood tastes good?" Haley asks.

"Yes. But thanks."

He nods.

"What does it taste like?"

"Uhh . . . I'm not sure if 'taste' is the right word." He talks slower than usual, as if it requires more effort, as if his tongue is heavier. "It's not a flavor. It's more like . . . a sensation. It's like a tiny explosion in my mouth."

"Sure."

"All the information, all at once."

I nod.

"No bear, though. Just you."

I frown at him. "Really?"

"Yup."

"Well, that's disappointing."

"Oh well." He falls back on the bed and sighs. "Thank you anyway."

"You're welcome."

There's a moment of silence that I feel a desperate need to fill. I have a million questions and no idea which one to ask first. Hell, he might not even have the answers.

"Gus?" He clears his throat. "Can I . . . "

I look at him over my shoulder. "What?"

"Can I shift? Like, into you?"

"Oh. Yeah. You don't have to ask."

"Okay." He sits up and starts taking his shirt off. I'm about to ask what the hell he's doing when he says, "You're not the only one who's in danger of ripping their clothes."

Right.

He continues undressing, shoes and all, before he stands up, in nothing but his underwear. It's almost impossible to imagine he'll grow to my size—my legs must be twice as big as his—but he does. He grows eight inches, expands, and his hair curls and lightens. His eyes turn dark brown, like mine. The transformation barely takes a second, and then there's two of me. It's like looking in a mirror. The only thing my reflection is missing is a pair of glasses.

I take mine off and hand them to Haley.

"I don't actually need those," he says.

It's a strange experience, to hear someone else speak with my voice. It's different from seeing a video of myself, where I remember all the words I said. They're Haley's words, but he uses my voice to say them.

"For the full picture," I say, nudging the glasses into his hand—my hand.

Finally, he puts them on. "Fucking hell, you're blind."

"It's not that bad."

"I suppose I shouldn't talk. I'm a whole different kind of blind." He takes the glasses off and holds them out for me. "Kind of stupid that I can't change that."

"I would ask why, but . . ."

"Yeah, no idea."

"What can you change? Like, is this it?" I gesture at him—at me. "Or can you make me look different?"

"Within reason." As he talks, the scruff on his jaw grows into a full beard, and lines appear on his face. It takes me a moment to realize I'm looking at myself twenty years into the future. He kind of resembles Kurt, in a way. My mother did always say I got my looks from her side of the family.

"Weird," I say. "Can you make me look thinner?"

He turns young again and says, "No."

"What? Why not?"

"I mean, I can, but I'm not going to. It wouldn't be you."

I give him a look.

"You're predisposed to be big, you know?" He taps his temple. "It's all in your genetic code. You'd have to go on a pretty extreme diet to lose weight."

"Well, what if I did?"

He sighs and starts slimming down.

Then he says, "Here's some abs, for good measure."

I'm not as pleased with the result as I thought I'd be. It's like he stuck my face on someone else's body. The older version of me was less strange than this . . . doll. "Nope. Go back. I don't like that at all."

"Told you," he says, and his body gains weight again.

"What if I dyed my hair? Got a piercing? A tattoo?"

"That's not a part of you."

"What if you got a tattoo?"

"I don't think it would show—since I'm wearing your skin."

"Yeah, that makes sense."

"If I didn't know you and I had to impersonate you, I would be at such a loss. I can only guess at the length of your hair or what kind of clothes you wear, let alone how you move or talk. Things like tattoos are the least of my worries. Unless they're on their face or their hands, I can wear long sleeves, and nobody would be the wiser. Glasses are not crucial, either. They would just assume I'm wearing contact lenses."

"So when you shifted earlier, you deliberately copied my hairstyle and everything?"

He nods.

"How does that work?"

"Um, I just . . . think it?" Suddenly, he shifts back into himself. It's truly amazing how seamless the process is. One moment, he's me, and the next, he's himself. If I looked away for a second, I'd miss it.

"How many . . . shapes can you shift into?"

"Five. Well, six now."

"Who are the others?"

A look crosses his face. "Just . . . don't ask me how I got them."

"I won't," I promise.

First, he shows me the blond woman. Then, a short, brown-skinned man. Next, a child with glossy black shoulder-length hair, about ten years old. A boy from our school comes up next, and then . . . Cecilia. I almost forget I said I wouldn't ask how he acquired her face. I clamp my jaw shut in fear of saying something insensitive, but he barely gives me time to look at her before he shifts into himself again.

"I don't . . . use her," he says. "Ever."

All I can do is nod.

"I wish I didn't have her, honestly."

"Did . . . did she know?"

"No. I didn't know how to tell her. When I finally worked up the courage . . ." He gives me a sad smile. "Well, you know. If she knew, I wouldn't have felt so bad about it."

"I think she would have wanted you to have it."

"Maybe. Still . . ."

"I understand. I'm not saying you should use it. You can always use my face if you need to. Just don't, like, ruin my reputation or commit a crime in my name or something."

He laughs. "Wasn't planning on it."

I open my mouth to ask another question when someone tries the door handle. "Haley?" It's George. "Are you in here?"

"Yeah, hold on," he says, reaching for his clothes. He's still straightening out his shirt when he unlocks the door. "Everything okay?"

George's gaze lands on me for a moment before she steps into the room. "An ambulance came to pick up Thomas. One of his friends went with him. The rest of the guests weren't sure what to do, so I said they could leave, but there are still a few people downstairs who seem to think the party isn't over. I asked Sam and Davy to keep an eye on them. Now—" She pins Haley with a look, pauses, and narrows her eyes. "Are you high?"

"Wh—no?"

"Are you sure? Because you sure look like it."

"I do?"

I clear my throat. "Your eyes."

Haley walks over to a mirror. "Damn. I never noticed that."

George sighs. "Whatever. It's not like this is the first time I caught you doing drugs. Can you please tell me why you suddenly had to leave? I know it's not because you two needed some alone time."

Haley hesitates.

"Don't lie."

"It's . . . kind of a long story."

"We have all night."

He sighs. "I guess we do. Alright. Close the door."

"Should I go?" I ask.

"Doesn't this involve you, too?" George looks between us. "I mean, you were the one who pulled Haley out of the room."

"You can stay," Haley says, walking back to the bed to sit down. After closing the door, George does the same, except she takes the couch.

Silence settles over all of us.

Then Haley starts, "Remember when Dad kept saying he'd be there for us if we ever needed to talk to him about something we felt like we couldn't talk to anyone else about?"

George frowns. "Yes?"

"He was preparing us for the possibility that there was something . . . wrong with us. It kind of runs in the family. It doesn't happen to everyone, but it happened to me." When she doesn't say anything, he continues, "You and Bobby turned out completely normal, but I'm, uh . . . I'm not human."

"What the hell are you talking about? You look normal to me, Haley."

"I do now."

"What does this have to do with Thomas demolishing the coffee table?"

He runs an agitated hand through his hair.

"If you're gonna say it, just say it," I mutter to him. "There's no way around it."

"I'm a shapeshifter," he blurts.

George's brows furrow deeper. "What?"

"Basically, I can make myself look like other people and I need blood in order to do it. I need the blood of the person I want to imitate, specifically, but I also just need blood in general, like, all the time. And it's . . . it's bad, man. Sometimes I can barely control myself. There was so much of it tonight that I just—I completely froze up. Gus had to take me away before I did something stupid."

George seems at a loss for words.

It doesn't look like she doesn't believe what Haley's saying, but it doesn't look like it makes any sense to her, either. Honestly, I don't know how I would have reacted if I didn't know anything about mythicals. Maybe I would have thought Haley was pulling a prank on me, but his tone is too serious for that. Too honest.

George leans back on the couch, rubbing her temples. "You can make yourself look like other people?"

"Yes."

"Explain."

"When I . . . taste someone's blood, I can read their DNA and use it to recreate their appearance. Like, a literal copy. Should I—" He glances at me. "Should I show her?"

I shrug.

"Yes," George says. "Show me."

This time, Haley chooses the black man. The legs of his pants are too long, so they pool around his ankles, but the shirt fits fine around the stocky build of this stranger. I guess it's a good thing he didn't change into me again, but that probably would've been a bad idea, anyway. George already seems totally flabbergasted. Two Guses might make her lose her shit.

She gets up and walks over to her brother who does not look like her brother, and I think she's holding her breath when she reaches up to poke his arm. "What the fuck."

Haley shifts into himself again, and she yelps in surprise.

"What the fuck," she says again. "Did you drink that man's blood?"

"Uh . . . yes. A long time ago."

"How long have you been able to do this?"

"Like four years."

"What the actual fuck—and you told Gus?"

"Oh, not this again," he grumbles.

"It's because I'm not human, either," I say, and now George turns her bewildered expression on me. "That's kind of how we became friends."

"You're also a shapeshifter?" she asks.

"He's a bear," Haley says. "It's sick."

"You're joking."

"No," I say with a smile.

"Do I get to see that, too?"

I look back and forth between her and Haley, my mouth opening and closing. Taking my clothes off when I'm with Haley is one thing, but getting naked in the same room as George? I would change in the bathroom if my bear form could fit through the fucking door. "I, uh . . . Maybe later."

George doesn't question this and turns back to Haley. "So both of you are actual paranormal fantasy creatures, and Gus had to drag you out of the room to keep you from draining Thomas?"

"Whoa, there would have been no draining," Haley says quickly, raising his hands.

"He only needs a lick of blood," I explain.

"Oh," she says. "But you're better now?"

Haley nods. "Yeah. Thanks to Gus."

"I convinced him—" I catch myself and cut a glance at Haley. "I convinced them to drink my blood because they keep fighting the urge, and it makes them feel like shit. If you were wondering why they smoke so much, it's been over a year since the last time they tasted anyone's blood."

Haley gives a half-hearted shrug.

George stares at them. "Well then . . . That explains a lot."

"Look, there aren't a lot of volunteers, alright? Leave me alone."

"You can add me to the list."

Haley does not know how to respond to that—their face is portraying all kinds of emotions, too many to count or identify—but ultimately, they say, "Thank you."

"This is great," I say. "You'll be good to go for two months."

"Yeah." A smile plays on their lips. "I guess so."

☽〇☾

Come Monday afternoon, Haley has grown determined not to settle for two months. He checks if Margie is listening (she's not) with a comment about her hair (she got bangs) and says, "Do you think we can find that person your mom talked to?"

"What? Who?"

Even though Margie is the only one in earshot, he looks around and lowers his voice before he replies. "You know, the snake."

"Oh. I don't know. It was a long time ago."

"Do you know her name?"

I put my fork down. "Haley, I really don't think it's a good idea to talk to her. We can't trust people who sell information about mythicals."

"I know. We don't have to tell her anything, but think about it: if it's money she wants . . ." He gestures at himself with one eyebrow raised. "I just want to know if she knows any shapeshifters who might be able to tell me more about myself. Maybe they have better ways of keeping themselves occupied when they run out of volunteers. Or maybe they know how to get volunteers without having to explain to people what they are or resorting to violence."

"Well, considering you have so much money, you can probably find a way to get in touch with her without compromising yourself. Better yet, you can find a way to get in touch with another mythical."

He sighs. "I've got to start somewhere."

"Fine. I think her name was Cavanaugh. Paige or Piper or something."

"Alright, I can work with that."

I nod and get back to eating. I've barely taken two bites when Margie unplugs her earbuds and asks, "Hey, you had a party last weekend, right?"

Haley cocks a brow. "Yes?"

"Are you going to invite me next time?"

"No."

"Rude."

He blows her a kiss.

"Why do you care about going to parties, anyway?" I ask, genuinely curious. "You don't even talk to people at school."

Margie opens her mouth to answer, but then a new person joins our table. It's . . . Davy. I blink—it's Davy. He must be the final straw, because Margie makes an irritated noise and gets up to leave.

"Hey, I thought this was your table," I say.

She scoffs. "It's overrun with vermin."

As she walks away, Davy asks, "What's her problem?"

☽〇☾

A/N: Did I write another one-shot? Yes. Is it even longer than the previous one? Also yes. I won't be stopped. Anyway, it seemed appropriate for pride month! I'm publishing it on Patreon for the $5 tier again, titled [No One Knows Me But You] BONUS: All Or Nothing.

Also, I'm obviously doing another reading on Discord. Tune in at 10PM CEST on Sunday (June 12). Join the Literary Lounge. It's fun.

As always, the links are in my bio.