"When I'm away from you, I'm happier than ever."
~ Billie Eilish, Happier Than Ever
The lycanthrope stood in the middle of the living room, shoulders squared and neck held high as any soldier would, but his eyes were glued to the ground. He just stood there and waited as if the couch wasn't two feet in front of him. It was as if he were... waiting for something?
Her breath immediately caught in her throat when she looked at him- I mean, really looked at him for the first time. Muscles rippled across every part of his toned body. He was a giant, really. Not just in muscle mass, but overall height. He had thick, loose curls for hair that were dark brown, nearly black. He had a well-defined chin and jaw that was covered in light facial hair. His lips appeared soft and plump to hide his dangerously sharp teeth behind them. Beneath his dark brows, his golden eyes were as direct as expected, not even blinking as much as the average person.
Now begged the question: what in the world was she supposed to do with him?
Her nerves were at an all time high, the adrenaline making her body tremble. If he wanted to hurt her, wouldn't he have done it by now? What did he even want with her? She was in this position because of him, after all.
Even from where he was on the opposite side of the living room, unbeknownst to her, he could hear her frantically racing heart and her quick, short breaths. She was scared, he realized. Rightfully so. What he did that night was out of character for him as a person, but not entirely for a lycan.
"Are you going to hurt me?" The sentence came out rushed, like it had been brewing inside her and just had to get it out there.
He hesitated, making her stomach churn in tense, tight cramps. While she believed it was because he had to think on the question, it was actually because he was hurt she'd think so.
Subtlety, he shook his head once.
To be honest, she didn't know why she asked that. He could be lying for all she knew. The only hope she had was the book said he wouldn't and he hadn't hurt her as of yet.
She sucked in a sharp breath and firmly told him, "I'm not sure what your plan is here, but this is my home. I make the rules and I expect you to respect them, and me. So just... whatever you're hoping to get from me, throw all your expectations out now. I'm just here to help you get adjusted to society. Understood?" Though she tried to be firm, her wavering voice was anything but.
Slowly, he nodded.
She released a breath she didn't know she was holding. "Good." She decided. After a long stretch of silence, from the other side of the room, she asked him, "would you like me to show you your room?"
He didn't look up and said nothing.
She tried again. "It's up the stairs, this way."
He took a small, single step towards her. It was just enough for her to know he was listening. It wasn't until then it dawned on her that there was a possibility he didn't speak. However, at the very least, he could have nodded.
She started walking up the stairs and out of her peripheral vision, she saw him follow from several feet behind. His body posture was very alert and guarded, ready for an attack at any second, but something about him seemed frightened at the same time.
What could possibly frighten a werewolf?
What was interesting to her that even on her old, creaky, wood floorboards, his footsteps didn't make a single sound. She was maybe half his size and the wood groaned and squeaked under her feet, but his footsteps were silent. That led her to believe she only heard him when he broke in the other day because he wanted her to.
She shuddered and shook the thought away. Thankful for the distance between them, she led him to his room- the guest bedroom. Married or not, she would never share a bed with him. She prayed he wouldn't kill her for it either.
"This is your room," she said as she opened the door.
Uncomfortable at the thought of him looming behind her, even though he kept his distance, she stepped inside the room to keep it that way. It wasn't a large room. It was fairly simple with light blue painted walls, same wooden floors, a raggedy rug under the bed, and a desk. In the corner was a wardrobe for whatever belongings he had.... and from what she saw, there was none other than the clothes on his body. She made a mental note to buy him some clothes later.
He said nothing for a moment, further fueling her theory he didn't speak. Before she could ask, his deep voice rasped out of him. "Cell."
"I-I'm sorry?" She sputtered, shocked he spoke.
His golden eyes flickered across the room. "This is my cell." He clarified.
"This is your room." She told him, lips tugged down in a frown. Had he never had a room before?
When he went back to being mute, she spoke up, "I'm Sophie. Do... um... do you have a name?" If she wasn't paying attention, she wouldn't have noticed the slight furrow in his brows. She asked a different way. "What do they call you?"
Slowly, he lifted his hand to rest on his broad chest. In small, bold letters on his shirt, across his left pec spelled out, "Project X354183."
She bit her lip, mulling on his response. "That's what they call you... but is that who you are?"
Again, he hesitated. He hadn't been called by his birth name in God knows how many years. Even he forgot he used to be called by it from time to time. He was so used to being referred to as Project X354183. That, or the lycanthrope, mutt, or other derogatory terms.
"Cillian." He responded, slowly.
She noticed he only spoke when a question was asked and in brief responses. There was always hesitation before he did so. While his voice was deep and rough, he replied quietly. Not necessarily small, but cautious.
"Cillian..." she drawled. She studied him, confused. He was acting more afraid of her than she was of him.
However, she noticed he was doing his best to appear smaller, his bowed his head to show he meant no harm.... Difficult to pull that off when you're a giant werewolf man, with fangs and claws, and arms nearly as thick as her waist that definitely weren't just for show. They could snap her neck with a flick of his wrist.
She cleared her throat and asked, "what is it you want from me, Cillian?"
No response. Not a blink, not a furrowed brow, not a glance in her direction, nothing. In fact, he had yet to look at her at all.
She grounded her teeth, agitated. "Go ahead and get settled in here. I'm gonna go run and see if I have any clothes that'll fit you to sleep in."
When she left, he examined the space to ensure it was safe. He was confused by it. He didn't understand why where he would stay had a bed, colored walls instead of white, and even a carpet at his feet. It had to have been a trick or a test. General Hoppers would never let him stay in a place like this.
Just a door over was Sophie's room. Growing up, she'd always steal some of her dad's shirts. When she moved out, he gave her a couple of his clothes to take with her. Her dad was a smaller than Cillian, but pudgy. Cillian was a lot larger and bulkier compared to her dad, but she hoped some loose fitting pajama pants with drawstrings would fit.
She went back to his room, to find him standing in the middle of it, looking unsure of what to do with himself. He heard her coming, but didn't acknowledge her presence.
"I found a couple tshirts, pajama pants, and sweatpants for you. I'm not really sure most of them will fit." She listed off and placed the articles of clothing on his bed. "You can go through them and see what you like for now, and the rest we can put away. We'll have to go shopping soon."
He stared blankly at the clothes. They were all the wrong colors and fabrics of what he was allowed to wear. He was only allowed black clothes so he wouldn't stand out or be spotted. They were never comfortable or nice looking, only practical. This had to be breaking some kind of rule.
"Do you not like them?" She wondered.
His jaw clenched, his brain desperately reaching to find the right string of words to say. He didn't know how to communicate what he was thinking.... because he didn't even know what he was thinking.
Sophie just stood there, somewhat patiently. She didn't know how to help. She figured that maybe he never had to make a decision before. Being treated as "military equipment," there was a chance that everything had always been chosen for him.
With the bed separating them, she stepped closer to it. His eyes briefly flickered up to gaze at her wearily, before dropping back to the floor. She held up each article of clothing, seeing if each piece of clothing would fit just by the looks of it.
Most of the clothing she was wrong about. Only a pair of flannel pajama pants looked like it would fit him. Even though they were supposed to be loose fitting with draw strings, they would most definitely be tight on him.
She picked up all the other clothing and said something about ordering more clothes his size on Amazon. He wasn't sure what that meant, but didn't voice it.
"That door is a bathroom. Feel free to help yourself to the shower and whatever else you need in there." She told him, quietly, clearly tired as the night's events caught up with her.
She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and mumbled, "I normally have breakfast around eight if you want some. I'm, umm... I'm gonna head to bed. I'll see you in the morning."
He looked totally and completely lost, as if he had no idea what to do with himself.
She sighed and said, "you can go to bed too."
He glanced at the bed, unsure.
"On the bed, yes." She confirmed with slight irritation. She didn't mean to come across as rude, but she just wanted today to be over. "Any questions?"
His jaw clenched and he shook his head.
"Okay, well... Goodnight, Cillian."
He watched as she left, the door closing shut being her. Just one room over, he heard her moving something heavy across the floor. Little did he know, she was using her dresser to barricade herself in her room. Just to be safe, her weapon- the broom stick- was at her bedside as well.
He stared at the bed a little longer, his big hand grazing over the soft sheets. He inspected it some more, ensuring there were no restraints, bombs, boobytraps, sharp objects, or anything to hurt him under or in the bed.
Finding none only confused him further. He had never been allowed such luxury before. Timidly, he sat on the bed, the frame groaning from under his weight. He didn't bother with putting on the pajama pants, but took his boots off.
Slowly, he turned on his side and laid against the bed, wondering what he did to deserve to be gifted something so generous and kind.
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I know I said I'm going to post a new chapter every 5-7 days, but it's only been 3 and I got excited ð I wanted to get to the part where we finally get to know Cillian a little more!
Thank you for 670 reads!!
Question of the chapter: what do you think of Cillian so far?