Five

 “Hurry Chaerin! We’re going to be late to class!” Sandara urged, slinging her book bag over her shoulder.

“What are you talking about? I’m ahead of you! Hustle Unnie, hustle!” Chaerin remarked. The pair arrived just in the nick of time, a few minutes before the bell was set to go off. They sported cheeky grins and found their seats, scheming to throw a party for Bom’s upcoming birthday before the class began.

The day’s lesson focused on interactions with children, how to approach or work with them, especially if they suffered from abuse or disabilities. She focused intently, her pencil scrawling in a few last minute details when the sight of a child’s swollen, red-stained eye stared back at her, hollow and dead.

She lost the grip of her pencil, the yellow tool landing on the floor.

Her professor had actually brought up some images of abused children, and this one had dwelled in an extremely dry, smoke filled area that caused a blood vessel to burst. Her chest swelled with anger, but also churned with nostalgia.

The red pigment was ruined for her – it always reminded her of him.

Her hand reached for the forsaken pencil, her mind trying to focus back on the lesson. She hadn’t seen him since the fall, her spring term progressing smoothly. Chaerin managed to snag another dear friend in Sandara Park during their psychology class; her quirky and hyperactive nature a captivating charm. 
And yet, Sandara was also older, among Bom’s class and wouldn’t remain at the school for much longer. She did her best to accept her lonely fate when time came for her to register as a senior.

Days went by, and while she did struggle with paranoia for some time in the beginning, nothing ever did happen. Supernatural events were no longer an occurrence of her daily routine, she could stay as long as possible at her job, the appearance of another mutt no longer a part of her list of things to avoid/worry over.

He made true to his promise to never appear in front of her again; she hadn’t seen a single strand of his wild hair, or witnessed his dark gaze since the day he left her. On her way to the library, she frequently used the path he mentioned to her on one of their encounters, and slightly hoped he would be there, a smirk etched on his features.

Sandara nudged her, concern writ across her face. Chaerin’s mind processed that it was time to go and she collected her things, assuring her friend she was fine, perhaps a bit tired.

“I can’t believe I didn’t get you as a partner for the first project! Ugh. And he won’t even allow us to change partners, I think we’re stuck with these guys for the entire semester.” Sandara grumbled, wringing her petite hands.

Chaerin grunted, “Your partner can’t be that bad. I got myself a freshman. Arrogant punk, if you ask me.”

Sandara gaped, “But mine is so scary! He screams pain and misery! Have you seen him?”

She thought for a moment, trying to visualize his face. “Actually, I don’t think I have and I’m not sure I want to now.”

“I’m doomed, Chae! Doomed!” Her friend cried, asking the Heavens what she did wrong in her life to deserve this. She pinched the bridge of her nose, displaying her distress. Chaerin laughed.

After finishing up her late night shift, she dawdled along her trail, scanned her surroundings, only to come up short in finding him among the trees. “Ah,” Chaerin sighed. Maybe she should quit while she was at it. He only ever brought danger. Her eyes glanced at the oak tree, its branches dangling over the ground almost tenderly.

Memories surfaced, her eyes having to shut at the overwhelming amount of terror that came with it. “Maybe, but not today.” She murmured, further delaying her journey home.

The next night shoved aside prior complicated matters. “Ah! Sandara you missed it! He proposed!” Charin proclaimed eagerly into her cell as she entered her house having wrapped things up at Bom's surprise birthday bash. “I know, I know Sanghyun comes first. Bom understands. But, he proposed! We’re going to be bridesmaids! Hopefully Bom doesn’t turn out to be a bridezilla. Poor Siwon, haha. Alright, I’ll call you tomorrow and fill you in on more details, that is if Bommie doesn’t beat me to it. Talk to you later, dear. And hopefully your sweet brother feels better by then!”

She placed her cellular phone on the coffee table and herself onto her couch, her feet tired of running around like a madman in heels. Sleep came to her, drooping her eyelids, consciousness fading, the faint sound of a scratching on her door slipping past her alert system.

“That’s the last time I crash on this couch,” She groaned, rubbing her sore neck. Chaerin set about to make a pot of coffee, her attention engrossed on finding her coffee-maker only to be disrupted by a deep, inarticulate sound of pain.

Knowing from experience that strange, unexpected sounds led to danger, she equipped herself with a broom – which reminded her she needed to go shopping for a proper weapon. She gradually approached the sound that led to her backyard, her broom raised, prepared to strike.

The broom clattered to the ground, her gasp audible enough for her trespasser to raise his head, his hands clinging to his side in agony. “Baekho?!” She exclaimed, stunned by his disturbing pallor, scratch marks on his chest, and current state of undress. Bath first, questions later.

He sat on her floor, beside her couch, wrapped up in an old quilt of hers, his hair dripping with water from his newly taken bath. She snatched a towel and set to drying his hair, concerned over his shivering form.

“You can borrow some of my friend’s clothes, they’re baggy and loose enough to fit your build. I think.” Baekho nodded his head softly, acknowledging her statement.

The previously tattered young man emerged, fully dressed, his steps slow and dragging. Chaerin pulled her hair back, and assisted him to the couch.

Her eyes sought contact with his. “Baekho, what the hell happened to you?” 

And he repeated those all too familiar words she first heard him speak. “I don’t know.”

His voice rose in pitch, in alarm, his eyes bugging out in terror. “I think I’m losing it. There are gaps in my memory. I can’t even remember what I did yesterday.” Tears pricked his eyes, but he damned his masculinity to hell. Trembling hands grasped onto her shoulders, panic rising. “What’s going on, Chaerin? What is happening to me?” He shouted, sincerely asking her for answers.

“Baekho, you have to calm down.” She insisted, trying to rip his hands away, but his nails dug into her skin; she winced. His fragile state of mind could spiral out of control if she didn’t do something, and fast.

Her hand slapped him across the cheek, momentarily stilling his actions. “Baekho, get a hold of yourself.”

He withdrew his hold on her, clutching onto his own head, settling for weeping. “What’s happening to me?”

Confused herself, she could offer him nothing, but solace. She soothed his unease enough to get him to drift asleep on her couch, her hand brushing his hair softly.

The next morning she discovered he had fallen ill and assuming it was the cause of his anxiety attack and possible delirium, she put her sick days to use and tended to her guest. Her Friday was spent replacing wet cloths to place on his head, helped him reach the bathroom, and aided him during his regurgitating episodes.
She notified Bom to communicate the night to Sandara, she was a bit occupied watching over – her eyes landed on Baekho’s tufts of shaggy, golden-brown hair- a sick cousin.

Unfortunately, she wouldn’t be able to meet up with the girls that night, she apologized, her friend hushed her, they would move the girls' night out to another day. Chaerin scoped out her kitchen and noticed she was in dire need of produce, and also allowing her to snag some more medicine for her fallen visitor to use. Certain he was asleep with an empty stomach, she went out to pick up some necessities around six in the evening.

She rushed through the front door as soon as she swung it open, her arms filled with groceries and supplies. The sight of the empty couch startled her, causing her to quickly stow her bags in the kitchen, her goal on finding her missing ill guest.

A thunderous rattle pulled her outside, her voice calling out to him delicately as she pursued the racket. And the noise erupted into cries that wavered between groans and shrill screams. Chaerin neared her garage, her breath stolen from her upon landing her gaze on the source of commotion. Baekho was thrashing about, his hands clawing at his heart, his chest, his neck all-the-while belting out his terror.

He caught onto her presence, yelled for her to leave, to lock herself away quickly.

His pleas fell on deafening ears and he heaved up more liquid. Bewildered, and frightened for his life – because honestly all that ran through her mind was that he was off the deep-end, contemplating suicide – she came to him, her right hand reaching for him.

His words began to falter, to slur, his body crumpling to the ground, prompting her to speak his name urgently. His head snapped up, pale green orbs swirling at her, canines peeking out from under his lips, the points sharp and dangerous. She had the audacity to hope it was a prank this time around after all she had witnessed.

He threw his head back, a monstrous roar ripping from his throat and then it happened. She remained rooted to the spot as his body contorted in sickly shapes, the bones popping, and rearranging, the sound was absolutely nauseating.

His back rippled with fur and spread out all over his body, over his paws. Instead of her unsuspecting guest, there stood a wolf, its lips curled back, and displaying perfectly pointed incisors.