Archive of Our Own ^beta

There’s this thing Bennett always says to them- “people just know what they see”. Lately, Razor has been rolling the thought around in their mind, when they can’t sleep, trying to understand what it means. But now… they think they’ve cracked the code.

The air in Wolvendom is still at night, and though it’s not yet dark, the rain on their skin makes the trees quieter still. They’ve been running through the undergrowth for almost a mile, away from things that hurt. It’s something Lisa always says not to do. But running is all they know.

And human feelings are so… hard. Every time they try, no one seems to know what they’re trying to say. Part of them wants desperately to keep trying. The other part is just glad to be home.

The trees here, they don't ask questions. They don’t ask about one thing, and call you ignorant for answering how you thought was right. They don’t call you a dog, a mutt, a stray, just for trying to get by. They don’t hurt you. They don't talk.

Communication never seems to get easier; they learn the words, put them out in the order they are taught, and still sometimes come back bruised. There's so many unspoken rules to conversation, so many nuances to find- Razor is always almost sure they understand, right before they're told they're wrong again.

Too loud, too harsh, then too quiet and soft- they'll never get these feelings, never understand themselves in the way humans think they do. They can run all they like, but even back home, they’ll never quite fit. There's a paradox, and even the steadiest of feet can fall.

Human eyes on inhuman skin is harsh and burns right through- Razor has never understood how people see them, but sometimes they’re given it in words. A halfbreed, the man called them. It wasn’t in an unfamiliar tone.

And people are kinder, sometimes- since Bennett, the cityfolk keep that wide berth with an air of respect, but also something sad, and they hate that those glances make them seem weak. They don’t understand how people get them so wrong, when they don’t know how to be anything but true. It’s usually better just not to talk.

But everyone else does. They don’t miss the gossip with the stares, the way their existence seems to be a fun story to unpick; they try to ignore it, focus on Bennett’s cheery ramble, but sometimes the noise just gets all too much.

Wolvendom isn’t like the city. There’s plenty of space to go when they need to get away, and company when that feels alright- the rain doesn’t make their teeth hurt much any more, but when the wind starts to drive them insane, there’s always a cave to head inside.

People make so much noise- it’s exhausting to be around, and they often find themselves unconsciously backing out of the city gates before the day’s even begun. It’s just… nicer, to have control of what you feel. Being around smells, and noise, and lights, and people… it’s not quite safe. There’s just not enough places to go.

Being a person is so much effort, and being an animal seems sorely won. Everything they do seems to come with an unspoken question, or a statement settled cruel- they hate the notion of options, when no one ever seems to tell them what things mean, and everyone else already knows. Perhaps it’s a ‘wolf thing’. Perhaps they’ll just need to go through more change.

They love Bennett, and Lisa, and Klee, but they’re so tired of the sun. They’re sick of broken conversations with people that don’t care, because talking is so much work, and at the end of the day, it’s so likely they’ll mess it up, they don’t even want to try. When they don’t speak, Bennett gets it. But that doesn’t make the exhaustion leave.

Lisa’s conversation sentences can only get them so far- most days, talking just feels like it’s too big for them to hold. Words fit in their mouth all wrong, like they were never made to fit, and as they trip over syllables falling from behind their teeth, they have to try so hard to ignore the burning in their ears. They hate when people laugh. They wish they could do more.

It would be so nice, they think, to be like someone, anyone else. Even before, they used to sit in the bushes near the city gates, and just watch the world go by; human interaction has always seemed so fascinating and wonderful, but so separate from their world. Razor doesn't feel like they were made for things like that. They’re not human, not quite.

Everyone loves to tell them what they are, what they aren't, what they could and should be, but they don't feel like anything at all. The line between man and beast is too small. They don’t know where something like them fits in.

It hurts, sometimes- when there’s nothing left to do, they find their little corner of the world filling up with thoughts they don't have the words to say, and almost crack. Humans are bright, and funny, and kind- Razor wants to be those things, too. They’re trying so hard. They just don't understand.

Even Klee gets how people work; they’ve seen her wrap adults around her finger in seconds by blinking slowly and smiling big, and she’s just a kid. They don’t get it, but everyone else seems to function on these notions alone. It’s frustrating. It’s exhausting. They don’t know why they try.

Well… until they do. There’s this nice warm feeling that blooms in their chest at the sound of lyre music, or Lisa’s reading, or Bennett’s laugh, and it’s like catching alight. These feelings are different, and they’re human, because they’re new and frightening and that’s what humanity is, just a big mess of warmth and light and life. Razor doesn’t fit there- they never will- but sometimes they try and sneak through the cracks.

They want to be light, too.

Razor wants to be alone, but they miss people terribly- they crave this odd equilibrium that they can’t have or express, and so they think about Bennett, and the curve of his pink cheeks in the sun. His hands are always soft. He’d know what to say.

There’s so much time spent on feeling out of place, that they almost forget to feel things at all. They’ll try to get it out, soon. Bennett always knows what they’re trying to say. They almost miss him, and his charred warmth, in the wind.

It’s too much, too soon, to go back to the pack tonight. They settle for a cave. They’ll figure it out.