Oh, the instinct of comforting your shapeshifter husband when he thinks you're going to leave him.
You have been married to him for two years now. And you did know your husband very, very well. You knew his accent, his jokes, the way he walks. Everything a wife is supposed to know, you do. And he does believe that, too.Â
Except, of course, that Joshua never believed you would figure out what he truly was.
When you first started dating, he was a perfect actor. He had a career, an apartment, and a handful of friends. He even ate normal food around you. Until you started noticing that he always disappeared for a few minutes after dinner or lunch, just to throw it all up. And whenever you asked if he was alright, Joshua pretended nothing had happened. There were also the nights when he waited for you to fall asleep before slipping away to hunt. You pretended to sleep, of course — but it didn’t take long for you to connect the dots. News about random people going missing always seemed to follow the nights he was gone.
You didn’t quite understand what he truly was, but you did know he was not a human being. He couldn’t eat regularly, couldn’t sleep as much as you did. And he was warm. Really, really warm. On certain days, his skin was so hot you were sure it was almost vaporizing. On those days, he took long, long cold showers, and he wouldn’t let you come near him or touch him.
“Baby, if you’d just let me take care of you…”, You tried, stepping closer.
“No need. I swear. I love you, have a lovely day.” he would say in a rush, going to “work”, not even stopping to kiss you goodbye.
But you weren't scared; not at all. You knew he would never hurt you, it didn’t matter what he was; Joshua was your husband, after all. And you would have lived your life pretending you didn't know a thing, if it weren’t for one particular night that he spent almost two hours in the shower. Worried, you decided to open the bathroom’s door, and everything was a mess.
He was inside the bathtub, completely submerged, the shower still running and making the tub overflow onto the floor. The bathroom looked more like a pool now. You rushed forward, almost panicking and pulled his body out of the water.
“Love, what are you-” Fucking burning. The water was freezing, but his body was so hot you couldn’t hold onto him. A pained, choked moan slipped from your mouth as you tried to understand how the hell his skin could be at that temperature.
How long had he been submerged like that? Was he dead?
With terrified eyes, as if he were still half-awake from a trance, he looks at you, then down at your hands. They’re red now, still stinging slightly from the shock of touching his skin.
He lifts his hands, instinctively trying to reach for you, but stops halfway through the motion, slowly processing what just happened.
“Was it me?” he asks. His pupils dilate, his voice rough, weak, almost gone. “Did I hurt you?”.
Still shaken, you can only manage a few broken murmurs, too worried to form real words.
“You were in there for so long… I thought you had- I thought…”
He understands what you were about to say and shakes his head immediately.
“It’s okay. It’s okay, I promise.”
He definitely wasn’t okay, even as he tried his best to calm you down. The freezing water hit his body and evaporated almost instantly. Inside the bathtub, the water began to bubble. The running shower echoed loudly, the bathroom growing more and more soaked by the second.
Joshua slowly gets to his feet, still dizzy, taking a deep breath. You almost reach out to steady him, but he lifts a hand and gives a soft warning “ah-ah,” motioning for you to stay back so you won’t get hurt again.
“I need you to leave. Go, get out of here. Please. Can you do that for me? M’love, here, pay attention to me.” He says, trying to pull your attention back to his face as he turns the shower off, away from the sight of his chest skin flushing red.
You shake your head. You’ve seen his skin turn that color before — and every time, he ran.
“I’m not leaving you,” you say, your voice still trembling, but firm.
“I can’t do this in front of you. I can’t. Please, sweetheart, I—”
His sentence breaks off halfway as his body falters, and he drops to his knees on the floor. One hand presses against his chest as he starts coughing, still trying to force words past his lips, but he’s far too weak for that now.
Moving quickly, you grab the bathrobe, the thick fabric of the towel giving you just enough protection to touch his back. Carefully, you drape it over his shoulders, holding his body as gently as you can.
“I’m not leaving. Stop holding back. Do whatever you have to do, don’t hide from me. Let me help you.”
At your final plea, he finally gives in to the pain. His skin begins to heat up again, even more than before, steam rising from his pores. You drop the robe immediately, watching the redness spread across him until the vapor darkens — thick, black, like smoke.
It doesn’t smell burned.
Sitting on the floor not too far from him, but not close enough to get hurt, you watch your husband, your partner of years, completely change his skin. A dark being, entirely black like the night, strong-bodied and hairless, takes his place.
His breathing slows. His body relaxes, as if he’s no longer fighting an unbearable strain. Finally at ease, nearly drained, he leans his back against the wall and lets his head rest against the tiles, fogged over by steam.
He lifts his gaze to you. His eyes are completely white, hollow, like a void. Nothing like the calm green you’re used to.
“It’s me,” he says, his voice very, very weak. “I swear it is. Please don’t be scared. I swear I’m-” he coughs softly, exhausted, his eyes fluttering, heavy with sleep.
“I know, my love. I know. It’s okay.” you move closer, slowly, crawling toward him until you’re close enough. “I’m going to take care of you. Let me take care of you, okay?”.
You reach out and touch his face, now warm again, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek before whispering once more: “I’ll take care of you. You can rest now.”
Almost immediately, his eyes fell shut. Joshua slips into a deep sleep, anesthetized by the pain he endured for so long.
Once he’s asleep, you try to lift him somehow, to get him off the wet floor — but he’s far too heavy. So you grab the bathrobe and spread it out on the ground, and with a lot of effort, you manage to lay his body down on it, dragging him out of the bathroom.
Knowing you won’t be able to carry him all the way to the bed, you improvise instead. You set up the camping mattress you used to take on trips, piling it with the softest blankets you can find, and then push yourself even harder just to roll him onto it.
When Joshua wakes up, he knows something is wrong.
He feels as though he’s recovered months’ worth of energy. His body doesn’t ache, doesn’t protest after spending so long in a form that isn’t his natural one. He also knows he’s not in bed, but he can smell you.
He looks around and finds you lying on a rug beside the camping mattress where he’s resting. You’re asleep, peaceful. And then he remembers.
The heat building in his body. Trying to drown it out with cold showers, hoping to suppress the pull back to his original form. Sometimes, he couldn’t go out to hunt without distracting you first. And so he stayed the same, in the shape of the man you fell in love with, for days.
When he pushed past his limit, his body gave up on holding it in and transformed on its own. There was no temperature cold enough to stop it.
Joshua knew he had gone too far this time.
He swallows hard, his throat aching. He hasn’t been asleep for long. You’re not wearing the same clothes either, and from what he can see of the en-suite bathroom, everything is dry and clean now.
While he’s in his original form.
When he starts to stir, pushing at the sheets, already preparing to force himself back into his human shape, he feels a warm hand press firmly against his chest.
“You can stop right there,” you order, your voice still rough with sleep. “If you change forms again knowing it’s going to hurt you, I’ll kill you myself.”
“I don’t want to scare you.”
“I’m not scared, I’m pissed,” you snap. “Never hide anything from me again. Do you hear me?”
“I hear you.” He holds back a smile, already knowing you’re not going anywhere. “I hear you. I am so sorry, my dear. I am so sorry.”
He pulls you closer, his massive form, still larger than his human one, carefully settling you on top of him, one hand stroking your hair as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.
Of course, there’s still so much to discover. So much about him to understand. So much he still needs to tell you. But for now, resting your head against your husband’s chest, knowing he’s no longer hiding anything that could hurt either of you, feels like enough.
