He glares down at the wolf, but everything's a little - softer. "These are chocolate!" He shakes his head, tempted to sit and run his fingers through fur, but he wants to be angry a while longer. "I'm so mad at you," he tells him. "And I hate her for this, Warren. I'm not singing to her anymore. She's just - one more thing that stands between you and your deal."
He picks up a ruined cupcake and watches it crumble in his fingers. "So she needs to learn how to read on her own."
He finally does sit down, leaning his head against the counter. "Happy anniversary. And two weeks after her birthday - what a joke."
There's a reason he's a wolf: it's so that he can't argue anything, so that he can't try to defend anything or anyone. Because that makes them on opposite sides. And he doesn't want to be on the opposite side of Jacobi right now.
Instead, he steps up, into Jacobi's lap and starts nuzzling against his shoulder and his neck and his jaw.
He hesitantly brings one arm around him, relinquishing some of his anger in the face of that unabashed affection.
"You're so heavy," he complains, but he's quiet for a long time after. "You treat her like Maxwell, you know. You were always like that with her. You don't hide it very well." Another long pause. "I really hate it."
That won't change, so in a way, it's a good thing he's on four legs when Jacobi says it. Because he doesn't have to deny it or try to make him feel better about it. It just is.
And it really just is.
He settles his whole weight on Jacobi and nuzzles up against his chest.
Jacobi is quiet, the weight of the wolf against him keeping him somewhat grounded. But he can't shake it. He can't shake that anger he feels burrowed deep in his chest, constricting each breath. The flippancy of his reaction would be enough on his own, but he can't even go to Tim.
The wolf pushes up, careful to push off of the floor to avoid pushing on Jacobi. He makes a soft noise and trots into the next room, the living room, and he'll hop onto the couch to curl into a ball.
Jacobi pauses as Warren jumps onto the couch. "Yeah, we're not doing this. If you're sleeping on the couch, then I'm just leaving to get trashed with Tim or Dorian."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. Look, I'm - I'm pissed at you, but you didn't do anything couch-worthy. You just did what you've always done."
He slips off his shirt. Jacobi's compartmentalized that before. He's seen him hurt so often and he's been able to keep it all stuffed away. So he can do it now.
"Ulla and Trevor can get fucked, though," he mutters.
He makes a slight noise, but it's hard to tell if it's agreement or frustration. Possibly both, given the two names listed. But he'll hop up into the bed and immediately cuddle up against Jacobi.
Jacobi takes a breath and holds him close, arms around him. "You know," he mutters, closing his eyes, "This right here, me spooning a big fucking wolf, is the reason why Tim calls me a furry."
He gives him a little scratch behind his ear. It's early; he had been anticipating staying up much later, but there isn't a point. He knows he's just going to continue to be disappointed and angry. It's just easier to fade into oblivion.
"I love you," he mutters. He's not going to sleep well, but at least he can sleep. "You can clean the kitchen in the morning."
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He picks up a ruined cupcake and watches it crumble in his fingers. "So she needs to learn how to read on her own."
He finally does sit down, leaning his head against the counter. "Happy anniversary. And two weeks after her birthday - what a joke."
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Instead, he steps up, into Jacobi's lap and starts nuzzling against his shoulder and his neck and his jaw.
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"You're so heavy," he complains, but he's quiet for a long time after. "You treat her like Maxwell, you know. You were always like that with her. You don't hide it very well." Another long pause. "I really hate it."
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And it really just is.
He settles his whole weight on Jacobi and nuzzles up against his chest.
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He sniffs.
"I'm going to bed," he says eventually.
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He slips off his shirt. Jacobi's compartmentalized that before. He's seen him hurt so often and he's been able to keep it all stuffed away. So he can do it now.
"Ulla and Trevor can get fucked, though," he mutters.
He turns down the blankets and crawls into bed.
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"I love you," he mutters. He's not going to sleep well, but at least he can sleep. "You can clean the kitchen in the morning."
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He might make breakfast for them. And use the cupcakes to make some cake pops. Set up a cheese plate.
The full apology shebang.