He was too old for this s**t.

While he couldn't recall any memories of his mundane life, he knew he had been many years away from feeling growing pains and dealing with the unexpected unpredictabilities of a changed body. While his metamorphosis had been sudden and final, his mind and body were still adjusting to chaotic whiplash. The adjustment period would be a while for sure. While puberty was meant to slowly but aggressively step someone from one stage to another, he had skipped the ceremonial pep talk and pamphlets to just tripping into one bizarre thing to the other.

It hadn't taken him long to notice the wet stains.

He didn't think himself as much of a drooler. When he slept it was, as much as he could preceive, quiet and without much fuss. But his arms and tail made it harder to find a more fitting spot and barracks bunks weren't Serta mattresses. It was only the blessing of hard labor and repetitive tasks in his day that left him exhausted and even still he felt an aching in his body that he couldn't shake off. Growing pains from a rough corruption.

It wasn't tell morning, face down and sprawled, that he would notice the drool. Not the typical little spot about the mouth but a good portion of his pillow soaked with a viscus ooze like dripping hot glue gone cold and congealing into the sheets before soaking into the mattress. After wiping off his mouth, he'd confirm it indeed came from him and not from some abnormal leakage from his ceiling dripping down. This wasn't normal by any means and he'd set the half-soaked pillow over the back of a chair to dry, the fabric limp and looking like it was dripping ectoplasm.

Ever since he was more and more away of how often he'd swallow and how he'd find his mouth filling up at the thought of dinner later in the day when he was scrubbing an office or left to sort binders in one of the archive rooms.

The nights then escalated to waking up to an even sadder pillowcase sometimes still resting in his mouth clamped between both rows of teeth. Was he just hungry? He often went to bed feeling well. So he tested it. After making sure to grab a fruit to go, he ate before bed and went to sleep but with little improvement. After a few days he had to hide the pillow until he could sneak into the laundry room and, dejected, sit atop the washing machine as it tumbled about while he contemplated his health.

Arms crossed, he considered something as ridiculous as plastic and decided he'd just keep his pillow away before he passed out. It was at least less suspicious and uncomfortable as bed lining. The following night he pushed the one pillow to his name in the corner and laid uncomfortably on the mattress. While it wasn't great, he managed to eventually fall asleep - and wake up with his blanket in his mouth. It wasn't even drooling now. He was trying to devour his own linens in his sleep.

He spent the better part of the weekend biting on his claws as he worked, trying to think of some solution. He needed an alternative on something to bite on. As for the drool. Well, there was no controlling that and laundry would just need to be done more often for the linens. At the moment, he'd just need to make a request for something to be bought on his behalf but disguise it as something not as suspicious. Not until he had freedom to go out under a glamor and even that idea was more unpleasant then a chewed up pillow.



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