Page 13 of Shift Happens
He beamed, then his expression turned thoughtful. “I should prepare. Research. Make sure I don’t embarrass you.”
“You won’t embarrass me,” I assured him, touched by his concern. “Just be yourself. Well, your human self, obviously.”
“Obviously,” he agreed with a small smile. “No shifting in the convention center. Got it.”
Chapter 7
The week leading up to the convention was filled with Milo’s increasingly excited preparations. He read convention guides, studied maps of the venue, and spent hours debating which t-shirts would be appropriate. His enthusiasm was both endearing and slightly exhausting.
Finally, Saturday morning arrived. I picked Milo up from the small apartment he’d recently rented near the edge of town, closer to the forest where his pack apparently maintained territory.
“Ready for this?” I asked as he tossed his overnight bag into my trunk.
“Ready!” He was practically vibrating with excitement, wearing a Sandman t-shirt I’d helped him pick out and jeans that actually fit properly for once. “I made a schedule of all the panels. Color-coded by priority.”
He produced a meticulously organized convention agenda, complete with highlighted sections and small annotations. For someone who could barely operate a coffee machine, he’d put impressive effort into planning.
The drive to the city took just over an hour, during which Milo alternated between asking questions about conventions and staring out the window with undisguised wonder. I sometimes forgot how new he was to human society; his reactions made even mundane sights like highway rest stops seem novel and interesting.
“Have you ever been to a city before?” I asked as the skyline came into view.
He shook his head. “Not really. My pack stays mostly in rural areas. Easier to shift without being seen.” He pressed his face closer to the window. “There are so many buildings. And people!”
“It’s going to be crowded at the convention,” I warned. “Thousands of people in one space. If it gets overwhelming—”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured me. “I’ve been practicing my human interaction skills. Plus, I have you to follow.”
Something about his simple trust made my chest tighten.
We checked into our hotel first—a mid-range place walking distance from the convention center. I’d booked a room with two queen beds, which Milo examined with great interest.
“These are much bigger than your couch,” he observed, bouncing slightly on one mattress. “Very good for sleeping.”
“That’s generally their purpose, yes,” I replied, amused. “We should head over soon if we want to catch the opening events.”
The convention center was already buzzing when we arrived. Cosplayers posed for photos, vendors hawked exclusive merchandise, and the air hummed with excited conversation. I watched Milo carefully, concerned the sensory overload might be too much, but he seemed to be handling it well—wide-eyed but thrilled.
“Look at that Wolverine costume!” he gasped, pointing to an impressive cosplayer. “His claws look real!”
“They’re probably 3D printed,” I explained. “People get really detailed with their costumes.”
We navigated through the crowded main hall, Milo staying close to my side. Occasionally his hand would brush mine, as if reassuring himself I was still there. Each brief contact sent a small jolt through me that I tried to ignore.
The first few hours passed in a blur of panels, autograph sessions, and merchandise browsing. Milo’s enthusiasm never wavered, though I noticed him becoming increasingly tactile—touching my arm to get my attention, leaning close to speak over the noise, standing nearer than strictly necessary when we waited in lines.
By mid-afternoon, the crowds had swelled to capacity, creating a wall of sound and movement that had even me feeling claustrophobic. During a particularly packed panel discussion, I glanced over to find Milo looking distinctly uncomfortable, his breathing shallow and quick.
“Hey,” I murmured, leaning close to his ear. “You okay?”
He nodded unconvincingly. “Just… a lot of scents. And noise. It’s all… very loud.”
“Let’s take a break,” I suggested, gently guiding him toward the exit.
Outside in a quieter hallway, Milo leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths.
“Sorry,” he said. “Wolf senses. Everything’s amplified. Usually I can filter it, but with so many people…”
“No need to apologize,” I assured him. “Conventions are overwhelming for regular humans too.”
