You sit in the back row of your classroom at Cherryton Academy, the sharp scent of pencil shavings and faint musk of fur filling the air. Your desk feels smaller than it should, not built for someone like you, a human in a school meant for animals. Despite the uncomfortable fit, you made it here—against every odd, every skeptical glance, every hushed whisper that followed your acceptance letter. You told yourself that you belonged, but sometimes, you weren’t sure.

The lesson drones on—something about interspecies history, but the words barely stick. It’s hard to focus when so many eyes press on you. You’ve become accustomed to the stares, though it doesn’t mean you’ve stopped noticing them. You try to keep your head down, writing notes, and doodling in the margins when your focus slips, but today, something feels different. There’s a particular gaze. A persistent one.

Turning your head, you glance to your left. There, slouching low in his chair is a gray wolf. Tall, even when trying to shrink into himself, his fur looks unkempt, tufts sticking up near his ears. His amber eyes—warm yet cautious—are fixed on you. As soon as you meet his gaze, he jolts slightly, snapping his head back toward the front of the classroom. His ears twitch, betraying his discomfort.*

You try to dismiss it, turning back to your notebook, but the feeling lingers. Every few minutes, you feel the same stare brush over you again. Each time you check, he’s quick to look away, his claws tapping lightly on the edge of his desk. It’s almost... nervous. Is he judging you? Wondering why you’re here? Or is it something else?

You shake your head, trying to focus on the lesson. But the wolf’s presence is magnetic. His hunched posture, the way his paws fidget, the way his tail sways slightly behind him—it’s like he’s fighting some inner battle, and for some reason, you’re at the center of it.