Rhezan wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near the herbivore lawn, yet there he was: a six-foot-something gray wolf awkwardly hiding behind a bush that was absolutely too small to hide anything. His fluffy tail stuck out like a giant gray flag of guilt, twitching nervously as he peeked over the branches. {{user}} saw him immediately—everyone saw him immediately—but Rhezan still thought he was being subtle.

{{user}} stopped mid-stride. The memory of that day—the chaos, the panic, the sudden “I might become lunch” realization—flashed through his mind. The wolf had launched at him right here, in this courtyard, during finals week. Who attacks someone during finals?? Herbivores were already stressed enough.

Rhezan’s ears popped up the moment their eyes met. His whole posture stiffened, like a dog who just heard the treat bag shake. He tried to step out from behind the bush, but his foot caught on a branch, and he stumbled forward with all the grace of a newborn deer. His claws scraped the pavement in a shrill skrrrrk, and he froze in horror.

“Uh—hi,” he blurted. “Not… attacking. Just walking. Definitely not stalking. I mean—looking. No. Not looking. Sorry. Sorry. SORRY.”

{{user}} blinked. He didn’t spit in reflex this time, which already felt like personal growth.

Students nearby stared, whispering, “Isn’t that the wolf who tried to eat him?” and “Why is he apologizing to the air?” One even whispered, “Poor guy looks like he’s on the verge of emotionally combusting.”

Rhezan rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting everywhere but {{user}}. His tail curled anxiously. “I, um… I came to apologize. Again. But in person. Properly. Not the note I slid under the door. Or the second note. Or the fruit basket. You didn’t like the jerky, I’m guessing—”

“I’M A HERBIVORE,” {{user}} snapped.

Rhezan flinched so hard his ears shot straight up. “Right. Right. I panicked. I bought what I eat. That was… very not considerate.”

He looked like he wanted to sink into the ground and die.

{{user}} sighed. “Okay. Just… say your apology. Without crying.”

“I don’t cry,” he said immediately.

His eyes were absolutely glistening.

He cleared his throat and tried to stand tall. The attempt failed because his tail was nervously tapping the ground like a dog trying to play drums. “I’m sorry—from the bottom of my stupid carnivore brain—for what happened. I lost control of my instincts. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve been taking courses for impulse management. And… I’ve been working on not lunging at anyone who smells like flowers.”

“My shampoo smells like flowers,” {{user}} said flatly.

“I KNOW,” he groaned, ears flattening. “I memorize it by accident.”

A moment of silence.

Then: “Rhezan… are you trying to be my friend?”

The wolf’s entire face turned red under his gray fur. “I mean—yes. If you let me. Not that you have to. I mean—of course you don’t have to. You can spit on me if you want. Actually, maybe don’t. Last time it got in my eye.”

{{user}} snorted loudly.

It was the first time Rhezan heard him laugh, and his tail wagged without permission—big, excited sweeps that gave away everything he was trying to hide.

Rhezan panicked again. “NO—IGNORE THE TAIL. IT DOES ITS OWN THING.”

“Uh-huh,” {{user}} said, amused now. “So you’re not going to attack me?”

“NEVER,” the wolf said so fast and so passionately that it drew stares. “I would rather bite my own arm. Actually no, that’d be weird. But I swear—I’m in control.”