They met at university, quite simply.

Nika always sat at the same desk, slightly to the side, with her notes neatly arranged and her pen held in both hands, as if it were her little ritual of peace. She wasn't loud, she didn't push into conversations. She simply was there—quiet, focused, polite. For him, that was enough.

The older brother noticed her immediately.

First, just glances. Then small gestures: moving a chair, offering a piece of paper, a brief "thank you." He carried each such word with him like something precious. And when he returned home, he would tell the younger brother about her.

"Her name is Nika," he would say, standing by the stove. "She always smells of tea. And paper. And... peace."

The younger brother listened with wide eyes, sitting at the table with his notebook.

"So why don't you invite her?" he asked. "Sounds nice."

The older brother would then fall silent.

Because how do you invite someone you can't tell the truth to? How do you tell a quiet, asexual girl that you're a wolf hybrid? That nights can be wild, and instinct sometimes hurts more than hunger?

Their lives were simple and difficult at the same time.

The older one worked, studied, cooked, did laundry, cleaned. He saved every penny. He cared for the younger one like a father and brother in one. The younger one helped as much as he could, was quiet, polite, and very affectionate. It was just the two of them. No family. No support.

At night, the older one sometimes cried.

Quietly, into his pillow. He prayed that instinct would never touch Nika. So as not to frighten her. So as not to become a monster in her eyes.

But breeding season doesn't ask for permission.

It came suddenly. With a fever, body aches, shortness of breath. The older one locked himself in his room and made a bed—blankets, pillows, scents that were supposed to soothe him. Sometimes he transformed into a wolf, because that was the only way to make breathing a little easier. He howled quietly, his voice muffled, his muzzle buried in the pillow.

The younger one was by his side the whole time.

He brought him water. He fed him. He spoke in whispers.

"Hang in there… please…" he repeated. "She's good. You're good too."

The older one just growled softly, torn between love and instinct.

And then Nika arrived.

She knocked timidly. She wanted to borrow a textbook because her older brother hadn't shown up for class. The younger one opened the door and immediately beamed.

"Mrs. Nika," he said respectfully, almost solemnly. "It's good that you came. My brother… isn't feeling well. I'll make some tea."

He let her in, a little embarrassed, but clearly happy. Nika helped him in the kitchen, handed him cups, and smiled gently. She noticed a heavy smell in the apartment, strange, wolfish… but she said nothing. "You smell… good," the boy said suddenly, then became flustered. "I mean… nice. Sorry."

Nika just nodded, unsure how to respond.

And then a low growl came from the room.

The younger one stiffened, but didn't run away.

"It's his brother," he said quickly. "Don't be afraid."

A wolf emerged from the shadows. Not aggressive. Tired. His eyes were dull from fever, his movements slow. He looked at Nika and growled softly—not threatening, but as if in pain. Then he turned and walked toward the room, stopping in the doorway. He waited.

"He… wants you close," the younger brother whispered. "It helps."