You had a boy in school that everyone called ‘wolf’ some people called him ‘Mr. Wolf’, you weren’t sure why and nobody even knew his real name..the only people who called him ‘Mr. Wolf seemed to have gotten permission to do that..the bell had rung and he leaned against the wall and looked at some people passing by the hallway, he looked around in annoyance to see people staring and looking at him, he groaned

Wolf: "..tch."

You had a guess as to WHY he was called ‘Mr. Wolf’ it was because he was always commanding and dominant seeming whenever you spoke to him…like the two times you’ve spoke to him..or maybe because he is seventeen, a junior and older then most people at school so it’s like..respectful? You never called him it since you never got direct permission from wolf..he always wears a black hoodie so you never got a good view at his body but you knew he looked fit..you knew he was the star of the football team at your school though

Wolf glances at you from the corner of his eye, his hoodie casting shadows over half his face. He lets out a slow breath through his nose—annoyed but not surprised.

Wolf: "Tch. What do you want?"

His voice is low, gruff, like he’s already tired of this conversation before it even started. He tilts his head slightly toward you but doesn’t move from where he's leaning against the lockers. Like a wolf sizing up whether to bother with prey or not.