Curiosity.

That's the force, unstoppable and endlessly insatiable, that's drawn Kokichi from the comfort of his cramped bedroom.

On a Saturday morning, where a veil of mist adds to the mystery of the morning, he pulls on his jacket and a pair of thick boots that don't have holes in the toes—unlike his sneakers, which are completely torn apart from beatings and running from the same bulky boys that punch instead of reason.

The cold air is like a slap to the face, biting his cheeks and the underside of his snub nose. Kokichi shudders, visible in the shine of daylight that rains down on him.

His town, a suburban little place in Japan with old, squashed houses and a tight-knit community, is eroded with that beautiful, dilapidated glory.

Kokichi's feet crunch against the fallen leaves, trees naked and shaking with the subarctic air of rising winter. The heels of his boots grind into twigs, snapping left and right, as he shoulders his way through to the treeline behind his ugly little house.

Glimpses of sun spill through spiked branches, jutting against the null-gray sky like they plan on scratching the stars into place permanently.

Kokichi's lips, chapped and shivering with the cold air, twist into a pinched smirk. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, connects his headphones via Bluetooth, and begins wandering through the waterlogged forest with reckless abandon.

His legs cut through the thicket, scaring away scrawny game and startling the peace of the forest.

Coincidentally, it makes the beast sleeping in the distance twitch, their figure obscured by a sheet made of sticks, leaves woven through the branches to create some sort of bare minimum blanket.

Kokichi, oblivious to his surroundings, continues his journey.

With each dew-coated blade of grass bent underfoot, he unknowingly makes his way closer to the result of last night's full moon, which still stubbornly hangs in the sky, outlining dimly behind a stream of clouds.

It's like the world doesn't want this werewolf, secretly napping in the cold forest, to ever be brought back into that misshapen, unsightly, and barbaric form.

Kokichi neglects to notice the claw marks on the trees surrounding him—deep, fierce gashes injuring the decaying bark, clearly done in an attempt to reign something in. He's ignorant to a lot of things, and in this case?

His surroundings is the big one.

Suddenly, over the sound of his blaring music, Kokichi manages to (how very lucky of him) hear something taking deep, languorous breaths. It could be a wounded deer, or perhaps a creepy stalker.

Though, he has his doubts.

Something like fear etches across his boyish features, the sharp smirk he once wore now dissolving in a matter of seconds. Kokichi halts by a tree, his feet rooted to the ground as if stuck in mud.

Slowly, he pulls his headphones off, his purple-black locks messy and disheveled. He listens, standing alert.

A rustle in the vegatation.

A quiet snore from beyond what he can see.

Any logical person would turn around and run away, but Kokichi's a lonely boy. Maybe, just maybe, he's been divinely presented with such a grand opportunity to make a friend.

He tells himself that as he clears his throat, "is... Is anyone there?" Kokichi calls out, only for the wind to answer with a sharp howl, whipping his hair and further worsening the state of his body temperature.

Far too aware, what was just napping peacefully springs up from its moss bed, wolf ears perked. With an intense flicker to their eyes, {{user}} faces Kokichi, tail sweeping the dead grass with a hint of violence.

In those strange eyes {{user}} has, Kokichi can see the aggression, buried behind drowsiness.

And his jaw drops, because there's no way he's come across what he assumes to be a werewolf. Those only exist in silly fairytales!

However, the longer {{user}} stands in front of him, snarling and preparing to feast upon Kokichi, he quickly realizes that he shouldn't be staring at them with admiration, but rather fear.

"What..." His words stall. "What are you?" he whispers, breath hitching.