Morning arrived slowly. Sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft, muted bands, cutting across the floor like ribbons of gold. Freddie's eyes fluttered open, the lingering weight of sleep still heavy in his limbs. For a moment, he couldn't pinpoint the unease clinging to him—then it hit: the memory of last night, the shadow beside his bed, the voice that was both him and not him.
He sat up, pulling the blankets around his shoulders, and let his gaze drift to the corner where the shadow had been. The space was empty—just his room, silent and ordinary, except for the faint residue of something inexplicable.
"Just a dream," he whispered, though the words lacked conviction. His tail twitched unconsciously, a subtle tension threading through him. It wasn't fear—not exactly—but it came close.
He went through his morning routine mechanically, letting the motions take him in. Shower, clothes, breakfast—each action a tether to reality. Glancing into the mirror while brushing his teeth, his cyan eyes met his own once more, familiar yet strangely alien. He paused, catching a faint flicker of doubt in the reflection.
Did that really happen?
Freddie shook his head, forcing the thought away. "Nothing to see," he muttered. "Just me," he added, though even he didn't fully believe it.
Outside, the day was bright, busy, ordinary. Students hustled along the streets, bikes clattered, and the distant hum of traffic filled the air. Freddie moved through it like a ghost at first—quiet, observing the ebb and flow of people, the rhythm of the day. Every so often, though, his mind drifted back to last night—the shadow sitting there, waiting, speaking in that voice.
He told himself it was harmless, just a trick of sleep—imagination fueled by too many first-week jitters. Yet deep down, he knew the weight of its presence had left a mark.
By mid-morning, he had reached a small courtyard near campus, choosing a quiet bench that offered shade and a partial view of passing students. He tried to focus on the mundane—notes to review, schedules to plan, faces to remember. Yet the shadow lingered at the edges of his mind, uninvited.
It wasn't real, he reminded himself again. It couldn't be. Still, every flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision made him pause. Every shadow felt heavier, every reflection in a window seemed to hold something more than his own.
For the first time since arriving at college, Freddie realized he couldn't fully ignore the feeling. Something had shifted. Something was waiting, quietly, alongside him.
He stayed on the bench longer than he intended, letting the warmth of the sun settle over him. Students passed in pairs and small groups, laughing, talking, hurrying to their next class. Everything looked ordinary, mundane, yet he couldn't shake the echo of the shadow from his mind.
It wasn't fear exactly—more like awareness. A subtle, persistent pull, as if some part of him had been seen in a way no one else had managed. He traced the rim of his cup absentmindedly, letting his thoughts drift.
The shadow hadn't come to hurt him. That fact both comforted and unsettled him, implying intention—but of what? Guidance? Observation? Something else entirely?
Freddie leaned back, letting the sunlight warm his fur, trying to quiet the swirl of thoughts. He told himself to focus on the day, on classes, lunch with friends, anything that grounded him in the ordinary. Still, no matter how hard he tried, the memory of that low, dark voice lingered—so like him, yet entirely not him.
For the first time, he allowed himself a quiet curiosity. He didn't understand it, couldn't define it, but he knew it was there—and that he would notice it again, eventually.
Rising from the bench, he stretched lightly and tucked his notebook into his bag. The shadow's memory pressed insistently. He shook his head, trying to clear the thought. Today had to be ordinary. Classes, people, routine—everything predictable. Yet a part of him remained alert, scanning the corners of the courtyard, catching his reflection in windows, watching the play of light on the walls.
He walked slowly, letting his eyes trace familiar shapes: the worn edges of stone steps, the swirl of leaves caught in the breeze, sunlight dappling the benches. Each detail felt sharper, deliberate, as if the world had exhaled and invited him in.
A group of students passed by, their conversation a rapid cascade of words. Freddie caught fragments: a joke, a question about an assignment, the promise of meeting later at the café. None of it required a response, yet it anchored him. He realized he could observe without being swept up, note without reacting, exist without losing himself.
For the first time in a while, he felt the pull of quiet steadiness. The shadows weren't gone—they never would be—but for now, they lingered harmlessly at the edges. With each step, he felt a subtle shift, a quiet assertion: at least for this moment, he could choose where to stand in the flow of the world.
Turning toward the main walkway, Freddie let the crowd carry him toward the campus center. He spotted Casey near the library steps, leaning casually against the railing, phone in hand, scanning the crowd like someone half-distracted but entirely aware.
"Hey," Casey called as he noticed Freddie approaching, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Freddie returned the greeting, nodding and falling into step beside him. They walked in silence for a moment, matching the rhythm of students around them.
"Class doesn't start for a while," Casey said finally, tucking his phone into his pocket. "Thought I'd wait here. You get here early, or are you just... slow today?"
Freddie smirked, amusement breaking the calm he'd held. "Maybe a little of both," he admitted, letting his gaze wander across the courtyard. Sunlight caught the leaves, shadows pooled beneath the benches, and the hum of conversation felt orderly, grounding.
Casey glanced at him, curiosity flickering. "You're... quiet today. And not your usual quiet. Everything okay?"
Freddie shrugged, letting the words he didn't say stay with him. For now, he had a pocket of normalcy—Casey's presence, the steady bustle of campus, the ease of an unhurried morning. It was enough.
"Hey, talk to me," Casey said gently, nudging him with an elbow. "Are you okay, literally?"
Freddie gave a small shake of his head, eyes tracking sunlight on the stone steps. "Not exactly," he admitted. "I... had a nightmare last night. Woke up to a shadow in my room."
Casey softened, a mix of concern and understanding in his gaze. "Shadow in your room, hm..." he murmured to himself before looking back at Freddie. "Want to talk about it?"
Freddie shook his head lightly, tension easing at Casey's presence. "Not really. Just... needed to remind myself that it's morning, that this is real. That I'm here."
Casey nodded. "Yeah. Morning. Real. And you're here. That's enough for now."
The campus noise—the chatter, footsteps, hum of life—felt like a protective barrier. Freddie leaned on it, letting the morning hold him upright while the dream's echoes receded to the edges of his mind.
The air felt lighter as they walked, morning sun warming the stone paths. Freddie's shoulders loosened, and their steady steps made conversation easy, almost automatic.
"So," Casey said, glancing at him, "you actually finishing that sketch from yesterday?"
Freddie shook his head. "Not yet. Got distracted... by dreams, apparently." He shrugged, the shadow at the morning's edge muted.
Casey laughed softly. "Nightmares are hard to sketch. They don't look right on paper."
Freddie chuckled quietly. "Looks better in the dark anyway, I guess."
They fell into companionable silence, students passing, backpacks swishing, laughter blending into campus rhythm.
Then a familiar voice cut through. "Hey, you two!"
Katherine strode toward them, energetic as ever, backpack slung casually over one shoulder. Her presence pulled attention, making the ordinary feel brighter. Freddie found himself smiling despite the dream's remnants.
"Morning," Casey greeted, nodding. "You're early."
Katherine waved. "Apparently, I like to make an entrance. What's up with you two?" Her eyes narrowed slightly on Freddie, sensing the weight he carried.
Freddie shrugged, keeping it light. "Just... walking. Talking. Nothing exciting."
Casey shot him a knowing look, aware Freddie was downplaying. For now, the ordinary march of steps, courtyard chatter, and Katherine's energy were enough to keep things normal.
Katherine fell into step beside them, filling the space with her energy. "So," she said, swinging her backpack strap higher, "are we pretending to be productive anthros today, or is this another 'walk until class starts' morning?"
Casey snorted. "I vote walking. Productivity feels aggressively early."
Freddie huffed a quiet laugh. "Seconded." It felt good—easy, like slipping back into a familiar groove where nothing demanded too much.
They cut through a side path lined with trees, leaves overhead filtering sunlight into shifting gold patches. Katherine dramatized an assignment she hadn't started, making Casey roll his eyes. Freddie listened, speaking less, but this time it wasn't heavy quiet—it was comfortable. He was present.
"So," Katherine said suddenly, glancing at him, "you look exhausted. Raccoon bags, I assume?"
Freddie shrugged, hands tucked into his sleeves. "Yeah... just tired. Didn't sleep well."
She studied him a beat longer, then nodded. "Campus has that effect on people." Her attention drifted back to Casey, launching into another tangent without pressing further.
The campus noise swelled around them—voices overlapping, footsteps echoing, someone laughing too loud nearby. Freddie let it wash over him. No shadows where they shouldn't be, no whispers tugging at the edges of his thoughts. Just the steady presence of friends and the promise of a class that didn't start for a while.
For now, normal held.
They slowed near the center of campus, where paths branched out in different directions. Students claimed benches, coffee cups balanced on knees, laptops open more for comfort than necessity. Someone's music played faintly, tinny but cheerful.
Casey checked his phone. "We've got, what, twenty minutes?"
"Twenty-five," Katherine corrected without missing a beat. "Plenty of time to do nothing too important."
She dropped onto the edge of a low stone wall, stretching her legs out. Casey followed suit, leaning back on his hands. Freddie hesitated, then sat beside them, the cool stone seeping through his clothes.
For a while, they simply existed together. Katherine talked about a professor who graded like they took it personally; Casey chimed in with sarcastic commentary, exaggerating every complaint. Freddie smiled, nodded, added a remark here and there. It felt... normal. Comfortably so.
Freddie tilted his head back, watching clouds drift lazily overhead. Nothing like the sharp, crawling shapes from his dream. His chest loosened at the thought.
"Hey," Katherine said suddenly, bumping his knee lightly. "Gaze up—you're really here today."
He blinked. "What does that even mean?"
She shrugged, not unkindly. "Sometimes you're... somewhere else. Today you're not."
Freddie considered it, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm trying."
Casey glanced between them, not commenting, only giving a small approving nod.
Casey checked the time—a reminder that class would start whether they were ready or not. Freddie exhaled, grounding himself in sound, moment, and the people beside him.
For now, everything stayed exactly where it was supposed to be.
Casey pushed himself up first. "Break's over. If I sit any longer, I'm not getting back up."
Katherine groaned but stood anyway, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "Tragic. I was really settling into my 'doing nothing' era."
Freddie rose more slowly, adjusting his bag strap as they merged back into the flow of students heading toward academic buildings. The crowd thickened closer to class—footsteps overlapping, voices bouncing off concrete walls, tails swaying as students moved past one another.
They didn't make it more than a few steps before someone shoulder-checked Freddie hard enough to make him stumble, claws scraping briefly against the stone to steady himself.
"Watch it, bub," snapped a sharp voice.
Freddie looked up. A wolf—dark gray-and-black fur with a lighter streak down his muzzle—stood arms crossed, posture rigid. Eyes flicked over Freddie with a quick, dismissive sweep.
"You walk like you're not even paying attention," he added, loud enough to draw glances.
Casey immediately stopped. "He was paying attention. You ran into him."
The wolf scoffed, ear twitching back. "Sure. Whatever helps you sleep."
Katherine stepped forward, tone light but edged. "You good? Or are you always this charming before class?"
He rolled his eyes, tail flicking sharply. "Don't make this a thing." His gaze lingered on Freddie a second too long, like waiting for a flinch. "Try not to drift off in the middle of campus next time, bub."
Freddie felt that familiar tightening—not fear, exactly, just irritation. He took a steady breath, grounding himself in the solid press of pavement, morning sun on his fur, quiet presence of Casey and Katherine.
"I'm good," he said calmly, cyan eyes steady. "You're the one stopping traffic."
A few nearby laughed softly. The wolf's jaw tightened, ears flattening briefly before he caught himself. Muttering under his breath, he turned away, tail snapping once, disappearing into the crowd.
Katherine let out a breath. "Wow. What a delight."
Casey glanced at Freddie. "You okay?"
Freddie nodded—and realized he meant it. "Yeah. Let's go. I'm not letting... whatever that was, make me late."
They continued toward the building, the moment fading into campus background noise—rustling fur, soft thuds of paws and shoes alike. Not forgotten, but manageable.
Casey leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "That's Riven," he said.
Freddie glanced back once, catching the final glimpse of dark fur as the wolf disappeared into the student stream.
"Riven?" he echoed quietly.
Casey nodded. "Riven Holt. You'll see him around. A couple overlapping courses. Always acts like he owns the place. Don't take it personally."
Freddie absorbed the name, filing it away. Riven. A marker on a map: pay attention here.
They reached the humanities building doors, glass reflecting their shapes—three figures moving together, steady, unbroken. Freddie pushed the door open, cool indoor air washing over him.
Whatever Riven's problem was, it wasn't his. Not today. But he couldn't shake the feeling that their paths would cross again.
The hallway hummed with movement as Freddie followed Casey and Katherine inside, voices echoing softly off the walls. Lockers lined one side, bulletin boards cluttered with flyers and half-torn notices on the other. The normalcy eased him, each step pulling him further from the sharp edge of the encounter outside.
They split off near the main stairwell.
"Same time tomorrow?" Katherine asked, already walking backward for a step.
"Yeah," Casey replied. "Try not to tackle anyone on the way."
She grinned. "No promises."
Freddie lifted a hand in a brief wave before turning toward his first class. The lecture hall doors were already open, students filtering in and claiming seats. He slipped inside, the room cool and dim compared to the bright morning outside.
The space was wide and tiered, rows of seats curving toward a long desk at the front. Freddie chose a spot a few rows up—not too close, not too far—and settled in, bag at his feet. The low murmur of conversation filled the room.
Pages rustled, chairs shifted, tails tucked in and out of narrow aisles.
When the lecture began, the professor's voice cut through, steady and practiced. Freddie listened, letting the cadence pull him in, grounding him. Notes came easily, his pen moving almost on its own.
A minute passed. Then someone slid into the seat beside him.
Freddie glanced over—and paused.
Angelo.
He was impossible to miss once known: warm-toned coyote fur, neatly kept, eyes bright with a familiar ease bordering on mischievous. He leaned back, notebook open, already appearing comfortable in the space.
Angelo caught Freddie's look and smiled. "Morning," he murmured. "We meet again... well, I saw you, I guess."
Freddie's shoulders relaxed without realizing they had been tense. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I know you from yesterday."
"It'd be worse if you had memory loss," Angelo replied lightly, tapping his pen once before returning to his notebook.
Freddie faced forward again, but the weight of the seat beside him felt different—familiar, steady. The professor's words flowed, but for the first time that morning, Freddie felt something settle comfortably into place.
Minutes later, the professor announced they would work in pairs. A ripple of chatter ran through the room, quickly cut short by a sharp call for attention.
Freddie felt Angelo shift beside him, giving a brief playful glance—light, teasing. He wasn't focused on the assignment; he wanted to talk.
Angelo leaned back slightly, elbow resting casually on the desk. "You know," he began, voice low, "sometimes I wonder if I overthink things. I spend so much time noticing what everyone else is doing... maybe I miss out on just doing stuff myself."
Freddie glanced at him, curious. "Do you?"
Angelo shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his muzzle. "Maybe. I like paying attention. People, situations... how things unfold. Makes life feel less random. But enough about me. What about you? You seem... different today. Tired, obviously. Did something happen this morning?"
Freddie hesitated, pen hovering above his notebook. "Just... a normal morning," he said, keeping his voice steady. "Nothing special."
Angelo tilted his head, not pressing but not letting it drop either. "Normal? That doesn't sound like you. Usually a little more intense than this." He chuckled lightly. "I'm curious—what's going on in there when you process?"
Freddie's ears twitched, subtle but noticeable. "Mostly thinking," he admitted. "About things that don't need to be said out loud."
Angelo nodded thoughtfully, leaning just a fraction closer. "Makes sense. I do that too, in a way. But I like asking questions—it makes people talk about themselves. Helps me understand." He gave a small teasing grin. "So... what are you thinking about right now? I promise I won't make fun."
Freddie considered it, pen tracing a faint line along the notebook. "Just... how to focus. On class. On notes. On not thinking too far ahead."
Angelo nodded again, eyes softening. "I get that. I'm terrible at focusing sometimes. My brain just... wanders. But you? You seem like someone who holds everything inside, then lets it out all at once. Am I close?"
Freddie looked down, silent for a long moment, then shrugged slightly. "Maybe. Depends on the day."
"Fair enough," Angelo said, smiling warmly. "I just like knowing people. Understanding how they tick. You're not the easiest to read, you know that?"
Freddie let a small smile slip. "I've heard that before."
Angelo leaned back fully, stretching one arm across the desk. "Good. Means you've got layers. Layers are interesting. I like layers."
Freddie laughed quietly, more easily this time. "I don't know if I'd call myself interesting."
"Maybe not," Angelo said softly, "but I do. And you're mine to figure out—if I can." His grin returned, playful but genuine.
The rest of the discussion period passed in quiet bursts—Freddie cautiously opening up, Angelo nudging gently with questions, sharing a little about himself but mostly listening. The small bubble steadied Freddie in a way he hadn't realized he needed.
When the professor cleared their throat, students began presenting in pairs or small groups. Freddie felt a faint tension at first, but it eased—he had anticipated this. He knew Angelo hadn't been fully focused, but he had been paying attention. Their ideas fell naturally into place.
"Excellent," the professor said, leaning forward. "Really thoughtful work. I'm impressed."
Angelo gave Freddie a small, pleased grin, subtle but meaningful—"we did this." Freddie felt a quiet swell of confidence, steadying him.
The class passed in rhythm—note-taking, questions, quiet observation. When the professor dismissed them, students gathered belongings and filtered out.
Outside the lecture hall, Angelo nudged Freddie lightly. "Walk with me?"
Freddie nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. They began down the corridor, the hum of campus surrounding them.
Moments later, Casey and Katherine appeared, cutting across the crowd. Casey's eyes landed on Angelo immediately, scrutinizing him. Freddie noticed the tension in that look—they didn't know each other. Katherine, on the other hand, gave a faint, acknowledging nod, no hint of friendship but recognition.
Freddie and Angelo fell into step together, Casey quickly joining with a lopsided grin. "So, this is the famous Angelo, huh? The coyote my friend here mentioned you."
Angelo gave a small, polite smile. "Angelo Serrano. Pleased to meet you."
Casey leaned in slightly, playful. "Casey Draven. Nice to finally put a face to the stories. Though I have to admit... you're not exactly what I imagined."
Angelo tilted his head, amused. "And what did you imagine?"
Casey shrugged. "I dunno... maybe more sneaky? Less approachable?" He glanced at Freddie. "Clearly I was wrong."
Freddie tried not to smile too much, feeling the corners of his mouth twitch. "He's... approachable," he said quietly.
Angelo's ears flicked just slightly. "Thanks, I think." His grin was subtle, warm. "Could say the same about him," he added, glancing at Freddie.
Katherine caught up, stepping beside them with her usual composed posture. "I've seen you around, Angelo. Not friends—just... present," she said lightly, eyes sharp but curious. "Small classes. Your reputation precedes you, in a sense."
Angelo nodded politely. "I suppose so. Though I hope my reputation isn't too... intimidating."
Katherine's lips quirked. "Intimidating isn't the word I'd use. Subtle, maybe."
Casey raised an eyebrow. "Subtle, huh? I think you're underestimating the coyote. Or overestimating yourself."
Angelo laughed softly, low and easy. "Maybe a bit of both. But I try to keep things interesting."
Freddie stayed quiet, watching the interplay. A small warmth spread through him—being part of this, even passively, felt easier than expected.
Casey glanced between Freddie and Angelo. "So, what do you two get up to outside of classes?"
Angelo shrugged casually. "Mostly wandering around school, having little adventures. Not much structure."
Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Little adventures? Sounds vague."
Casey grinned. "Vague but mysterious. I like it. Makes him sound dangerous—or at least interesting."
Angelo shot Casey a quick playful glance. "Interesting is safer than dangerous."
Freddie snorted quietly, shaking his head. A faint laugh escaped Angelo, and Casey smirked.
Katherine chuckled softly. "You're fitting right in, Freddie. With friends like these, you'll never be bored."
Freddie felt a quiet, steady confidence rise inside him—not overwhelming, just present. The interaction felt comfortable, grounding him in a way rare and welcome.
They continued walking, voices overlapping, teasing lightly, sharing small observations. The ordinary corridor felt alive in a subtle way—balancing chaos, humor, and calm.
The walk didn't last long. One by one, paths split as schedules pulled them in different directions. Casey peeled off first, tossing a casual wave. Katherine followed, already shifting back into calm academic mode.
Angelo lingered a second longer with Freddie before heading the opposite way, offering a small, easy smile. Freddie returned it silently, then continued toward his last class. Tuesdays were light—only two classes—and it was relieving to know the afternoon was his.
The classroom was quieter than the last, voices low, footsteps soft. Freddie took a seat mid-room, bag at his feet. He scanned the room briefly.
Across the room, someone caught his attention.
Riven Holt.
The wolf sat a few rows away, posture relaxed but alert, eyes fixed on Freddie just long enough to register before looking away, leaving a faint imprint on Freddie's awareness.
Freddie didn't dwell on it, turning his attention forward. The lecture began, familiar and measured, slides progressing without fanfare. Notes were taken, pages turned, the quiet scratch of pens filling the room.
Riven remained, present but distant. No staring now, no attempt to engage—just another student, indistinguishable once class had settled.
Time moved slowly but not unpleasantly. When the professor wrapped up, students packed up without lingering.
Freddie slung his bag over his shoulder, heading out, the day winding down without incident. Nothing strange. Nothing pressing. For now, that was enough.
The afternoon had a slower rhythm. Most students had cleared out. Freddie walked alone, enjoying the quiet—space to think or not think at all.
Down one of the interior hallways, sunlight poured in through tall windows, striping the floor in warm bands. His footsteps echoed faintly, the openness making him more aware of himself.
Then, two figures appeared ahead.
Impossible to miss.
One was a lion—tall, broad-shouldered, mane neat but effortless, posture relaxed as if he owned the hallway without trying. The other, a hyena, lean and confident, grin crooked but sharp, eyes curious. Both familiar faces on campus: popular, athletic, recognizable even without knowing them personally.
As Freddie passed, the lion spoke first, warm voice tinged with a faint drawl. "Freddie, right?"
Freddie slowed, surprised. "Uh—yeah."
The hyena chuckled, unmistakably Australian. "Creative writing lecture. You're on the roster, mate. Plus, word gets around."
Freddie's ears warmed instantly. "Oh."
The lion smiled, easy and genuine. "I'm Elias. This is Jax."
"Pleasure," Jax said, gaze flicking over Freddie curiously, yet not boldly.
They exchanged polite words until Elias checked his phone.
"Ah, hell. Gotta head to my last class," he muttered. Nodding toward the opposite hallway: "You two behave."
Jax snorted. "Always do."
Elias gave a friendly smile. "Good meetin' you, Freddie. Catch you around." He disappeared down the corridor, boots echoing softly.
That left Jax.
The quiet shifted. He adjusted his bag strap and fell into step beside Freddie. "You headin' anywhere specific?"
"Not really," Freddie admitted. "Just... walking."
"Same. Got practice later—football—but got time."
They walked in easy silence. Then Jax glanced sideways. "You always this quiet, or am I just intimidatin'?"
Freddie huffed a small laugh. "No. I'm just... like this."
"Mm," Jax said thoughtfully. "Don't mind it. Makes conversations feel... real."
Freddie glanced at him, surprised.
Jax didn't push, just matched his pace. "You should come by the field sometime. Don't have to watch the game or anything. Just hang out."
Freddie nodded, shy but sincere. "Maybe."
Jax smiled slightly, pleased. "Cool."
They continued down the hallway, afternoon stretching quietly around them. For once, Freddie didn't feel alone.
They reached the crossroads where paths curved toward the athletic fields. Jax slowed, then stopped, rocking back on his heels.
"This is me," he said.
Freddie nodded. "Right."
Brief pause—present, but not awkward.
Jax scratched the back of his neck, then smiled. "Hey. If you ever feel like walking instead of disappearing after class... you can find me here. Or around."
Freddie met his eyes. "Okay."
Jax's grin widened subtly—not smug, just satisfied. "Cool. See ya, Freddie." He jogged off toward the fields.
Freddie stood a moment, heart steady, thoughts warm. The afternoon felt lighter.
Not because anything big had happened.
Because something had started.