Atticus fiddled with a wiry red hair. He couldn’t seem to get it to lay flat, no matter what he did with it; using products only made his hair feel gross and slimy like some bog-monster, and that was decidedly not the look he was going for on his first day.

Admitting defeat, Atticus left the strand where it was - he could allow one bit of hair to escape the mop on top of his head. Hopefully no one would notice. With a sigh, he picked up his messenger bag, slipping the long handle over his shoulder and tucking his notebooks more securely inside.

He wouldn’t mind the contents of his bag inevitably being emptied onto the floor once his pack members decided to harass him once again, but, he had one notebook he would really miss.

And also die of embarrassment if anyone read it.

This particular book contained his story plans and extracts - Atticus was not only an avid reader, but writer also. Only, his taste in reading material were primarily action stories and science-fiction, whilst he enjoyed to write something a little more…socially frowned upon.

He liked to write mature gay stories.

In Atticus’s defence, he was a good writer with a vivid imagination, and writing was his way out of the real world. He would write a scene here and there, whenever he was feeling down after a particularly bad day at school or beating from a pack member.

Ah yes, the pack members. Atticus shouldn’t be having any trouble within the pack - after all, he was the current alpha’s youngest son, and brother of the next alpha. But, he was also the runt of the pack, and looked different from everyone else, and this caused the pack members he went to school with to find any opportunity to bully him.

Atticus wasn’t entirely sure why they did it, but it’d been going on long enough that he knew he couldn’t do much to change it - whenever they beat him, the bruises and cuts healed before he got home. There was never any evidence.

Trudging out the front door, Atticus smiled at his neighbour, an elder of the pack who’d been firm friends with his mother, when she was still alive.

Atticus looked like his mother - she had been the last red wolf, and when she died due to labour issues, she left her newborn son as the final red wolf. When he shifted, his wolf was smaller than the grey wolves, and his fur was completely red, with the exception of white areas around his muzzle.

Most werewolves had dark hair and eyes, resembling their wolves. Atticus was different, and therefore automatically got alienated by his peers. Being short and scrawny when in human form definitely didn’t help his capacity to be bullied.

“Thank you, genes,” he muttered as he hopped on the small bus which took himself and the other pack wolves to the school each morning. Taking a seat at the very front, so he could get off quickly at the other end, Atticus played music through his earphones and tried to block out the sneers of the wolves behind him.

No matter what he did, they always found a way to be arses.

A moment later, a tall girl with silky black braids stepped onto the bus also, smiling broadly as soon as she set eyes on Atticus. “Atti!” She squealed, plopping herself down in the seat adjacent to his and throwing her arms around him.

“Morning, Riya,” he replied with a smile, removing one earphone from his ear so he could place it in hers. She hummed along to the tune, closing her eyes and relaxing into the seat. She was so wrapped up in her own world that she didn’t realise the bus had already arrived.

Atticus shook her by the shoulder gently. “Riya, we’re here. We have classes in like,” he peered down at his watch, pushing his sleeve out of the way. “Uh, in three minutes.”

Riya’s eyes snapped open, and she whined, letting herself be pulled off the bus by her friend. “Aww I don’t want to go in,” she pouted, doing puppy-dog eyes at Atticus. He merely huffed, pretending to be annoyed - how could he though, when his best friend was being so adorable?

Giving way to the smile, Atticus marched ahead, beckoning at her with his index finger, making a curling motion. “Come on, pretty sure the teachers’ll be pissed if you bunk off on the first day.” Riya groaned, before hopping up the stairs to the entrance, wrapping an arm around her shorter friend’s frame.

“Alriiiiight. I’ll see you at lunch, m’kay? Love you byeee,” she called as she twirled on her heels, elegantly moving down the hall to her first class. Atticus sighed again, heading in the opposite direction to where he had figured out his first class was. He’d have to make all new friends, considering that Riya was in the year above him.

Just as Atticus turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of a boy walking through the entrance. Atticus’s jaw dropped. Quickly checking he wasn’t drooling, he peered up at the other boy, who was chatting and laughing with his friends. He had short black hair which was spiked up at the front, and my God did it look fluffy.

Atticus wanted to touch that hair, but knew he would probably never have the chance to be close enough emotionally to this guy to do something as intimate as touch his hair. Still, Atticus decided to enjoy the view. “There’s no harm in window-shopping,” Atticus whispered under his breath with a giggle, knowing that if anyone saw him right now, he would look infinitely creepy.

Deflating a little when he realised the boy was about to disappear round the corner, he suddenly turned around - and stared right at Atticus. He felt his heart rate pick up and his breath catch as he gazed into oceanic blue orbs, unable to move his gaze away.

The spell was broken when a massively loud bell rung above Atticus’s head, snapping his gaze from the boy to the bell to his right. And when he turned back, the boy was gone.

“Well, consider me fucked,” Atticus muttered on his way to class. “That guy is extremely my type.”