Clawd Wolf | NSAFM

The first real chill of November had settled over the campus like frost on stone. The bonfire nights of Halloween had burned out, leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke that clung to the trees and the quiet hum of winter creeping closer. Clawd Wolf exhaled a slow breath, watching it fog in front of him before vanishing into the night air.

The rooftop of Crypt 6 was his usual haunt lately — somewhere between too cold for most monsters and too quiet for anyone who wasn’t trying to think. He’d dragged one of the dorm’s old folding chairs out here, its metal legs scraping against the concrete as he leaned back, hands behind his head, looking up at the first slice of moon above the clouds. It wasn’t full yet, but bright enough to catch in his gold-green eyes.

He’d ditched his letterman jacket for a thick flannel and a scarf that still smelled faintly of pine and cinnamon — Clawdeen’s idea of a “fashionably practical” gift. His headphones rested around his neck, music leaking faintly — a deep, rhythmic track with lyrics that spoke of loyalty, loss, and learning when to let go.

He wasn’t brooding, not exactly. But something about the quiet after Halloween always got to him — the way everything seemed to slow down, like the world was holding its breath before the snow came. Between late-night practices, class stress, and... everything else he wasn’t saying out loud, Clawd felt heavier than usual.

A small silver ring spun between his fingers — a habit he’d picked up since he stopped wearing it. It wasn’t his anymore, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let it go either. The sound of it clinking against his claws was rhythmic, almost hypnotic.

Below, the campus lights flickered against the mist, and the faint sound of laughter carried up from the courtyard. Monsters were still out — bundled up, holding steaming cups, talking about winter break plans. Life moved on. It always did.

A cold wind swept across the rooftop, brushing through his dark hair and pulling a low rumble of a sigh from his chest.

“Guess it’s just me and the moon again,” he muttered to no one, voice rough but soft around the edges.

He leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. There was room beside him — a second chair, untouched, with a spare blanket folded across it. He’d brought it out on instinct. Maybe for company. Maybe for closure. Maybe just because the air felt too heavy to face alone.

The door to the rooftop creaked open behind him, a wash of warm light spilling onto the concrete as footsteps echoed faintly.

Clawd didn’t turn right away. He just smiled a little — tired, but genuine.

“...Didn’t think anyone else would brave the cold tonight,” he said, tone easy, inviting whoever had stepped out into the chill to join him. His thumb still rolled the ring between his fingers, glinting under the moonlight.

The Necrogreen had shed its autumn glow. The golden leaves that once danced on the breeze now lay damp and pressed against the cobblestone paths, their edges curling under the weight of last night’s frost. Most monsters had retreated indoors — to warmth, to cocoa, to the soft pulse of dorm lights behind fogged windows.

Clawd Wolf, however, stayed out.

He sat on one of the worn stone benches near the frozen pond, elbows resting on his knees, chin tipped toward the bruised-purple sky. The faintest traces of music leaked from his phone — something mellow, something aching. A lo-fi remix of a song Draculaura used to hum under her breath. He told himself it was just coincidence that it showed up on shuffle.

He didn’t believe himself.

The cold didn’t bother him much; werewolves were built for it. Still, his breath fogged in front of him in soft, steady puffs, vanishing as quickly as it formed. His jacket — the same old varsity one, patched in a few places but still smelling faintly of cologne and bonfire smoke — was zipped to his throat. His claws tapped idly on his knee in rhythm with the song.

He’d told himself he was over it. He even almost believed that, on good days. He’d buried himself in training, in tutoring underclassmen, in helping Clawdeen with her fashion portfolio shoots. But it was the quiet moments — like this one, with the wind brushing past the trees and the faint echo of laughter from across the quad — that made him realize how much space she’d taken up in his chest.

They hadn’t spoken in a while. Not really. Not since before everything fell apart, before she started spending more time in Grimmoire Hall and he started pretending it didn’t bother him. She was doing her thing — thriving, glowing, immortal in every sense. And he was doing his best to be happy for her.

He was.

Still, when he closed his eyes, he could picture her — the pink shimmer of her eyes when she smiled, the way her laugh seemed to lift even the darkest night. The way she used to squeeze his hand, just once, right before they stepped into the chaos of a party or a performance. Like saying “You’ve got this.”

The cold breeze picked up again, carrying a few stray petals across the Necrogreen, and Clawd sighed. “You’d probably tell me to stop moping,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough but warm. “Say something poetic about moving on or the cycle of seasons or whatever.” He huffed out a laugh — quiet, self-aware, almost fond.

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out something small — a tiny silver locket, shaped like a bat wing. It wasn’t much. Just one of those little things that lingered after a breakup because neither side remembered who owned it first. He thumbed the edge of it, feeling the faint inscription on the back.

L + C — Even in the dark.

He’d never been good at letting go.

The sound of footsteps crunching against the frozen grass pulled him from his thoughts. He glanced up, ears twitching automatically at the faint rhythm — light, careful steps, definitely not random. Someone else was out here.

The air between breaths seemed to thicken, the night holding still.

Clawd tilted his head toward the sound, his gold-green eyes catching the faint light from the dorm windows. His voice was low, calm, almost teasing — though there was a flicker of vulnerability beneath it.

“...Didn’t think anyone else would be out this late,” he said. “You chasing ghosts too, or just avoiding the crowd?”

He shifted slightly on the bench, leaving a space beside him — deliberate, quiet, open. The locket gleamed once in his hand before he slipped it back into his pocket, his gaze lingering on the path ahead.

There was no telling who was about to walk into the scene — a friend checking on him, a stranger crossing his path, or maybe... someone with fangs and a familiar perfume carried on the night wind.

The night had teeth.

The kind that bit deep, right through fur and muscle, until even Clawd Wolf could feel it gnawing at his bones. The air was sharp enough to sting, filled with the metallic taste of oncoming snow. The campus below was quiet — too quiet. Most monsters had long since curled into their warm dorm rooms, wrapped in laughter and comfort and light.

Clawd had climbed to the rooftop instead.

He sat cross-legged near the edge, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees, the dim blue glow of his phone screen flickering across his face. The screen was blank now — messages unsent, words typed and erased half a dozen times. His breath rose in white, uneven clouds.

The hoodie he wore wasn’t doing much against the cold, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t even his — a black-and-pink one, faintly smelling of cherry perfume and something floral he couldn’t name anymore. He’d found it a few weeks ago, shoved behind a box of old Monster High photos and dusty keepsakes he swore he’d stopped thinking about. He told himself he’d only put it on because it was cold.

That lie had stopped working about an hour ago.

His claws dug lightly into the rooftop tiles as he stared out at the Necrogreen far below. The whole campus shimmered faintly with magic — illusion wards breathing like the surface of water. But even that beauty couldn’t pull him out of the ache that had settled somewhere behind his ribs. It wasn’t sharp anymore. It was slow. Tired. Like the throb of a bruise that never quite healed.

He’d seen her earlier that day. Draculaura.

Not up close — just across the courtyard, bundled in her scarf, laughing at something one of her friends said. She looked... happy. Lighter. The way she used to look before things got messy — before the fights, before the distance, before they both decided pretending they were okay was easier than trying to fix what cracked between them.

He’d smiled back when she caught his eye. Or at least he thought he had. Maybe it didn’t reach his eyes.

Now, hours later, he replayed that moment in his head like it mattered. Like maybe there was still something left to say. He hated that about himself — that he couldn’t just let it go. That part of him still waited for a message that would never come.

“Get it together, man,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. His voice came out rough — more growl than word. “She’s moved on. You should too.”

But when he closed his eyes, all he saw was the faint shimmer of her pink aura and the way she used to trace her fingers across the veins of his hand — as if she was memorizing them. Like she’d known one day, she wouldn’t get to anymore.

Clawd exhaled slowly, a low rumble leaving his chest, somewhere between a sigh and a snarl. He’d always been the strong one — the protector, the steady heartbeat in the chaos. But lately, he just felt hollow. Like the sound of wind howling through an empty house.

His hand drifted toward his pocket — the same one that held a crumpled photo he’d sworn he’d thrown away. Him and Draculaura, at the Monster Mash their senior year. She’d drawn a little heart in eyeliner at the corner of it. It was smudged now, faded from being touched too often.

He let out a shaky laugh — humorless. “You’d hate this,” he said softly to no one. “Me sitting here all dramatic, acting like some tragic poem.” His fangs flashed briefly when he smiled, but it didn’t last. “Guess that makes two of us who can’t follow our own advice.”

The wind picked up again, carrying with it the faint scent of lilac and ozone — a smell that shouldn’t be there. He froze. His ears twitched, every instinct pricking alert. The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell — slow, deliberate, someone climbing up.

He turned slightly, the dim blue magic of the wards tracing along the edge of his jaw, making his eyes glow faintly gold in the dark. For a heartbeat, he wondered — was it her?

Or maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe it was just someone else — another night creature seeking quiet in a world that didn’t stop spinning even when your heart had.

Clawd’s voice came out low, steady, but there was something cracked beneath the calm — the kind of tone that comes from too many nights alone with thoughts that won’t shut up.

“...If you’re looking for a view,” he said without turning around, “it’s better from the left side. Less broken glass.”

He reached up to rub his thumb over the frayed edge of the hoodie’s sleeve — a small, unconscious gesture. His eyes flicked toward the sound of the approaching steps, then back to the skyline.

“Didn’t think anyone else came up here after curfew.”

His words hung there — quiet, raw, a question wrapped in casualness.

“Alright, team— last round! No one leaves ‘til I land this!”

Clawd Wolf’s voice echoed through the cavernous gym, half command, half challenge, half... total bluff. The werewolf captain grinned wide enough to show a fang as his teammates groaned good-naturedly. The enchanted scoreboard above him flickered between Monster Ethics Midterm Scores and Casketball Practice Stats, which the staff still hadn’t fixed since October.

Dripping sweat, tail wagging despite the chill that crept through the open gym windows, Clawd dribbled the ball across the court. His sneakers squeaked against the waxed floor—his third pair this semester, because no fabric charm seemed to survive his were-strength.

He jumped—high, graceful, almost supernatural—spinning once before slam-dunking the casketball clean through the hoop.

“BOOM! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he shouted, landing with a loud thud and throwing his arms up. “You see that, Fenris? That’s how you own the net!”

The other player, a lanky ghost hybrid, just phased through the bleachers with a groan. “Bro, it’s like—what—ninety minutes past curfew?”

Clawd tilted his head, mock thoughtful. “Yeah? And?”

The ghost rolled his eyes. “And your girlfriend—”

Clawd froze for half a second. The word hit him like a pebble tossed into still water. He blinked, then forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Ex. Ex-girlfriend,” he corrected, tail flicking once before he shrugged it off. “Anyway, focus, man. I’m training for the winter championship— no distractions, right?”

“Right,” Fenris said dryly. “Except your playlist’s literally all love songs.”

Clawd groaned. “Don’t expose me like that!”

He jogged toward the bench, grabbing his water bottle and towel. His hair was a mess, sticking up at weird angles under his bandana, and his hoodie (the team one, mercifully not that hoodie) was half-zipped. He took a long swig, then leaned back, eyes drifting up toward the flickering ceiling lights.

For a moment, the air was still — just the hum of the lights and the smell of wood polish and faint electricity from the warded hoops. He could almost forget the noise in his head.

He wiped his brow and muttered under his breath, “One more game, and maybe Coach won’t make me run laps for that late essay...” Then he grinned. “Or maybe he will. Worth it.”

The gym door creaked open then — slow, hesitant. Clawd’s ears twitched automatically, his senses flaring before he even turned.

“Yo!” he called out, voice bright again. “If you’re here to steal the ball, fair warning— this thing’s basically an extension of my arm.” He spun the casketball on one claw-tipped finger, flashing a lopsided smile that was equal parts charm and show-off energy.

“Or,” he added, with a playful tilt of his head, “if you’re here to actually join me for one-on-one, I promise I’ll go easy. Maybe.”

His tail swayed lazily behind him, betraying his excitement at the company. The grin stayed — just a little too wide, a little too eager.