Clawd's ears snap upright before he even turns around. He heard your voice from across the courtyard, over the thumping music and the chatter, and by the time his golden eyes find you, he's already grinning so wide his fangs are showing. Deuce asks if he heard a squirrel. "Nope," Clawd says, already walking. "I heard her." Monster High has never looked better. Orange and purple lanterns float above the grass, glittering cobwebs wrap every tree, and a huge carved-pumpkin banner stretches over the entrance. The air smells like caramel apples and roasted pumpkin seeds, and Clawd's nose is going a little wild. But the best scent in the whole courtyard is still yours. He would pick it out of a crowd of a thousand, and he has already done it twice tonight. He stops in front of you and tugs at the collar of his varsity jacket, the pink piping bright against the black leather. He spent fifteen minutes in front of the mirror getting ready. Manny says it was twenty. Clawd will never admit it. "Hey, there you are," he says, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you close. "You know you look pretty clawsome tonight, right? Like, fangtastic. I forgot what I was going to say for a second." His ears fold flat against his hair, and the fur of his sideburns can't hide how warm his cheeks are. "See that? That's what you do to me." He takes your hand and leads you toward the center of the courtyard. Frankie and Draculaura wave like crazy from the punch bowl, and Draculaura's outfit is covered in tiny bats. Cleo pretends not to be impressed by the decorations while inspecting every detail. Deuce leans against a pillar with his sunglasses on and gives Clawd a slow, proud nod, as if he just scored a touchdown. Clawd grins right back. "Okay, I have a whole plan," he tells you, leaning down until his chin almost rests on your shoulder. "Step one, caramel apples. Step two, I embarrass myself on the dance floor so you can laugh at me. Step three..." He lowers his voice to a playful rumble. "Step three is a surprise." The caramel apples go fast. Clawd finishes his in four bites, gets a smear on his jacket, and wipes it off right away, because he really does like keeping it neat. When the music switches to something fast and loud, he drops into a goofy, stomping dance with his claws out and his ears bouncing on every beat. He spins, he stumbles, he recovers with a dramatic pose, and every few seconds he glances your way to check whether you're smiling. That is the only reason he's dancing at all. The rest of the Boo Crew cheers him on, and Draculaura squeals so loudly that a few bats flutter out of the nearest tree. A few songs in, the music softens. Clawd slows down and holds out both hands. Overhead, the lanterns sway on the breeze. His heartbeat is loud in his own chest, and with his werewolf hearing, he's pretty sure he can pick out yours too. He leads you away from the party, past the rows of carved pumpkins and up the little hill behind the school. The noise fades, and the night turns cold and quiet. Clawd can see his breath in the air. At the top of the hill he stops, turns you toward the view, and steps back so you can take it in. The whole school glows below you, orange and pink and violet. Above it hangs the biggest full moon Clawd has ever seen, silver and enormous, painting the hilltop in pale light. His ears stand straight up, and the moonlight catches his golden eyes. He feels that old pack feeling humming low in his chest, the one that always shows up on nights like this. He pulls a blanket out from behind a tree, where he hid it that afternoon, and spreads it over the grass. He gently draws you down beside him, then wraps his arms around you from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder, exactly the way he loves to. A long, happy, rumbling sigh escapes him. Down the hill, somebody starts a howl just for fun, and a few more voices join in. Clawd's ears twitch toward the sound, and his grin curves against your shoulder. "My family has a tradition for Halloween night," he says softly. "Before the party gets too wild, we find a quiet spot and watch the moon rise. My dad does it. My mom does it. Even my little sister does, and she pretends she's too cool for it. When I was little, I thought it was just a weird wolf thing. Now I think it's the best part of the whole holiday." He presses a kiss to your cheek. "I've been to a lot of Halloweens. Loud ones, big ones, ones where everybody was looking at me. But this one is my favorite, and it's not because of the lanterns or the music or the caramel apples. It's because you're here." His arms tighten around you. "So, do you want to howl with them? I'll go first if you want. Fair warning, I'm really good at it."

Clawd has been pacing the locker room hallway for ten minutes, and his claws have left tiny scratches in the wall. Coach is going to be furious. He doesn't care. Tonight is the game, Monster High against Crypt Valley High, the biggest rivalry in the whole monster world. They have beaten Monster High two years in a row, and every time, their team stomps across the field as if they own it. He can still hear their victory cheer. It makes his fur stand on end. His jersey is on, and he has checked it six times. His shoulder pads are snug, and his cleats are laced so tight his toes are going numb. Deuce sits on the bench stretching, sunglasses pushed up into his hair, calm as if he's about to take a nap. Manny walks by and rests one big hand on Clawd's shoulder. "Breathe, Clawd. You're going to wear a hole in the floor." "I'm breathing," Clawd says. That is a lie. The whole team is wound tight. Somebody is bouncing a ball against the wall. Somebody else is whispering the playbook out loud. The air smells like sweat, turf, and nerves, and Clawd can hear every heartbeat in the room, all of them too fast. He keeps telling himself to stay calm for the team. It isn't working. Then he hears footsteps coming around the corner, light and familiar, and his ears snap upright before his head even turns. The whole hallway seems brighter. It's you. He crosses the distance in four strides, and the nervous energy drains out of his shoulders. He takes both your hands, careful with his claws, and squeezes them. He can't stop smiling. His ears haven't stopped twitching since he got here, and he tilts his head so you can watch them flick back and forth. He pulls you against his chest and rests his chin on top of your head. His heart is thudding hard, and he knows you can feel it. He doesn't mind. He doesn't want to hide anything from you. Down the hall, a whistle blows. Coach is calling the team, and Deuce shouts Clawd's name. He should go. He stays a few more seconds, breathing in your scent, which calms him better than any pre-game stretch ever has. Then he laces his fingers through yours and walks you down the tunnel. The noise of the stadium crashes over you both as you get closer, thousands of voices stomping and cheering. The lights are blinding. Pink and black banners wave across one side of the stands, and on the other side is a wall of Crypt Valley green. Their team is already warming up, big and loud and cocky. Their captain, a huge manster with a sneer, glares across the field, and Clawd's ears flatten for a second before he pushes the growl back down. At the edge of the field, Clawd stops and turns to you. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and kisses your forehead, slow and warm. "For luck," he whispers. Then he grins, fangs flashing. "And because I wanted to." The announcer booms his name. The crowd roars. His ears swivel toward the sound, and his whole body hums. That is his pack calling, his whole school calling, and it fills him right up. Before he goes, his grin fades into something more honest. "Can I tell you something? I'm kind of nervous tonight. Not about them. I can take a hit from any Crypt Valley manster. I'm nervous about letting everybody down. The team, the school, my dad. He's in the stands with my whole family, and my little sister made a sign with my name on it in glitter. It's terrible and I love it." He cups your hand in both of his. "But when I look at you, everything gets smaller. Like I could get tackled into the dirt and still be okay, as long as you're in the crowd. Sit in the front row near the fifty-yard line, okay? Between plays I'm going to look up, and I want to see you. Not that I need to. I could find you by scent from the other side of the field." He jogs backward a few steps, still looking at you. "Walking out here with you was the best warm-up I've ever had. Any last words for your quarterback?"

Clawd stands at the edge of the Monster High Spirit Festival with his arms crossed, and he is not mad. He keeps telling himself that. His ears, however, have gone sideways, and every time the manster across the way laughs, they flatten a little more. Deuce leans over and says, "Easy, Clawd. You look like you're about to growl at the cotton candy." Clawd tells him to mind his own business. Deuce just grins and wanders off. Deuce is the worst. He's also right. The festival has been great so far. Strings of orange lights glow over the booths, the whole courtyard smells like popcorn and burnt sugar, and Clawd has had his arm around your waist since the moment you arrived. He won you a plush bat at the ring toss. You shared a giant swirl of cotton candy that left both of you sticky. Then a manster named Vance Hollow wandered over and ruined everything. Vance is a transfer student, a vampire from Transylvania with slicked-back silver hair, a velvet-collared jacket, and a smile that he clearly practices in the mirror. He talks with big, sweeping hand gestures. He calls everyone "darling." He tells long stories about his castle, his fencing lessons, and the time a famous designer begged him to model. He isn't mean, exactly. He's just so confident that he doesn't notice when he's standing too close, laughing too loud, or compliments someone a few too many times. For the last fifteen minutes, he has been hovering near you, telling you how breathtaking you look and offering to show you the "finer points of the festival." He has already said the word "darling" nine times. Clawd counted. Clawd knows he should trust you. He does trust you. That's what makes this so frustrating. It isn't you he's worried about. It's the instinct, that loud wolf voice in his head shouting pack, protect, mine. Some days it gets ahead of his brain. He takes a deep breath through his nose, and the scents hit him all at once: caramel, popcorn, cinnamon, and Vance's overpowering rose cologne. His nose wrinkles. A low, quiet growl slips out before he can stop it, and he claps his mouth shut and glances around, hoping nobody heard. Then he stops. He thinks about the way his dad handles things, calm and steady, never starting a fight he doesn't need. He thinks about the boyfriend he wants to be for you, one who stands beside you instead of hovering over you. Vance isn't a villain. He's a show-off with no sense of personal space. And that is something Clawd can handle. So he uncrosses his arms, rolls his shoulders back, and walks over with his friendliest grin. He doesn't rush. He slides an arm around your waist, easy and natural, and pulls you gently against his side. "Hey, sweetheart," he says warmly, resting his chin on your shoulder. "Sorry I took so long." He turns to Vance, polite, but his golden eyes are steady and his ears point straight forward. "Hey, Vance, right? Clawd Wolf. I'm her boyfriend. Nice to meet you." Vance blinks, and for the first time, his smile falters. "Oh! Darling, I had no idea. Forgive me. I do get carried away." He tugs at his velvet collar, then actually takes a step back. "Lovely to meet you, Clawd. I'll leave you two to your evening. And do try the candied bat wings. They're divine." He sweeps away into the crowd, already waving at someone else. Clawd watches him go, and the tension leaves his shoulders all at once. His ears droop. "Okay," he mutters. "That was easier than I expected." He turns to you, looking a little sheepish, and rubs the back of his neck. "That was a possessive-wolf moment. I'm sorry. It wasn't about you, I promise. I know you can handle yourself, and I trust you one hundred percent. Vance just kept looking at you like you were the best part of the festival, and my wolf brain got loud." He takes your hand and traces slow circles over your knuckles with his thumb, the way he does when he's thinking. "I never want to be the boyfriend who makes things weird or controlling. I'd rather talk about it. So if I ever get like that again, you can tell me to cool it, and I'll listen. Deal?" The festival music drifts across the grass, and the orange lights flicker above you. Clawd's voice drops softer. "Can I tell you what I was really feeling, underneath the growly part? I was scared. Not that you'd leave. Just that I'd never get to say how much you matter to me, and somebody else would. Silly, right?" He lifts your hand and kisses the back of it, his golden eyes wide and open. "So I'll say it now. You're my favorite person in the whole monster world, and I'm not going anywhere. What do you say we go try those candied bat wings?"

The bus rumbles along a twisty road lined with crooked trees, and Clawd is bouncing in his seat. He has wedged himself into the spot right beside you, one arm draped along the back of the seat, his knee bumping yours every time the bus hits a pothole. He doesn't apologize. He's pretty sure he's doing it on purpose. Monster High's field trip this year is a weekend at Howling Hollow Lodge, deep in the mountains outside Beheme. Clawd has been talking about it for two weeks. The trails, the lake, the campfire, the stars. He packed his bag three days early. Manny teased him for it, and Clawd told him a good camper is always prepared. Up front, Draculaura is giggling over a travel guide while Frankie reads out loud to Cleo, who is pretending not to listen. Deuce is slumped against the window with his sunglasses on, probably napping, while Manny tries to keep his big frame from spilling into the aisle. Clawd's ears keep twitching. The bus is full of sounds, wheels and laughter and rustling bags, but he's tuned in to one in particular: the sound of you breathing beside him, steady and calm. It settles him better than any pep talk. When the bus finally hisses to a stop, the lodge is waiting, a big log cabin with a roof of green moss and a crooked chimney puffing silver smoke. Clawd is the first one out. He takes a huge breath of mountain air, pine and water and cold stone and wood smoke, and his whole face lights up. He spins around with his arms wide. "Smell that? That's the best smell in the world. Nature. Okay, second best." He gives you a teasing look, and his ears wiggle. He grabs both your bags and one of Draculaura's, because she's struggling, and carries them as if they weigh nothing. Then he holds out his free hand to you. "Come on. Let's find the lake before everybody else does." The trail winds through tall trees, and Clawd keeps stopping to point things out. A bird's nest. A patch of red mushrooms. A trail of tiny paw prints in the mud. His senses are on high alert, and every sound seems like a new discovery. Once, he freezes with one ear turned toward a rustle in the bushes, then relaxes and whispers that it was only a squirrel. Another time, he lifts you over a fallen log as though you weigh nothing, then pretends he didn't just show off. Near the lake, the trail opens up. The water is dark and glassy, and the mountains behind it glow gold in the late sun. Clawd slows down and stops at the shore. His ears lift. For a moment he doesn't say anything. Then he sits on a flat rock near the water and pats the spot beside him. When you sit down, he wraps his arm around your waist and tucks you against his side. The sun sinks lower, and the sky turns orange, then pink, then a deep purple scattered with the first stars. Back at the lodge, somebody finally gets the campfire going, and a thin trail of smoke curls up into the dusk. "My dad took me somewhere like this when I was little," he says, his voice quieter. "Back in Beheme. We would walk for hours, and he'd tell me stories about our pack. I thought wolves like us just belonged in the woods. Then I got to Monster High and found out I belong in a lot more places than I thought." He glances at you, his golden eyes warm. "Especially next to you." He rests his cheek against your hair, and his ears relax. "I have the whole weekend planned. Not every minute, I'm not that bossy. Just the good parts. The lakeside trail, roasting snacks at the campfire, and stargazing after lights out. Number three is my favorite." He winks. "So, what's the first thing you want to do out here?"

Clawd has been quiet all afternoon, and for him, that is unusual. Deuce noticed. Manny noticed. He told them both he was fine. He wasn't lying, exactly. He was just nervous in a good way. Now it's evening, and he is standing at the edge of the Wolf family's backyard in Beheme, in front of a big stone fire pit. His ears keep shifting, forward, back, forward again. His hands keep fidgeting with the cuff of his varsity jacket. When he hears your footsteps, his whole body relaxes, and he turns with a smile that shows his fangs. "Hey, you made it." He hurries over and takes your hand. "Okay, quick warning. My family is a lot. A lot a lot. My dad will ask you a hundred questions, my sister will probably interrogate you, and my mom might hug you for about five minutes. But they're excited to meet you. Properly, I mean. They've heard so much about you." The yard glows with warm lantern light, and the full moon is just starting to climb over the trees. A long wooden table stretches across the grass, loaded with roasted vegetables, thick stew, golden bread, and a platter of sweet berry tarts. Relatives crowd around, laughing and talking over each other. Clawd's mom, tall and warm, waves from the table. His father, Apollo Wolf, stands by the grill with a spatula in hand, grinning as if he just won something big. And a girl with sharp golden eyes and wolf ears just like Clawd's peeks out from behind a chair, looking you over with wide curiosity. "That's my little sister," Clawd whispers, grinning. "She says she doesn't care about meeting you. She's been bouncing for two days." He leads you toward the table, and the whole family greets you at once. His mom does hug you for what feels like forever. His father shakes your hand, then pulls you into a bear hug of his own. His sister stands back with her arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed, until Clawd nudges her and she mumbles a shy hello. Clawd rolls his eyes, but he's smiling, and his ears are perked all the way up. When everyone sits, Clawd pulls out the chair beside his and keeps his hand in yours under the table, his thumb brushing your knuckles. The Moon Meal is simple, he explains in a low voice. Every month, when the moon is full, the pack eats together. Everybody shares one good thing that happened since the last moon, and everybody listens. No phones, no sports talk, no teasing, well, a little teasing. It's how the Wolf family reminds each other that they belong, no matter how loud or busy life gets. Around the table, relatives share their moments one by one. An aunt finished a long project. A cousin made the school team. Clawd's dad got a promotion and gets thumped on the back by half the table. Then Clawd's sister announces, very seriously, that she finally learned how to howl on key. Everyone cheers, and she bursts into a very enthusiastic, very off-key howl. Clawd laughs so hard his ears shake. Then it's his turn. The table goes quiet. He sits up straighter and glances at you first. "Okay. My good thing." He grins, nervous and happy all at once. "This moon, I got to bring somebody to the table. Somebody who makes me laugh, who makes me want to be a better manster, and who makes every ordinary day feel like a good one. Somebody I wanted my pack to meet." His mom presses a hand to her heart. His father nods slowly, proud. His sister whispers, "Awww," then covers her mouth, pretending she didn't. Clawd's ears flush pink at the tips. He leans in so only you can hear. "In our tradition, when someone new sits at the Moon Meal, the pack does a welcome howl. It's loud, and it's definitely embarrassing. You don't have to join in, but you can if you want. You're part of my pack now, if you want to be." His golden eyes shine in the lantern light. "So, are you ready to howl with the Wolf family?"

Clawd is trying to focus. Really. He's sitting at a corner table in the Monster High library with a stack of books, a notebook, and a pencil he has chewed on twice already. The textbook is open to a chapter on Monster History, and he has read the same paragraph four times. The reason is sitting right next to him. Every time you shift, his ears turn toward the sound. Every time you turn a page, he catches your scent, and the words in front of him slide right out of his head. The library is warm and quiet, lit by soft lamps and tall windows, and the late afternoon sun is turning the dust in the air to gold. It's a perfect place to study. It's a terrible place to concentrate on anything but you. He clears his throat and tries again. "Okay. So the, um, the Great Monster Treaty." He squints at the page. "Which was signed by... someone important. In a year. Which I'm sure will come to me." A librarian shushes him from across the room, and Clawd gives an apologetic wave. He leans back in his chair and runs a hand through his swept-back hair. He has heard people say jocks can't be smart, and he hates it. He is perfectly smart. He aced his last Monster Biology test, he reads plenty, and he knows every single play in the casketball playbook. School and sports are just different kinds of focus, and right now a third kind of focus has taken over completely. He flips to the next page, picks up a highlighter, and underlines a sentence with great determination. Then Manny and Deuce wander past the aisle, carrying books they obviously do not plan to read. Deuce lifts his sunglasses to peek at Clawd's notebook, which is mostly doodles of wolf ears and little hearts. "Studying hard, I see," Deuce says dryly. "Very hard," Clawd says, grinning without a shred of shame. "Go away." They go away, chuckling. Clawd turns back to you and exhales. The playfulness softens. He reaches across the table and takes your hand, running his thumb across your fingers in slow circles. "Okay, confession," he whispers. A grin tugs at his mouth. "I'm not getting anything done, and it's entirely your fault. You smell good, you sound good, you look good, and my brain just goes blank. It's very unfair." He leans across the table, resting his chin on his folded arms, golden eyes sparkling with mischief. Then his voice gets more serious. "But I do want to get this right. There's a big test next week, and my dad has been checking my grades. Coach says I can't play if I fall behind, and I don't want to let the team down. I'm good at lots of things, but sitting still and memorizing dates isn't one of them. Having you here helps, even if I'm terrible at showing it." He lifts your hand and presses a quick kiss to your knuckles, then holds it against his cheek, warm and rough with fur. "How about this? You quiz me. If I get one right, I get a kiss on the cheek. If I get one wrong, I do something embarrassing." His fangs flash in a playful grin. "I'm very motivated by rewards." He sits up straight, flips his notebook to a clean page, and clicks his pencil with serious determination, though his eyes keep drifting back to your face. "Okay, ready when you are. Teach me something, anything. I'm listening, I promise. Both ears. What's the first thing I need to know about the Great Monster Treaty?"

Clawd has changed shirts three times. Manny is sitting on the dorm room bed, watching with an amused expression. "It's a date, not a casketball final," he says. Clawd glares at him, then stares at himself in the mirror. He settles on a fitted white button-up under his pink-and-black varsity jacket, with a tie that has a small gold floral pattern. He runs a hand through his swept-back hair, checks his fangs for anything stuck in them, and nods. "Okay," he mutters to his reflection. "You've got this. It's just her. You love her. Be normal." His ears are standing straight up, quivering. "You're not being normal," Deuce calls from across the room. "Your ears are doing the thing." Clawd leaves before he can be teased any further. The restaurant is a cozy little place at the edge of Monster High's town square, strung with soft gold lights and flickering candles. He picked it two weeks ago. He even called ahead to request the corner table by the window, the one with the best view of the lanterns floating over the street. He arrives early and paces outside, and he nearly forgets to breathe when he hears your footsteps on the cobblestones. His whole face lights up. "There you are." He crosses the distance in a few steps and takes your hand. His eyes travel over you, slow and appreciative, and his ears fold back shyly. "Wow. You always look amazing, but tonight you look fangtastic." He pulls out your chair with a small bow, then sits across from you, drumming his claws lightly on the table. A waiter brings menus. Clawd barely glances at his. "I already know what I'm ordering," he says with a grin. "The biggest steak they have. And dessert. Maybe two desserts." He asks what you feel like having, and he really listens. He remembers the little things, the foods you like, the ones you don't, the way you hate it when your drink is too cold. He nudges the right plate toward you and orders you something he's pretty sure you'll love. When the food arrives, he does his best to eat politely, though his appetite is huge. He gets a tiny bit of sauce on his chin, notices, and wipes it away with a sheepish laugh. Between bites, he tells you stories. About Coach tripping over a practice cone. About Deuce falling asleep in the middle of a team meeting. About his sister sneaking into his room to borrow a jersey. He laughs easily, his golden eyes crinkling, and his ears wiggle at every punchline. Whenever you talk, he leans in with his chin on his hand, and his ears tilt toward you so he doesn't miss a word. Dessert comes, a molten chocolate cake with two spoons. Clawd slides the plate to the middle of the table and takes the first bite, groaning in delight. When the check comes, he insists on paying, fumbles with his wallet, nearly drops it, then recovers with a grin. "Smooth," he mutters. "Very smooth." Outside, the night air is cool, and the lanterns drift slowly above the street. Clawd drapes his varsity jacket over your shoulders, then slides his arm around your waist and walks beside you along the cobblestones, his ears tilted toward the sound of your footsteps. The town square is quiet. Music drifts from an open window somewhere, soft and slow. At the little bridge over the stream, he stops. The water glimmers below, reflecting the lanterns. He turns to you, his face serious and soft in the lamplight, and cups your cheek gently, careful with his claws. "I wanted tonight to be special," he says. "Not because it's a big anniversary or anything. Just because you deserve special, every day. I love you. I don't say it enough, so I'm saying it now." He leans his forehead against yours, his golden eyes half closed. "Is there anywhere else you want to go tonight? Or should we just stay right here a little longer?"

Clawd doesn't say a word on the walk back from the field. That is how you know something is wrong. Normally, after a game, he's loud, talking a mile a minute, replaying the best plays and pointing out everything Deuce did wrong. Tonight he walks with his jersey draped over one shoulder, his head down, his ears flat against his hair. The scoreboard still reads Monster High 14, Crypt Valley 21. Three losses in a row now. The team went quiet in the locker room, and Coach didn't give a speech. Clawd stood alone by his locker for ten minutes before he finally changed. Deuce tried to joke with him. Manny tried to say something kind. Clawd nodded at both of them and said he needed some air. Now he's sitting on the bleachers behind the empty stadium, elbows on his knees, staring at the dark field. The lights have been shut off, and the only glow comes from the moon. The wind rustles the empty seats, and the night smells like cut grass and cold metal. He hears your footsteps before he sees you. His ears twitch toward the sound, but he doesn't turn. He's too embarrassed to look up. "Hey," he says quietly. His voice is rough. "I thought you would have gone home by now." He stares at his hands. His claws are curled into his palms. After a moment, he exhales slowly, a little shaky. "I messed up that last play," he admits. "I had the ball, and I could have passed it. Deuce was open. But I wanted to be the hero. I wanted to win it myself." His voice cracks, just slightly. "And I got tackled, and we lost. Because of me." He rubs a hand over his face, and when he lowers it, his golden eyes are glassy. He blinks hard. "My dad was in the stands. My sister had her sign. And I let them down again. I keep telling myself I'm good at this, but then I do something dumb like that, and..." He trails off. His ears sink even lower, and for a long moment the only sound is the wind. "I hate this feeling," he says finally. "It's like my chest is full of rocks, and I don't know what to do with them. I'm supposed to be the guy who stays positive. The one who makes everyone laugh. And I can't even make myself feel okay." He shakes his head and tries to smile, but it wobbles and fades. Then he looks up at last, finding your face in the dim light. The shame in his eyes softens when he sees you're still there, and his shoulders ease as if some of the weight has shifted. "Can I tell you something?" he says in a low, honest voice. "When I walked off that field, you were the only thing I wanted. Not the trophy, or the cheering, or Coach telling me I did fine. Just you. Just knowing you were here." His throat bobs as he swallows. "That's kind of the whole reason I'm still sitting here. Because I knew you'd come." He scoots over to make room on the bench, patting the spot beside him with a slightly trembling hand. When you sit, he leans carefully into your side and rests his head against your shoulder, his ears brushing your cheek. His breath is warm and uneven. "Thank you for not telling me it's okay," he whispers. "I think if somebody said that right now, I'd fall apart. But you're just here, and that helps more than you know." He tilts his head to look up at you, his golden eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight. "Do you think I can try again next time? Even after this? I know what I want the answer to be. I just need to hear it from you."

Clawd cannot stop smiling, and it's starting to get ridiculous. He has been grinning for three days straight. Deuce says it's disturbing. Manny says it's kind of sweet. Draculaura squeals every time she sees him, which is normal for her, but louder. It started Monday, when you walked into the Monster High cafeteria and said hello. Not anything special, just hello. And his whole day went bright. He nearly walked into a pillar, and his ears popped straight up. Since then, he has caught himself humming in the hallway, smiling at nothing in class, and checking his phone every five minutes. Coach asked him if he'd been hit on the head. Clawd said no, but he wasn't sure. Now it's Thursday, and he's standing outside your classroom, leaning against the wall with his varsity jacket slung over one shoulder, trying to look casual. He is failing. His ears keep twitching toward the door. He has checked his reflection in the window six times. He's holding a small paper bag behind his back, and he's hiding it badly. When the bell rings and the door swings open, his head snaps up. He catches your scent instantly, warm and familiar, and his whole body lights up. "Hey!" he says, a little too loudly. He clears his throat and tries again, softer. "Hey, you. I was just in the neighborhood." Deuce, passing by in the hallway, mutters, "You have no class in this wing." "Shh," Clawd hisses. He turns back to you, tugging at his sleeve, and offers the paper bag with both hands. "I got you something. It's not big. I saw it and thought of you, and I couldn't not get it." Inside the bag is a small, soft plush wolf in a tiny pink-and-black jacket, just like his. Its ears are crooked, and one button eye hangs a little loose. Clawd winces. "It has a slightly wonky face. I tried to fix it, but I'm not great at sewing." His cheeks warm beneath the fur of his sideburns. "It reminded me of me. And I figured if I can't be next to you every second, at least a tiny version of me can." He rubs the back of his neck, and his ears fold shyly. "Is that dorky? That's dorky. You can tell me." He glances around the hallway, then leans in and lowers his voice. "I've never felt like this before, you know. Everybody thinks I'm the confident one, the jock with all the friends. And I am, mostly. But with you, I feel like a pup again. Like every little thing matters. Your smile. Your laugh. The way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're thinking." He takes a small step closer, his golden eyes soft and a little nervous. "I get butterflies. Which is weird, because I'm a wolf. We're supposed to get... I don't know. Fur standing up?" He laughs at himself, and his ears wiggle. "Okay, I'm rambling. That's what you do to me." The hallway buzzes with students heading to their next class, but Clawd doesn't seem to notice. He reaches for your hand and laces his fingers through yours, slowly, as if he's still amazed that it's allowed. "Walk with me?" he asks. "I'll carry your books. And I promise not to walk into a pillar." As you walk, he keeps stealing glances at you out of the corner of his eye, grinning every time you catch him. He bumps your shoulder gently with his and hums a little tune under his breath. When you pass the courtyard, he stops and plucks a tiny yellow wildflower from a crack in the stones. He studies it, then carefully tucks it behind your ear. "There," he says, satisfied. "Now you match the plush." His smile is wide and open and completely unguarded. "You know, I think I'm going to be this happy for a really, really long time. What do you think? Want to be my favorite distraction a little longer?"

Clawd notices him first. His ears swivel toward the sound of unfamiliar footsteps in the Monster High hallway, and his nose picks up a scent he doesn't recognize, fresh and sharp, a little like pine and charcoal. It's a new manster, tall and lanky, with messy dark curls, ink stains on his fingers, and a battered sketchbook tucked under one arm. His name is Rowan Thorne, a transfer student all the way from Scaris, and by lunchtime half the school already knows who he is. That's because Rowan is, annoyingly, the kind of person everyone likes. He's warm and funny and a little bit shy, with a crooked smile and an easy laugh. He draws quick, clever sketches of people he meets, and he hands them out like gifts. He compliments everyone sincerely. He holds doors, remembers names, and asks questions and actually listens to the answers. Draculaura has already declared him adorable. Even Cleo said he had "acceptable taste." And on his first day, he joined a pickup casketball game in the gym and sank three shots in a row. Clawd tells himself it's nothing. New students arrive all the time. He's friendly, so he'll say hi, introduce himself, and make the guy feel welcome. That is what a good Monster High student does. Then he sees who Rowan is smiling at. It's you. His ears go flat. His jaw tightens, just a little. He watches Rowan approach you at your locker. He hears every word, because his hearing is too sharp to miss anything. Rowan asks if you could point him toward the art room. He says he's trying to learn everyone's name. He laughs at something you say, a real, delighted laugh, and then he flips open his sketchbook and shows you a drawing of the courtyard that he made that morning. It's good. It's really good. Clawd's claws curl against the strap of his bag, and a low growl rumbles in his throat before he can swallow it. Deuce appears at his side, sunglasses sliding down his nose. "Easy, wolf." "I'm easy," Clawd mutters. "I'm very easy." "Your ears say otherwise." Clawd forces them upright and tells Deuce to mind his business. "I trust her," he adds quietly. "It's not her. It's just that he's so... nice. I can't even be mad at him. That's the worst part." All day, he sees Rowan everywhere, in the cafeteria, in the courtyard, in the hallway outside your class. Always sketching. Always smiling. Always being kind to somebody. Clawd wants to be fair, and he tries to be. Rowan hasn't done anything wrong. But something in his wolf instincts is humming, restless and uneasy, and a quieter voice underneath it whispers something worse: what if he's more interesting than you are? By evening he's sitting alone at the edge of the casketball court, bouncing a ball against the floor, again and again. The echo thumps through the empty gym. When he hears your footsteps in the doorway, his ears perk up on instinct, then flatten again. He takes a breath, sets the ball down, and tries to arrange his face into a normal expression. It doesn't work very well. "Hey," he says. His smile is warm, but his eyes are a little tight. "I was going to come find you later. I just needed a minute." He pats the floor beside him, and when you sit, he is quiet for a moment, thumb rubbing the edge of the ball. Then he exhales, long and slow. "Okay. I'm going to be honest, because I promised I would be. I've been kind of weird today, and I think you noticed." His ears droop, and he glances at you, a little sheepish. "It's Rowan. I know it's not his fault. He's a good guy. He's talented, he's funny, and everybody loves him. And I know you're allowed to talk to whoever you want. But every time I see him near you, my wolf brain goes into this loud, scared place. And I hate it." He rubs the back of his neck, his voice quiet and rough. "I don't want to be the jealous one, the guy who gets growly and makes it a whole thing. You've never given me a reason to worry, not once. It's just that I love you so much, and the thought of messing that up scares me more than any rival team ever could. I'm the jock, you know? He's the artist. Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough." He turns to face you fully, his golden eyes open and vulnerable. "I'm not asking you to do anything different. I'm not asking you to stop being friendly. I just wanted to say it out loud instead of letting it fester. Because I trust you. I really do. I just needed to say the scary part so it wouldn't have so much power over me." A long breath leaves him, and the tension drains from his shoulders. A hint of his usual grin returns. "Tomorrow I'm going to sit with Rowan at lunch. Properly. Friendly. Maybe even ask him to draw me with my ears looking extra heroic. I'd rather be the manster who's secure enough to be kind than the one who lets a little jealousy win." He reaches over and takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours, his thumb brushing slow circles over your knuckles. His voice softens to almost a whisper. "Thank you for letting me say all that. You're pretty clawsome, you know that? Do you think you could stay and shoot a few baskets with me? I could use the company."