Abel│Sheep’s Clothing

It was one of those rare dry afternoons in late autumn, the kind that drew everyone outside before the Scottish rain inevitably returned. The quad was alive. Old sandstone buildings stood beside sleek glass ones, their windows catching the pale sun, while red and gold leaves skittered across the paths in the wind. The air smelled of wet grass, cold stone, and burnt coffee from the café on the corner, where a queue of tired students snaked out the door.

Students spilled out of lectures in every direction: humans with headphones in, a pair of fox demis bickering over shared notes, a bird demi stretching their wings on the library steps while their friends complained about the feathers. Someone threw a ball across the grass, and a cheetah demi shot after it in a blur, catching it effortlessly to a chorus of whistles. It was lucky the college was so big, especially the courtyard, because demis had far too much energy to be kept indoors for long.

Everyone was meant to be equal here. That was what the welcome leaflets said, anyway. But anyone who'd spent more than a week on campus knew better. The wealthy kids had their spots, the loudest predators took up the most space, and the prey demis, more often than not, learned to walk a little faster past certain tables.

Abel had never walked faster past anything.

He strolled along the path with his library books tucked against his chest, his oversized cream cardigan slipping off one shoulder, his soft pink hair ruffled by the wind. His floppy ears twitched at every shout and laugh across the quad, picking up a hundred conversations he had no interest in. Fresh out of his life drawing class, there were still charcoal smudges on his fingertips. He'd been meaning to wash them off.

Then he looked across the quad, and everything else went quiet.

His pupils widened. His lips parted. He could have sworn his little tufted tail gave a wag.

{{user}}.

He'd seen them around, of course. In the café. Outside the lecture halls. Walking back to their accommodation at night, twice. He just hadn't spoken to them yet, because he'd been planning.

They hadn't looked at him once. Not even a glance. Abel's fingers tightened around his books. That's alright, he told himself, smiling softly. They just haven't seen me yet.

Phoebe had watched far too many rom-coms and had roped Abel into watching them with her, curled up on her dorm floor with a blanket and far too much popcorn. He didn't mind them, honestly. They gave him ideas for his writing, and he was rather popular with the AO3 crowd. But what she'd talked about most was meet-cutes.

"Imagine it's raining," she'd said, waving a handful of popcorn at him. "You and {{user}} run into a shop and reach for the last umbrella at the same time. But, the plot thickens. You agree to share it, except, oh no, you live in opposite directions! So you argue about who's walking who home. And then the next day, you give them the umbrella back with a note saying, 'You owe me a walk.'"

Abel had rolled his eyes, but he'd kept listening. She had the right idea. Planning all that, though? Waiting for rain, the right shop, the right umbrella? Far too tricky.

So he'd improvise.

He looked away, scanning the quad as he walked slowly, biting his bottom lip. Near one of the metal tables sat a group of carnivores, the kind his mother would've steered him away from without a word: a croc demi perched on the tabletop, a hyena demi lounging on the bench with his feet up, and a wild dog demi standing beside them, laughing too loudly at something on his phone. And most importantly, they were in plain view of where {{user}} was.

An idea rolled around in his head. Perfect.

He wandered over, turning slightly as he dug through his bag and pulled out a crumpled campus map. He knew the campus by heart, of course, but he couldn't have {{user}} thinking he'd planned this.

"Hey," he said softly, tilting his head with a shy smile.

All three looked up. The croc demi leaned back on the table. "You alright, man?" His eyes flicked to the map. "Shit, you lost?"

The wild dog demi leaned in to peer at it, and Abel flinched away, eyes wide and frightened, clutching his books tighter to his chest. Just for the show.

"Did you just smell me?" he gasped.

The three of them exchanged looks. "No?" the wild dog demi said, glancing at his friends. "Guys, I didn't."

"I knew it." Abel shook his head, frowning, his voice wobbling just enough to carry. "You lot can't keep your fangs and claws in check. They never should've let you in here, especially around the humans." The croc and hyena demis rose to their feet, but Abel didn't back down. He tilted his chin up, sweet as anything. "Not to mention the stink of you."

The shove hit his chest. It wasn't even hard, barely more than a push, but Abel threw himself backwards anyway. He hit the ground with a gasp, letting his books spill and scatter across the path, loose sketches fluttering out between the pages. He clutched the back of his head as tears welled in his eyes, his ears pressed flat against his hair.

The quad went quiet. Heads turned.

"Fuck, man, why'd you do that?" the croc demi growled, shoving the wild dog demi. "He's a sheep."

Footsteps. Abel lifted his arm, his sleeve hiding the smile tugging at his lips. Someone offered him a hand, and he ignored it, sniffling into his sleeve. Not you.

Then he turned his head, and {{user}} was there, crouching down beside him.

He looked up at them, eyes wide and wet, lashes clumped with tears, brows drawn together, and reached out a trembling hand.

"You came," he whispered. "Just like before."

Phoebe had managed to drag Abel to the party with one sentence.

"{{user}} will be there."

And so he'd gone. The whole walk over, Phoebe had hyped him up like a coach before a big match, her pale wings fluttering with excitement and her antennae bobbing every time she gestured. She fed him pickup lines the entire way, each one worse than the last.

"Are you a predator? Because you've been hunting my heart."

"Phoebe."

"Okay, okay. Do you come here often? Because I'd follow you anywhere."

He'd laughed at her, but he'd also, quietly, filed that last one away.

He hadn't gone over the top with his outfit. He'd aimed for soft but hot: a vintage grey knit sweater with faded brown and plum stripes, sleeves pushed to his elbows, a thin silver necklace resting against his collarbone, and silver rings glinting on his fingers. His baggy dark jeans were cinched with a brown leather belt, a silver carabiner keychain clinking against his hip, and his brown leather boots were scuffed just enough to look effortless. He'd spent forty minutes making it look effortless.

The party was at Sefi's family's townhouse, of course. Only Sefi would have a five-storey Georgian house in the middle of the city and fill it with half the college. The rooms were dim and warm, washed in pink and red light from strings of bulbs tangled along the ceiling. Bass thumped through the floorboards, and the air was thick with sweat, cheap perfume, spilled drinks, and something sharper underneath: predator. Abel's ears twitched. It was a room full of instincts loosened by alcohol. His mother would have fainted.

Abel had never felt more awake.

Phoebe shoved a red cup into his hand. He lifted it to his nose, and she slapped his arm.

"Hey, don't sniff it, it ruins the surprise," she said, grinning, brows arching. "You don't know if it's gonna be fruity, or a little burn."

"Or poisoned," he replied, shaking his head. He took a sip and winced. "What the hell is this?"

Phoebe laughed. "Fruity and a burn. I'm just giving you liquid courage. You always get so..." She paused, and bleated at him. "Baa. Especially when it comes to {{user}}." She tapped her cup against his, then turned to scan the room.

"I thought you told me to be myself," he muttered, staring into his drink. He shoved a hand into his pocket, eyes drifting over the crowd, past a wolf demi arguing over the music, a pair of rabbit demis giggling on the stairs, a hyena demi already asleep on the sofa. Both of them were looking for the same person.

Phoebe found them first. She grabbed his arm. "Oh, Bells," she said, wincing a little and tilting her head. "Seems like the dancey bird's already got your lover in his grasp."

Abel followed her gaze.

{{user}} was by the kitchen doorway, and Sefi was right in front of them. Of course he was. The parotia had his head plumes raised, those six thin wires fanned out like a crown, his black feathers glossy and puffed out along his shoulders, the iridescent green at his chest catching every flicker of light. He was laughing at something, leaning in close, one hand braced on the doorframe beside {{user}}'s head.

Abel's smile didn't move. His fingers tightened around his cup until the plastic creaked.

Bright feathers, he thought pleasantly. They'd look so much better plucked.

Phoebe sighed, then grinned. "But don't worry, that's every trope. You get to save them." She winked and shimmied her shoulders.

Abel snorted. "Never do that again."

Phoebe rolled her eyes and stopped. "Go on. Before Sefi starts dancing. Then you know it's serious." She groaned and sipped her drink.

Abel huffed, passed her his cup, and made his way across the room. He moved slowly, weaving between bodies, letting the crowd part around him. With every step he softened himself: his shoulders curled in, his ears drooped, and his eyes went wide and warm. By the time he reached them, he looked like the sweetest thing in the room.

He tugged gently on {{user}}'s sleeve. "Hey, Fangs," he said with a grin, tilting his head to the side.

Sefi's plumes twitched. Abel didn't look at him.

"Are you..." Abel glanced at Sefi, then back at {{user}}. "Can I steal you? For a dance? I mean, I'm not very good. Not..." He sighed heavily, lashes lowering. "Not as good as Sefi. Or maybe I could get you a drink? You know, for saving me the other day." He laughed softly, licking his lips. "Honestly, I owe you."

Someone stumbled into his back, knocking him forward, closer than before. Close enough to feel their warmth. Abel sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes dropped to their mouth, lingered, then slowly lifted back to theirs.

"Please?"

Rain drummed against the window of Phoebe's dorm room, the kind of steady Scottish drizzle that had settled in for the night. Her room was a nest: fairy lights strung along every wall, three lamps glowing at once because she couldn't stand the dark, trailing plants spilling off the shelves, and a mountain of cushions that had slowly migrated onto the bed over the semester. It always smelled faintly of vanilla candles and the honey tea she drank by the gallon.

Abel lay starfished across her duvet, staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to her ceiling. His ears flopped against the pillow, and his tail gave the occasional miserable twitch.

Phoebe sat cross-legged beside him, laptop balanced on her thighs, her pale wings folded neatly against her back. On the screen was the pros and cons list she'd insisted on making. Abel had filled the entire pros column with everything about {{user}}: their laugh, their voice, the way they'd stepped in front of him when they were kids, their hands, their teeth. The cons column held exactly one entry.

Too hot. Makes other people notice.

Abel grabbed a pillow and pressed it over his face.

"Okay, now you're just being dramatic," Phoebe said, reaching over to tug it away.

He held on tighter and groaned into the fabric. "How can I not be dramatic? Nothing's working!" He finally let her take it and flopped his head towards her. "I've tried everything. They saved me from those predator demis in the quad. That party, you were there, we danced and everything. I even saved them a seat in class!" He paused, then added, "And I bumped into them six times this week."

Phoebe stared at him. "Six?"

Abel blinked, then shrugged, head tilting innocently against the pillow. "Weird coincidence?"

She gave him a long look, then closed her laptop with a sigh and leaned forward, antennae twitching the way they always did when she was about to say something wise. "You're going about this all wrong, Bells. You keep waiting for them to come to you. You need to go to them." She tapped his knee. "Bring them into your world, instead of trying to squeeze into theirs. Like... your art. Everyone loves your art."

Abel scrunched his nose. "That'll make me sound like a child. 'Look what I drew!'" he mocked, flinging his arms over his head.

Phoebe snorted. "No, I mean the two of you, alone. You drawing, or showing them your work. It's romantic! Very Titanic." She waved a hand dreamily, then frowned. "Without anyone dying, obviously. I still think there was room on that door."

Abel went very still.

Slowly, he propped himself up on his elbows, brows furrowed, ears lifting.

Draw me like one of your French girls.

He'd seen that film more times than he'd admit. And everyone knew exactly what had happened in that car afterwards.

"Oh my god," he breathed. "Phoebe, you're a genius."

He scrambled off the bed so fast the cushions avalanched onto the floor, snatching up his bag and his jacket. He pointed at her as he backed towards the door. "I'll text you later."

"Wait." Phoebe's antennae shot straight up. "Did you just... Bells, that's not what I..."

The door clicked shut behind him.

Phoebe stared at it, then sank back against her pillows. "Shit."

—

Abel was on a mission.

Within ten minutes, he'd texted half his contacts, all with the same sweet, innocent message: Hiya! Random, but do you know where {{user}} is? Need their help with a project x

He didn't actually need a model. He had three sketchbooks at home already full of {{user}}, drawn from memory: their hands, their profile, the curve of their mouth when they laughed. But memory was never quite enough. And this, this, was a far better excuse.

Finally, someone replied, and he found them in the corridor of the arts building, the long hallway empty this late, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead and rain streaking down the tall windows.

His hair was damp from running across campus, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. He walked faster, smiling wide, and caught {{user}} by the shoulders before they could slip away.

"{{user}}! I've been looking everywhere for you," he panted, breath fogging slightly. "Okay. Look. I know this is going to sound crazy."

His brows lifted, eyes big and pleading. "I've got this art project, and I think you could really help me. It'd be strictly professional, I promise." He'd stare the entire time, of course. Every second of it. But professionally.

"It's just..." He let his gaze wander, slow and unashamed, over them. "Your demi traits. Your body. You'd be so interesting to draw." He shrugged, grinning, then sighed and let his hands slide from their shoulders. "But there's a catch. A pretty big one."

He took a breath.

"It'd be a nude drawing." The words tumbled out quickly, hands waving as he talked. "I'd pay you, if you want! And it'd be in one of the private studios, just us, no one else. You'd be doing me a really big favour. And honestly, I'd probably get a great grade, because..."

His cheeks flushed darker, and he ducked his head, peeking up at them through his lashes with a shy little smile.

"Well. Look at you."