Ronan was half-convinced Calla was just messing with him.
People didn't randomly talk to him. Not here. Not in a place like Blackstone.
But there she was — waiting outside class again the next day, a lollipop between her teeth and that same half-smirk on her face.
"You're slow," she said.
"I walk like a human," he muttered.
Calla tossed the wrapper in the trash. "Maybe try walking like you're not being hunted. You look like you stole your backpack from a crime scene."
"…Thanks?"
"Anytime."
They started walking together, just like that.
Turns out Calla didn't care much for small talk. She skipped over the "what's your major" nonsense and asked stuff like:
"If you had to live in one food court forever, which one would it be?"
Or:
"If you saw someone burying something behind the science building at night, would you call the cops or bring a shovel?"
Ronan wasn't sure how to answer half the time.
"Say shovel. Always say shovel," the wolf muttered. "This one's got instincts."
They ended up on the back steps of the library, where barely anyone went except smokers and secret nap-takers.
Calla popped open a root beer and sat down like it was tradition.
Ronan leaned on the rail. "So. Why me?"
She looked up.
"What?"
"You keep talking to me," he said, tone even. "No one else does. Not even the professors. So… why?"
Calla watched him for a second, then looked away.
Flicked the cap off the bottle. Took a sip.
"I don't like most people," she said finally. "They're loud. Boring. They all say the same things and pretend they're not scared."
She looked at him again. Sharper, now.
"You didn't flinch when I said hi. You didn't fake a smile. You didn't ask me what house I'm in or try to guess how much my dad makes."
Ronan shrugged, quiet.
"I don't care about that stuff."
"Exactly."
She tapped her bottle cap against the railing. Three times. Nervous habit?
"I've been here a while," she added. "Long enough to know who's real and who's just surviving. You…"
She hesitated.
"…You've got that look, Ronan."
"What look?"
"That haunted, tired, don't-ask-me-where-I-was-last-night look. I know it."
He met her eyes.
And for the first time, she didn't smirk.
"I had it too," she said, voice lower. "Still do, some days."
"She's not just weird. She's been through it," the wolf said softly. "That's why she sees you."
They didn't talk for a while after that. Just sat there, letting the cold air move around them.
Eventually, she nudged his leg with her sneaker.
"You hungry?"
"…Kinda."
"Come on. I'll sneak you into the faculty lounge. They've got better coffee and nobody checks IDs if you act confident."
Ronan blinked. "That's not a real plan."
"It is if you follow me fast enough."
And just like that, she was up and walking.
He followed.
"I approve of this one," the wolf said cheerfully. "You need friends with criminal tendencies."
"She's not a criminal."
"Not officially."
That night, in his dorm, Ronan lay in bed staring at the ceiling.
Something in his chest felt… less tight.
Not fixed. Not healed. Just… breathable.
"You're not used to kindness," the wolf said quietly.
"…No."
"It's okay. Neither am I."
A beat.
Then:
"Wanna hear a story about the time I bit a vampire prince?"
Ronan closed his eyes. "…Sure."
"So, it starts with this really questionable tavern in the middle of a thunderstorm…"
And he listened.
Until sleep came.