::::::::::Weak Among The Strong::::::::::

The bell that dangled from above the bakery door jingled as the she-wolf sauntered inside, the grin on her face sharp enough to cut through the season's cold that Wayne hated so much.

“I love how weak-looking you are,” she said, sneering as she propped one of her elbows on the counter like the place was hers.

She said that everytime like it was one of her favourite jokes, and Wayne was convinced that the young she-wolf standing in front of him was a rapist, even though that was normally unusual.

He stared ahead without flinching, or even looking up at her. He pretended to be tapping shut the pastry and adjusting it in the display box, making it look convincing enough that he hadn't heard how her voice dripped like oil through the air.

“You won't even look at my face?,” she asked, propping herself higher against the counter.

Wayne said firmly. “I'd rather just focus on my job.”

She was older, and Wayne didn't care to know by which number exactly. But he was sure she was old enough that her constant flirting made his skin crawl. Someone might have called it what it was if she was a man. It was harassment and assault.

“That'll be one fifty,” Wayne flatly said, carefully sliding the box towards her and holding out his hand for the money.

The she-wolf tilted her head to one side like a cat playing with a wounded mouse. “You've always been a hard one to get.”

Wayne finally met her gaze. “I'm glad you've finally got the message. Because I don't want to be got.”

His hand stayed up in the air as he lifted it even higher and she stared at it, and then scoffed. She fished out the money from one side of her bra, slapping it loudly on the counter instead of Wayne's waiting hand. He tried not to react to it and just gently took the bills, sliding them into the till as the drawer clinked shut.

“Yeah, keep the change,” said the she-wolf before she turned and walked out, and the cold from outside rushed in before she shut the door.

Wayne exhaled, placing his palms on the counter and hung his head. His breath fogged the tile, framing an unclear picture of him. That made it three times this week that she had tried getting under his pants, and she wasn't even trying to be subtle anymore. His shoulders were more tired from the act of enduring all of it than the work shift itself, and he was relieved that she'd relented gently when he shut her down again.

Besides, he didn't have the energy today, not for her or anyone else. And worse than her inappropriate comments towards him, were the ways she said them–as if his weakness was something fun to use and dominate.

He didn't want to be seen that way. And he didn't even want to be seen at all because more pressing matters tugged at him from behind his mind.

His wolf still hadn't awakened yet, and he was long past the usual age for it. Turning nineteen in a few days was embarrassing for him, and the thought of it alone chewed at him more than anything she or anyone else could say.

And still, they came at him with teases because he looked soft and hadn't shifted, and worse? He was weak.

He sat there alone, quietly wishing Ren were there beside him–and needing more than ever the steady reassurances he always offered without any question.

Ren had returned just a day ago, and even despite sending a message asking for him to come–Wayne still refrained from going to see him.

He didn't want to seem so desperate, and definitely didn't want to wear his need for Ren so openly around his neck. And it kept what they have secluded, because no one should ever find out.

He told himself to wait instead, and just give it time–maybe a few days, but the ache in his chest made the wait feel even longer than he'd imagined. Like it always does.

“Your shift ended fifteen minutes ago, Rivers. What're you still doing here?”

Wayne jumped, straightening up from the counter. The bakery's owner and his boss had quietly stepped in from the back room, resting his hands on his waist with one thick eyebrow raised up.

Wayne scratched the back of his head as his silver-blonde hair plopped into his eyes. “I thought I'd stay a bit longer, just until the next guy gets here.

His boss snorted. “Well, the next guy's late as usual, and that doesn't mean you don't get your break. Go on, take it.”

Wayne hesitated for a moment. He didn't really care if he'd earned his break, because he didn't want to go home. Not yet.

“I could cover till he–”

Bang. Thud. Crack!

They both turned towards the front of the bakery shop, where a roar of violent noise burst from the streets. And bodies that collided like thunder, snarls and shouts followed.

Wayne's boss muttered a curse under his breath before hustling towards the door, and Wayne yanked off his apron in one smooth move, slid into his jacket, and slung his leather satchel bag across his body before following.

The breeze slammed into him the moment he stepped outside, with bitter wind slapping under his collar as it bit into his neck. Snowflakes crunched under his boot when he followed where the noise was coming from.

A small crowd had already gathered at the butcher's shop, and two young wolf boys were getting at it as their fists flew across their faces. Their coats were tossed aside, sweats gliding off them in the dead of winter.

It was the awakening season.

Just before every full moon ceremonies, when every unturned and unmated wolf starts itching for a fight–all of them testing their dominance and strength. It was something of honor, though some might say otherwise.

One of the boys ducked his head and sent the other one sprawling, and the crowd roared.

"Not again,” Wayne's boss said.

His face was filled with what Wayne deciphered as disgust, and he knew what he was going to say next.

“We fought with purpose back in my day. This is just blood lust,” his boss said, making himself predictable to Wayne as ever.

Wayne had always heard that speech, but it hit him differently today. He couldn't look away from the scene in front of him even if his boss hated it. Because the boys were moving raw and relentlessly.

Their strengths were the kinds that could shift into wolves without hesitation, and it hurt him everytime he remembers he could never be one of them. Those cheers could never be for him.

He'd stopped hoping and waiting for years, and those years came with their punishment–the mockery and humiliation from the other boys.

He hugged his satchel tighter on his body.

The awakening ceremony was less than a week away. And still, there were no changes in him. There was no howl in his head, nor warmth in his bones. He shifted a few steps from his boss who was still busy muttering about tradition and honour.

Wayne didn't want to be caught staring for too long, because he already knew how that looked.

Though he felt their eyes on him before he even saw them–three boys on the far side of the crowd were laughing and elbowing one another. One of them pointed straight at him and their mouth moved. He couldn't hear their words because he already knew what they said, and because he'd heard them before and all the time.

Feral-bait, mate-less, and a failure.

No one needed to tell him it was some of the many bullies, so he looked down at his feet and turned away–pulling his scarf higher over his mouth.

He had something else to do anyway, and he didn't want to make a joke of himself by giving them a show. So he left.

And maybe Wayne was stupid to make that decision, and even more stupid for not checking behind him as he walked.

His thoughts became a little bit louder with every step he took, and the cold couldn't help anything as it numbed his ears and his instincts.

The chilly atmosphere shifted the moment he turned the corner, heading into a narrow alley near the back road.

Something wasn't right.

And someone was following him.