Little Red Riding Boo (boyxboy)

"We may as well let her die," Mother mutters, staring out the window. The snow whips around violently, causing the cabin to groan under the pressure. "There’s no way we’ll get those herbs to your aunt in this storm."

I race over to the window, my brown hair falling in front of my eyes as I gaze out. "Mother, we can’t just let her die. This snow isn’t that bad!"

"Ollie—" she breathes, but I cut her off.

"No!" I shake my head. "I’m a man now. I can withstand the cold."

I glance around the room and spot a red cloak hanging by the door, its hood resting neatly against the fabric. Without hesitation, I stride over and snatch it off the hook. I grab the basket of herbs that Aunt Rebecca needs, knowing that without them, she will only grow worse.

I can’t let her suffer. Not when I can help.

"This storm won’t stop me," I mutter, determination setting in as I turn toward the door.

"You're being very foolish, boy," she says, her voice heavy with resignation. "But if you wish to die, I cannot stop you." She wraps her arms around herself and turns away from me.

I glance at her, my gaze softening. My mother hasn’t been the same since Father died. Now, she seems to wait for the rest of us to fade away, as if the gods are determined to take everyone.

I step toward the door, hesitation weighing on my chest. As I pry it open, the wind hits hard, pushing the door back as if trying to stop me. It’s a moment of doubt, a chance to turn back, but I push harder and stumble out into the frigid night. The door slams shut behind me, leaving my mother sealed inside.

The cold bites at my skin, seeping through my clothes and stiffening my limbs. Each step feels like a step closer to my own end, but I clutch the basket to my chest, determined. The wind stings my eyes, making them water, and I can barely keep them open as I walk deeper into the woods.

"Ha—" I inhale sharply, my body trembling with the effort.

The snow crunches beneath my boots, each step the only sound I can hear, while the wind howls around me, its moans filling the silence of the dark night.

My limbs feel too heavy, and just when I think the thought of my aunt will push me forward, I collapse to my knees. The cold seeps deeper into my bones. I’m going to freeze out here. The realization settles heavily in my chest, but at least I’ll die knowing I tried to save her. Isn’t it better to die having given it my all, than to do nothing at all?

Then I hear it. A sound that takes a moment for my frozen mind to process. Slowly, the truth dawns.

Wolves.

Their low growls vibrate through the air, causing my heart to race. My body, frozen and stiff, refuses to move. I fall backward, my hands digging desperately into the snow, trying to crawl away. "He—" My breath catches as warm tears track down my cheeks, but they freeze quickly, sticking to my skin like ice.

A wolf steps forward, its golden eyes gleaming in the dim light. I lift my gaze to meet its stare, squinting through the cold. "Ha—" I lower my head, resigning myself to the inevitable. If it wants to end my life, then perhaps my death can be something meaningful. A sacrifice. After all, food is food. Maybe they’ll be grateful for the offering.

I close my eyes and lay my head in the snow. The cold wraps itself around me, numbing everything. Just before the darkness overtakes me, I hear the wolves growl softly, their voices almost mournful. The sound is unfamiliar, and yet, I feel a strange calm.

The snow falls heavier, burying me beneath its weight.

"If you're gay, Soren, just say it." 

I'm snapped out of my story when I hear Dean's voice. I glance up to see him shaking his head as he stares down at his creative story, which, honestly, is about how girls have big boobs and how they stay on their bodies without falling off like teardrops. 

"You just want me to punch you in the face, don't you?" I stare at him, and he quickly looks up, standing. 

"I just think your story's a little fruity... that's all. You're supposed to be on the wrestling team, but now I don't know if I want you wrestling me anymore." 

I walk over to him, lean down, and give him a look. "That was a sorry excuse for you to say, 'Soren, please don't beat the shit out of—" 

"Boys!" Professor Harley claps her hands. "This is university, not kindergarten!" 

I slowly stand back up, muttering to myself. Yeah, well, it sure feels like it. I walk back to the front of the room to resume reading my story, but just as I’m about to start, the door opens. Everyone turns to look, as a guy stands in the door frame. His black hair falls over his brown eyes, and he glances nervously around. 

"Um... I'm so sorry to interrupt. But is this Creative Writing 101?" 

"Yes! You must be the new transfer student," the professor says with a smile. 

"Yes! My name is Kaito. It's nice to meet you all!" 

"It's nice to meet you, too," Professor Harley says. "You can take a seat anywhere you'd like." 

Kaito scans the room before heading over to my row. He stops and sits down in the chair beside mine. 

"Now, Soren, you may continue," Professor Harley says, nodding toward me. 

I lick my lips, glance at Kaito briefly, then turn back to my story, picking up where I left off.

"Just when I thought I would breathe my last–"

The snow falls around me, and the world seems to grow darker. Confusion washes over me as I wonder why the wolves have run off. That’s when I feel my body shift. I’m being pulled up from the ground, and that’s when I meet a pair of golden eyes.

They seem to glow in the darkness, eyes that endure the snow as they stare down at me.

My heart pounds in my chest, and I can’t help but wonder what’s going to happen to me. But before I can think another thought, the darkness surrounds me and–

The bell rings before I can finish. I let out a breath.

"Alright, Soren. Please hand in your creative story," Mrs. Harley says.

I slowly pass it to her, hoping I’ll get a good grade. Well, I know for a fact my story is better than Dean’s. Mine is actually creative, while he just let his perverted thoughts take over.

I walk to the second row and over to where my things are. As I start gathering them, I suddenly feel like someone's staring at me. I look over and catch Kaito's gaze.

I smile at him, and he slowly smiles back. "Sorry, this is so awkward. I wasn’t looking at you... but past you." He points to the notes that Mrs. Harley has pinned to the wall.

"Ah!" I nod slowly. "Right..."

He chuckles. "No, I was actually looking at you. I was just embarrassed to get caught. From what I heard, your story was really good." He breathes out, a little nervous. "I wish I could've heard it from the beginning. What was it about?"

I tell him it was my take on Little Red Riding Hood. "It was one of my favorites growing up. I wanted to paint the wolf in a better light."

We walk out of class together.

"Really?" he asks.

"Mm. Wolves aren't monsters. They're just living how they're meant to, fighting to survive. That's all."

I glance over to see him thinking, his brown eyes soft and distant, lips parted as if deep in thought. The skin around his eyes puffs slightly as he breathes. "Yeah, I suppose you're right. We're the only mammals on earth who’ve made it easier for ourselves."

"It's kind of sad, isn't it?" I say. "We're like the upper-class citizens who don’t realize how good we have it. And then we want to bring second-class citizens into our homes—like dogs, cats, and other animals lucky enough to be chosen. But then we paint wolves and other animals that don't fit into that category as vicious, just because they too want to live and eat."

"You're very passionate about this," he says with a smile.

I chuckle, realizing I'm ranting again about something nobody probably cares about.

"Do you know where this class is?" He holds up his schedule, and I take it from him.

"Hm... yeah, down the hall, room 230." I nod, handing it back.

"Thanks a lot! Where are you going?" he asks.

"I have wrestling," I reply.

His eyes light up. "You wrestle? How cool! Well, good luck!" He waves before walking off.

_________

"Ha!" I slam Dean's body onto the wrestling mat.

He struggles beneath me, but I hold him down.

"One!"

"Two!"

"Thr–"

Dean bucks hard, throwing me off him. Before I can react, he kicks my legs out from under me, then stands and wraps his arm around my neck.

"Did you really think you were gonna take me down?" His voice is taunting, close to my ear.

I grunt, trying to twist out of his grip.

"You're just a pussy hiding behind wrestling so you don't have to face the fact you're really just a–"

My eyes pulse as I grab his arm and flip him over my shoulder. He crashes to the mat, wind knocked out of him. He stares up at me, wide-eyed, as I squat next to him.

"And you're here pretending you can fight, but you don’t see me complaining..."

I stand up, walking off the mat. Damn brat. I run my fingers through my hair, pushing the strands out of my eyes only for them to fall right back. It's wild to think I had a crush on him for years. He wasn't always this jerk. He used to be so quiet. Didn’t smile much, but he was there—observing. Then one day he walked in, braces on his teeth, and suddenly, he thought he was better than everyone. His social status shot up, and just like that, he turned into the asshole he is now.

But they say people are always evolving. Who they were ten years ago isn't who they are today. Maybe, in ten years, Dean will be a better person. I can only hope, for his sake. I’ve never cared much for the bad boy cliché. But it’s not my business, as long as he’s not fuckin’ with me.

I grab my bag and head into the boys’ locker room.

I know people wonder why I’m even on the wrestling team when the whole school knows. They all know, but I didn’t try to hide it. Why would I? It’s just who I am. But Dean likes to act like I’m hiding it, just so he can tease me about the obvious.

I’ve never said I’m not gay, and it doesn’t seem to bother anyone else. I keep to myself, mind my own business. So, I ignore it as much as I can.

Once I'm showered and dressed, I walk out of the locker room, the sounds of chatter and laughter fading behind me as I make my way down the hallway.

~*~

Kaito's POV.

Wow... so many numbers. I look down at the small paper in my hand, trying to match the numbers to the lock.

I tug on the locker, but it doesn't open. I exhale and try again. Still nothing.

"Kaito? Right?"

I look up to see that guy... um... Now that I think about it, I never even got his name. "Yes, that's right." I smile at him.

"Did you find your class okay?" he asks.

"Yeah. It was... very boring, if I’m being honest." I chuckle.

"Math can be like that." He gestures toward my locker. "Need some help?"

I study him for a moment before nodding. "Yes, but before I hand you the combo... what's your name?"

He stares at me for a second, then it clicks.

"Soren!" He reaches out his hand. "I'm a senior here. I only take creative writing because I need extra credit."

I slowly take his hand. "Freshman."

"Thank God we're all in university, huh? Otherwise you'd be... hm, sixteen?" He snorts.

I frown. "What's wrong with that?" I ask. "I'm seventeen."

I watch the color drain from his face as he blinks. "Hu–"

"I'm really smart," I say, cutting him off. "So smart that I graduated high school at sixteen. My parents said it would be a waste of life if I didn't further my education."

I study him, watching as his emotions flicker across his face, battling to stay hidden.

"I hope that’s not going to be a problem?" I ask, a bit hesitant.

"Uh–" He steps back, looking uncomfortable. "Actually... yeah, sorry, but I’m 21. It’d be weird for me to hang out with someone so young. People might get the wrong idea."

"Oh..." I breathe out, feeling the weight of his words. Is this how everyone's going to react when they find out how old I am?

"Ha– alright..." He says, causing me to look up at him. "I’ll make an exception. You’ll be 18 soon, so I’ll let it slide." He shrugs.

I let out a relieved breath. "Thank you," I bow quickly.

"So you're... Japanese?" He asks, a curious glint in his eye.

I nod. "Partly. My dad's Japanese, and my mom’s biracial—white, black, and Native American."

"No wonder your skin’s so olive. And the fullness of your lips—must come from your mom. I bet she has those natural lips everyone wants to buy." He reaches out and presses his fingers into my hair. "And the way your hair curls a little... I can tell the texture came from your dad. It’s really soft."

I stare up at him, my face flushing a little.

"Oh, thank you," I say quickly, bowing out of habit.

"Hm." He nods, looking slightly sheepish. "Sorry... I’m just really observant. I think it’s the author in me," he adds with a smile.

I shrug. "It’s fine. I’m glad we’re friends now."

He stares at me for a few moments, his expression softening. "Hm." He nods. "Yeah, me too."