Morning arrived without ceremony. Sunlight slipped through the window and stretched across the floor, warming the room before anything else stirred. Outside, footsteps passed, voices murmured, and life moved forward as if nothing worth noting had begun.
Freddie woke to the light pressing against his face. He squinted, turning his head away, and let out a breath that hovered between a sigh and a groan. Even waking felt like effort.
He lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Lean for a bear—narrow-shouldered, smaller than most of his kind—his frame barely filled the bed. Others were broader, heavier, more imposing. Freddie had never been. Whether it was inheritance or chance, he had learned early not to expect himself to take up much space.
He rubbed his eyes and sat up, shoulders slouched as if already bracing for the day. Today carried weight—his first day at a college far from home. The bag by the door was packed neatly, waiting. He checked the clock. Time enough to hesitate. Not enough to avoid leaving.
Soon, the quiet apartment would be behind him.
The morning air was crisp when he stepped outside, brushing against his yellow fur as he adjusted the strap of his bag. The streets were already alive—familiar species weaving past one another, moving with purpose. Freddie walked among them with practiced care, avoiding puddles and wandering pedestrians alike.
The train station came into view quicker than he expected. He boarded just as the doors slid open, slipping into a corner as the car filled with adults and students. Tails brushed, voices overlapped. He leaned against the cool metal wall and watched the city pull away beyond the glass.
From here, everything looked smaller. Faster.
The motion of the train settled into a rhythm, steady and familiar. Freddie rested his head against the window, eyes growing heavy despite himself.
In the dream, a hallway stretched endlessly ahead—rows of lockers, classroom doors, voices echoing just out of reach. He saw himself younger, sitting at a desk while others laughed and moved past him. He remembered trying to keep up, choosing his words carefully, learning when silence was safer.
Friends had come and gone. Not with arguments—just distance. Forgetting. Being left behind.
For the first time in the dream, he wondered if trying had ever mattered.
The hallway blurred, voices fading into a dull hum. Just before the loneliness settled in fully, the dream loosened its grip.
The train slowed.
Freddie blinked awake, lifting his head as the city sharpened into focus once more. Rooftops slid past, then disappeared. He adjusted his bag and rose to his feet as the doors opened.
The station was larger than he expected—busy with students, commuters, conversations spilling into the air. He stepped off carefully, taking in the smell of coffee, the clatter of movement, the energy that buzzed just beneath the surface.
Campus loomed beyond the gates—stone walls, ivy curling upward, buildings older and taller than he remembered. Freddie hugged his bag closer as he entered, the sense of being small pressing in again.
Students passed in clusters—fur, feathers, tails of every shade. Some glanced at him briefly, others didn't notice him at all. He preferred the latter. Interactions had never been his strength.
The advisor's office was marked clearly. Freddie followed the signs, committing each turn to memory until he reached the door. He paused there, drawing in a measured breath, then stepped inside.
The room was tidy, compact. Papers stacked neatly. A single desk at the center.
Behind it sat a cougar with sleek tawny fur and sharp amber eyes. He looked up, expression calm but attentive.
"Good morning," he said. "You must be Freddie Bearlyn."
The name settled oddly in Freddie's chest—too soft, too carefully chosen. He nodded.
"I'm Mr. Kallis," the cougar continued, gesturing to the chair. "Have a seat."
Freddie did, careful not to fidget, adjusting his bag on his lap. When he spoke, his voice came out quieter than intended.
"Morning."
Mr. Kallis blinked, just slightly, before smiling. "Alright. Let's take a look at your schedule."
The next several minutes passed smoothly. Too smoothly. Freddie already knew most of what was explained, but he listened anyway, nodding when appropriate. When a slip of paper was handed to him, he folded it neatly and tucked it away.
"You'll find your rhythm," Mr. Kallis said.
"Just take it one step at a time."
Freddie stood. "Thank you."
It wasn't much—but it was enough.
Outside, the hallway buzzed with movement and noise. Freddie didn't linger. He adjusted his bag, took a steady breath, and stepped forward into the flow of students.
This was his path now.
Quietly, deliberately, he followed it.