Teeth GRIT and grind as hues of blue focus onto the boy but only feet away; the hound physically repelling himself from the other. It takes any and all strength he holds to not move forward, to not make a FOOL of himself so early on his enroll to the school--but shit it was so hard. Fingers card through ginger locks, canines now gnawing unconsciously to flesh of lip, Miles growing more and more antsy and longer he just stares.
He doesn’t know if he’s been noticed--he probably has, he isn’t exactly being SNEAKY; and the constant murmuring to oneself isn’t hiding such a fact either.
The hound doesn’t even think, can no longer keep himself at bay before he’s walking toward another; perhaps a bit TOO closely, yet attempting to seem casual beside the pull of lips that show nerves are twisting one up in coils. A walk passed isn’t so simple--no, shoulder bumps up against the strangers, yet it’s ODD, lingers for a bit too long, more of an awkward rub than it was an accidental bump.
Scent marking may not be typical for HUMANS, but for canines God was it hard to resist--and this guys aroma was just too enticing to not cover up.