"Scott, it's time for school! Get your ass out here, right this instant!" Melissa called out sharply, her voice firm as she finished arranging breakfast on the table. Her movements were quick and precise, the clatter of plates and utensils softened by the warm scent of pancakes and bacon that filled the room. Her eyes darted toward the hallway, waiting for a response from her son, but none came. She sighed, a flicker of irritation crossing her face, but her focus remained on preparing everything just right.
As she placed the last dish down, the door creaked open, and Orion strolled in with a scowl darkening his features. His broad shoulders were tense, his hands clenched at his sides. "If I get my hands on those druids," he growled, the anger simmering in his voice, "they're going to wish they'd never been born." But as his eyes landed on Melissa, his expression softened, a slow smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "Well, well... what do we have here? My beautiful mate, preparing breakfast just for me."
Melissa barely looked up, but a knowing smirk tugged at her mouth as she placed the last dish with a soft clink. "These aren't for you," she replied, her voice light but with a teasing edge. She straightened, folding her arms over her chest as she finally met his gaze. "They're for my boys, and you know better than to barge into someone's house uninvited."
Orion chuckled, the deep sound rumbling in his chest. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he stepped closer, leaning against the doorframe with a lazy confidence. "Oh please," he said, flashing a toothy grin that showed off his sharp canines, "you and I both know you made all of this with me in mind. As for barging in…" He pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room in a few long strides, settling into a chair at the table. His gaze never left hers as he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head. "This was your home, and you are mine."
Melissa rolled her eyes, but there was a faint, barely noticeable flicker of warmth in her expression—a fleeting softness that she quickly masked. She turned away, focusing on wiping her hands with the dishtowel, though the faintest hint of a smile remained on her lips. "You're impossible," she muttered under her breath, though the fondness in her tone betrayed her.
Upstairs, Scott pressed his palms tightly over his ears, gritting his teeth as his mother's voice mingled with Orion's deep, teasing laughter from downstairs. Despite his efforts, it was impossible to block out the conversation—his heightened senses, a constant reminder of his werewolf nature, made sure of that. The murmurs, the clinking of dishes, every breath of their exchange filtered through, sharp and clear.
With a groan of frustration, Scott sat up on the edge of his bed, rubbing his temples. "I'm never going to get used to this," he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with resignation. He glanced at the clock and realized he had no time to dwell on his mom's new romantic situation. He needed to get ready for school.
Dragging himself into the bathroom, Scott splashed cold water on his face, hoping to jolt himself out of his thoughts. His reflection stared back at him, troubled. As he dried off and stepped out, his bare feet padding softly on the floor, a new thought froze him in his tracks. **Allison.** His heart sank as the memory of last night at Lydia's party came flooding back—how he'd bolted out of the room without a word, how the full moon had taken hold, making him lose control.
"What am I going to tell Allison?" he murmured, the weight of it settling on his chest. His reflection seemed to frown at him, as if offering no solace. He couldn't tell her the truth. He couldn't tell her that he was a werewolf—that the reason he ran out was because the full moon had pulled at the darkest parts of him, the parts he couldn't contain.
Lost in thought, Scott didn't notice the creak of his bedroom door until a familiar voice broke through.
"Oh, finally realizing you still have to talk to Allison, huh?"
Scott's head jerked up, startled, and he turned toward his bed to find Stiles sprawled out comfortably on top of it, flipping through one of Scott's books. His best friend dropped the book onto the mattress and gave him a knowing smile, eyes glinting with playful mischief.
"Jesus, Stiles!" Scott exhaled, his pulse still racing from the surprise. Stiles, unfazed, leaned back, propping his head up on one hand as if he belonged there.
"Sorry, didn't mean to startle you, but you've got this brooding look on your face," Stiles said, gesturing toward Scott with a wave of his hand. "Classic 'I messed up with Allison' look."
Scott rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowing in frustration. "Yeah, well… it's not like I can just tell her the truth, can I?"
Stiles tilted his head slightly, his playful smirk softening into something more sympathetic. He could see the weight Scott was carrying, even though his friend tried to hide it. "No," Stiles agreed, his voice softer now, "but you're gonna have to tell her *something.*"
"I know," Scott muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration, his brow furrowed. His eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape. "But right now, I just need to get out of this house." His voice was tight, the weight of last night's events and the awkward tension with his mother bearing down on him. He grabbed his clothes with a quick, sharp motion, pulling on his shirt with a bit more force than necessary.
Stiles, who had been watching his friend with a mix of concern and quiet amusement, stood up from the bed and followed. "Lead the way, man," he said, his voice light, but his eyes flickered with understanding.
As they made their way downstairs, Scott's pace quickened, almost as if he couldn't get out fast enough. The smell of breakfast greeted him, but he barely glanced at the spread on the table. His mother stood by the counter, sipping her coffee, her eyes warm and expectant. She smiled at him, clearly hoping for some acknowledgment, but Scott's focus was elsewhere.
"Morning, Mom," he mumbled, his tone rushed as he snatched a few items off the table—an apple, a granola bar—without even making eye contact. His movements were mechanical, hurried, his mind already on the day ahead and the weight of what he had to face with Allison. He didn't wait for a reply, the door already in his sights as he bolted toward it, the tension in his shoulders visible with every step.
Melissa watched him go, her brow furrowing slightly in concern. "Have a good day, Scott," she called after him, though she knew he hadn't really heard her.
Stiles, a step behind, lingered for a moment. Unlike Scott, he met Melissa's gaze with a bright smile, his usual cheerfulness cutting through the awkwardness Scott had left behind. "Morning, Mrs. McCall," he said, his tone full of the charm that usually softened any tension in a room. Then his eyes flicked to Orion, still sitting at the table, his muscular form relaxed but commanding. Stiles gave him a nod, not wanting to seem impolite. "Orion," he added, trying his best to act natural, though the intensity of Orion's presence always made him a little uneasy.
Orion looked up, meeting Stiles' gaze with a lazy grin. "Stiles," he replied, his voice deep, almost amused. His sharp eyes flicked toward the door Scott had just exited, the slightest hint of a smirk on his lips as he took a sip of his coffee.
Stiles gave a small, awkward wave before quickly following Scott out of the house, feeling the weight of Orion's gaze on his back until the door closed behind him. Outside, he caught up to Scott, who was already halfway down the driveway, his posture tense.
"You know, you could've at least said 'hi' to the guy," Stiles said, glancing at Scott, but his friend remained silent, his expression unreadable.