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Scott couldn't tell anymore.
He stood just beyond the edge of the driveway, where the pavement met the neatly trimmed grass of Allison's front lawn. The house in front of him glowed softly under the porch light, warm and inviting in a way that made everything inside feel normal—safe. It almost tricked him into believing that nothing was wrong.
Almost.
His hands were buried deep inside the pockets of his hoodie, fingers curling and uncurling restlessly against the fabric.
His heartbeat was steady—but not calm. It never was when she was this close. Not anymore. Not since everything had changed.
The night air was cool, carrying the faint scent of trees and damp earth, but beneath it—fainter, sharper—he could smell something else.
Metal.
Oil.
Weapons.
Hunters.
"You're gonna wear a hole in their front lawn if you keep pacing like that."
Scott didn't turn at the voice behind him. His gaze stayed locked on the front door, like if he looked away, he'd lose whatever courage he had left.
"…I'm not pacing."
Behind him, Stiles Stilinski let out a quiet snort, the sound edged with amusement.
"Dude, you've walked the same line like twelve times. If this were a crime scene, I'd already have chalk around your footprints—and probably a detailed theory about how you died."
Scott exhaled slowly, shoulders rising and falling with the breath.
"I shouldn't be here."
"Agreed," Stiles said immediately, without hesitation. "This is a terrible idea. High-risk, emotionally unstable, possible violent death—honestly, I'm impressed you waited this long."
Scott finally turned his head slightly, shooting him a look.
"Then why are you here?"
Stiles grinned, completely unbothered.
"Because when this goes horribly wrong, I want front-row seats."
Scott shook his head, but despite everything, a small smile broke through the tension. That was Stiles—somehow making impending doom feel like a bad joke instead of a death sentence.
Then—
The front door opened.
Both of them froze.
Scott's senses sharpened instantly, his body going still as instinct took over. The faint creak of hinges sounded louder than it should have. The light from inside spilled outward, cutting through the darkness—
And then she stepped into it.
Allison Argent.
Even under the dim porch light, she stood out effortlessly. There was a quiet confidence in the way she carried herself, a calm composure that hadn't fully been broken yet—not by the truth, not by the danger lurking around her life. Or maybe… maybe she was starting to see it. Starting to feel it.
Her eyes landed on Scott.
Recognition came first.
Then something softer.
"…Hey."
Scott swallowed, suddenly aware of everything—his posture, his voice, the way his heart kicked slightly faster.
"Hey."
Stiles leaned just enough toward Scott to whisper under his breath.
"Say something cool."
Scott muttered back, barely moving his lips.
"I am saying something cool."
"You said 'hey.' That's not cool—that's basic human function."
Scott elbowed him without looking.
"Shut up."
Allison raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the exchange.
"…Should I come back later?"
Scott reacted instantly, shaking his head a little too fast.
"No! No—uh—he's just… like that."
Stiles gave a small, polite wave, his expression shifting into something almost charming.
"Hi. I'm the emotional support human."
A faint smile tugged at Allison's lips.
"I remember."
Scott stepped forward slightly, closing some of the distance between them. His voice lowered, more serious now.
"I just… wanted to talk."
Her expression softened—but only just. There was hesitation there. Caution.
"…About what?"
Scott hesitated.
Everything he wanted to say—everything he shouldn't say—collided in his throat, tangling together until he couldn't separate one from the other.
"About us."
Silence followed.
It wasn't loud, but it pressed in around them all the same.
Behind Scott, Stiles leaned back slowly, whispering under his breath,
"Oh, we're going straight into emotional danger. Great. Fantastic choice."
Allison crossed her arms, the movement subtle but defensive.
"There is no 'us,' Scott."
The words landed harder than anything else could have. Harder than claws. Harder than teeth.
Scott nodded slowly, like he expected it… but that didn't make it easier.
"…I know."
A brief pause.
"But I don't want that to be true."
Allison looked away for a moment, her gaze drifting past him as if something in the distance suddenly demanded her attention. Her jaw tightened, just slightly—but enough for Scott to notice. There was something there, flickering beneath the surface. Not anger. Not entirely. Something more complicated.
Conflict.
Or maybe frustration.
"You don't get to decide that."
"I'm not trying to," he said quickly, the words rushing out before she could pull any further away. His voice tightened despite himself. "I just—"
He stopped.
Because suddenly—
He could hear it.
Inside the house he heard Footsteps.
His head tilted ever so slightly, his focus shifting without him meaning it to. The world around him seemed to narrow, every other detail fading into the background as his hearing sharpened.
Two sets.
Heavy.
Measured.
Controlled.
Hunters.
His entire body reacted before his mind could catch up. Muscles tensed. Senses sharpened. His attention snapped toward the door, then back to Allison.
"…Your family's home."
She caught the shift immediately.
"They're always home."
Scott gave a small nod, forcing himself to stay still.
"…Right."
Stiles leaned closer again, lowering his voice.
"Heartbeat just spiked. That's bad, right? That's like horror-movie bad."
Scott ignored him.
"Allison… there's something you need to know."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion creeping in.
"Why does that sound like the start of a lie?"
"Because it's not a lie," Scott said, more firmly than he intended.
She took a step closer.
"Then what is it?"
Scott hesitated again.
This was it.
The moment everything tipped one way or the other.
Tell her.
Or lose her.
Forever.
Behind him, Stiles whispered,
"Dude… if you're gonna confess to murder, maybe don't do it on her front porch."
Scott clenched his jaw.
"I'm not confessing to—"
"Okay, just checking."
Allison sighed, her patience thinning slightly.
"Scott."
Her voice softened, just a little.
"You're acting weird."
Stiles raised a hand casually.
"In his defense, he's always weird."
Scott snapped,
"Stiles!"
"What? I'm helping!"
"You're not helping!"
"I'm emotionally buffering!"
"You're making it worse!"
And then—
Allison laughed.
It wasn't loud. It wasn't long.
But it was real.
And for just a moment, everything shifted. The tension loosened. The fear pulled back. It felt like before—like simpler days when the biggest problem in Scott's life was lacrosse practice and awkward conversations.
Scott exhaled, some of the pressure easing out of him.
"…Okay. Maybe not like this."
Allison tilted her head slightly.
"Like what?"
Scott hesitated, then said quietly,
"…Not in front of your house."
That made her pause.
Not just hesitate—but really think.
Because something in his tone had changed. There was weight behind it now. Something serious. Something real.
"…Then where?"
Scott met her eyes, steady despite everything swirling inside him.
"Somewhere safe."
Stiles immediately leaned in again.
"Define safe. Because statistically speaking—"
Scott shoved him lightly without looking.
"Not helping!"
Allison studied Scott for a long moment, searching his face for something—truth, maybe. Or certainty.
Then finally—
"…Okay."
Scott blinked.
"…Okay?"
She nodded once.
"Tomorrow. After school."
Relief hit him instantly, almost making him dizzy.
"Yeah. Yeah, okay."
Stiles leaned in again, unable to stop himself.
"Oh wow, we're scheduling emotional trauma now. I love organization. Very efficient."
Allison glanced at him.
"You always like this?"
Scott answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
Stiles nodded proudly.
"Consistency is key."
A faint smile touched Allison's lips again.
But it didn't last.
Because from inside the house—
A voice called out.
"Allison."
Her father.
Chris Argent.
Scott's body tensed instinctively, every instinct screaming at him to move, to run, to leave.
Allison turned slightly toward the door.
"I have to go."
Scott nodded.
"Yeah."
A brief pause hung between them.
Then she looked back at him.
"…Tomorrow."
Scott held her gaze.
"Tomorrow."
She stepped back toward the door—
Then stopped.
"…Scott?"
"Yeah?"
She hesitated, something uncertain flickering in her expression.
"…Whatever you're about to tell me…"
Her voice lowered slightly.
"…it better be the truth."
This time, Scott didn't hesitate.
"It is."
She searched his face one last time.
Then she turned and went inside.
The door closed behind her with a soft click.
And just like that—
The warmth disappeared.
Silence returned.
Scott stood there for a few seconds, unmoving, staring at the door like it might open again.
Then he exhaled deeply, tension draining just enough to let reality settle back in.
"…I'm screwed."
Stiles stepped up beside him immediately.
"Oh, completely. Like, historically screwed. This is gonna be in textbooks. 'How Not to Reveal You're a Werewolf 101.'"
Scott groaned, dragging a hand through his hair.
"I have to tell her."
Stiles nodded.
"Yep."
"She's gonna hate me."
"Also yep."
Scott let out a breath, frustration creeping in.
"…What if she tells her family?"
Stiles paused this time, the humor slipping—just slightly.
"…Okay, now we're in life-threatening territory."
Scott shot him a look.
"Not helping."
"I'm being realistic!"
Scott looked back at the house, his expression tightening.
"…I don't have a choice."
Stiles studied him for a moment.
Then nodded slowly.
"…No. You don't."
A beat of silence passed between them.
Then—
Stiles grinned again, because of course he did.
"But hey… worst case scenario—"
Scott glanced at him warily.
"What?"
"You get hunted by a family of professional werewolf killers."
Scott stared at him.
"…You have a really bad definition of 'worst case.'"
Stiles shrugged.
"Optimism is a process."
Scott shook his head, but a small smile slipped through anyway.
Then it faded.
His expression turned serious again as he looked back at the house one last time.
At the girl inside.
"…Tomorrow changes everything."
Stiles followed his gaze, his own expression quieter now.
"Yeah."
Scott swallowed, the weight of it settling deep in his chest.
"…Yeah."