Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Scott balanced his tray in one hand while Stiles kept up a running commentary about their science teacher.

“I’m telling you, the guy’s got it out for me. It’s like he sees my face and just… automatically assumes I’m cheating. Which is insulting, by the way, because if I was gonna cheat, it would be way smarter than that pop quiz disaster.”

Scott’s mouth twitched into a smile. He shifted his tray to one hand, reached over, and caught Stiles’ free one. He bent and brushed a kiss over his knuckles.

Stiles froze, tray wobbling dangerously, before breaking into a grin that split across his whole face.

“Nope. Still digging it. Got all the tingles.”

Scott laughed under his breath, warmth tugging at his chest, and tugged Stiles along toward their usual table.

They had barely settled, food untouched, when a sharp sound cut through the cafeteria. Laughter. Not the easy, harmless kind — this was jagged, mocking. Cruel. It rose and fell in ugly bursts that dug under Scott’s skin.

He frowned, head turning. His gaze landed on the “popular” table, all smug smirks and loud voices. Disgust twisted in his stomach. But then his eyes drifted past them, searching, finding the target of their jeers.

A boy.

He sat small against the chaos of the room, body curled in on itself. Knees pulled to his chest, shoes balanced on the seat. Oversized white hoodie hanging loose, sleeves twisted in his fists. His head kept moving, darting side to side, eyes flicking, blinking too fast. Scott could hear it even from here — the faint, hurried hum thrumming from his chest. A heartbeat underneath, quick and uneven.

Then those eyes lifted.

Green locked with brown, and the world fell out from under Scott.

The noise of the cafeteria dissolved. The laughter, the clatter of trays, even the steady buzz of Stiles’ voice — gone. There was only the boy, only those piercing green eyes pulling him under. Deep in Scott’s chest, something ancient answered. A howl split the back of his mind, raw and claiming, and one word branded itself into his skull.

Mate.

Scott’s lips parted. The word tore out on a breath before he could stop it.

“Mate.”

Stiles, mid-bite, choked violently on a fry. He coughed, pounding his chest, eyes wide.

“Y—you’re what?”

Scott blinked, torn out of the haze, panic clawing into his throat. He jerked his gaze back to Stiles, words tumbling.

“My… my mate. Stiles…”

His eyes were wet, too bright, and it broke something sharp in Stiles’ chest.

For a second, Stiles wanted to panic too. His chest went tight, his brain firing off in all directions. Mate? Seriously? What does that even—no, I know what that means, obviously, but… now? Here? His mouth opened, ready to yell, or laugh, or maybe both, but nothing came out except the sound of his own heartbeat hammering in his ears.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, fingers dragging hard through his hair like maybe tugging on the roots would pull his thoughts into order. Okay, okay, breathe, Stilinski.

You’re dating a werewolf. That already comes with a whole lot of… extras. The dominance thing, which—yeah, not exactly a dealbreaker. The stamina thing—also not complaining. The possessiveness—sometimes hot, sometimes scary, but you’ve managed. And now the universe decides to toss in a mate-bond like it’s some kind of buy-one-get-one-free special?

His laugh came out shaky, half-sputtered into his palm. Figures. Of course. Because why wouldn’t it?

He looked back at Scott, at the sheer panic swimming in his eyes, the way his boyfriend was gripping his hand like it was the only thing keeping him upright. And suddenly, Stiles’ own fear tilted, softened, cracked around the edges. Because yeah, this was insane, and yeah, he was probably going to scream into a pillow about it later. But right now? All he could see was Scott—his Scott—looking at him like he was about to lose everything.

And that hurt worse than the panic.

“I love you, Stiles. I promise I do!” Scott’s voice cracked, breaking on the words like they cost him everything.

Stiles’ throat tightened. He squeezed Scott’s hand back hard, thumb dragging slow over trembling knuckles.

“Hey… hey, look at me.” He waited until Scott’s panicked eyes locked on his, wet and wide and terrified. “I know you do. Okay? I know. You don’t have to prove that to me. Not ever.”

For a second, the words caught in his chest. Because God, Scott looked like he was about to shatter, and Stiles had never wanted less to make a joke in his life. His heart squeezed so painfully it almost felt unfair.

“This doesn’t change us,” Stiles said, forcing his voice steady, even though he could feel his pulse going off like a war drum. “You hear me? You and me—we’re still us. That doesn’t go away just because the universe decided to throw in a curveball.”

His breath snagged when his eyes flicked toward the boy again—small, hunched in his hoodie, still humming faintly even under the storm of mocking laughter—and then back to Scott. He huffed out a crooked grin, because if he didn’t, he might cry instead.

“It just means the game got… bigger,” Stiles said softly. “New player on the field, that’s all. And I’m not gonna let you stand here looking like your whole world’s falling apart, because it’s not. You still have me. You always have me.”

He shoved Scott’s shoulder lightly, just enough to pull a laugh out of him.

“Now c’mon. Let’s go save your mate before I start throwing tater tots at somebody’s head.”

Scott blinked, and then his face broke open, relief flooding out in a blinding smile. He leaned forward before he could stop himself, pressing a kiss firm and desperate against Stiles’ mouth.

“I love you,” Scott whispered again, steadier now, anchored.

Stiles smirked, though his chest still ached in that raw, too-full way. He scooped up his tray and jerked his head toward the other table.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Let’s go, wolf boy.”

Scott trailed after him, heartbeat pounding wild but steady, every step pulling him closer to the boy who had just rewired the entire shape of his world.

 

They crossed the cafeteria slowly, trays in hand, the noise and laughter around them barely registering for Scott. His eyes were locked on the boy at the far end of the room — the one curled inward like he was trying to make himself smaller, invisible. He was rocking, ever so slightly, his eyes tipped up to the ceiling, mouth chewing absently as he hummed under his breath and picked at a fry like it didn’t really matter whether he ate it or not.

Scott swallowed hard. His heart was racing, loud in his ears, fluttering in his chest like it couldn’t decide if it wanted to bolt or explode. Every instinct screamed to close the distance, to pull the boy into his arms, to press his scent into his skin until it stuck.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

He had to clench the tray tighter just to stop himself. His hands were shaking.

Stiles noticed. Of course he did. His eyes flicked to Scott’s hands, then to his face, but he didn’t say anything. He just kept walking, calm on the outside, quiet support radiating off him like heat.

They reached the table.

Scott took a breath, then another. He forced his voice light — casual, teenage normal.

“Uh—hey. I’m Scott. This is Stiles.” His smile tugged a little crooked.

“You’re new, right? We just thought maybe you wouldn’t mind some company.”

The boy didn’t look at them right away. He hummed, soft and distracted, his head turning in a jerky sweep that skimmed across the room — then paused. His gaze didn’t land, exactly, but it lingered in their direction longer than it had anywhere else.

He bobbed his head slightly, chewing at his fry for a moment longer.

Then: “Trey.”

Scott blinked. “Uh—”

He turned to Stiles, who was already looking down at his own tray, blinking as if only just realizing he was holding it. Then his eyes flicked up, one eyebrow raised in deadpan clarity.

“Yes, Scott,” Stiles said with mock gravity, lips twitching.

“You are, in fact, holding a tray. And the sky is blue. What groundbreaking revelations will you discover next?”

Scott let out a breathy huff of a laugh, the tension in his chest easing just a little.

Trey was chewing now, not on the fry anymore, but on the cord of his hoodie. He’d pulled it up between his teeth, fingers twisting the string tight. His head moved in short, twitchy pivots between Scott and Stiles, like he was tracking them without really looking at them.

Scott shifted slightly. His eyes met Stiles', who gave the tiniest shrug like, you’re asking me?

Then Trey spoke again.

“Name.”

Scott blinked. “Oh—your name. Trey.” His face lit up with recognition, the smile blooming wide and warm across his face.

“Got it! Okay, cool. Uh—nice to meet you, Trey. Mind if we sit?”

He sounded so earnest it almost hurt.

Trey didn’t respond right away. He hummed, soft and shaky, hoodie cord still between his teeth. His eyes were still flicking between them, never focusing, but not running either.
And then—

“Hey McCall!”

The voice cracked across the cafeteria like a gunshot.

Scott’s head snapped up.

“He’s retarded! Don’t waste your time!”

The table behind them burst into cruel, jeering laughter.

Trey flinched. His eyes widened, face flushing fast, and his humming stuttered. Shame rolled off him in waves so thick Scott could feel it in his throat. It smelled like salt and heartbreak. Scott took a step forward, mouth parting to say something, anything—

But Trey beat him to it.

“Autistic,” he said softly. Not sharp. Not defensive. Just… a correction. Like he was trying to remove the poison without making it worse.

Stiles’ eyes widened. His mouth made a soft “oh,” lips parting in realization.

Scott stood frozen. He knew the word — had heard it before — but he didn’t know what it meant. Not in this moment. Not in a way that could help him understand the humming, the rocking, the way Trey hadn’t looked them in the eyes once.

Trey glanced upward, still flushed, and rubbed the table with the flat of his fingers. Slow, soft patterns. Like it soothed something.

Then, almost shyly: “Sit.”

Stiles moved first. No hesitation. He slid into the seat across from Trey like he’d already made up his mind, tray thudding down as he pulled out his phone with a sense of purpose.

Scott followed, slower. He sat beside Stiles, not taking his eyes off Trey, heart still hammering in his chest. He leaned over slightly to peek at his boyfriend’s screen.
Tab after tab.

Articles. Forums. Resource links.

“Signs of autism in teenagers.”
“Understanding sensory processing differences.”
“What is stimming?”

Scott sighed, overwhelmed and grateful all at once. He turned and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ cheek.

“I love you,” he said quietly. “Make sure you share what you find, okay?”

Stiles smirked without looking up.

“Pfft. Duh.”

Scott chuckled under his breath, the sound quiet and warm.

And then he turned back to Trey.

His mate.

His autistic mate.

He had no idea what he was doing. He had so many questions he didn’t even know how to ask yet.

But Stiles would figure it out.

And Scott? He’d be right here.

Learning. Watching. Waiting.

Getting to know his mate the way he deserved to be known.

 

The bell shrieked through the cafeteria, loud and metallic, bouncing off tile and glass. Conversations cut off mid-word as chairs scraped back, trays clattered, and the whole room dissolved into the shuffle of bodies.

Trey jerked. His hum spiked louder, almost a whine, his head snapping toward the ceiling like he was trying to track the sound to its source. His fingers dug into the table, rubbing quick, messy circles against the laminate.

Scott was moving before he realized it. Tray abandoned, he was at Trey’s side, hands twitching with the urge to grab him, to cover his ears, to hold him still until it stopped. His voice came out too fast, too uncertain.

“Hey—hey, you okay? Do you need—like, do you want—uh, where’s your class? Do you want me to walk you? Or—should we—”

Trey’s head bobbed. His eyes flicked sideways but not at Scott, his mouth opening then closing again. He hummed higher, chewed on the hoodie cord, then forced one word out.

“nice.”

Scott froze. His chest loosened all at once. He swallowed, trying again, softer this time.

“Okay. Nice. Yes, I'm nice . I promise.”

He wanted to reach out, but his hands hovered helplessly in the air.

“Can I—uh—can I take you to class?”

Trey’s hum dipped, his head tilting side to side like he was weighing the question. He pressed the heel of his hand to the table, then murmured,

“Yes.”

Scott’s smile spread in shaky relief, but he was still rattling.

“Alright. Okay. Which—where’s your class? Do you wanna show me? Or—”

“Dude,” Stiles cut in, sliding up beside them, phone still clutched in his hand.

“Slow your roll. You’re firing questions like a machine gun. That’s—” he waved his phone vaguely, “that’s not gonna work.”

Scott blinked at him, thrown.

“What?”

Stiles sighed, exasperated but fond.

“Look, I did a whole crash course in Autism 101 while you were busy mooning over him. If you keep throwing questions, he’s just gonna shut down. Keep it simple. Consistent. Give him time to answer. He’ll… get there.”

Scott’s shoulders sagged. He glanced back at Trey, who was still humming faintly, still chewing on the string, eyes darting between them.

“Right,” Scott said softly. He made himself breathe, center. His wolf senses kicked in before he realized it, tuning to Trey’s heartbeat — fast, anxious, but steadying. He inhaled, caught the sharp tang of nerves, the faint sweet-salt smell of relief threading underneath. Trey’s body was saying as much as his words. Maybe more.

Scott smiled gently. “Class?” he asked, one word, simple.

Trey stilled. His eyes flicked sideways again, lips pressing tight. He nodded once, then slid off the bench. His fingers brushed the table as if to reassure himself before he stood, hoodie hanging loose over his frame.

Scott moved with him instantly, hovering close but not touching. Stiles followed, slinging his bag over his shoulder, muttering under his breath,

“Congratulations, Scott McCall, wolf-whisperer, now taking on internships in autism support. Applications pending.”

Scott elbowed him lightly, but he couldn’t help smiling.

They wove through the press of bodies in the hall. Trey hugged the wall instinctively, his steps quick and light, humming under his breath in short bursts. Scott walked just close enough to shield his side, his ears tuned to every stutter of Trey’s heartbeat, every change in his scent.

When Trey finally stopped, it was at a door half-hidden at the end of the hall. A smaller classroom. The noise outside dimmed the second Trey stepped in, replaced by softer voices, a hum of calm. Desks were spread out more widely, fewer students inside. A woman looked up from a desk near the door and smiled warmly.

“Hey, Trey. Glad you made it.”

Trey bobbed his head, brushing past Scott and Stiles to slip inside. He walked straight to a desk near the corner, hoodie strings still caught between his teeth, rocking faintly as he settled in.

Scott lingered in the doorway, staring. It hit him all at once — Trey wasn’t avoiding him, wasn’t trying to be difficult. This was just… his space. The one built so he could breathe without drowning in noise.

Stiles nudged Scott’s arm gently.

“See? He’s got his place. He’s not broken, man. He’s just… wired different.”

Scott’s throat worked. He nodded, eyes locked on Trey.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Different. But… perfect.”

Scott hovered in the doorway, torn. He knew he should leave, the hall already thinning out as kids shuffled to their next classes, but his feet didn’t want to move. His eyes stayed glued to the corner desk where Trey had settled, hoodie string caught between his teeth, rocking faintly, his hum low but steady.

Scott tuned in without meaning to, his wolf senses reaching for him — Trey’s heartbeat. Earlier it had been sharp and spiking, erratic with every shout and laugh. Now… it was level. Softer. Beating steady against the quiet.

Scott let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his own pulse syncing to it. He didn’t need words, not right now. That heartbeat was enough.

A huff broke his trance.

“Alright, Lassie, you’ve stared long enough.” Stiles’ hand clamped onto his arm and started dragging.

“C’mon before the bell rings again and you start howling at the moon.”

“Stiles—” Scott tried, his cheeks warming, but Stiles was already leaning around him, raising his hand in a wave.

“Later, Trey! Don’t let this guy creep at your desk too long, he’s clingy as hell.”

Scott’s face went crimson. “Stiles!” He shot his boyfriend a mortified glare, but let himself be tugged back into the hall. Still, he risked one last look over his shoulder. “Uh—bye, Trey.”

The boy didn’t look up, not directly, but Scott saw the faint bob of his head. Heard the steady heartbeat. Felt it soothe something jagged in his chest.

And then Trey was out of view, swallowed by the doorway. Scott’s whole body ached with the urge to turn back. His steps slowed, dragging. His wolf bristled, clawing at him to run back, to stay close.

Stiles groaned under his breath.

“Don’t even think about it.”

Scott flinched like he’d been caught.

“I wasn’t—”

“You were,” Stiles cut in, shaking his head.

“Look, McMateBond, if you hover over him like that all the time, you’re just gonna make him spiral. He already gets overwhelmed by, like—noise, people, being touched. You? Hovering with your big wolf eyes and your ‘I must protect you’ energy twenty-four-seven? That’s a one-way ticket to overload city.”

Scott stopped in the middle of the hall. His eyes went wide, mouth parting in horror.

“I could… make him worse?”

Stiles blinked at him, then rolled his eyes so hard Scott thought he might sprain something.

“Jesus, drama queen. Not worse. Just… nervous. Tense. Like if someone shoved a pop quiz in your face every five seconds. Give him space. Learn him in small doses. Let him set the pace.”

Scott nodded slowly, chewing on the words, his brow furrowed like he was memorizing an oath.

They walked on. The hall was quieter now, voices muffled behind closed doors. Scott glanced sideways at Stiles, the weight in his chest softening. His hand shifted, reaching out, threading their fingers together.

Stiles blinked at him, then smiled, crooked and warm.

Scott smiled back.

“Thank you. For… all of this. For being so—” his throat bobbed, words thick—“great.”

Stiles snorted.

“Please. I’m not going anywhere, dude. You’re stuck with me.” He squeezed Scott’s hand, then added, grinning, “Besides… Trey’s cute. And honestly? It’s kinda fascinating. Learning something new. Figuring him out.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but the smile that tugged at his mouth wouldn’t leave. He squeezed Stiles’ hand tighter, heart still echoing Trey’s steady rhythm in the back of his mind.

 

The rest of the day was a blur. Scott sat through classes, pencil tapping, leg bouncing, barely hearing a word. Every time the bell rang his body jolted like it was an alarm just for him, like it meant he should already be halfway down the hall to Trey’s classroom.

Twice he actually got up, chair scraping, only to find Stiles leaning against the doorframe like he’d predicted it.

“Sit down, Lassie,” Stiles muttered, pointing at his desk like a teacher.

“End of the day, remember? You can’t just go charging off to rescue him between algebra and bio.”

Scott groaned but sat, dragging a hand down his face.

By the final period he could barely hold still. His notebook was blank. He’d spent the entire day picturing Trey at his desk, hoodie strings between his teeth, rocking faintly, heartbeat steady. The only thing that had kept him grounded was listening to that rhythm in his head, reminding himself Trey was safe.

When the bell rang, Scott practically flew out of his chair.

Stiles watched him bolt, dragged a hand over his face, and muttered, “Oh my God. You’re like a golden retriever on Red Bull.” He shoved his bag over his shoulder and jogged after him.

Scott was already halfway down the hall, his wolf instincts buzzing under his skin, pulling him toward Trey.

“Scott!” Stiles called, catching up.

“Dial it down, dude! You’re like… radiating wolf hormones right now. Pheromones. Whatever. You’re gonna smother the poor guy.”

Scott shot him a glare over his shoulder, cheeks pink.

“What?” Stiles said, throwing his hands up.

“I’m not wrong! You’re giving off major ‘mate or die’ energy”

Scott huffed, but didn’t slow down.

They reached the smaller classroom. Scott braced himself, peered inside—empty. Desks cleared. Trey’s spot vacant.

Scott froze, pulse spiking. His wolf rose up instantly, eyes flashing as his nose flared. He inhaled, catching the faint threads of Trey’s scent curling away down the hall. Relief punched through him. Trey was close.

Stiles leaned against the wall.

“Oh great. Now you’re tracking him. What’s next, sniffing lockers? Maybe roll in his scent a little, get the full dog experience?”

Scott whipped him a look that could’ve leveled a mountain.

Stiles grinned, unfazed, and jogged after him.

“Relax, wolf-boy. I’m coming. Somebody’s gotta make sure you don’t tackle him with your undying devotion.”

Scott ignored him, already moving, his whole body pulled by the trail. His mate was out there, and every instinct was telling him to run.

They found him outside.

Trey stood by the edge of the building, half in the shade, hoodie loose around his small frame. His head moved in those sharp, quick sweeps, eyes flicking up and around. He rocked on his feet faintly, humming low in his throat, one hand twisting the drawstring until it was wound tight, like he hadn’t noticed the rest of the world leaving.

Scott sagged, shoulders dropping as relief washed through him. His whole body loosened, the air finally returning to his lungs.

Beside him, Stiles snickered. “God, you’re hopeless,” he muttered, shaking his head fondly. He gestured with one hand, dramatic as ever.

“Go on. Go to him before you collapse in the dirt.”

Scott shot him a look but stepped forward, his smile pulling soft and genuine. The closer he got, the more the noise of the school faded out. Trey’s scent curled around him — clean, sharp, a little wild, tinged with salt. Scott closed his eyes for half a second, breathing it in, letting Trey’s steady heartbeat drum in his ears like an anchor.

Only… it wasn’t steady now.

The beat hitched. Spiked. Trey’s hum climbed louder, a sharper edge to it, his body rocking harder. Anxiety.

Scott’s brow furrowed. He leaned in, voice hushed.

“Hey. You okay?”

Stiles groaned behind him, smacking his forehead.

“Smooth, Scott. Real smooth. Maybe say hi first before you go full wellness check.”

Scott ignored him, his eyes scanning over Trey. The boy hummed louder, gaze darting quick, never quite on them. His mouth opened, hoodie string caught between his teeth.

“Follow,” Trey said finally, voice clipped but certain.

And then he turned, moving without hesitation.

Scott blinked, caught off guard. Stiles frowned, already muttering under his breath,

“Okay… sure, mysterious cryptic one-word guide, that’s not ominous at all.” But he was moving too, keeping pace.

Scott stayed close, heart pulling him forward, torn between wanting to speak and terrified of saying too much. His tongue felt clumsy, every thought tripping over itself. He wanted to tell Trey everything — that he was safe, that he’d never be alone again, that he mattered — but the words jammed in his throat. What if it was too much? What if it pushed him away?

He cast a helpless look back at Stiles.

Stiles caught it, sighed, then reached over and slid his hand into Scott’s, grounding him instantly.

“It’s okay, man,” he said quietly. “We’ll figure it out. Just… give him time.”

Scott squeezed his hand, grateful, and kept moving.

They crossed the lot until Trey stopped abruptly.

Scott’s eyes followed his line of sight and froze.

Leaning against a sleek black car, engine still ticking faintly, was a man in his twenties. Maybe twenty-one, twenty-two at most. Broad-shouldered, tall, dark jeans and a fitted black jacket that looked expensive. His dirty blond hair was cropped short, neat, his green eyes sharp and watchful. His jaw was clean, strong, shadowed faintly with stubble.

There was a kind of coiled ease in him — the relaxed stance of someone who knew exactly how dangerous he was and didn’t need to prove it.

Scott’s wolf rose in an instant. The scent hit him — wolf — and a growl rumbled low in his chest before he could stop it. His body moved instinctively, stepping in front of Trey, lips curling back, protective and raw.

Stiles yelped, stumbling on the asphalt.

“Scott!” He hissed, grabbing his arm. “Put the growl away, man, you’re not auditioning for Alpha of the Year!”

The guy tilted his head, expression amused, like he was watching a puppy try to puff itself up. Then he pushed off the car, casual as anything, and crossed the distance.

“Trey,” he said warmly, pulling the boy in with one arm. Trey went without hesitation, tucking against him, one arm hugging tight while his other hand kept fiddling with the hoodie string caught between his teeth. His hum steadied a fraction.

Scott stiffened, every nerve screaming, but Trey looked calm there, tucked against the guy’s side. It twisted something hot and sharp in Scott’s chest.

Green eyes flicked up, locking on Scott and Stiles. And he grinned. Wide. Knowing.

Scott blinked, instincts warring with confusion. He and Stiles both took a step closer — not too fast, but wary, drawn in. Because mate bond or not, wolf or not… Scott needed to be by Trey.

Especially now.

The guy eyed stiles and Scott a bit more before he addressed them.

“Theo Raeken, and you two are?”

Theo’s arm stayed firm around Trey’s shoulders, drawing him close like it was the most natural thing in the world. Trey leaned in, hoodie string caught between his teeth, his rocking slowed, hum soft against Theo’s side. He looked right at home.

Scott’s jaw clenched. His eyes burned into that arm — that casual, possessive hold — and it took everything in him not to lunge forward and rip Trey away. His wolf snarled under his skin, but he bit it back, forcing his voice out rough and tight.

“I’m Scott,” he said, his eyes never leaving Trey. “This is Stiles.”

Theo smirked faintly, like Scott’s tension amused him more than it threatened him. He tipped his head down toward Trey, voice easy.

“Made some new friends already?”

Trey hummed, bobbing his head just slightly, fingers still fidgeting with the cord in his mouth.

Theo looked back up at Scott. And then his eyes lit, flashing red.

Scott stiffened, golden burning through his own eyes, a low growl curling out before he could stop it.

Theo’s grin widened.

“And a wolf at that. Geez, Trey — it’s only the first day.”

Stiles looked between them, nerves sparking in his chest. His eyes flicked from Scott’s glowing eyes to Theo’s grin and back again.

“Okay… I don’t want to interrupt the testosterone staring contest here, but maybe we could not turn the parking lot into a WWE special?”

Theo’s head snapped toward him, sharp and fast, but his mouth curved into another smirk.

Before he could say anything, Trey spoke.

“Mate.”

The single word dropped like a stone in water.

Scott’s entire body locked. His glowing eyes dimmed, shock blowing the air from his lungs. He stared at Trey, wide-eyed, throat working.

Beside him, Stiles went equally still, his mouth falling open.

Even Theo blinked. His smirk faltered, replaced by a frown as he looked down at Trey pressed against him. Then he lifted his gaze back to Scott — and this time, he glared. A hard, sharp look that made Scott’s spine stiffen. His wolf bristled, defensive, protective, but he didn’t move.

Theo dragged a hand down his face, groaning like he was already tired of the day.

“Really, Trey? A mate? Are you kidding me, baby boy?”

“No.” Trey’s hum pitched higher, rocking gently as he nuzzled further into Theo’s side, hoodie string still caught between his teeth.

The sound that burst out of Stiles was half a snort, half a laugh — disbelief mixed with nerves.

“Cool, cool, just… casual life-changing announcements on a Tuesday. Awesome. But, uh, would somebody like to explain how exactly Trey knows that?”

Theo shot him a sidelong glance, lips twitching, before sighing and letting his shoulders slump. “Don’t worry about that.” He straightened, eyes narrowing at Scott again.

“But I guess you two should come back with us. To the house.”

Scott’s eyes widened.

Theo almost pouted, which on someone with his sharp edges and confidence was downright bizarre.

“There’s a lot you need to know about Trey before I even think about letting you near him — mate or not. Got it?”

Scott’s eyes narrowed in return. His throat worked, and after a beat, he gave a slow nod. He turned toward Stiles, who was staring at Theo and Trey with something between fascination and wariness.

Then Stiles grinned suddenly.

“Okay, but if this turns into a wolf dick-measuring contest, I get to judge.”

Scott choked, voice breaking high.

“Stiles!”

Theo blinked, caught off guard, before he barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Oh joy. A snarky one. I like him.” He bent down, pressed a kiss to the top of Trey’s head. Trey’s lips twitched around the cord, his hum brightening, body rocking happily against Theo’s side.

Theo straightened, looking back at Scott and Stiles, and gestured toward the sleek black car.

“Alright. You got a car?”

Stiles jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

“Jeep.”

Theo nodded once.

“Great. Follow me.”

He opened the door, guiding Trey gently inside, buckling him in with a practiced ease before sliding behind the wheel himself. He shot them a wink as the engine growled to life.

Scott and Stiles scrambled for the Jeep. The second Theo’s car peeled out of the lot, tires humming, Stiles muttered under his breath,

“Asshole. Totally trying to lose us.”

Scott’s hands clenched, golden still flickering faint in his eyes.

“Couldn’t agree more.”

 

The drive out was quiet except for the steady hum of Theo’s black car ahead of them. Stiles' hands stayed tight on the Jeep’s steering wheel, his eyes never leaving the sleek shape in front of them. Every turn they took, every stoplight, Scott’s wolf growled under his skin, worried Theo might gun it and vanish.

But he didn’t. Fifteen minutes later, they turned down a long, tree-lined road, and there it was.

The house.

Two stories, clean white siding, black shutters framing tall windows. A wide porch stretched across the front, complete with tidy flower boxes and a swing bench. Perfectly trimmed hedges bordered the walk, the driveway a smooth curve that led to a garage big enough for three cars. It was the kind of house people pointed at on evening walks and said, wow, whoever lives there is doing well for themselves.

It wasn’t flashy, not a mansion or some ridiculous modern glass box. But it had that quiet, traditional elegance that screamed money anyway. Money and stability.
Scott’s mouth went dry.

Beside him, Stiles’ jaw dropped, then tilted into a grin.

“Well, damn. I was expecting, I don’t know, creepy wolf den with skulls and mood lighting. This is—” he waved a hand at the pristine lawn, “suburban paradise with extra granite countertops. Very HGTV chic.”

Scott didn’t laugh. His chest tightened, his shoulders knotting as the Jeep rolled into the drive. His wolf stirred again, not with anger this time, but with something heavier. His instinct screamed provide, protect, shelter, but looking at this? Trey already had that. He already had more than Scott could give.

A little huff slipped out as Scott crossed his arms and sagged back in his seat. His eyes stayed glued to the house, jaw clenched.

Stiles cut him a sidelong glance, brow lifting. He parked smoothly, then turned to face him.

“Scott,” Stiles said slowly,

“tell me you’re not pouting right now. You literally just found your mate. And he’s adorable. And—bonus—apparently loaded. This is like winning the supernatural lottery, dude.”

Scott’s head snapped around, a low snarl curling out before he could swallow it.

Stiles blinked, taken aback, then sighed and scrubbed his hands down his face.

“Okay, no. Put the macho crap away, wolf-boy. Seriously. There’s clearly a lot more going on here than just you trying to puff your chest out. That guy?” He jerked a thumb toward the house. “Alpha wolf. Older. Dangerous. You start measuring testosterone levels out here and we’re both dead before dinner.”

Scott glowered, golden flickering in his eyes, but the fight drained out in a heavy sigh. He nodded once, shoulders slumping.

“Good,” Stiles muttered, shoving his door open. “Glad we had this talk.”

They climbed out, gravel crunching under their shoes as they made their way up the walk. Before Scott could knock, the door swung open.

Theo leaned casually in the frame, smirk already in place.

“Oh good, you found the place. Was worried when I didn’t see you behind me for a bit.”

Stiles’ eyes narrowed, his glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Yeah, almost like you were trying to lose us. Weird how that works, huh? Asshole.”

Theo’s smirk only deepened, unbothered. He stepped back, sweeping an arm with mock formality.

“By all means. Come in.”

Scott exhaled slowly, following Stiles across the threshold. His stomach churned, nerves and wolf instincts tangling. This was supposed to be simple — find his mate, keep him safe, be what he needed. But with Theo in the mix, with Trey pressed so easily to his side, it was already so much more complicated.

And it was only the first day.

 

The door shut behind them with a soft click, and Scott froze.

The house opened up around them, warm and wide, the kind of space that pulled you in with the smell of clean wood and faint fabric softener. The living room stretched across the front of the house, sunlight spilling across thick carpet. A massive TV took up most of one wall, consoles stacked neatly beneath it. Rows of games lined the shelves — not alphabetical, not by console, but sorted into strange, specific categories only Trey would understand.

The couch was oversized, deep enough to sink into, a thick knit blanket draped across the back like it belonged there. It looked big enough for two or three people to curl under at once, worn soft with use.

Scott’s eyes landed on the couch.

Trey was there.

He’d shed the oversized hoodie, left in just a loose shirt that brushed his frame. He was sprawled on the cushions, legs tucked under, one hand brushing slowly against the fabric of the blanket like he was memorizing the texture. His eyes were half-lidded, humming soft under his breath. His rocking was gone, his head still for once. He looked… different. Relaxed.

Scott tilted his head, frowning. His wolf stirred, uneasy with the sudden change. He turned toward Stiles, confused.

Stiles sighed, exasperated but fond, like he’d already read Scott’s mind.

“Yeah, he looks different. You know why? Because he’s home. This is his safe zone. No cafeteria noise, no assholes screaming slurs, no bells trying to crack his eardrums. He’s got his stuff how he likes it, Of course he looks different. its safety for people with Autism"

Scott blinked, staring at him.

From the armchair, Theo’s brow rose. “Well, look at you,” he drawled, clearly amused. “You’re a clever one, huh? How’d you know Trey was autistic?”

Both Scott and Stiles jumped like they’d forgotten he was there. Stiles’ eyes went wide, mouth opening and closing before Scott cleared his throat.

“He… told us. At lunch. In the cafeteria.”

Theo hummed, nodding once. His eyes slid to the couch, softening when they landed on Trey. Trey’s hand was still brushing the blanket, his hum low and steady, eyes closed as if he might drift off right there.

“Long day,” Theo said quietly. “He’s exhausted. This won’t take long, but we need to talk. Ground rules for you, mate.” His gaze cut back to Scott, the softness gone, replaced by a scowl.

Scott blinked, shoulders stiffening. He frowned, breath huffing out. His feet carried him closer to the couch anyway, almost without asking him. He hesitated, hovering like he wanted to sit but didn’t know if he was allowed — especially when Trey looked so peaceful.

Trey’s eyes cracked open. Green, sharp and glassy in the dim light. He blinked at Scott once, then hummed, shifting upright.

Scott stared, frozen, before sinking down beside him. A little closer than he should have.

Stiles sighed from behind him, voice edged with snark.

“Smooth, Scott. Nothing says subtle like invading personal space on day one.”

But then Trey leaned.

His body pressed into Scott’s side, head resting lightly against his shoulder. His fingers reached out, caught the edge of Scott’s shirt, rubbing the fabric between them like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hum deepened, soft and content, like a constant sigh against Scott’s chest.

Scott went statue-still, eyes wide, every nerve buzzing. He didn’t dare move, didn’t even breathe too loud, afraid the moment would shatter if he did.

Stiles’ mouth snapped shut with an audible click. Before opening again because he cant help himself.

“Wait, he’s okay with this? Already?”

Theo snorted. “Figures.” He shook his head, settling back into his chair with a sigh.

“Baby boy works fast. Mate bond cuts through a lot of the red tape.”

Stile’s eyed Theo and nodded slowly before his eyes went back to Scott.

Scott who didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He sat there frozen, Trey pressed against him, Trey’s hum settling in his bones, and for the first time all day, Scott felt steady too.

Theo’s gaze drifted between Scott and Trey, his usual sharp grin softening at the sight of Trey curled against Scott’s side. He sighed, running a hand through his hair like he hated what he was about to do but had no choice.

“Look,” he started, voice steady,

“I don’t know you two. Not yet. But I do know mate bonds. Which means I know I’m not getting rid of you.”

His eyes slid to Scott, who bristled instantly. A faint growl threaded through Scott’s chest, his eyes flashing gold in warning.

Then Trey tugged at his shirt.

Scott’s head snapped down, his wolf instincts redirecting like a leash yanked tight. Trey’s green eyes flicked up to him — soft, gentle, meeting his gaze just long enough before closing again. He hummed, his body easing back into Scott’s shoulder, as if to say 'enough'.

Scott flushed, heat climbing his cheeks. “Sorry,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear. “Didn’t mean to upset you.”

From the armchair, Stiles let out a snort so sharp it was nearly a laugh.

“Wow. You’re already whipped. That was fast.”

Scott turned redder.

“Shut up. You have me whipped too.”

Stiles grinned shamelessly.

“Damn right i do.”

Theo hummed, eyeing the two of them like he wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or horrified. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“Alright. Enough joking around. We need to talk about Trey.”

Scott stiffened, his arm instinctively moving slightly toward his mate but he didn't touch him.

Theo noticed but let it slide, his tone even.

“Trey’s autistic. That means his brain processes the world differently — sounds, lights, touch, routines. It’s not something that goes away, it’s not something broken. It just is. And it means he’s got specific needs you’ll have to understand if you’re gonna be in his life.”

Scott swallowed hard, nodding once.

Theo ticked off on his fingers.

“He thrives on routine. Predictable things, same order every time. Meals, bedtime, even the way we do his nightly rub-down — it helps regulate his body so he can sleep. If it’s disrupted, he spirals. And spirals aren’t pretty. He’ll get loud, hit himself, scream. It looks scary, but it’s just him overloaded, his body’s way of dumping all the static in his head.”

Scott’s brows drew tight, his stomach knotting. He could already picture it — Trey’s soft hum cracking into something raw. The thought made his chest ache.

Theo went on, voice clipped but not unkind.

“Touch is complicated. For a lot of people with autism, it can feel… wrong. Too much. Even painful. Trey doesn’t let just anyone touch him. I'm sure you saw how he handled it at school — rocking, keeping to himself. That’s normal for him in public. But at home, with me, it’s different. He trusts me, so I can help with deep pressure stuff — hugs, rubs, grounding. It calms him down.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as they cut to Scott.

“I don’t know how much the mate bond will change that. You might get more leeway. Clearly you already did —” his gaze flicked down at Trey pressed into Scott’s side, tugging at his shirt, humming like he was content — “but don’t push it. Don’t assume. Let him come to you. If you try to force touch on him, if you crowd him when he’s not ready, you’ll send him into a fit. And when he’s in that state, he hurts himself. I won’t let that happen.”

Scott’s throat worked, guilt already weighing heavy. His hand twitched at his side, aching to hold Trey closer, but he forced it still.

Theo leaned back, sighing again.

“So, ground rule number one: patience. Always patience. You wait for him. You don’t rush him. You don’t get to decide what he can handle — he’ll show you.”

Scott nodded slowly, eyes on Trey.

Theo’s voice softened, though his tone stayed firm.

“Mate bond or not, Trey’s still Trey. And his comfort comes first. Always.”

Scott nodded automatically, but his eyes never left Trey. His mate’s hum was soft against his side, fingers still rubbing at his shirt. Scott’s whole world narrowed to that — to making sure it didn’t stop.

From the other chair, Stiles cleared his throat.

“Okay, so—rapid-fire round. What do we need to know? Like, is there a list? An instruction manual? Because I’m pretty sure they don’t cover ‘how to not break your autistic best friend’s mate’ in Health class.”

Theo’s brow ticked up, clearly amused.

“You always talk this much?”

“Constantly,” Scott muttered, distracted.

Stiles threw him a look, then turned back to Theo.

“So? Noise. Is that a thing? Because school’s basically a hurricane with desks.”

Theo nodded.

“Noise is a big one. Sudden shouts, loud rooms, too many voices at once — it grinds him down. He hums to block it out. But if it keeps up, he spirals.”
“Spirals,” Stiles echoed, making a face.

“Got it. Noise bad. Okay, what about food? He looked like he was eating fries at lunch but is it like—textures, picky stuff?”

Theo’s mouth twitched like he wanted to grin but didn’t.

“Yeah. Textures. Anything slimy is out. Crunchy or soft, predictable textures are safe. Don’t try to sneak in something new unless you want a meltdown.”

Stiles frowned, nodding slowly, then squinted.

“Okay, what about clothes? He was, uh, chewing on his hoodie string like it was a lifeline. Is that… a bad sign?”

Theo shook his head.

“No. That’s comfort. Trey likes fabric textures. Hoodie cords, blankets, soft shirts — rubbing or chewing calms him down. If he’s doing it, it means he’s regulating. Safe.”

Scott’s chest eased a little, staring down at Trey’s fingers still curled in his shirt.

Theo’s expression tightened just slightly.

“But… clothing can be a problem. If it’s scratchy, stiff, or the seams are wrong? He won’t wear it. The wrong shirt, the wrong pair of socks, that can ruin his whole day. So don’t force him into something ‘nicer’ or different just because it looks good. You let him pick what feels right.”

Stiles’ brows shot up.

“Okay. Got it. Comfort clothes or bust.”

Scott shifted faintly, frown pulling between his brows, but Trey hummed again against him and the sound quieted his chest.

Theo’s eyes flicked back to Stiles.

“Anything else?”

Stiles’ mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

“Yeah. Uh. The shirt rubbing thing he’s doing right now? Is that like… a comfort thing? Or is he trying to tell Scott something? Because if it’s a code, we need subtitles, man.”

Theo snorted, finally grinning.

“It’s comfort. He likes fabric textures when he’s calm. Rubbing cloth, brushing blankets. If he’s doing it to Scott, that’s—” he tipped his chin toward them—“his version of trust.”

Stiles blinked, then looked back at Scott, whose face was still pink, frozen like moving an inch might ruin it.

“Huh.”

Theo leaned back, arms folding.

“You’ll figure it out. Both of you. Just… don’t screw it up.”

Stiles leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes flicking between Theo and Trey.

“Okay, you keep saying ‘comfort’ and ‘safe,’ like… grounding words or whatever. What does that mean, exactly? How do you ground him? Because it sounds important.”

Theo’s jaw worked for a moment, like he was debating whether to bother. Then he nodded slowly.

“When Trey spirals — overload, too much noise, too many changes — he doesn’t just get upset. He crashes hard. We’re talking screaming, hitting himself, losing control. It’s not a tantrum, it’s his nervous system going into overdrive. And in those moments, the only way back is grounding.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed.

“Grounding. Like… what, meditation, yoga mats, deep breaths?”

Theo gave him a flat look.

“Words. Simple, predictable words he knows. ‘Safe.’ ‘Gentle.’ ‘Same.’ You say them over and over, steady, until he can grab onto them. It gives his brain something familiar to hold onto when everything else feels like it’s falling apart.”

Scott’s chest tightened. He glanced down at Trey still curled against him, humming softly, fingers rolling the fabric of his shirt. His heart hurt imagining him spiraling like that, lost in the storm.

Theo’s eyes flicked to him.

“Sometimes words aren’t enough. Light pressure helps. A hand on his arm, his chest. Deep, steady weight. But only if he trusts you. Only if he lets you. If you push when he’s not ready, you’ll make it worse.”

Scott frowned, throat dry. He looked at Trey, then back at Theo, then back at Trey again. His hand twitched at his side. Finally, quietly, he asked,

“Trey… will you let me hold you? Just… put my arm around you?”

The air seemed to stop.

Stiles let out a sharp breath, shoulders jerking up. Theo sighed, closing his eyes like he’d expected this sooner or later but wasn’t going to interfere. The choice was Trey’s.

Trey hummed, head shifting faintly. His eyes opened, green and sharp, flicking up to Scott. He looked at him for a moment, then murmured, soft and clipped:

“No.”

Color rose instantly to Scott’s face. He froze, devastation flashing across his features like he’d been struck.

Stiles snorted under his breath, instinctive, but immediately winced as Scott’s expression caved in further.

“Shit—sorry, man,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

But Trey didn’t move. He didn’t pull away. He stayed pressed against Scott’s side, humming low, his fingers still rubbing at Scott’s shirt.

Theo tipped his head toward them.

“See? He told you. That’s the point. He’s not leaving, he’s not afraid. He’s still here. He’ll tell you what he needs. And you listen. Every time.”

Scott bit his lip, nodding quickly. He turned his head down, whispering,

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to push.”

Trey shook his head faintly, like it wasn’t worth apologizing for. His lips moved again, just barely.

“Mate.”

Scott’s heart cracked wide open. He smiled, soft and raw, looking down at him.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Mate.”

Stiles watched them, a smile tugging at his own lips despite himself. Across the room, Theo leaned back in his chair, eyes soft but unreadable, watching too.

Trey’s soft “Mate” still hung in the air when Theo exhaled, leaning forward again. His eyes were steady, serious.

“One more thing. You need to understand this too.”

Scott looked up, reluctant to pull his attention away from Trey, but he forced himself to meet Theo’s gaze.

“When Trey spirals… sometimes words and touch aren’t enough. Sometimes it gets bad.”

Stiles’ throat bobbed. He glanced at Trey, then back at Theo, his voice uncharacteristically small.

“Bad like… how bad?”

Theo’s jaw flexed.

“Bad enough he’ll start hurting himself. Punching, clawing, trying to knock his head into walls. It doesn’t happen a lot. But when it does—” he paused, his eyes softening as they drifted to Trey, still pressed against Scott’s side, humming quietly—“I have to hold him. Keep him still. Wrap him up in a way he can’t thrash. It looks rough, I know. But it’s not restraint. It’s pressure. Steady. Firm. Enough to tell his body he’s safe in mine.”

Both Scott and Stiles froze, their expressions tight, uneasy.

Stiles swallowed hard, his usual wit stalling.

“Jesus. It gets… that bad?”

Theo nodded once, slow.

“Not often. But it does happen. And right now, if either of you tried that, it would make things worse. Way worse. He doesn’t know you yet. You don’t have that trust. For now, your job is to stay calm. Repeat the words. Keep your presence steady. Don’t touch unless he asks. Don’t crowd him. Just… let me handle it if it comes to that.”

Scott’s gut twisted. He looked down at Trey again — his mate, humming soft, tugging at his shirt — and the thought of him spiraling that far, hurting himself, made his throat ache. He whispered,

“Okay. We won’t push.”

Theo nodded, satisfied.

They stayed another thirty minutes. Theo answered what questions he wanted to, ignored the ones he didn’t, and eventually pushed to his feet with a groan.

“Alright,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen, “I’ve gotta get his dinner ready.” His eyes flicked deliberately to Scott and Stiles. “Routine.”

Both of them nodded instantly, understanding.

Scott lingered, eyes on the couch. Trey had gone quiet, curled against the big blanket, his hum soft and steady. He hadn’t moved since Scott sat down, hadn’t pulled away. His fingers still held the edge of Scott’s shirt, loose now, almost like he’d forgotten they were there.

“See you at school tomorrow,” Scott said softly.

Trey’s eyes didn’t open, but his head bobbed faintly.

Scott’s chest squeezed. He didn’t move.

Stiles sighed, huffing out a long breath before grabbing Scott’s arm and tugging.

“C’mon, Romeo. Gotta let Juliet live a little.”

Scott flushed scarlet.

“Stiles—”

“Don’t Stiles me. You can moon over him in homeroom tomorrow.” He tugged again, rolling his eyes dramatically.

Scott gave Trey one last look, then finally let himself be pulled toward the door, his feet dragging like he could slow time with sheer stubbornness.

Theo leaned against the archway, arms folded, smirking faintly as they passed.

“See you, boys.”

Scott muttered a stiff “Yeah,” under his breath, still half-turned back.

Stiles snorted and pushed him the rest of the way out the door.

 

The Jeep’s engine hummed low as they pulled onto the main road, streetlights flicking across the windshield in slow rhythm. Scott slumped back in the passenger seat, fingers raking through his hair until it stood on end. He groaned, pressing his palms into his face.

“God…” His voice cracked, muffled behind his hands.

“What if I screw this up? What if I say the wrong thing, push when I shouldn’t, and—and he spirals because of me?”

Stiles sighed, eyes flicking between the road and his boyfriend.

“Yeah, I saw that coming.” His voice wasn’t mocking, not really. More resigned, gentle under the sarcasm. “Dude, of course you’re freaking out. You just got hit with the Werewolf Mate Handbook: Autistic Edition, and you’re Sixteen, You’re allowed to be overwhelmed.”

Scott let his hands fall to his lap, staring out the window.

“But what if I make it worse, Stiles? He’s… he’s already dealing with so much. And I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Stiles tightened his grip on the wheel, thinking.

“Okay. Serious question. Do you wanna back off? Step away? Because yeah, it’s gonna be harder. Not normal. You mess up, there are actual consequences.”

Scott’s head snapped around. His eyes burned gold, a low growl threading through his chest.

“No. Mine.”

Stiles startled, then snorted, shaking his head with a crooked smile.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” His eyes softened. “You already have your answer, Scotty. You’re not backing off. And guess what? You don’t have to do this alone. You’ve got me. We’re a team, remember? You’ve got me, every step of this.”

The gold dimmed from Scott’s eyes, his shoulders sagging as he looked at Stiles, raw gratitude in his gaze. Slowly, he reached over, their fingers lacing together between the seats.

“Thank you,” Scott murmured.

“For being so great. I know this… this wasn’t what you signed up for. Some weird three-way relationship thing. But I’m so—so fucking grateful for you.”

Stiles snorted, shaking his head.

“Baby, I love you. I’d do anything for you. I knew dating a werewolf was gonna have ups and downs. Honestly? This is an up. Trey’s cute. Hot. Adorable. I am not opposed to some three-way loving if we get there.”

Scott barked out a laugh, head tipping back against the seat.

“You’re such a horny mess.”

“Fix it then,” Stiles shot back with a grin,

“by fucking me into the mattress later.”

Scott’s eyes flared yellow again, a smirk tugging his lips.

“Absolutely.”

The laughter lingered for a moment, then the car fell quiet, the hum of the tires a steady rhythm beneath them. The air felt easier. Peaceful.

Scott stared out the window, heart still aching but steadier now. He hadn’t expected a mate to drop into his life, hadn’t expected the challenges Trey brought with him, the needs that would reshape everything.

But he had Stiles. And with Stiles by his side, he could handle it. He could handle anything.

 

The room was quiet except for Scott’s breathing. Slow. Steady.

His arm was draped over Stiles’ chest, warm and heavy, pinning him half under the sheets. They were both naked under the blankets, skin still faintly damp from sweat, muscles loose with the kind of exhaustion that only came after they had tangled themselves up in each other until nothing else existed.

Scott was out cold. Stiles… not so much.

Phone in hand, the glow lit up his face as he scrolled, thumb flicking rapid-fire. Ten tabs open already, more stacking by the minute. Articles. Forums. Research papers. Autism 101, autism subtypes, sensory processing, communication styles, meltdowns versus shutdowns, stimming behaviors. He skimmed, dismissed, cross-referenced. Half of it didn’t line up with what Theo had said, so he discarded it, kept digging. He wasn’t stopping until he understood every damn thing he could about Trey — about what Scott’s mate needed.

Because Scott was scared. Stiles had seen it in his eyes, felt it in the Jeep when Scott’s voice broke. Scott was insecure — terrified that he’d hurt Trey, that he’d make him spiral, that he wasn’t enough. And Stiles? He was Scott’s partner. His job was to stand in the gap, to know things Scott didn’t, to help him navigate.

So yeah, he was gonna fry his brain on medical journals and parent forums until his eyes bled if it meant giving Scott what he needed. That’s what he did. He researched. He figured shit out.

All the while, his other hand combed absentmindedly through Scott’s hair, slow and gentle. Scott burrowed closer in his sleep, his breath warm against Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles’ scrolling slowed. He blinked hard, set the phone down for a second, and turned his head. Watched Scott’s face in the dim light.

He’d expected to feel jealous. Expected to feel shoved aside, replaced by something stronger, something cosmic that he could never touch. Mate bond. He’d braced for it. But it hadn’t happened.

Scott hadn’t treated him like less. He hadn’t made Stiles feel small. No — Scott still touched him like he was precious, still looked at him like he was the only damn thing in the world, still made love to him with that steady, fierce devotion that had carried them this far.

The fear melted, burned away to ash. Feeling jealous was the last thing Scott needed from him. What Scott needed was support. Love. The assurance that Stiles was with him in this, one hundred percent. And Stiles wasn’t going to let him down.

He smiled faintly, pressed a quick kiss to Scott’s temple, then picked up his phone again. The tabs waited. So did Trey. And if Stiles had to learn the entire DSM-5 overnight, then so be it.

Hours later, the phone slid forgotten from his hand. Stiles was curled into Scott’s arms at last, both of them tangled under the sheets, Scott holding him like the most important thing in his world.

And for the first time in hours, Stiles let himself rest.

Chapter Text

The morning air was sharp, the kind that made Scott’s lungs feel too small. He couldn’t keep still, shoulders rolling, foot tapping, his hand twitching in Stiles’. His wolf was already howling in his chest, restless, aching — his mate was close. He could feel it.

Beside him, Stiles squeezed his hand, smirking.

“You keep buzzing like that and I swear, your hand’s gonna turn into a vibrator.”

Scott whipped his head around, ears hot, face flooding pink. “Stiles.” He groaned his name like it was a crime.

“What? Just stating facts, babe.” Stiles grinned, completely unbothered, his eyebrows bouncing.

Scott ducked his head, cheeks still red, but then his nose twitched. He stilled, nostrils flaring as scent pulled at him. His wolf lunged forward.

Stiles blinked, catching it instantly. His heart clenched because Scott looked so eager, so focused, and he had to physically stop himself from cooing out loud.

“Scott—”

But Scott was already moving, tugging their joined hands. Stiles jerked forward, stumbling into stride.

“Okay, wow, sudden werewolf GPS.” He laughed lightly, rolling his eyes. “Y’know, I’m not some ball-and-chain you can just drag around, McCall.”

Scott glanced back at him, grin tugging at his mouth.

“Could’ve fooled me.” His eyes softened, teasing but warm, before he turned forward again.

The closer they got, the sharper Scott’s senses pulled him in — Trey’s scent curling through the crowd, Trey’s heartbeat hammering, spiking hard, nothing like the calm rhythm from the couch last night.

And then he saw him.

Hoodie back on, oversized, swallowing his frame. Trey’s knees were drawn up, shoulders curled in, his head tilted toward the sky as if searching for something up there. He rocked gently, humming under his breath, the hoodie string between his teeth. His fingers rubbed it, twisting soft fabric back and forth, over and over.

Waiting.

Scott’s chest swelled, a beaming smile tugging at his lips. His wolf howled mine in relief.

And then he heard it.

Jeering. Cruel laughter to the side.

He turned sharply, eyes catching on a cluster of kids mimicking Trey — tilting their heads back in exaggerated poses, humming loud and broken, biting at invisible strings before shoving each other and laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.

A growl tore out of him, low and sharp, his eyes flashing bright gold.

“Scott.”

Stiles’ grip on his hand tightened, his voice low and firm.

“Not worth it. Look at me — not worth it. Let’s just get to him. Help him settle.”

Scott’s jaw clenched, a rumble still caught in his chest. His wolf burned to lash out, to make them regret every sound. But Stiles’ hand, Stiles’ eyes — it pulled him back.

He growled once more, sharp and brief, then nodded.

Together, they cut across the crowd toward Trey. Scott’s teeth still ached, his anger fighting every step, but his focus locked back where it belonged — on the boy waiting for him.
Scott’s chest tightened as the jeers cut sharper, cruel laughter echoing too close. His wolf bristled, every word digging into him like claws. He winced, shoulders bunching, breath catching as the urge to snarl and lunge burned hot under his skin.

Beside him, Stiles’ jaw was locked tight, teeth grinding. His hands curled into fists, knuckles pale. For a second, Scott thought he was going to swing first. But then Stiles sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, chest rising, and forced it out slow. He unclenched his hand, fingers flexing, choosing control because he knew better.

Scott tore his gaze away from the mocking voices and dropped down into Trey’s space, lowering himself a little so he wouldn’t loom. His voice came out soft, steady.

“Hey, Trey.”

The boy hummed louder at first, rocking sharper, the hoodie cord still pressed to his mouth. But then his rhythm shifted, his hum dipping lower, slower. His head tipped just enough to angle toward Scott and Stiles, never quite looking at them, but not turning away either.

Scott’s chest loosened at the small shift. Stiles, still breathing through his teeth, managed a crooked smile.

“Morning, Skywatcher.”

Trey’s hum wavered, then evened out, steadier than a moment ago. His fingers twisted the cord tighter, but he didn’t retreat. He stayed. That was all it took — the smallest sign of trust — and Scott’s wolf surged.

He wanted nothing more than to wrap Trey in his arms, hold him tight, press his scent into him until the whole damn school knew who he belonged to. That was how Scott knew to comfort, how he’d always protected. But he couldn’t. Not yet. And it gutted him.

“Okay.” Stiles’ voice cut through, sharp but steady. He tugged Scott’s sleeve, eyes flicking quick between Trey and the kids across the lot.

“We get him out of here. Away from the assholes. No fights, no drama, just safe.”

Scott blinked at him, still strung tight. “Where?” His voice cracked.

“Classroom,” Stiles said immediately. His mind was already sprinting, pulling from hours of research.

“Routine. He’ll feel safer there. Predictable environment. Get him into the place he expects to be and it’ll settle him. Trust me.”

Scott nodded fast, turning back to Trey. His voice dropped low, gentle.

“Trey? Want us to walk you to class?”

Trey’s rocking slowed. He hummed once.

“Yes”

then reached out — his fingers catching the hem of Scott’s shirt. Rubbing the fabric, small and steady. His head tilted, brushing faintly toward Scott’s shoulder.

Scott froze, breath catching, eyes wide. Then he exhaled like the air was punched out of him. His hands itched to hold, to cover, to anchor — but he didn’t. He let Trey choose.

“Okay,” Scott whispered. “We’ll walk with you.”

They turned, Trey tucked close, his fingers still clutching Scott’s shirt as they moved toward the building. Behind them, jeers and catcalls rose, cruel voices trying to drag them back.

Scott’s wolf roared, begging to spin, to bare his teeth and end it. His shoulders bunched, his jaw clenched. But Trey’s hum pressed against his side, softening, steadying.
And Stiles’ hand was there, squeezing his tight. “Not worth it,” he muttered, firm, grounding.

Between the two of them — mate and boyfriend, hum and hand — Scott’s wolf settled. Not gone, but quiet.

For now.

 

Trey stayed tucked close to Scott as they walked. His shoulder brushed Scott’s arm, his head dipping slightly so that his temple rested against Scott’s shoulder. The hoodie cord was between his teeth again, chewed soft from use, his hum low and steady. Not sharp, not frantic — just a sound to hold him steady, like a tether to himself.

Scott’s chest ached anyway. He glanced down, worry creasing his brow.

Stiles caught the look and shook his head with a faint smile.

“Don’t do that,” he murmured. “That’s stimming. It’s not distress. It’s just… how he copes. How he regulates. Chewing, humming, rocking — that’s him keeping himself even. Not breaking.”

Scott looked back at Trey, watching the cord shift between his teeth, the hum vibrating soft against his shoulder.

“Does he… always have to do that?” His voice was hushed, almost reverent. “Always have to regulate like that?”

Stiles’ mouth pulled tight, his eyes flicking down for a second before returning to Scott.

“From what I read? Yeah. Pretty much all the time. The world’s loud, Scotty. Stimming makes it livable.”

Scott nodded slowly, his eyes sad as they lingered on Trey.

Stiles sighed, stopping him before the thought could root too deep.

“Don’t. Don’t look at him like that. He’s not broken. This isn’t sad. It just is. You pity him, you’ll hurt him worse than anyone else.”

Scott blinked, startled by the heat in Stiles’ eyes. He flushed, the weight of it sinking in.

Beside him, Trey’s hum pitched higher, faster, his heartbeat spiking in Scott’s ears. He sniffed and caught it in Trey’s scent too — the sharp tang of shame, of worry.

Scott closed his eyes, guilt twisting in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“To both of you. I’m not used to this yet, but… I want to be. I want to understand. Trey—” his throat tightened—“you’re my mate. My person to care for, to protect, to love.” His voice cracked on the last word.

Stiles’ grin was crooked, light.

“There it is.”

Trey blinked up at him. His hum slowed, softened again. His heartbeat calmed. He didn’t say much, but when he spoke, it landed like a stone dropped into Scott’s chest.

“Mate.”

Scott’s lips curved, his eyes stinging. Maybe it meant everything Trey couldn’t say. Maybe it was enough.

“Mate,” he answered, voice thick with it.

Trey hummed long and low, eyes fluttering closed, leaning more fully into Scott’s side.
Scott beamed, looking up at Stiles, who grinned back brightly.

“See? You’re getting it. Just don’t treat him like glass, dude, and you’ll be fine.”

Scott nodded, smiling as the classroom door came into view.

The bell shrieked. Trey flinched, his eyes snapping wide, pulse spiking hard under his skin.
Scott bent, whispering fast and steady into his ear.

“Easy. Safe. Same. The bell will do that all day. Same.”

Trey’s breath caught, then his hum steadied. He nodded, resting his head back against Scott’s shoulder.

The three of them stood there together, waiting until the very last second before Trey had to go inside. Together, like it would always be from now on.

 

The rest of the school day slipped by in a blur. Scott couldn’t focus on classes, not with his wolf tugging at him every bell, pulling him toward the boy he could feel on the edge of his senses. Stiles stuck close, reigning him in with sharp looks and muttered jokes every time Scott shifted like he was about to bolt.

When the final bell rang, Scott didn’t even wait for the halls to clear. He was already moving, Stiles jogging to keep up. They found Trey outside again, the same spot as the morning, rocking faintly, hoodie string caught between his teeth.

Scott’s chest loosened instantly.

Without a word, Trey turned and started walking. Scott and Stiles fell in step behind him. He led them to the lot, to the exact same sleek black car parked in the exact same place as yesterday.

Theo leaned against it, arms crossed, a grin curling his mouth when he spotted them.

“Deja vu,” Stiles muttered under his breath, his eyebrows lifting.

“Same car, same spot. Wonder what we’ll get for Act Three.”

Scott’s lips twitched, but his attention was already on Trey, who’d gone straight to Theo, pressing a quick hum into his chest as he hugged him with one arm. Theo ruffled his hair gently, then opened the passenger door, buckling Trey in like it was second nature.

Scott’s chest tightened. He didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

Theo caught the look and rolled his eyes.

“Alright. Same as yesterday. You can come by for a bit. But you leave before dinner. Routine.”

Relief broke over Scott’s face. He looked to Trey, his voice warm.

“We’ll be there shortly.”

Trey bobbed his head once, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his mouth before he hummed, settling into the seat.

 

Later, Scott sank onto the couch in Theo’s living room, Trey pressed into his side like yesterday. The oversized blanket pooled around them, Trey’s head tucked against Scott’s shoulder, his fingers rubbing Scott’s shirt in slow, repetitive strokes. His hum was low, steady — calm, regulated.

Scott let his eyes fall shut for a moment, soaking it in.

Theo dropped into the chair across from them, watching quietly. After a long beat, he spoke.

“How are you handling it?”

Scott’s eyes cracked open.

“Handling what?”

Theo tipped his chin toward Trey, still curled into Scott’s side.

“Not being able to scent your mate.” For once, there was no smirk — just steady concern in his eyes.

Scott sucked in a stuttering breath. He looked at Trey, who hummed softly, steady but listening. “It’s hard,” Scott admitted, his voice rough.

“My first instinct… it’s always to hold. To shield. To use touch to make it better. Not being able to — it’s been hard.”

Trey’s hum spiked faintly, the pitch climbing just a little. Scott’s wolf caught the shift instantly. He pressed on, his eyes locking on Theo, then back to Trey with fierce determination.

“But I don’t care. He’s my mate. His safety, his happiness — that’s more important than instincts. I’ll wait as long as it takes. Until Trey feels safe enough with me to let me hold him. However long that is.”

The room went quiet.

Stiles chuckled, shaking his head with a fond grin.

“Christ, you sap. You’re gonna make me barf. But, like… in the supportive, proud boyfriend way.”

Scott snorted, rolling his eyes, but warmth flickered across his face.

Theo studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded slowly, his mouth quirking.

“That’s the right answer.” He leaned back, grin widening slightly. His eyes flicked between Scott and Stiles, sharp with curiosity. “So you two are together.”

Scott and Stiles both froze. They turned their heads, meeting each other’s eyes like they’d been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. Wincing.

Scott dropped his gaze to Trey, still tucked against his side, still humming low and steady. He sighed, then nodded.

“Yeah. We’re together. Been for a few months now. But… we’ve been best friends since we were kids.”

Theo leaned back in his chair, arms folding across his chest as he watched them. His eyes narrowed faintly, sharp and calculating.

“And how do you see that working out now? With Trey as your mate?”

The words dropped into the room like a weight.

Silence stretched. Trey’s hum continued, calm, but Scott noticed something different now — his eyes. They still wandered, darting around the room, but more often than not they flicked back. To him. To Stiles. Back again. Watching. Listening. Paying close attention in his way.

Scott’s chest tightened.

Theo broke the quiet.

“Mates are not platonic. There’s no ‘just friends’ with your mate. The wolf will always want to claim. To mate. Always.”

Scott’s breath shuddered out. He nodded slowly. “I know.” His voice was quiet, rough.

“I can feel it already. Like an echo in the back of my head. Constant.”

Beside him, Stiles jerked, eyes going wide.

“Wait—you what?”

Scott turned his head, his gaze heavy, apologetic. Sad.

“It’s there, Stiles. I can’t ignore it.”

Stiles exhaled hard, his hand dragging over his mouth. His eyes darted toward Trey, then back to Scott.

“Christ. I thought we had more time. He’s not—he’s not gonna wanna jump in the sack anytime soon.”

Scott let out a humorless snort, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah. I know. I’m not rushing. I already said it. I’ll wait. As long as he needs. However long that is.”

Silence pressed in again, heavier this time. Everyone let it sit — Scott, Stiles, even Theo watching from the chair.

And Trey, still humming soft, still pressed close, his fingers moving slowly over the fabric of Scott’s shirt.

It hit Scott then, clearer than before — this wasn’t a private problem anymore. Not a late-night whispered conversation with Stiles in the dark. This was real. The bond was here, alive, humming between them, and Trey was part of it. Whatever happened next, it would depend on him. On if he could accept Stiles.

The silence stretched long and heavy.

Scott’s throat worked before he finally broke it, voice low and cracking. “I’m terrified,” he admitted, the words tumbling out raw.

“I don’t want to lose Stiles. I love him — with everything I am. But Trey’s already here—” he pressed a hand faintly against his chest, over his heart—“this huge space just opened up, and it’s his. Right beside Stiles.”

His eyes blurred. He blinked, and tears slipped free.

Beside him, Stiles’ expression softened, sad and understanding. He shifted, moving from his chair to the couch, sliding in on Scott’s other side. Their shoulders touched, and he threaded his fingers through Scott’s, squeezing tight until Scott turned to look at him with wet, shining eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Stiles said gently. Then he exhaled, glancing at Theo before continuing.

“We already talked about this, once. Our plan —” his grin was crooked, humor dulled by nerves, “— was to try and make Trey feel safe with me too. To go at this whole thing like… like the road could lead to all three of us, not just Scott and Trey.”

Theo leaned back, arms crossing. His eyes softened, though his tone was steady, firm.

“You can’t force that. Trey will choose. If he only wants Scott, then you’re out. If he only wants space, then you wait. That’s how it is.”

Stiles sighed, bowing his head, and nodded. Scott closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks as he nodded too.

Scott’s voice shook, but he made himself look down at Trey, at the boy pressed against his side.

“I’d never push you,” he whispered. “Never force you into something you don’t want. I know it’s not… normal, what we’re hoping for. But I need you to hear this from me, Trey.” He swallowed hard. “Stiles already cares about you. He’s been deep in research on how to best support you so that if I stumble if WE stumble, he can straighten us out. He’d love you, if you ever let him. I just…” Scott’s throat bobbed as tears blurred his vision. “I just hope you can look at me — at us — and maybe see a road we could walk together. Not just me and you, but all three of us. If you want that.”

Silence pressed heavy, broken only by Trey’s low hum. Scott’s chest rose and fell, waiting, every nerve strung tight.

Stiles let out a shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face before leaning forward, eyes on Trey.

“Look, I’m not great at the mushy stuff,” he said, voice wobbly but warm. “But Trey? You’re already in my heart. Maybe not half of it yet, but you’re there. Just because you’re important to Scott… that makes you important to me. I love him with everything I am, and what matters to him? By default, it matters to me. No exceptions.”

Scott’s lips trembled, but he smiled through the tears. His gaze found Stiles’, and Stiles grinned back at him, love shining in his eyes.

The silence settled again, thicker this time.

And then Trey spoke.

“Stiles.”

The name hung in the air, small but sharp, carrying more weight than any shout could.

Scott’s eyes went wide, his breath catching. Stiles froze beside him, blinking like he’d been struck. Even Theo’s brows lifted, surprise flickering across his face.

And then Trey moved.

His hum stayed low, steady, but his hand shifted. Fingers loosened from the hem of Scott’s shirt and reached across, slow, deliberate. He brushed past Scott’s middle, reaching until his hand found the fabric of Stiles’ sleeve.

He rubbed it between his fingers, slow, careful. Held it there for a beat — long enough for it to be undeniable, long enough for Stiles’ throat to close around a sound he couldn’t make.

Then Trey let go. His hand fell back, settling against Scott’s chest as he leaned in again, eyes closing, hum softening back into content rhythm.

The room froze with him.

Scott’s pulse thundered in his ears. Stiles’ eyes were wide and wet, his mouth opening but no words making it out, but in true Stiles fashion he forced them out anyway.

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered. His voice cracked, a grin breaking across his face before he even realized it. “Oh my God.” His whole body shook with barely-contained excitement.

“That—that means something, right? That has to—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Theo cut in, sharp but not unkind. “It wasn’t a yes.”

Stiles whipped his head toward him, eyes still shining.

“Yeah, well, it sure as hell wasn’t a no either.”

Theo hummed, lips pressing together, but didn’t argue.

Scott swallowed, his gaze fixed on Trey’s face, the way he hummed softly and rubbed Scott’s shirt like nothing had changed. His own voice came out quiet, rough with emotion.

“…It was a maybe.”

The word cracked in the air.

Stiles let out a wet laugh, tears spilling even as his grin widened. He nodded fast, squeezing Scott’s knee. “Yeah. A maybe.” He dragged in a shaky breath, then added with a wry smile,

“Which, not to split hairs, but I’ll take over a hard pass any day.”

Scott barked out a laugh, startled but warm, relief flooding him until he sagged back into the couch.

Theo’s eyes flicked between them, his expression unreadable, but he didn’t interrupt.

Scott let his head tip back, a smile tugging at his mouth as Trey’s hum filled the quiet again. Theo was right — it wasn’t a yes. But a maybe was more than they’d had before.

A maybe meant a future wasn’t impossible.

A maybe meant his heart didn’t have to break.

And for Scott, right now, a maybe was everything.

Chapter Text

A week slipped by, not fast, not slow — just steady.

Every morning, Scott and Stiles were there at the school entrance, waiting. The first day, Scott had been practically vibrating, his wolf clawing to see Trey again after that fragile maybe. By the third day, it wasn’t just instinct anymore — it was habit. Routine. The three of them fell into it like it had always been this way: Trey in his oversized hoodie, humming under his breath, eyes darting before inevitably settling when he spotted them.

And every time, Scott’s chest loosened. Every time, Stiles smirked and muttered something like, “There’s our guy,” before Scott could get the words out himself.

Lunch was the same. They carved out a corner of the cafeteria and made it theirs. The jeers still came sometimes, whispers or mocking noises from other tables, but Scott learned to keep his wolf on a leash. He’d feel the growl building, hot and sharp, and then Trey’s hum would rise, brushing against him like a signal, and Stiles’ hand would find his under the table. “Not worth it,” Stiles would murmur, same as that first morning. And they’d ignore it. Together.

Evenings were the easiest. Trey leading them back to Theo’s car, Theo in the exact same spot every day like clockwork. He’d roll his eyes, muttering about routines, but he never sent them away. Not really. By the end of the week, it wasn’t even a question anymore — Scott and Stiles followed, Trey let them, and Theo tolerated it.

At the house, it was always the couch. Scott sitting, Trey pressed against his side, fingers curled in his shirt, humming low. Stiles sprawled somewhere nearby, tossing out commentary about whatever homework they were ignoring or babbling about movies until Trey’s hum dipped into something softer, steadier.

That was the difference.

At school, Trey’s hum was sharp, high-pitched sometimes, a thread stretched tight. But in those evenings? With Scott steady beside him, with Stiles’ voice filling the room, Trey’s hum dropped lower, slower, almost content. A sound that wasn’t about blocking the world out, but about holding himself steady inside it.

Scott noticed. He noticed every time. And Stiles noticed Scott noticing, shooting him a grin like yeah, you’re getting it.

Consistency. That was the key. They showed up. They stayed. And Trey, piece by piece, began to lean into it.

 

It happened quietly, like most of Trey’s milestones did. No announcement. No fanfare. Just… a shift.

They’d settled into their usual corner of the cafeteria. Scott on one side, Stiles on the other, Trey sliding in automatically with the oversized hoodie hanging loose off his frame. Normally, he pressed himself into Scott’s side, humming under his breath, twisting the fabric of Scott’s shirt until the threads threatened to fray. It had become so normal that Scott barely noticed the tug anymore — only the way Trey’s hum always softened when he had the shirt in his grip.

But today Trey didn’t sit against Scott. Not right away.

He looked at the bench, at Scott, then at Stiles, his head tilting in that sharp way of his, eyes flicking fast. Then he lowered himself deliberately between them.
Scott blinked, thrown. Stiles’ mouth opened like he wanted to comment, but he snapped it shut, watching instead.

Trey leaned, shoulder tucking against Scott, humming low, the familiar weight pressing warm against his side. His hand lifted, fingers catching the fabric of Scott’s shirt like always. Rub, rub, rub. A grounding rhythm.

But then — his other hand moved.

Slow. Careful. His fingers stretched across the narrow space to Stiles’ sleeve, catching the hem and curling into it. Rubbing. Testing. Not letting go.

Scott’s heart lurched.

Stiles froze for half a second before his whole face lit up like a sunrise. His hand shot up to cover his mouth, muffling the sound threatening to burst out of him. His shoulders shook, eyes wide and bright. He turned toward Scott, voice a broken whisper that trembled with joy.

“I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Scott’s laugh cracked out of him, soft and wet at the same time. His chest swelled until he thought it might split. Pride and relief and love tangled together, almost too much to hold.

Trey’s hum stayed low and even, pressed between them, fingers curled in both their shirts now.

Scott looked at Stiles over Trey’s head and saw his grin shining through the tears brimming in his eyes. Scott beamed back, his throat too tight to speak, but the message was clear enough: he’s letting us in.

For the first time, the bond felt like it was weaving not just between Scott and Trey, but around all three of them — fragile, new, but real.

 

The evenings had fallen into their own rhythm. Scott and Stiles would sprawl on the couch, Trey tucked against Scott’s side, humming low and steady, while Theo hovered in his chair like some watchful sentinel. Most nights were quiet, just conversation that drifted and broke off into comfortable silences.

But Stiles had been eyeing the massive wall of video games for days.

It was impossible not to. Dozens of titles, some new, some old, all stacked and lined in categories that made no sense at first glance — but had to mean something to Trey. Stiles’ curiosity finally boiled over.

“So…” He leaned forward, jabbing his finger at the collection.

“Are those for show, or does somebody actually play all that?”

Theo glanced over from his chair, raising a brow. “I play some,” he said casually, then tipped his chin toward Trey. “But they’re mostly his.”

Scott’s eyebrows lifted. He turned his head to Trey, curiosity sparking. Stiles mirrored him, both of them suddenly studying the boy curled into Scott’s side.

Trey had the hoodie string between his teeth again, humming lightly, his fingers worrying the fabric. At their attention, his hum rose a little, his eyes flicking away quick, sharp.

Then he chewed harder on the cord, rocked once — and stood.

Scott blinked in surprise.

Trey padded over to the TV, his head ducked, one hand rubbing at the back of it. He crouched, fingers brushing buttons, the console chiming to life. He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes darting between them fast, then away again. But there was a curve at his mouth, faint but real.

“Game?”

Scott’s heart kicked. Stiles lit up, grin wide. They looked at each other, then back at Trey, and didn’t need any more invitation than that.

“Hell yes,” Stiles said, practically vaulting over the couch to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Scott laughed, sliding down after him, his chest tight in the best way.

Trey handed them controllers, his fingers brushing Scott’s briefly, then Stiles’. He hummed, brighter now, bouncing faintly on his toes as the game loaded, a small smile twitching on his face that made Scott’s chest ache.

The sound of Trey’s hum changed — not anxious, not sharp, but lighter. Excited.

Theo watched them for a long moment from his chair. His lips twitched, a sigh slipping out. Then he pushed up, muttering, “Fine. Guess I’ll make dinner.” He wandered toward the kitchen, grumbling under his breath, but not about them.

For the first time, the smell of cooking drifted from Theo’s direction as the three got settled.

Scott glanced at Stiles, who was already elbow-deep in the tutorial screen, and then at Trey, who was swaying happily, eyes locked on the TV.

Scott’s smile spread, soft and full. Because this wasn’t just a game. This was Trey inviting them into his world.

 

The night air was cool as they slipped out of Theo’s house, the smell of dinner still clinging to their clothes. Scott’s chest felt lighter than it had in weeks, his steps unhurried as he walked beside Stiles down the drive toward the Jeep.

“It feels like it’s working,” Scott said softly, almost to himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing back once toward the house where Trey had waved before retreating inside. “Like he’s letting us in.”

Stiles grinned, eyes shining. “Yeah. He is.” His voice carried that hopeful crackle that always made Scott smile.

Scott’s mouth tugged down. He hesitated, then asked,

“Hey, have you noticed… our friends? Giving us space lately? Or is it just me?”

Stiles froze halfway to the Jeep. His brow furrowed, teeth sinking into his lip. Slowly, he nodded.

“Yeah. I noticed. Lydia, Allison, Derek’s pack… nobody’s really come around. Like, at all.” He frowned harder, tapping his fingers against the door handle. “That’s not normal. You think something’s up?”

Scott sighed, guilt pulling at his mouth until it curved into a small, crooked grin.

“I don’t know. I’ve been so focused on you and Trey that I haven’t even tried to look. I just… I’ve been happy. Just being in your orbit. In his.”

Stiles snorted as he slid behind the wheel. “Yeah. Same.” He turned the key, the Jeep rumbling to life, headlights cutting across the quiet street. “God, we’re such saps.”

Scott laughed, but it was soft, faint, the sound chased down by the nagging itch in his chest.

They pulled out of the driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. The road stretched dark and empty before them.

After a long silence, Stiles muttered,

“I just… I hope they’re not mad at us. And I really hate when things are quiet around here. Quiet in this town means something’s brewing.”

Scott winced, shoulders curling, his gaze fixed out the passenger window. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Neither of them spoke again. The Jeep hummed along the road, both boys lost in their own thoughts.

The silence settled heavy between them — not peaceful, but waiting.

A quiet before the storm.

 

The next day came heavy with questions neither Scott nor Stiles had slept off. The realization that their friends had been absent, distant, silent all week clung to them like a shadow. By midday, they were supposed to head over to Theo’s house, but Stiles had suggested a detour.

“Loft first,” he’d said, twirling his keys.

“If everyone’s been giving us the cold shoulder for a week, we’re not showing up at Theo’s like clueless puppies. We’re getting answers.”

So they stopped by Derek’s loft.

The second the metal door screeched open, Scott felt it. The silence. Not wary, not scared — just taut. Cautious.

Inside, Derek stood in his usual spot, arms folded across his chest, a scowl carved into stone. Erica leaned back against the wall, arms crossed like she was mirroring him. Boyd was perched near the railing, jaw tight. Isaac lingered closest to the door, shifting on his feet.

The air was thick, and it wasn’t from wolf musk.

Stiles’ eyes narrowed instantly. “Oh, well this isn’t ominous at all,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He gestured broadly to the tense, silent room. “I mean, nothing says welcome back like a collective group glare and the world’s most awkward silence.”

Scott let out a small laugh despite himself, tension easing just an inch at Stiles’ bite. But he stayed on edge, scanning faces. Erica arched a brow, Boyd glanced away, Isaac shifted harder, looking like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should.

Derek didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, voice blunt, cutting straight through.

“I told them to watch you.”

Scott blinked. “What?”

Stiles tilted his head, mock-confused, his sarcasm dialed up.

“I’m sorry, what? You’re running surveillance on us now? What are we, reality TV?”

Derek’s eyes narrowed.

“Because you’re associating with a dangerous rogue pack.”

The words dropped like an iron weight.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a look, mirrored expressions of disbelief flickering across their faces. Then, together, in perfect sync, they both said it:

“Huh?”

The echo of their shared “Huh?” hung in the loft, sharp in the silence that followed. Nobody moved.

Erica shifted first, eyes flicking toward Boyd, her arms crossing tighter over her chest like she wished she could fold herself out of sight. Boyd looked away entirely, gaze dropping to the floor, his weight shifting from one foot to the other. Isaac’s jaw clenched. He ran a hand down the back of his neck, clearly caught between Derek’s stony silence and the expectant stares from Scott and Stiles.

The quiet stretched.

Finally, Isaac cleared his throat, low and reluctant. “A new alpha came to Derek,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. His eyes flicked sideways toward Derek, as if for permission. Derek said nothing. “Met with him because… he said he was living here now. With his little brother.”

Scott blinked, brows pulling together. Stiles frowned, his head cocking to the side like he was waiting for the punchline.

“Okay…” Stiles drawled, dragging the word out. “So far that’s… what, normal? Respectful even? Pack politics 101? You say hi, you share turf, nobody pisses on anybody’s lawn. What’s dangerous about that?”

Isaac shifted on his feet again, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. His gaze darted to Derek again. Still nothing. Derek stood like a statue, arms folded across his chest, face carved into the same sharp scowl he always wore when he thought he was right.

Which was always.

So Isaac pressed on.

“He said he just wanted to live here,” Isaac explained, voice quickening slightly, “that he used to live here before and wanted to come home.”

Erica’s lips pressed together in a thin line. She looked down at the floor, almost like she was embarrassed to be standing here, to be part of this.

Scott and Stiles exchanged a glance, brows mirrored in confusion. Scott’s mouth tugged sideways like he was trying to figure out where the threat was supposed to be. Stiles just arched an eyebrow.

Isaac sighed. “Derek didn’t… trust his intentions.”

The words dropped, thin and awkward, into the heavy air. Boyd shifted, his weight rocking from one foot to the other, arms crossing now as if he could shield himself from being part of this conversation.

“Shocking,” Stiles muttered under his breath. His sarcasm dripped so thick it cut the silence. “Derek Hale? Not trusting someone? Alert the presses.”

Scott’s lips twitched despite the tension, a quiet laugh threatening.

Isaac rubbed a hand over his mouth, glancing at Derek again. His alpha still said nothing, just glared at Scott and Stiles like silence was all the justification he needed. Which meant Isaac had to keep going.

“Theo said… they just wanted to live here. That was it.” Isaac hesitated, his voice dropping lower. “Derek told him he didn’t believe it. That he didn’t buy it.”

Erica winced again, her gaze snapping to Scott and Stiles for the first time, almost apologetic.

Isaac swallowed, his shoulders curling slightly. “And Theo…” His throat bobbed. “Theo laughed in his face.”

That did it.

Both Scott and Stiles froze.

Scott’s brow shot up. Stiles’ eyes widened, then narrowed like he was holding back a laugh.

Isaac pressed on, his voice more rushed now, as if ripping the bandage off. “He told Derek he didn’t care what he thought. That he was here. And if Derek didn’t like it…” Isaac’s mouth pulled tight, eyes flicking nervously at Derek. “Then he could suck it.”

The silence snapped like a twig.

Scott snorted, his lips twitching. Stiles broke first, laughing outright. “Oh my God. Yeah, that sounds exactly like Theo.”

They looked at each other and grinned, the tension cracking just enough to let relief bleed through.

Erica blinked, startled by their reaction. Boyd shifted again, awkward as hell, like he didn’t know whether to laugh or brace for impact. Isaac looked torn between wanting to smile and expecting Derek to bite his head off.

Derek’s glare could have scorched the floor.

But Scott and Stiles didn’t need any more details. They knew Derek. They knew how his paranoia worked. A standard alpha meet-and-greet had turned into “dangerous rogue pack” the second Theo refused to bow to Derek’s authority.

Stiles sighed, dragging a hand through his hair, exasperation written all over his face. He let out a sharp breath, then looked up, eyes hard, gaze locking onto Derek like a laser sight. His jaw set.

He was ready to unload.

And Derek knew it.

The silence after Isaac’s halting explanation snapped under Stiles’ voice.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake.” He threw his hands in the air, stepping forward, words spilling sharp and fast.
"Of course. Of course this is classic Derek Hale. Someone new shows up, doesn’t bow and scrape to His Royal Broodiness, and suddenly they’re a threat to national security. Sound the alarms, Beacon Hills is doomed!”

Derek’s jaw clenched, his glare sharpening like a blade.

Stiles’ jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Typical Derek. Always the same script: someone new shows up, doesn’t kneel to the great Alpha Hale, and suddenly they’re public enemy number one. A “dangerous rogue pack.” Yeah, right.

His mind flashed unbidden to Trey. To the boy wedged between him and Scott just yesterday, humming under his breath while chewing on his hoodie string, fingers curled tight in their shirts like he needed the fabric to anchor him. That was what Derek wanted to call dangerous?

Stiles could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. Trey wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t a killer in waiting. He was just… Trey. Quiet. Awkward. Sometimes humming too loud, sometimes biting his hoodie, sometimes reaching out with one hand just to make sure Scott or Stiles was still there. That’s what Derek saw and branded a danger to Beacon Hills?
God, Derek was so full of shit.

Scott’s chest tightened at the memory, but he crossed his arms, letting Stiles unload. He could feel his boyfriend’s rage vibrating through the room, unfiltered, cutting.

“God forbid someone doesn’t play by Derek Hale’s stupid, paranoid little rulebook,” Stiles snapped, “because then you write them off as killers. Theo laughed at you? Big deal! He didn’t roll over and let you sniff his butt, and now you’re dragging your pack into surveillance duty like Trey’s gonna slaughter the senior prom.”

Erica winced, her arms tightening across her chest. Boyd stared at the floor, his shoulders tense, silent but clearly uncomfortable. Isaac’s face burned red, his eyes darting anywhere but Derek, guilt and shame flickering across his features.

Derek’s eyes glowed red, lips curling back in a snarl, his voice rumbling low.

Stiles stopped, chest heaving, sucking in air like he’d just run a sprint. His glare never wavered.

Scott stepped forward before Derek could open his mouth. His voice was low, steady, cutting through the silence.

“We’re not your pack.”

All three of Derek’s wolves froze, heads snapping toward Scott.

Scott’s arms uncrossed. He took a step forward, letting his eyes glow, a growl curling from his throat.

“I don’t care what you think. Trey is my mate. Which means you keep your hands off him. If you want to waste your time and energy on Theo? Fine. Call it your war with a ‘dangerous pack.’ Have at it. But leave Trey out of it.”

Stiles moved to Scott’s side, his glare locking onto Derek.

“You heard him.”

Derek snarled, stepping forward, chest heaving, his glow brightening to a violent crimson.

“You think you can protect him? You can’t even protect yourself. You’re not strong enough.”

Scott didn’t flinch. Neither did Stiles. Their glares burned back hotter, unyielding.

Scott’s eyes glowed brighter, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“You think I’m not strong enough? Fine. Maybe I’m not. But Trey isn’t alone. He has me. And Theo. You try to lay a hand on him, and you’ll find out just how strong that makes us.”

The words dropped into the loft like a stone into deep water.

The silence that followed was long. Heavy.

Nobody moved.

They didn’t wait for Derek to say anything else.

Scott’s jaw was clenched so tight it ached, his golden eyes dimming back to brown as he turned on his heel. Stiles was right behind him, every step sharp with defiance. He didn’t look back at Derek, not once.

“Great talk,” Stiles tossed over his shoulder, voice cutting and bright with sarcasm.

“Really top-notch leadership there, Sourwolf.”

Scott huffed, half an exhale, half a laugh despite himself. He shook his head, fond and exasperated, because of course Stiles couldn’t resist a parting shot.

The loft door screeched shut behind them, cutting off the tense silence inside.

They climbed into the Jeep. Stiles started the engine, the rumble filling the quiet. Scott sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms crossed so tight across his chest it looked painful, his glare locked on the dashboard like he wanted to burn a hole straight through it.

The drive was silent for maybe a minute before Scott couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“God—dammit!” The snarl ripped out of him, harsh and raw, his eyes flashing gold in the glow of the streetlights.

“He’s such an—god, Derek’s an asshole! Trey isn’t a threat! Theo isn’t a threat! What the hell did Theo even do? Nothing! He laughed at him! And that was enough for surveillance duty? For them to—” his voice cracked with the fury—“to leave us alone all week? Like we’re the problem too?”

The words hung hot in the Jeep, sharp and jagged.

Stiles’ knuckles were white around the steering wheel, his lips pressed tight. He blew out a breath through his nose, sharp, before yanking one hand free. He reached over, pried one of Scott’s arms from his rigid crossed hold, and laced their fingers together, dragging Scott’s hand into his lap.

“Hey,” Stiles said, voice rough but steady.

“Screw him. Screw all of them if they can’t see it. Trey’s not dangerous, and you know it. I know it. He’s just—” Stiles’ voice cracked a little with heat—“he’s just Trey. And he’s ours. That’s all that matters.”

Scott let out a sharp snort, half a laugh, half a choked sound. His body sagged slightly, the rigidity starting to bleed out of his shoulders. Stiles squeezed his hand tighter, keeping him tethered.

For a while, they just drove like that. The Jeep hummed under them, the road stretched dark and familiar.

Then, quieter, Scott muttered,

“He’s perfect. He doesn’t deserve to be looked at like that. Like he’s dangerous. He’s—” his throat bobbed—“he’s beautiful. Perfect.”

Stiles’ chest tightened. He glanced at Scott, saw the fierce devotion etched into his face, and couldn’t help but smile. He nodded once, firm.

“Yeah. He is.”

Scott finally leaned back against the seat, his hand still warm in Stiles’. The fury wasn’t gone, but it had dulled, soothed into something quieter.
The rest of the drive passed in silence, both of them lost in their thoughts as the Jeep carried them toward Theo’s house.

 

The living room was quiet when Scott finally sagged into the couch. Trey was curled against him as usual, but there was a difference tonight.

It wasn’t just Trey leaning at his side, humming and chewing his hoodie cord. No—he was almost on him. His small frame pressed so close Scott could feel every hum vibrate through his own chest, every shift of breath brushing against his shirt. Trey’s fingers rubbed the fabric at his side in slow, steady motions, the rhythm grounding.

Scott’s arms stayed stiff at his sides—he still hadn’t let himself touch—but his face dipped down, close enough that his nose brushed the air over Trey’s hair. He breathed him in, slow and deep, letting his mate’s scent soothe the storm in him. Trey’s hum rolled soft, steady, like he was trying to regulate both of them at once.

Across the room, Stiles sat slouched in the armchair, a smile tugging at his lips. He’d never seen Trey get that close before. He knew Trey had to feel something was wrong and this—this was how he tried to fix it. His heart squeezed at the sight.

Theo watched from his usual chair, brows furrowed. He knew something was off too. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

“Alright. What happened?”

Scott glanced at Stiles, torn, then pressed his face closer into Trey’s hair and let Stiles handle it.

Stiles huffed a laugh, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, you know. We just went on a field trip to the Loft of Doom to find out why all our so-called friends have been ignoring us for a week.” He shook his head. “Turns out Derek decided to label you the Big Bad of Beacon Hills "Dangerous" because… wait for it… you laughed at him.”

Theo blinked, silent for a beat before shaking his head with a disbelieving snort.

“That’s what got me branded dangerous? I didn’t even punch the guy like I wanted to.”

Scott snorted into Trey’s hair, the sound muffled but sharp. Stiles barked out a laugh.

“God, I would pay to see that.”

Stiles smirked faintly. “So would I.”

The moment of humor broke the tension, but Scott’s chest still felt tight. He shifted, looking down at Trey—who was awake, eyes open, chewing lightly on his finger now, still rubbing Scott’s shirt with the other hand.

Scott let out a shaky sigh. “Trey…” His voice dropped low, meant only for the boy against him.

“You’re perfect. You’re beautiful. You don’t deserve to be looked at like you’re some kind of danger. You’re my mate—my beautiful, perfect mate.”

The words hung in the silence.

Theo’s frown eased, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Stiles’ grin broke wide, his voice loud and firm.

“Hell yeah, what he said. All of it. Don’t you forget it, Trey.”

There was a beat, a long one.

Then Trey moved.

Slowly, carefully, he shifted upright. Scott blinked, startled, his hands twitching as he expected Trey to step away. But Trey didn’t.

Instead, Trey stood only long enough to swing his leg over Scott’s lap and sit back down, straddling him.

Scott’s heart nearly stopped. He froze, eyes wide, breath caught in his throat. He darted a desperate look to Theo, who was smirking now, and to Stiles, whose jaw had dropped in shock.

Trey lowered his head, pressing it into the crook of Scott’s neck. His hum rolled low against Scott’s skin, his breath warm. Then, soft and clipped, his voice broke the silence.

“Hold?”

Scott’s lungs seized. His vision blurred with sudden heat. For a second he froze, terrified of doing it wrong. Then, slowly, reverently, he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Trey.

The moment his arms closed over his mate, when his cheek pressed to Trey’s forehead, the dam broke. All the tension that had coiled through his body drained away, leaving only warmth. His chest vibrated, a deep, rumbling purr tearing out of him, filling the room.

The sound rolled low and steady, content and fierce, the wolf in him announcing what Scott already knew.

Safe. Home. Mate.

Stiles’ eyes stung, his grin trembling with it. Theo leaned back in his chair, smirk softening into something almost fond.

And Scott just held on, face buried in Trey’s hair, his wolf’s purr vibrating around them all.

Half an hour later, Scott hadn’t moved. He sat in the same spot on the couch, Trey draped across his lap and chest, head tucked into the curve of his neck. That blissed-out look hadn’t left his face once — eyes soft, mouth faintly curved, every line of tension gone from his body. The purr still rolled out of him, not as loud as it had been, but steady, vibrating softly through the room.

Stiles couldn’t stop grinning. He’d never seen Scott like this — so thoroughly, stupidly content. It was infectious. His own chest felt lighter just looking at him. He glanced at Theo, who was lounging in his chair with a book in hand. The alpha looked absorbed, but every few minutes his eyes flicked up, a small smile tugging at his mouth before he went back to the page.

The silence was warm. Comfortable. Everything they’d needed after the mess with Derek.

That’s why it hit so loud when Trey’s voice broke it.

“Stiles.”

The name was quiet, but sharp enough to make Stiles jolt upright. Scott jumped too, his eyes snapping open as he looked down. Trey was moving, shifting against him, starting to pull back.

Scott’s wolf howled inside his chest, claws raking to keep his mate close, but Scott knew better. He’d just been given this trust — he wouldn’t strangle it. He instantly loosened his arms, spreading them wide, letting Trey go without a fight.

Trey slid off his lap and shuffled a step away, his body rocking lightly side to side. One hand scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting upward to the ceiling.

“Hold?”

The word was soft, hesitant.

Stiles froze. His eyes widened, whipping to Scott, who was already grinning at him, slow and wide, pride radiating from his face. Across the room, Theo’s book lowered, his stare sharp and startled.

Stiles licked his lips, his voice cracking as he asked,

“Wait… you mean me? You want me to hold you?”

Trey hummed, still swaying gently, eyes flicking anywhere but at them. Then, softly:

“Yes.”

Stiles’ breath caught. Then he beamed, laughter spilling out, short and incredulous and so damn happy. He scrambled up, sliding next to Scott’s spot on the couch, his grin stretching even wider when Trey climbed into his lap just like he had with Scott — straddling, small and sure, tucking his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck.

Stiles’ arms wrapped tight around him without hesitation. He let out a shaky laugh, his chest rising and falling with a deep, happy sigh.

“God, if I could purr right now, I would. But alas, you’re stuck with the human version.”

Scott chuckled from beside them, his grin soft and warm as he watched the two of them settle together. His heart swelled until it ached, full of something fierce and fragile all at once.

And Scott thought — maybe, just maybe, this could work. His mate, his boyfriend, together like this. His heart didn’t have to break. It could stay whole.
For the first time, the future felt possible.

Theo hadn’t said a word during the exchange. He just stared, eyes wide, book forgotten in his lap. He could understand Trey letting Scott hold him after only a little more than a week. The mate bond was primal, ancient, something that could bulldoze through a lot of Trey’s walls. That much made sense.

But Stiles?

Theo’s lips parted, disbelief settling over his face as Trey relaxed fully in the boy’s arms, humming low, tracing random patterns over Stiles’ chest with steady fingers.
Finally, Theo found his voice, low but steady.

“That’s… rare,” he admitted, eyes lingering on Trey. “I expected Scott, sure. Mates can skip steps. But Stiles? Trey doesn’t give that kind of trust easily. Not touch. Not holding. That he’s doing this—” Theo shook his head slowly, his voice dropping even softer. “It means something.”

Scott’s whole face lit up, joy sparking through him like a flame. He turned to Stiles, beaming, eyes wet.

Stiles swallowed hard, his grin crooked as he looked back down at Trey nestled against him.

“Yeah. Believe me, I know. From everything I read, this is…” His voice cracked, then steadied, softer. “This is huge.” He smiled faintly, brushing his chin against Trey’s hair. “And I’m not gonna waste it. Not for a second.”

His gaze lifted, locking with Theo’s across the room. There was no sarcasm, no flippancy — just firm, steady conviction.

Theo studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at his mouth. He leaned back in his chair with a quiet, amused hum, picking his book back up.
But he wasn’t reading. Not really.

He watched them over the top edge of the pages — Scott and Stiles close on the couch, Trey safe and humming in Stile's lap like he belonged there. Theo was Always watching. Always aware.

He realized then: this wasn’t just Scott anymore. Trey had made Stiles his problem too.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

“My baby boy,” he muttered, too quiet for them to hear. “Always making my life complicated.”

But as his eyes softened, taking in the sight before him — Trey’s gentle hum, the steady thrum of his heartbeat calm and even, the way he looked cared for — Theo smiled.
Complicated. Yes.

But worth it.

Chapter Text

The living room echoed with the frantic, chaotic music of Mario Kart. Controllers clicked, buttons mashed, and Stiles was leaning into every turn like sheer willpower would shave seconds off his lap time.

It didn’t.

The results screen lit up bright: first place — Trey. Second — Stiles. Third — Scott.

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles groaned, flopping backward onto the carpet like he’d been mortally wounded. He dragged a hand over his face, then turned his head slowly, glaring at Scott with betrayal in his eyes.
\
Scott only shook his head, grinning wide and fond.

“Don’t look at me. I took third. You lost all on your own.”

Trey was rocking in place on the couch, hoodie cord forgotten, controller still in his lap. His eyes sparkled, his mouth curved into a smile so wide it crinkled at the edges. He rocked back and forth, humming bright with happiness.

“Again?” he asked, voice eager.

Stiles lifted his head, narrowed his eyes dramatically at him, then whipped his glare back at Scott.

“Your mate’s a Mario Kart hustler.”

Scott snorted, shoulders shaking.

“Oh, come on. After all the times I’ve lost to you? You had this coming.”

Stiles opened his mouth to retort, but Trey beat him to it.

“Easy.”

Dead silence.

Stiles froze, staring at him, jaw slack. Scott’s eyes went wide. Then it hit him, and laughter tore out of his chest, unstoppable. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, collapsing back on the rug with helpless gasps between howls of laughter.

Trey’s grin split wide. He bounced on his butt, clapping his hands in quick bursts, a high laugh spilling out of him in excited squeals.

Stiles blinked once, then grinned so hard it hurt. Hearing Trey laugh like that — free, open, delighted — lit something warm in his chest. He sat up, glaring again with exaggerated dramatics.

“Oh, so now you’re mouthy? How can someone who talks in one word be mouthy?”

Scott tried to suck in a breath, but it came out a wheeze before he dissolved again into helpless laughter, rolling onto his side.

Trey laughed harder, tipping sideways until he bumped into Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles caught him, steadying him with one arm, but he couldn’t wipe the beam off his face. Trey clapped excitedly against his leg, his laugh bubbling over, rocking against him.
Scott lay on the floor, cheeks red from laughing, eyes bright, heart full. Trey laughing, Stiles grinning, the three of them wrapped in the kind of joy that made everything else — Derek, the pack, the Alpha threats — fall away.

For that moment, they were just them.

 

The laughter softened, the high bright edges tapering into something gentler. Trey was still pressed against Stiles, his face buried close, Stiles’ arm wrapped tight around him. Stiles’ chest shook with the tail end of a chuckle, the sound warm and quiet now, almost like a hum of his own. Trey’s rocking had slowed, steady, his fingers curling faintly into Stiles’ shirt as though to keep the moment anchored.

At the doorway from the kitchen, Theo stood, shoulder leaned to the frame, arms crossed loose. He’d been watching for a while now, letting the scene breathe without interrupting it. His eyes were soft, fond in a way he rarely let anyone see.

He’d gotten Trey to laugh before. Plenty of times. He’d played the games, cracked the quiet jokes, held him close through storms until laughter finally bubbled out. He’d gotten smiles, even those small bursts of giggles that made the weight in Theo’s chest feel lighter. But this—seeing Scott and Stiles bring it out of him, seeing Trey collapse against Stiles with that bright, open laugh—it made Theo’s heart swell in a way he hadn’t expected.

No jealousy. Never.

Trey was everything to him. Had been since the night Theo pulled him from the Dread Doctors’ cold, merciless hands. Not a mate bond, no—not that deep, primal pull—but something close. An imprint. The second Theo laid eyes on Trey, his blood had sung with the need to protect him, to keep him safe, to give him a life worth living. That song had never quieted.

Eight years. Eight years of raising his baby boy. Eight years of loving him, guarding him, doing whatever it took to make sure Trey was cared for.

Theo’s gaze shifted, falling on Scott now. Scott had moved closer, kneeling in front of the couch, his grin wide and helpless as Trey shifted. Trey let go of Stiles just enough to turn forward, his arms reaching, wrapping around Scott with a suddenness that made Scott’s breath catch.

Scott’s face cracked open, his smile bright and wet at the edges as he pulled Trey into him, arms circling, holding tight.

Theo chuckled, low in his throat, shaking his head. Yeah. He’d always love and care for Trey—always, no matter what. That would never change. But now… now Trey had more. More people to hold him. More people to love him. Theo wasn’t losing anything.

He was gaining help. Trey was gaining family.

He let the moment sit a heartbeat longer, then cleared his throat gently.

“Dinner’s ready, guys.”

Scott glanced up first, still grinning, his arm snug around Trey. Stiles leaned back on the couch, smiling bright, eyes shining like he’d been caught in the same warmth.

Trey hummed in response, soft but sure. He untangled himself, standing quick, his movements clipped and eager. He crossed the room in short steps and went straight to Theo, his hand reaching out without hesitation. He caught Theo’s fingers, twisting them gently, a nervous fidget, his eyes darting in restless sweeps around the room.

Theo’s grin spread. He curled his hand around Trey’s, steadying the twist without stopping it.

“C’mon, baby boy,” he murmured, voice warm.

Like every other time, he let Trey lead him toward the dinner table, Scott and Stiles following behind with quiet smiles.

 

Dinner at Theo’s table had already become something of a routine. Not every night, but often enough that Scott and Stiles were starting to notice patterns. Tonight was no different.

Theo set down three hearty plates — steak, mashed potatoes, a mix of vegetables steamed soft. A solid meal, simple but filling. Then came Trey’s plate. Always different. A shake-and-bake pork chop cut into neat, bite-sized strips. Crispy fries laid out in a tidy line. Raw baby carrots stacked like bright orange sticks.

Scott’s eyes lingered. He and Stiles shared a look across the table but didn’t say anything. They’d learned fast to take Theo’s lead in moments like this. If Theo didn’t call attention to it, they wouldn’t either.

So they ate.

Scott cut into his steak, chewed, swallowed — but his thoughts wouldn’t leave Trey’s plate. Trey was his mate. Someday, it wouldn’t just be Theo making meals like this for him. Someday, Scott would need to know Trey’s preferences, his boundaries, the textures that worked.

He frowned at his mashed potatoes, pushing them a little with his fork. Then his eyes flicked back up to Trey.

Trey was humming softly, eyes tilted toward the ceiling as he chewed on a bite of pork. One hand tapped the table in a slow rhythm, content, grounded. Safe.

When Scott glanced up again, Theo’s eyes were already on him. The older boy raised a brow, his look equal parts amused and expectant. Scott flushed, caught, but forced himself to push through the heat in his cheeks.

“I—uh—” he started, stumbling a little before the words came out.

“Shouldn’t I… shouldn’t I know about Trey’s eating habits? I mean, I’m his mate. At some point, I’m gonna need to… to make meals for him too. And I don’t—I don’t know what works for him. Or why he eats the way he does.”

Stiles paused mid-chew, brow furrowing as he looked at Scott. He swallowed, then nodded slowly.

“Yeah. No, he’s right. We do need to know. For the future. Like… this isn’t just your job forever Theo. If we’re gonna be part of Trey’s life, we’ve gotta know how to handle it too.”

Theo blinked at them. Then he let out a sharp snort, leaning back in his chair, his eyes glinting playful but edged.

“You’re both getting a little ahead of yourselves. Trey’s not living with you. Not anytime soon. He’s not leaving this house until he’s at least eighteen. And even then… maybe not.”

Scott’s blush deepened. He ducked his head, biting into his steak just to give his mouth something to do.

Stiles, though, grinned wide, eyes flicking to Theo like he’d just been handed the setup for a joke.

“That’s fine. I plan to be the best damn house husband Beacon Hills has ever seen. I’m just… wanting to get a head start.”

Theo smirked, shaking his head, his lips twitching like he couldn’t quite keep back the laugh.

Scott groaned, red-faced, but he was smiling too. He shook his head at Stiles’ grin, warmth settling in his chest despite the embarrassment.

Dinner went on, quiet humming and light banter filling the air. Different plates, different routines — but somehow, it all fit.

 

Theo leaned back in his chair, studying them both. For a moment, he looked like he might brush it all off with a shrug, tell them to figure it out themselves. But then he sighed, setting down his fork.

“Alright. You want to know? Then listen.” His eyes flicked between Scott and Stiles, sharp but steady.

“Trey eats what he eats because that’s what works for him. Soft, mushy foods? Forget it. Texture’s wrong, he won’t touch them. Everything has to be firm, crunchy, solid.”

Scott and Stiles nodded, leaning in.

Theo gestured toward Trey’s plate.

“Shake-and-bake pork chop, chicken. Always cut into bite-sized pieces — finger food. He’ll use a fork if he has to, but he’s not comfortable with it most of the time. Crispy fries, raw carrots, broccoli, snap peas — things with a crunch. That’s how I give him variety, but yeah, it’s a limited range. Doesn’t matter. It works.”

Scott’s brows knit, eyes fixed on Trey, who was humming low as he chewed, eyes up at the ceiling, tapping a finger on the table with each happy bite.

Theo went on.

“Food can’t touch. Not ever. Separate it, always. Drinks are water or cran-fruit — half water, half juice. Strong juices are too much, lemonade’s out. Soda?” He snorted. “Don’t even think about it. Carbonation upsets him.”

Stiles’ eyebrows lifted, but he just nodded, absorbing. Scott, though, felt his chest tighten. His hand squeezed around his fork until his knuckles went pale. By the time Theo finished, Scott’s head had dropped, his lip caught between his teeth.

Theo tilted his head, but said nothing.

Stiles noticed immediately. He frowned, reached over, rubbing a hand over Scott’s shoulders.

“Hey. Scotty. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out.”

Scott lifted his eyes, a faint smile tugging at his lips but not quite reaching.

“It’s just… so much. I’m scared of messing it up. Of being a bad mate because I forget something, or don’t notice something he needs. These aren’t just preferences, they’re… essential. I don’t want to fail him, Stiles. I can’t.”

Stiles’ eyes softened. He gave Scott’s shoulder another squeeze.

“You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, every step. And you’re forgetting one thing.”

Scott blinked at him.

“Trey’s more than capable of reminding us if we forget,” Stiles said firmly. “He’ll see it, he’ll say it. He’s not helpless, Scott. He’ll help too.”

Scott’s lips parted. He blinked once, then turned his head.

Trey had stopped eating. His fingers tapped the wood a little faster now. His eyes were more level, swinging between Scott and Stiles. He’d been listening.

A beat. Then, softly: “Together.”

Scott’s breath left him in a rush. His face cracked into a wide smile.

“Together,” he echoed.

He turned to Stiles, the grin sticking, brighter now.

Stiles grinned back, leaning in.

“Hell yeah, together. Always.”

Scott laughed lightly, shoulders finally relaxing as he picked his fork back up. Stiles chuckled too, sliding his hand off Scott’s shoulder only after one last squeeze.

Trey hummed, content, chewing another bite of pork chop.

Theo watched the three of them, his smirk tugging wider until it softened into a grin. He shook his head, leaning back in his chair.

'Yeah', he thought, warmth blooming in his chest. 'They’re gonna be just fine.'

 

Morning traffic clogged the halls, students packed shoulder to shoulder, voices rising in a messy chorus of chatter, sneaker squeaks, and locker doors slamming shut. Scott kept his pace even, eyes flicking down every few steps to check on Trey at his side.

Trey stayed pressed close to the lockers, shoulder brushing them, his fingers dragging lightly along the cool metal as he walked. A steadying touch. A texture he liked. His hum was low, barely audible under the noise, but Scott heard it clear as a bell.

On Scott’s other side, Stiles was rattling on about the new game they’d both been waiting for.

“I’m telling you, the graphics are insane. Like, photo-realistic. You’re gonna blink and think you’re watching a movie.”

Scott laughed, glancing at him, then back to Trey. He didn’t want his mate to feel left out, not when Stiles and him had a tendency to spiral off into their own little tangents.

“What about you?” Scott asked, voice soft. “You excited for it too?”

He knew Trey wouldn’t give a long answer. He never did. One word at a time, small pieces given carefully. But Scott had been learning. He’d been learning how to listen past words. To watch the little shifts in Trey’s hum, the way his scent shifted with embarrassment, sadness, stress. He could pick up the undercurrent of joy, contentment, the small flickers of calm. It had taken awhile, but Scott thought he finally had it. It made talking with Trey feel easier. More solid.

He didn’t have Stiles’ brain for research. Stiles just seemed to get Trey in a way Scott envied sometimes, but that made sense — Stiles had buried himself in books and forums about autism until his eyes had nearly fallen out. Scott wasn’t surprised Stiles didn’t need wolf senses to read Trey. He just… knew.

Trey’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile as he listened to them.

“Yes,” he said, the word clipped but certain.

Scott’s chest warmed. He smiled, turning back to Stiles.

And that was when the shove came.

A sudden weight slammed into his back, hard enough to pitch him forward. He stumbled sideways, crashing into Stiles.

“Whoa—!” Stiles yelped, arms pinwheeling as he caught himself on the wall, eyes wide.

The loud clang of lockers being hit rang out sharp behind them. Scott’s head whipped around, heart dropping when he saw Trey.

Trey had slid down against the lockers, knees hitting the floor, his fingers twitching where they’d lost contact with the cool metal. His eyes were wide, frantic, chest rising and falling too fast.

A jeering laugh cut through the noise.

“Watch where I’m going, freak.”

More laughter followed, sharp and mocking.

Scott’s breath came fast, wolf instincts spiking hot under his skin, but before he could move, Stiles’ head snapped up, eyes blazing. He zeroed in on the jock smirking a few feet away.

“What the hell is your problem?” Stiles snapped, his voice high and sharp with fury.

The smirk faltered, replaced by a glare.

“What? He was in my way.”

Before he could say more, another jock shoved him, hard, right in the chest.

“The fuck’s your problem? You feel big bullying someone like that?!”

The first jock staggered, his glare snapping toward the second, words already spilling out in angry retorts.

Stiles didn’t hear them. He didn’t care. His eyes were already back on Scott, on the way Scott had dropped down to hover protectively over Trey.

Scott’s hands twitched helplessly, his body crouched low, eyes wide and panicked as he watched Trey rock against the lockers, frantic and afraid.

 

Scott’s hands hovered, twitching uselessly in the air, his chest heaving as the wolf inside screamed at him: fix it, grab him, shield him, make it stop.

But Scott froze.

Trey was on the floor, on his knees, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven gasps. His eyes were wide, glassy, darting like a cornered animal. He rocked forward, then back, then forward again, his fist pounding against the arm where the shove had landed, quick, repetitive hits. And instead of that low hum Scott had grown used to — the soft sound that had become background comfort — harsh, broken noises tumbled out of Trey’s throat. Short bursts of sound, high and raw, rough like they scraped coming out.

Scott flinched, his heart stuttering in his chest. The difference gutted him. He wanted to pull Trey close, bury him in his arms until the world disappeared, but Theo’s warning screamed in his head: at Trey’s pace. Always.

And now? He didn’t know what was right. He didn’t know if grabbing him would anchor him or shatter him worse. His wolf snarled, restless under his skin, but his human heart clenched tight, terrified of doing the wrong thing.

“Scott.”

The voice snapped him back.

Stiles was crouched at his side now, pale and tight-jawed. His eyes flicked between Scott’s wide, panicked stare and Trey’s frantic rocking, then back again.

“Hey. Look at me,” Stiles said firmly, his voice low but urgent.

“You’re panicking. He doesn’t need panic. He needs you. You know what to do.”

Scott’s throat worked. “I—” His voice cracked. “I don’t—”

“Yes, you do.” Stiles’ hand shot out, gripping Scott’s arm, grounding him with the same force he used whenever Scott spun out under the moon.

“Remember what Theo said. Safe. Gentle. Same. But don’t just say them. Make it real. Talk to him.”

Scott blinked at him, the words scraping through the storm in his head.

Stiles’ voice softened just a fraction.

“You’re his anchor, Scotty. You gotta be the steady one here. For him. For me.”

Scott inhaled sharply, his chest aching, then turned back to Trey.

Trey’s hands were trembling as they pounded against his arm, his breath coming in jagged bursts. The vocalizations grew louder, sharper, not words, not hums, just the sound of a body trying to scream the overload out. Scott winced, his chest twisting — it sounded so wrong, so far from the gentle noises that usually soothed him.

But Stiles’ grip was still tight on his arm, and Scott clung to it like a lifeline. He steadied his breathing, then lowered himself closer, bringing his voice low, steady, and warm.

“Trey,” Scott whispered, fighting to keep his voice even.

“You’re safe. Right here with me. Nothing’s gonna hurt you, I promise. You can calm down. You’re safe with me, safe with Stiles. Same as always.”

Trey jerked once, his rocking stuttering mid-motion. The sharp sounds cut off for a breath, replaced by a ragged inhale.

Scott’s heart leapt. He pressed a hand gently to Trey’s chest — firm enough to be steady, not enough to overwhelm. His other hand hovered by his shoulder, waiting, ready if Trey reached for him.

“You’re safe, Trey,” Scott said again, his voice firmer now.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to fight this alone. You’re safe with me. We’ll make it gentle. We’ll make it the same. Just like always.”

The frantic pounding slowed, Trey’s fist falling still against his arm. His rocking eased, smaller movements now, and the harsh vocalizations cracked into a low, uneven hum.

Scott’s eyes burned. Relief punched through his chest, but he didn’t stop. He leaned in further, his cheek brushing close to Trey’s hair without quite touching.

“That’s it,” Scott murmured.

“You’re doing it. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Same, Trey. Gentle. Same.”

Trey’s hand shot out suddenly, clutching at Scott’s shirt, twisting tight in the fabric. His hum spiked louder for a beat, desperate and broken, then smoothed into a steady rhythm as his forehead pressed shakily against Scott’s chest.

Scott’s arms came up slow, cautious, then wrapped around him fully, pulling him close. His chest vibrated with a deep rumbling purr he couldn’t hold back, the sound spilling out instinctively.

Stiles was right there, crouched close, his eyes bright with worry but soft with pride. He let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t quite humor.

“See? You got him back, Scotty. You did it.”

Scott held tighter, his face burying into Trey’s hair as he whispered the words again, a steady mantra.

“Safe. Gentle. Same. Always with me.”

And slowly, Trey’s rocking stilled. His breathing evened out. The hum softened into something low, almost content, as he clung to Scott’s shirt and let himself be held.

Scott exhaled hard, his whole body sagging as the tension finally drained from his shoulders. He kissed the crown of Trey’s head, whispering one last time.

“Safe. Always safe.”

 

It took time.

Scott sat there on the cold linoleum floor, arms wrapped steady around Trey while the boy’s rocking slowed, while his hum leveled back into something softer. The sharp, broken vocalizations had faded minutes ago, leaving only the low, steady sound Scott had learned to breathe with, to match like it was his own anchor.

He didn’t know how long it had been — a minute, five, ten — but finally Trey’s grip loosened, just slightly. His fingers were still fisted in Scott’s shirt, but the frantic tremor was gone. His breathing had steadied. His eyes were still darting, scanning, but there wasn’t panic behind them now.

Scott exhaled hard, pressing one last whisper into Trey’s hair.

“Safe. Always safe.”

Then he shifted carefully, moving to his feet while keeping Trey close. Trey came with him, pressed tight into Scott’s chest, humming softly, tapping at Scott’s ribs with his fingers like the rhythm grounded him.

Stiles hovered close, his own face pale but his eyes warm. He reached out, steadying Scott’s shoulder with one hand, his voice low but bright with his usual edge.

“Hey. You’re safe with us, Trey. We got you. All of us.”

Scott shot him a quick, grateful glance.

The hallway had quieted. Most of the kids had scattered when the teacher stormed in to break up the fight, dragging the two jocks off with sharp words and tighter grips. Whispers lingered in corners, wide eyes following Scott, Stiles, and Trey as they moved.

But neither boy paid them any attention. Their whole focus was Trey.

Scott kept his arm tight around his mate’s shoulders, guiding him forward gently. Stiles flanked the other side, close enough to catch him if he stumbled. Together, they walked him toward his classroom, slow, steady, ignoring the looks that burned into their backs.

They didn’t notice the eyes that followed from further down the hall.

Ethan stood still, leaning back against the lockers, his head tilted faintly as he watched. His nostrils flared, catching the scent that lingered in the air. For a second, it had hit sharp and strange — like fire, but not the kind that left smoke. The kind that burned hottest. White-hot.

His gaze sharpened.

Beside him, Aiden shifted, following his brother’s look. Ethan’s brow rose, and he asked under his breath,

“Did you smell that?”

Aiden narrowed his eyes, inhaled once, then gave a small nod.

“Yeah. No idea what it was, but…” His mouth curved into a thin, dangerous grin. “Definitely not normal.”

Ethan nodded back slowly, arms crossing over his chest. His eyes followed Scott’s group as they disappeared down the corridor. His voice was quiet, thoughtful, but edged.

“Well. He’s important to the wolf. That makes him our target.”

Aiden’s grin sharpened, wolfish. He bumped his shoulder into his twin’s, amused.

“Sounds like fun.”

Then the two of them pushed off the lockers, splitting without a word — Aiden striding off down one hallway toward his own assignment, Ethan trailing after Scott, Stiles, and Trey.

His eyes narrowed, his mind already turning. The boy was interesting. Different. Clearly not all there, which made him easier. Easier to test. Easier to push. Easier to break if it came to that.

And Ethan intended to find out exactly what made him hum like fire.

 

The hallway was empty, the din of classes muffled behind closed doors. Trey pushed the bathroom door open, hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands, humming low in his throat. His eyes flicked up once, then away, already chewing on the frayed end of the cord. His fingers tapped lightly against his thigh as he moved.

At the far end of the corridor, Ethan leaned against the lockers, arms folded like he had all the time in the world. He straightened when Trey appeared, his gaze sharp and steady, watching as the boy shuffled forward.

Trey stopped halfway down the hall, rocking faintly on his feet. His hum spiked higher, sharper. Ethan’s nostrils flared — he caught it again, that scent like fire burning too hot, white-bright under the skin.

Ethan pushed off the lockers, lifting both hands a little, palms out. His voice came easy, smooth.

“Hey. Relax. I’m not here to hurt you. Just curious.”

Trey chewed harder on the cord, his eyes darting away quick, but he didn’t retreat. He shuffled another step closer, still humming, still rocking lightly.

“What’s your name?” Ethan asked, tilting his head, studying him.

A pause. Then, clipped:

“Trey.”

Ethan smiled faintly. “I’m Ethan.” He gestured to himself with a little shrug.

“Nice to meet you.”

Another small shuffle. Trey drew closer, then stopped again, swaying.

Ethan frowned slightly, then gestured awkwardly at Trey, his cheeks heating in spite of himself.

“So, uh… why are you… y’know…” He gestured vaguely, at a loss for the word, embarrassment flickering in his tone.

Trey’s lips curved around the hoodie string in something that looked like the ghost of a smile.

“Autistic.”

Ethan blinked, then nodded once, slow. “Okay. Thanks.” His tone was softer now, genuine.

They stood close enough to almost brush shoulders. Ethan studied him sidelong, watching the way Trey looked up at the ceiling, humming as he chewed.

He opened his mouth to ask something else—

“Alpha.”

The word landed sharp, certain.

Ethan froze. His eyes widened, red blazing for a heartbeat before he forced it down. His pulse jumped. How the hell did this kid know?

Trey only smiled faintly, teeth still on the cord, before turning and walking past him. His hum was low, steady again as he disappeared down the hall.

Ethan watched him go, lips parting. Then he huffed a short laugh, shaking his head.

“Cheeky little bastard,” he muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t heartless. Trey was autistic — and that took him off the target list. Ethan didn’t play games with someone like that.

But that didn’t mean he’d stop watching.

Because Trey knew. He’d seen it. Called it. Alpha.

And Ethan needed to know how.

 

which lead to now, and How Ethan found himself following Trey's scent.

He’d replayed it all day — the moment in the hallway when Trey had looked at him, chewed on that hoodie string, and whispered alpha. That humming, nervous kid shouldn’t have known a thing about him, but he had. And under the scent of nerves and fabric softener, Ethan had caught it again: fire. Not smoke, not ash. Fire burning white-hot, the kind you felt in your bones before you even saw it.

It made Ethan restless. Made him curious. Made him follow.

After school, he let the trail lead him. Across streets, down quieter blocks, until he found himself outside a modest house tucked back against the trees. He circled slow, breathing deep, cataloguing. Trey. Wolf. And that strange fire tang wound through all of it.
He crept along the side, quiet as shadow, and peeked through a window.

There Trey was, curled on a couch with a blanket draped across the back. His fingers brushed over the knit fabric, rhythmic, grounding. He hummed low, steady, head tilted back toward the ceiling. Ethan tilted his own head, studying him. Not weakness. Not fragility. Something else.

“My my, what do we have here?” a voice said behind him, casual and sharp all at once, “there a reason a random alpha’s sneaking around my house? Peeking through windows like some creep?”

Ethan spun fast, heart thudding. His eyes locked on the stranger leaning against the porch rail, arms folded.

He was older — maybe twenty-two — with dirty blond hair cropped close, sharp green eyes that missed nothing, and a smirk that said he was already three moves ahead. Lean, but coiled with strength, the kind of body that knew how to fight and liked it.

Their eyes met.

And Ethan’s world fell out from under him.

The mate bond slammed into him like a blow. His chest seized, his pulse spiked, and all at once all he could see, all he could feel, was him. The stranger. No — not stranger. His mate.

The other man stiffened too, just for a second, eyes flaring before narrowing, his chest rising fast. Then they moved. Both of them.

They met halfway, colliding, lips crushing together hard and hungry. Ethan growled low, one hand fisting into the other man’s shirt, the other gripping his hip tight enough to bruise. The man kissed back just as fiercely, teeth scraping, hands dragging over Ethan’s sides, pulling him closer, closer.

Ethan moaned into it, rough and desperate, heat spilling through him like wildfire. He pressed harder, grinding them together, drinking in the taste, the scent, the bond thrumming wild and alive.

When they finally broke for air, both were panting, grins spreading wide across flushed faces.

“Name’s Theo,” the man said, voice low and edged with amusement. His smirk was sharp, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something.

Ethan huffed a laugh, disbelief bubbling up even as he dragged his hand through his hair.

“Ethan.”

For a beat he just stared, still trying to wrap his head around it. Then he sighed, shaking his head with a crooked grin. “And shit just got so complicated.”