Scarlett POV

I woke up warm.

Which was weird.

The sunlight streaming through Derek's loft windows was way too bright, and for a second, I flinched, half-expecting to hear yelling or the sharp snap of a bottle cap being twisted off. But it was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't immediately fill me with dread.

I didn't realise I had fallen asleep here—on the couch, curled up under a random blanket Derek must've thrown over me sometime during the night. My hoodie was bunched under my cheek, stiff from dried sweat and smoke, but I didn't care. I wasn't in my apartment. I wasn't near him. And that alone made it easier to breathe.

My ribs throbbed with every inhale, deep bruises pulsing under my skin like little reminders. My back felt like it had been ripped open and stitched back together by someone with no anesthesia and a vendetta. But I'd had worse. I always had worse.

Still, even with the pain simmering just beneath the surface, I didn't move. Didn't want to. Because for the first time in a while, yesterday hadn't sucked.

All of Saturday, Derek and I had just...talked. No expectations. No prying questions. No pity. Just two broken people tossing bits of themselves across a scratched-up coffee table like poker chips.

He'd sat across from me, arms crossed like he was afraid I'd bolt if he leaned too far in. But he asked things—nothing heavy, just little things. Favourite movie. Least favourite colour (yellow, obviously—who the hell likes yellow?). And I asked him things back. Like if he ever considered buying more than one damn chair for his entire place.

"I'm serious," I'd said, kicking my feet up on the table just to piss him off. "What kind of grown-ass man lives in a loft with no furniture? You have like...what? One bed, a table, and vibes?"

He'd given me that unamused look he always did, like he couldn't decide if he wanted to smirk or roll his eyes. "You want to donate something?"

"Nah," I'd shrugged. "I'm just saying, the acoustics in here make your brooding echo more than it already does."

He laughed. Actually laughed. And it was rough and kind of surprised both of us.

That sound echoed too—but in a good way.

We'd stayed like that for hours, passing time like it was some ancient ritual neither of us fully understood. No one expected anything from me in here. Derek didn't push. Didn't prod. And in return, I stayed. It was the only place I wanted to be.

Now it was Sunday, and I hadn't gone upstairs once.

Eventually, I sat up, wincing as my body reminded me that I'd taken a few hits too many lately. My ribs screamed, and my back felt tight and inflamed. I clenched my jaw and breathed through it, rubbing at my side casually so Derek wouldn't notice if he walked in.

He did, a few minutes later, shirtless, damp towel slung around his neck, like some kind of post-shower model who didn't realise he was one. I didn't react. Pain dulled everything, even appreciation for shirtless hot men.

"You planning to ever go back upstairs?" he asked after a beat, voice neutral.

I raised an eyebrow, cracking my neck like I hadn't just flinched from it. "Nah. I like it here. Better vibes. No suspicious floor creaks."

He narrowed his eyes at that, studying me for a second too long. I threw in a lazy grin, hoping it masked the half-truth in my words. "Plus, you've got that charming hospitality. Letting a stray girl crash your man cave? Real generous of you."

"Right," he said, unconvinced but unwilling to push. For now.

As the morning bled into afternoon, Derek decided to burn off whatever restless energy was eating at him and started working out. I sat on the floor against the wall, legs stretched out, pretending like I was just being chill and lazy while internally thanking the universe for the breather.

The second his back was turned, I slid my hand into my hoodie pocket and pulled out the small pill bottle I always kept on me. I popped two painkillers, dry-swallowed them, and leaned my head back. I only needed enough to take the edge off. Just enough so I didn't have to grit my teeth every time I shifted.

By the time he was halfway through his second round of pushups, I was already rolling the first blunt. My hands moved fast, practised. It was muscle memory by now. The second one was for backup, and the third was for later. I lit up and exhaled slowly, the burn in my lungs distracting from the burn everywhere else.

"You know that's gonna kill you one day," Derek muttered between reps.

I blew smoke in his general direction and stuck my tongue out at him like a child. "So will literally everything else, Hale. Let me have my vices."

He shook his head, lips twitching with something dangerously close to amusement. "You're impossible."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

And we just...stayed like that.

He worked out. I smoked. We talked. Not about anything heavy, just random shit. Favourite bands. The weirdest thing we ever shoplifted. I told him about the time I snuck out of the house at twelve and spent the night in a Waffle House booth pretending I was an undercover food critic. He didn't judge. Just raised a brow and asked what I rated the bacon.

"Seven out of ten," I said. "Points docked for grease puddles."

He smirked. "Sounds generous."

It went on for hours like that. Nothing urgent. Nothing painful. Just...us. And even though my body felt like it was falling apart from the inside out, I didn't let it show. Not here. Not with him.

Because Derek didn't look at me like I was broken.

And for once, I didn't feel like I had to act like I was whole.

~~~•~~~

A few hours passed like nothing. Between Derek doing his push-ups and me gradually turning his loft into a hazy cloud of weed smoke, we'd somehow spiraled into a dumb argument about what to do for dinner.

"I'm telling you, pizza is the universal answer to all problems," I insisted, sprawled out on the floor now, back propped against the couch. "It's got all the food groups. You literally can't go wrong."

"Not ordering pizza again. That was your dinner last night," Derek said, wiping sweat off his forehead with his towel.

I rolled my eyes. "And I'm still alive, aren't I? Barely, but still."

"We need actual food."

I scoffed. "What are you gonna do? Cook?"

His silence was answer enough. I sat up straight, grinning like I'd won a prize. "Oh my God, you are gonna cook."

"I didn't say that."

"Yeah, but your whole brooding hesitation says yes, chef."

That's when the loft door opened.

Derek froze. I sat up straighter, instincts sharp and ready even through the fog in my head. My spine protested the motion, but I ignored it. Pain could wait.

A girl stepped inside. She was all dark hair, sharper eyes, and that classic Hale scowl. I recognised it instantly. She didn't say a word—just looked at me like she was trying to figure out if I was a threat or just some trash Derek hadn't taken out yet.

"Scarlett," Derek said, his tone shifting slightly, almost like a warning not to bite. "This is Cora. My sister."

Cora. Cora Hale. Okay. That made sense. She looked like she'd fought her way out of a burning building and dared someone to ask if she needed help.

She stared me down. I stared right back, narrowing my eyes just enough to make sure she knew I wasn't the flinch-and-look-away type. If she wanted to play the intimidation game, she was going to lose.

Then, to my complete shock, she smiled. Not fake, not sarcastic. Actual interest curled her lips as she said, "I like you."

I blinked. "Oh." My mouth twitched. "Cool. I think."

It wasn't exactly how I imagined meeting Derek's sister—hell, I didn't even know he had a sister until a few seconds ago, he never specified who made it out of the fire—but it wasn't awful either. She didn't ask who I was or what I was doing here, and I didn't offer up any explanations. We just... settled into this weird silent truce like we'd both agreed to skip the polite small talk.

Somehow, we ended up sitting next to each other, talking about the most random crap—like the worst towns we'd ever been to, what music we hated, and this one time Cora apparently beat the hell out of a guy who tried to mug her in Brazil.

She was scrappy and blunt, and I kind of liked that.

Derek, sitting off to the side now that his workout was done, watched us with his arms crossed, like he couldn't decide whether to feel annoyed or left out.

"Yeah," he finally said, dry as hell. "Just ignore me. I don't exist."

Cora and I looked at each other, then rolled our eyes in unison.

"God, he's so dramatic," I muttered under my breath.

"You should've seen him at fourteen," Cora replied. "Walking around like Batman with none of the gadgets."

That got a genuine laugh out of me, which surprised even me. It made my ribs ache, but it was worth it.

Derek huffed like a kicked dog and got up. "I'm making dinner," he muttered.

"Good," I called after him, grinning. "Make something edible!"

He flipped me off without turning around, and I knew we were good.

An hour later, the loft smelled way better than I expected it could. Derek returned carrying plates of what looked like actual food—grilled chicken, veggies, and some kind of garlic rice situation that made me immediately second-guess every mean thing I'd ever said about his cooking skills.

Cora let out a low whistle and elbowed me. "Damn. Hey, big bro, why were you hogging this lovely woman all to yourself for so long?"

I blinked, stunned for a second. My first instinct was to deflect or make a joke, but... the way she said it wasn't mean or teasing. It was casual. Friendly. Like I belonged here. Like I wasn't just some stray Derek was keeping around out of pity.

I ducked my head slightly, smiling into my plate. That warmth in my chest had nothing to do with the food. It felt... good. Really good. Like maybe—for the first time—I had a friend. A girl friend.

Which was weird.

I never had that before. Never had a girl just sit next to me and talk like we'd known each other for years. We didn't talk about nails or makeup or any of that cliché stuff. Just random things. People. Stories. Songs that hit too hard. That kind of thing.

Still, a part of me was tense. Waiting. Like I was walking on glass I hadn't noticed yet. What if she found out too much? What if she asked the wrong question?

But Cora didn't ask anything. She just nudged my arm with hers and said, "Don't let him boss you around. He acts tough but he's soft as hell."

Derek groaned loudly from the kitchen.

I grinned.

Yeah, I could get used to this.

•==============•
A/n:

Heyyy!!

So I'm back! I'm sorry the break was a bit longer than expected but my mental health just wasn't having it!

I'm sorry this chapter is kinda short and bad but the next 2 chapters are 4000 words each!

I know Cora isn't rlly like this in the show but I feel like she could be! She doesn't rlly get a lot of screen time where she can relax and I feel like she could have so much more! So I'm writing her a bjt like this! Don't worry she will still be a badass and stuff but yeah!

Also only 2 more filler chapters left until we can get back into the teen wolf plot line! I was originally writing it following it episode by episode but then I was writing and realised I needed scarlett to be besties with everyone in 2 chapters so I've added alot more depth!

Anyway something kinda exciting happened today and it's actually kinda stupid and dumb and it's never gonna happen but idk it's rlly helped me.

Anyway I love you all so so much! Sorry for the long author note lol!

QOTD: what's your favourite colour?

WC: 2000 (MrsValdez2010 your welcome I added 17 words just for you!)