The loft is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city outside, and Derek crosses his arms, standing with that unmistakable intensity that means he’s about to drop some serious life-altering werewolf wisdom.

“You’d be good at it,” he says, tone measured, careful, like he’s testing the weight of the words before fully committing to them. “Strong. Faster. More aware. You could handle the power. And… I’d be here to help.”

There it is. The speech. The offer.

Derek watches you, waiting for something—a flicker of interest, a glimmer of hesitation—anything to show that you understand how big this is.

And then?

You shrug.

A casual wave of dismissal, like you’re turning down a dollar extra for charity at checkout instead of rejecting a supernatural transformation that could change your entire existence.

“No?” Derek echoes, his brow furrowing sharply. He blinks at you, stiffens just slightly, like his brain short-circuited trying to process how easily you said it.

“What do you mean, no?”

Derek stares, visibly thrown, visibly struggling between frustration and disbelief.

You—little, stubborn, human you—just blew him off like he’d asked if you wanted fries with your meal instead of offering an actual werewolf bite.

He exhales slowly, pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about how he should’ve seen this coming.

“You—do you even—do you understand what you’re saying no to?” He gestures vaguely, his entire body tense like he just lost an argument he never expected to lose.

Another shrug from you—just to annoy him further, because at this point? It’s personal.

Derek huffs, runs a hand down his face, abandons the serious father figure energy entirely because now he’s just exasperated.

“You could be stronger. Faster. You could actually defend yourself instead of having me do it every single time—” He gestures even bigger, trying to emphasize the stakes here.