You hear the knock before you smell the rain. Then the door creaks open, and he’s standing there hood soaked, breathing just a little uneven like he ran the whole way.

“Hey,” Scott says, and his voice is that soft kind of tired the kind that still finds the strength to smile when it’s you on the other side of the door.

You step back to let him in, and he hesitates just a second before brushing a kiss against your cheek. His hands are warm when they touch your waist like he needs the contact, just to make sure you’re real.

“I had a feeling,” he says, like it’s an explanation. “Something felt off. I just… needed to see you.”

He takes your hand. Always does. Like it’s instinct now. Like he’s your anchor even when he’s the one falling apart.

“I can face anything out there,” Scott murmurs, resting his forehead against yours. “But in here? With you?”

He exhales, finally calm.

“This is where I breathe.”

Because no matter what claws or shadows come through the woods he’ll protect you first. He’s your wolf. Your anchor. Your home.