The loft was quiet in that restless way it always was—wind nudging the broken windows, the distant hum of traffic below. Moonlight pooled across the concrete floor, silvering the edges of old beams and dust motes.

Derek stood near the windows, arms crossed, jaw tight.

“I don’t get it,” he muttered, voice low and rough. “Every time she’s here, she’s tired. Like… falling asleep on my couch tired. On me.” His brow furrowed. “It’s like she’s bored.”

Scott leaned back against the brick wall, arms folded, watching him carefully. “You really think she’d come all the way out here just to be bored?”

Derek exhaled sharply through his nose. “You know what I mean.”

He dragged a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She’ll be talking to me one second, then she’s quiet. Head on my shoulder. Out.” A pause. Softer, almost wounded. “I’m not exactly known for being exciting, Scott.”

Scott’s expression shifted—less teasing, more understanding. “Derek.”

Derek didn’t look at him.

“You know how her home life is,” Scott said gently. “She’s always on edge there. Always listening for the next door slam. The next argument. The next thing that’s going to set someone off.”

Derek’s shoulders stiffened.

Scott pushed off the wall and stepped closer. “A sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, dude. She feels safe around you.”

That made Derek finally glance up.

Scott held his gaze. “You regulate her entire nervous system and you don’t even realize it.”

Derek blinked, confusion flickering across his face.

“When someone’s used to being in survival mode,” Scott continued, “their body never shuts off. They’re always braced. Always ready. But when they’re finally somewhere safe?” He shrugged lightly. “Their body cashes in all the exhaustion it’s been holding onto.”

The words seemed to hit Derek harder than anything else could have.

“She doesn’t fall asleep because she’s bored,” Scott said. “She falls asleep because for the first time all day, she doesn’t have to be strong.”

The loft felt quieter after that.

Derek looked away again, but this time it wasn’t frustration tightening his jaw—it was something softer. Something almost fragile.

“She curls into me,” he admitted quietly. “Like she’s afraid I’m going to disappear.”

Scott smiled faintly. “That’s not boredom. That’s trust.”

Derek swallowed.

He thought about the way her breathing evened out when she rested against his chest. The way her fingers stayed hooked in the fabric of his shirt, even in sleep. The way her entire body seemed to go boneless in his arms—like she’d finally set down something heavy.

He’d mistaken it for disinterest.

It wasn’t.

It was relief.

“She told me once she doesn’t sleep much at home,” Derek murmured. “Said she’s a light sleeper.”

Scott nodded. “Exactly.”

A long silence stretched between them, thick with realization.

Derek’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “So when she falls asleep here…”

“She’s not bored,” Scott said firmly. “She’s safe.”

The word settled into Derek’s chest like a steady heartbeat.

Safe.

He looked down at his hands—hands that had been weapons, shields, anchors.

And somehow, with her, they were a pillow.

His throat tightened, just slightly. “I don’t want her to ever feel like she has to be on edge here.”

Scott clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t.”

Derek stood there a moment longer, letting that sink in.

Then, softer than Scott had ever heard him speak, he said, “Good.”

Because if there was one thing Derek Hale understood, it was what it meant to live without safety.

And if she found it in him—

He would guard it with everything he had.