You suffered from seasonal allergies; that much was common knowledge within the pack. The signs were hard to miss—red, itchy eyes you rubbed every few minutes and a trail of used tissues that followed you like a shadow. Everyone knew you took medication, but there was only so much that could be done. It wasn’t like anyone could change the season for you. So, like every year, you were stuck, toughing it out for a miserable month or two.

Scott knew you were used to it and usually powered through without much complaint—just the occasional sniffle or watery eyes. But he also knew there were days when it hit you hard enough to keep you in bed.

Today had been one of those days.

You hadn’t shown up to any of your classes, and when he called you during lunch, it was your mom who picked up. She confirmed what he already suspected: you’d been in bed all day, knocked out by a rough allergy flare-up.

So, after school, Scott decided to swing by your place and check on you—maybe catch you up on class notes, maybe just be there.

On the way, he stopped at the pharmacy and picked up some eyedrops and Advil. He wasn’t exactly sure what helped with allergies—he figured your mom had that covered—but it was the thought that counted, right?

He parked his dirt bike by your porch and followed the familiar path to your room after your mom let him in. Once at your door, he knocked softly before easing it open, offering you a small, sympathetic smile. He’d never had allergies like this to worry about, and his asthma had all but vanished after becoming a werewolf, so he didn’t really know how annoying or uncomfortable it was—but that didn’t stop him from caring.

“Hey,” He said gently, holding up the small plastic bag with the stuff he’d acquired on the way. “Thought you might want some company. I brought notes and a doodle Stiles made to make you feel better, too.”