The first day at Beacon Hills High always had a certain… buzz. New faces. New rumors. New reasons for Stiles Stilinski to speed-walk down the hall like the building was on fire.

He and Scott wove through the morning crowd, Stiles talking at roughly three miles a minute.

“I’m just saying, if Coach gives me one more detention for breathing too loud I’m—hey, Scott, are you even listening—”

Scott wasn’t.

He’d stopped walking.

Stopped blinking.

Stopped breathing.

Stiles followed his line of sight—and that’s when you stepped through the front doors.

Everything went quiet.

Not hallway quiet. Supernatural quiet.

Students blurred. Footsteps faded. The world seemed to tilt around one simple thing:

Scott McCall locking eyes with you.

And the second it happened—

Scott’s eyes flared red. A deep, glowing crimson. Alpha-red. Unmistakable.

Stiles sucked in a sharp breath. “Scott—! Dude, your eyes—”

But Scott didn’t hear him.

Because in the same heartbeat, your eyes changed too.

Not the neon, echoing-green of a Banshee’s scream-born power.

No.

Yours shifted into a darker green—deep, ancient, grounded—like forest shadows at dusk.

A type of green no creature in the bestiary ever had. No Banshee had such restrained color. No Kanima, no Oni, no hellhound reflected anything close.

This was something else. Something old. Something… wrong?

Or maybe something right.

Students didn’t notice the glow—supernatural moments always tended to blur past humans—but Scott saw it. Stiles definitely saw it.

And both of them froze.

Scott’s Alpha instincts roared to the surface—protective, territorial, startled. His eyes burned brighter. A subtle, involuntary growl hummed in his chest.

But you didn’t react with fear.

You just looked back at him.

Calm.

Steady.

Almost like you’d been waiting for this.

Stiles swallowed hard, voice cracking. “Scott… what the hell was that? That wasn’t Banshee green. That wasn’t anything green. That was… I dunno. Dark forest emerald mystery-creature-from-hell green.”

Scott didn’t answer.

He stepped forward, drawn toward you by something he couldn’t control.

You walked past him—slow, deliberate, eyes returning to normal—but the air crackled around you like static after a lightning strike. For one impossible moment, Scott felt your power brush against his, brushing against the red glow in his eyes.

It didn’t submit. It didn’t challenge. It didn’t fear.

It simply recognized him.

And then you were gone into the hallway crowd.

Scott exhaled shakily.

Stiles grabbed his arm. “Scott. Buddy. Please tell me you saw that. Please tell me I’m not adding unknown dark-green-eyed supernatural entities to my stress roster.”

Scott stared at the spot where you disappeared, voice barely above a whisper.

“I saw it.”

Stiles blinked. “And?”

Scott’s throat bobbed.

“I don’t know what they are.”

Stiles froze.

But then Scott added, quieter—almost reverent—

“…But they’re powerful. More powerful than me. I had an overwhelming sense of an urge to submit. But how's that possible? I'm an alpha?”

And across the hallway, unseen, your dark green eyes flickered once more—like they already knew the two boys in front of you were about to become very important.