The living room is loud in that familiar, chaotic way—Stiles arguing about the movie choice, Scott half-listening while pretending he doesn’t care, Allison curled into the corner of the couch with popcorn, Lydia scrolling through her phone with that sharp, bored expression that usually means trouble.

Your phone is plugged in by the lamp, forgotten.

Lydia’s gaze flicks to it, then lingers.

“Oh,” she says casually, already reaching for it. “Whose phone is this?”

Scott glances over. “My sister’s. She went with Derek to get snacks. Don’t—”

Too late.

Lydia unlocks it with an ease that suggests she’s done this before. “Relax, McCall. I’m just bored.” She swipes once, twice. “Wow. She actually texts like a normal human being.”

Stiles leans over the back of the couch. “Let me see. Is it all gross couple stuff? Because I knew it. Hale brooding plus romance equals—”

Lydia doesn’t answer. Her expression shifts—eyebrows lifting slightly, lips parting just a bit. She taps into Photos.

“Oh.”

That single sound shuts everyone up.

Scott frowns. “What?”

Lydia turns the phone so they can see.

The photo fills the screen: a mirror selfie from a dimly lit room, all warm shadows and sharp contrast. You’re in that black dress—the one Derek can’t stop staring at whenever you wear it. Derek stands behind you, taller, solid, his presence unmistakable even without seeing his face clearly. One arm is looped securely around you, hand resting at your stomach like it belongs there. The other is higher, fingers loose at your throat—not tight, not threatening, just intimate in a way that says mine without a single word.

His head is tilted toward your neck, lips just barely brushing skin, caught mid-moment. You’re smiling into the mirror, relaxed, happy, completely unguarded.

The room is silent.

Stiles squints. “Okay. First of all—wow. Second of all—Scott, I am so sorry. Third of all—Derek Hale does that?”

Scott’s ears are red. “Why—why does his hand look like that?”

Allison elbows him. “Because they’re dating, Scott.”

“That’s not dating,” Stiles says weakly. “That’s…territorial.”

Lydia zooms in slightly, studying the details. “No,” she says thoughtfully. “That’s comfort. Look at her face. She’s not tense. She’s happy.”

Scott exhales slowly, conflicted. “He better not hurt her.”

As if summoned by the thought, the front door opens.

You’re laughing at something Derek said, the sound carrying into the room a second before the two of you appear—arms full of snacks, Derek’s hand automatically settling at your lower back.

The laughter dies the moment you see where Lydia is looking.

Your phone.

Your photo.

Derek feels it instantly. His posture shifts, eyes sharpening as they flick to the screen, then to Lydia. “Why are you going through her phone?”

You groan softly, mortified. “Lydia…”

Lydia lifts an eyebrow, completely unashamed. “Relax. It’s a very good photo.”

Derek’s jaw tightens, but when you step closer and lightly tug at his sleeve, he looks down at you instead. The edge softens.

“Come on,” you murmur. “It’s just a movie night.”

He huffs, leaning in to press a brief, protective kiss to your temple anyway—subtle, but unmistakable.

And somehow, that’s even louder than the photo ever was.