The smell was what woke her up first. Warm and inviting, the scent of coffee and something sweet filled the loft, pulling her from the haze of sleep. For a second, she forgot where she was—until she reached out and felt the empty space beside her. Derek wasn’t there.

Her brows furrowed as she sat up, the oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. His t-shirt. She tugged it back into place, the fabric soft and worn, carrying his scent like a whisper against her skin.

This was the first time she had stayed at his place. Usually, Derek was the one sneaking into her room at night, slipping out before sunrise, careful not to get caught by her father. But last night had been different.

Derek had shown up at her work when her shift ended, looking as serious as ever. He didn’t give her much of a choice—told her he wasn’t letting her go until she understood how much he meant what he said. How much he wanted this.

She could have left if she wanted to. They both knew that. But she stayed.

The loft was quiet as she padded toward the kitchen, the cold floor sending a small shiver up her spine. She found him standing at the stove, his back to her, a spatula in one hand, flipping pancakes with a concentration that was almost amusing.

"You’re burning them," she said, leaning against the doorframe.

Derek turned his head slightly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "No, I’m not."

She arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. "That one is basically charcoal."

He glanced at the blackened pancake on the plate beside him and let out a breath, shaking his head. "Alright, maybe a little."

"Since when do you make breakfast?"

Derek hesitated for a second before shrugging. "Since I needed a way to prove to you that I’m trying."

That caught her off guard.

She wasn’t sure what she had expected when she came here last night. Maybe for him to say the right words, maybe for him to make promises she wasn’t sure he could keep. But she hadn’t expected this—Derek Hale, making pancakes, trying in a way that wasn’t just words.