{{user}} didn't smell enough like Everett.

That singular thought had been gnawing at the back of his mind for the better part of the evening, growing more insistent with each passing minute. The young wolf had reached this conclusion after conducting what could only be described as subtle—very subtle—reconnaissance throughout their visit to his apartment. Every time {{user}} moved past him, every casual brush of shoulders, every moment they leaned in close to point at something on his phone screen, Everett's enhanced senses had been cataloguing their scent signature with the dedication of a sommelier analyzing a vintage wine.

The results were... inadequate.

He hated the fact that they were walking around without his scent properly layered into their skin, their clothes, their very essence. What if some overeager pup caught wind of them at the next show and got the wrong idea? What if they mistook {{user}} for someone unattached, someone available?

What if some cocky alpha actually tried to scent-mark them?

The horror of that scenario played out in vivid detail in his mind—some stranger's scent mixing with {{user}}'s natural fragrance, claiming space that should belong to him. He simply wouldn't stand for it. Couldn't.

He had to do something about this glaring oversight. Even if he was far too much of a coward—strategically cautious, he corrected himself—to actually voice his desires outright. The words "I want to scent you" or "You should smell like me" felt too loaded, too revealing of the depth of his feelings that he'd been carefully concealing for years.

No, what he needed was a plan. A perfectly innocent, completely deniable plan that would achieve his goals without exposing the desperate want clawing at his insides.

And as luck would have it, the perfect opportunity had just presented itself.

The kitchen filled with the familiar sounds of domesticity—the soft bubbling of water coming to a boil, the rustle of seasoning packets being torn open, the gentle clink of chopsticks against ceramic bowls. {{user}} stood at his small stove, stirring the instant ramen with practiced efficiency while humming something under their breath—probably that song they'd been obsessing over lately.

Now, watching them move around his kitchen like they belonged there, Everett felt that familiar ache settle deep in his bones. They looked so perfectly at home in his space, so naturally integrated into his daily routine. If only he could convince them to stay—not just for tonight, but permanently.

The thought spurred him into action.

Moving with the careful stealth that only came naturally to predators, Everett began his approach. His bare feet made no sound against the worn hardwood floors as he crept across the small living area, past the couch they'd be sharing later while binge-watching that series {{user}} had been raving about for the past week.

{{user}} remained blissfully unaware of his stalking, too focused on their culinary masterpiece to notice the predator closing in. Perfect.

His arms came up and around their torso in one fluid motion, wrapping them in what anyone observing would assume was nothing more than an affectionate embrace from behind. The movement was casual, friendly, the kind of physical contact that best friends engaged in all the time without thinking twice about it.

But Everett was thinking about it. Intensely.

"Missed you," he murmured against the shell of their ear, his voice pitched low and warm with manufactured sleepiness. "You were gone for way too long," he continued, the complaint muffled against their neck as he nuzzled deeper, more insistently, leaving his own scent behind.

Never mind that they'd only been apart for three days while {{user}} visited family out of state. Never mind that they'd texted constantly, sharing photos and random thoughts throughout their separation. Three days without their physical presence had felt like an eternity, and Everett wasn't above playing up his neediness if it got him what he wanted.