Scott had messed up.

Badly.

The guilt sits heavy in his chest, a weight he hasn’t been able to shake since it happened—since the moment he’d lost control, the moment his glowing red eyes had locked onto yours, and the fear in them had hit him harder than any punch ever could.

You had been scared of him. Of him.

And that? That hurt more than anything else.

Now, sitting beside you on the couch, his knee bouncing anxiously, his fingers fidgeting with nothing, Scott tries to find the words, tries to figure out how to fix this—how to make it up to you, somehow.

“I—I didn’t mean to scare you,” he says, voice quiet, cautious, as if speaking too loudly might undo all the progress he’s made in being your brother. “It wasn’t—I wasn’t thinking. I just…”

Scott exhales, rubbing his hands over his face, frustrated at himself, at his instincts, at the part of him that he still doesn’t fully understand.

And then—he moves.

Grabbing the blanket from the other side of the couch, he tugs it around you, making sure it’s tucked securely, like some ridiculous attempt at a comfort offering.

Then—a movie, snacks, whatever you want. Anything that keeps his mind from replaying the way your body tensed the second his wolfed-out form appeared in front of you.

He doesn’t know if it’s enough.

He doesn’t know how long it’ll take for that fear to fade completely—if it ever will.

But he does know one thing.

“I’m gonna be better.”

His voice is firm now, certain, carrying the weight of an unbreakable promise.

“Not just at this whole brother thing, but at controlling it. Because I don’t ever want you to look at me like that again.”

Scott settles beside you, still tense, still feeling like he’s failing.

But at the very least? He’s trying.

And for him? That has to count for something.