Malia knew she couldn’t get drunk. She knew that, but she wanted to escape, if only for a minute. Just a second of the misery she was sure she was experiencing. Malia continued to drink the sugary liquid even though she only felt the rush for a moment. Her mind raced, her memory faded, she felt giddy for the first time in a while, and then it would slip away into her usual hyper-awareness.
She took another sip, felt the gently sway and before sighing mournfully. She realized too late that someone was behind her, and she sagged forward around her knees.
“Don’t tell Lydia,” she said, not raising her head, “or Kira.”
Scott smiled kindly and sat with grace unsuited to him. He kept quiet, picking up a bottle of rum and tilted it back.
Malia peeked up at him from her arms, crossed on her knees, big brown eyes watching him thoughtfully.
“Anyone else?” Scott offered after his swig, bottle in his left hand.
Malia grunted and glared at his bottle before saying, “you know who.”
Scott sighed and leaned back against the grass, soft and easily crushed underneath his weight. Malia wanted to follow suit, so she slammed against the ground and stared at him, begging him with her thoughts.
“I won’t tell him,” he swore, and Malia believed him. Scott didn’t lie. He watched her carefully as he turned on his side to face her.
“Malia…” he started, before swallowing his words. He seemed lost in his mind, traversing through alleyways, before saying, “I loved her, you know?”
Malia bit her lip, trying to take in the sky above her instead of looking at Scott. She has loved Kira too, in a different way. Maybe not as different as Scott thought, though, she considered.
“I loved her too,” she answered honestly, turning to face him. She was brave, she was truthful, and she was steadfast. She had nothing to fear from her alpha.
He chuckled and smiled; dimple faced, and said, “Yeah…yeah, I know.” He remained thoughtful, weighing words for inconsistently and fear, she could read it on his face and smell it drenched on him.
“I loved him, too,” he croaked, and Malia was struck by the fact that she was certain he had never said those words before. She grasped at her words for a moment, face crumpled in thought. Malia reached out and took his hand, smiling minutely and said, “I loved him, too.”
Scott closed his eyes and when he opened them; they were red like her lips. Her blue eyes answered, uncaring that some would judge her for them, because Scott wouldn’t. Scott never thought badly of her, not even when she was a coyote. Not even when she didn’t care about him, not even when she only focused on Stiles.
She crushed his fingers between hers and dragged herself closer. The grass stained her clothes, deep marks against her blouse but she paid no mind to the cold from the dew.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, eyes determined and soft, “I understand.”
She knew that if anyone understood her out of her best friends, it was Scott. Not only because they were the only ones with the shift, but because they were the only ones who lost someone they thought they’d be with forever. Scott had done that, twice. Malia couldn’t imagine that kind of sorrow, the ripping of her internal organs, and the sawing of a limb. She could only sympathize, because she had lost her anchor once, too, and now struggled to make herself her own anchor, like Scott had. She was terrified she wasn’t as strong as Scott, that she’d be lost in the sea, the tide, of her emotions, her condition.
“Hey,” Scott murmured, placing a hand on her cheek, “what’s wrong?”
Malia touched her face and felt the muddled tears on her nose. Her head snapped up to meet Scott’s gaze and was bewildered to find that he had water streaks down his face, too.
“I don’t know if I’ll feel that way, ever again,” she said, staring right into Scott’s deep brown eyes.
He curled his head around her neck and rested his forehead against hers and told her, “You will. It doesn’t feel like it, but you will.”
Malia wanted to believe, and she felt something shift in her chest. He spoke truth; no matter how hard it was too hear. Stiles had been everything, and yet here she lay, alive and strong, though depressed and not a small amount lost. But she had a friend in Scott; his big hand warmed her under its weight.
“Scott,” she said, brushing her nose against his, “I…”
He pulled her closer by the neck while he wrapped another arm around her back and said, “I know.”
His breath was warm on her face and she smiled warmly at him, and when she went to answer their lips brushed. It quelled her words but speed up her heart beat, made her sweat. She hadn’t felt this way since Stiles had kissed her at Eichen house. She grinned because Scott had been right, it felt similar. Not the same, but it wasn’t subpart to what she felt before. It felt sweet, it felt light. She was real, a piece of the emptiness in her stomach gave way and she felt slightly on even ground.
Scott was stupefied, eyes glazed, a small smile etched in his lips. Malia brushed their lips again and Scott pulled her closer, partly for a moment before kissing again.
“Malia…” he whispered, voice hoarse, brown eyes warm and colliding with hers.
“Shh,” she said, eyes alight and hope in her chest, “I know.”
