23

The day was slow, but not boring. The kind of slow where the world feels quieter, and you don't really mind it. Max had practically taken over the couch, legs thrown over mine like I was just another piece of furniture. Not that I complained.

We had books open in front of us, but neither of us was actually reading. The TV was on, playing twilight and Max wouldn't stop making fun of.

"I swear, if I ever see you sparkle, I'm putting a stake through your heart," I said, flipping a page without looking at it.

Max laughed, low and smug. "You're assuming you could even get close enough."

"Please, I could take you down with a lamp and a roll of duct tape."

"That's adorable," he said, shifting so he could nudge my leg with his foot. "But no, you couldn't."

We fell into a comfortable silence after that, but I could feel his eyes on me. Watching. Always watching. Eventually, he sat up, twisting to face me fully.

"You don't have to push so hard next time."

I blinked, caught off-guard. "What?"

"Your power," he said, more serious now. "You don't need to test your limits so recklessly. You don't even know what those limits are yet."

I sighed, rubbing the back of my neck. "How else am I supposed to figure them out?"

"With me," Max said firmly. "You listen when I tell you to stop. Because there's going to be a point where you won't be able to pull yourself back. You got lucky last night."

"You mean you got lucky you didn't get eaten by my shadow army," I muttered.

He snorted. "You think your shadows scare me, Stilinski?"

"They should."

Max leaned in, the grin falling from his face. "I'm not scared of them. I'm scared of you getting lost in them."

That shut me up. I looked away, down at our tangled legs on the couch.

"I don't want to lose myself, Max."

"Then don't." He reached out, fingers curling around my wrist, grounding me. "That's why you have me."

I gave him a small smile. "Right. My morally gray vampire life coach."

"Exactly," he said with a wink.

The sun started to dip, golden light filtering through the windows. Max stood up, stretching, the hem of his shirt riding up just enough to make me look away.

"I need to head out for a bit," he said casually, grabbing his jacket. "Gotta eat."

I sat up, heart thudding a little faster. "You could... you could feed from me."

That made him stop. He turned, eyebrows raised, something unreadable flickering across his face. He didn't answer right away.

"You want that?" he asked, stepping closer, voice softer now.

"I'm offering," I said, shrugging like it wasn't a big deal, even though my pulse was hammering in my ears.

Max's eyes darkened, and for a moment, I thought he'd say yes. He wanted to. I could see it in the way his jaw tensed, in the way his gaze lingered on my neck.

But then he sighed, shaking his head. "Better not. Not tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because you're still shaky from last night, and I'm not sure I trust myself not to ruin you," he said, voice teasing, but his eyes were serious.

I stood up, walking him to the door. "Guess I'll take that as a compliment."

"You should," he said, hand on the doorknob. Then, before stepping out, he glanced back. "Lock the door. And don't practice anything without me."

"I won't," I said.

He gave me a look. "Stiles."

"I said I won't," I repeated, rolling my eyes.

"Good. I'll be back before midnight." He opened the door, pausing once more. "Don't miss me too much, darling."

"Go already"

He grinned and disappeared into the night, leaving me standing there with a heart that wasn't sure whether to speed up or slow down.

—————————————————————————

It was past 1 AM.

I had been pacing around Max's house for the last thirty minutes, not because I was worried, because I wasn't. Really. I knew what he was. Knew what he could do. There was no point in worrying. But that didn't stop me from opening and closing cabinets, drawers, and closets like some bored raccoon raiding a kitchen.

He had too many jackets. All black, of course. Leather, denim, some that looked like they had survived a war, or maybe started one.

I found myself trailing my fingers over the spines of the books stacked haphazardly on his shelves. There were old tomes, handwritten journals with cracked leather covers, books about demonology, occult history, and vampire lore, all crammed between more casual stuff like sci-fi novels and outdated road maps. I flipped one open. His handwriting was sharp, a little messy, but precise in the way people who've had too much time to practice write.

The clock on the wall mocked me, 1:47.

He said he'd be back before midnight.

I wasn't worried.

I wasn't.

I sighed, pulling open another drawer. Inside, more notebooks, scattered photographs, most of them in black and white. Some with people I didn't recognize. Some with people who looked like they never knew someone was taking their picture.

2:03.

I grabbed my phone and texted him again.

You're late, drama queen.

No response.

I wasn't worried.

I went back to the couch, sat down, stood up again, paced around. The house felt too empty without his constant sarcastic commentary. The shadows curled lazily in the corners of the room like they were asleep, unaware of my restless pacing.

I told myself he probably just got caught up. Maybe he was tracking someone. Maybe he found a snack that didn't go down easy.

Still, when 2:27 rolled around and my phone was still dark, I gave up.

"I'm going to bed," I muttered to no one, locking the door even though it wouldn't do much good if something actually wanted to come in.

The bedroom felt colder without him. I flopped onto the bed, pulling the blanket over my head as if it could block out the silence. The shadows shifted around me, settling like they were tucking me in.

"You're not worried either, right?" I whispered to them.

They didn't answer, just pulsed quietly around the room.

I turned my phone face-down on the nightstand and closed my eyes.

He'd be fine.

He always is.