[Disclaimer: Contains Adult Language, Drug & Alcohol Abuse, Suicide, Internalized Homophobia, Implied Sexual Assault/Rape, and Sexual Content.] A/N: Hello! Just for clarification, this story starts right at the beginning of Season 1, ep 1. I've always wanted to write a TeenWolf fic, so I figured I'd give it a shot. Also, all of the main cast are 17 for the sake of being underage. Please R&R!

Your humble story-teller,

FLUX

Beacon Hills, California: Sunday. August 14th, 2011.

I stood in front of the mirror, feeling different, like something inside had shifted. It wasn't like I was glowing or anything, but things weren't the same as they used to be. Sure, things weren't perfect, but they didn't have to be. Beacon Hills felt like a chance to just... be myself, whoever that was now.

I grabbed some texture powder and worked it into my hair, making sure it had that perfect balance between messy and put-together. I liked how it framed my face now—less like the awkward kid from last year. Seventeen had brought some changes. My shoulders had broadened a bit, my jawline had sharpened. For the first time in a while, I didn't feel like I had to try so hard to fit in. I just... did.

My eyes flicked to the glasses sitting on the vanity. I hadn't needed them since Paris. Mom always said I didn't really need them in the first place—something about a minor astigmatism. She was probably right, but I still felt weird without them sometimes.

I flopped onto my bed with a long breath as my phone buzzed. It was Mom, reminding me about dinner—"Casual but nice," she said. That was her way of keeping things together, making sure this whole "fresh start" thing didn't slip through our fingers. She'd moved us out of Michigan to get away from... well, everything. Taking the sign-on bonus at the hospital here in Beacon Hills was her way of giving us a shot at a new life.

I got it, I did. I just wasn't sure if a fresh start was something that could really be bought with a new address. But I could at least appreciate her effort.

Lying back, I fiddled with the golden amulet around my neck. It wasn't even my birthday yet, but that trip to France had been an early celebration from Mom. We'd gone to Versailles, and Mémé had given me the amulet—a small, simple piece with a sun and moon etched into it. She'd called it her lucky charm, something that had carried her through a lot. Now, it was mine.

That trip had been more than just a vacation. It had been a reset. Two weeks in her world, soaking up her stories, her calm presence. We spent mornings in her garden, afternoons baking pastries in her kitchen. She'd even given me this old book on herbology. She hadn't said much when she handed it to me, just smiled like she was passing on something important. And I guess she was. That book felt like a connection to something bigger. I wasn't sure what yet, but I knew it mattered.

And then there was the night she gave me the amulet. We were sitting on her terrace, watching the sun dip below the rooftops of Versailles. She didn't explain why she was giving it to me—just put it in my hand with a look that said everything. She believed in it, in me, and that was enough.

Now, back here in Beacon Hills, I found myself holding onto that belief more than I expected. The amulet had become this little piece of home, a reminder that even though things were changing, I wasn't alone.

I scrolled through my phone, looking at the pictures from the trip. There was one of me and Mémé in her garden, her hand on my shoulder, guiding me through tying up the plants. Another was of the pastries we'd baked—surprisingly decent considering how much I'd messed up the process. But it was the photo of the Eiffel Tower at sunset that made me pause. Standing there in Paris, surrounded by people who had no idea who I was or what I'd been through... it had felt freeing. No expectations. No judgment. Just me.

Mom had tried to keep things light during the trip, steering clear of any talk about what had happened back in Michigan. But I could feel her guilt. She hadn't said it outright, but it was there. She'd done what she could—gotten me out, left Dad behind, and moved us here. But I still wondered why she hadn't seen it coming sooner.

We talked about it once in Paris, sitting on a bench near the Eiffel Tower while kids played in the fountain nearby. She didn't say much, just offered a quiet apology. It didn't fix everything, but it was enough to help me move forward. And now we were here, in Beacon Hills. A new town, a fresh start. A chance to breathe again.

I stood up, feeling a little lighter. I ran my fingers over the amulet one last time before tucking it beneath my black crewneck. Slipping into a pair of dark jeans, I took a quick look in the mirror. I didn't look like someone who was running anymore. I looked like someone ready to face whatever came next.

Grabbing my phone and wallet, I slipped on my black boots and took a deep breath. Mom's voice called from downstairs. "Adrian, you ready?"

"Almost!" I called back. But I stayed where I was for a second, letting her words settle. The amulet rested against my chest, a small comfort that reminded me I wasn't facing all of this alone.

I headed downstairs, and when I saw Mom waiting by the door, her smile was small but real. "You look nice," she said softly.

"Thanks," I replied, my fingers brushing the amulet again. I didn't need to say I was nervous. She already knew.

She studied me for a moment longer, then nodded. "I'm proud of you, you know," she said quietly.

Her words hung in the air between us, heavier than I expected. I nodded, my throat tight. "I know. I'm proud of you too."

She blinked back whatever emotion was creeping in, then cleared her throat and grabbed her purse. "Alright, let's get going before we're late."

As we stepped out into the cool evening air, I let her words settle next to the amulet against my chest. Maybe this move would work out after all. Maybe things would finally be okay.

With each step I took, I felt a quiet hope starting to bloom. Beacon Hills just might be the fresh start we both needed.

I adjusted my black crewneck as I walked beside Mom toward Melissa McCall's house. I'd only met her a couple of times during the move, and she seemed nice enough—warm, welcoming, and genuine. I figured she and Mom had bonded over the whole divorce thing. Shared trauma, I guess.

As we got to the door, Mom raised her hand to knock, but before she could, it swung open. Melissa stood there with a big smile on her face, her dark, wavy hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. She had that look of someone who was always juggling a million things but still managed to keep it together. She was in a casual blouse and jeans—no stress, no rush.

"Eden! Adrian! So glad you could make it," she said, stepping forward to give Mom a tight hug before turning to me. She blinked, clearly surprised as she looked me over.

"My goodness, Adrian, you've grown up!" she said, her eyes sweeping over me like she was trying to remember the last time she saw me. "You were still figuring things out the last time I saw you, and now look at you!"

Mom nudged me with her elbow, grinning. "See? Told you it would happen."

I rolled my eyes but smiled anyway. "Blame France," I joked. "Turns out croissants build muscle."

Melissa laughed and stepped aside to let us in. "Well, I wasn't expecting such a glow-up," she teased. "Puberty really worked in your favor."

"Yeah, just trying to keep up," I chuckled as I walked inside, brushing off the compliment.

The house was warm and cozy, filled with that "lived-in" vibe that made you want to kick off your shoes and relax. The smell of something grilling filled the air—rich and savory, with a hint of something sweet that made my stomach growl.

"Scott! Stiles! Dinner's ready!" Melissa called out, turning back to us with a smile. "Hope you don't mind, but Scott's friend is joining us. His dad is the Sheriff, and he works long hours. So, Stiles is basically part of the furniture around here."

"The more, the merrier," Mom said, her voice warm as she and Melissa made their way to the kitchen, margaritas already in hand. I could hear them catching up, their conversation shifting between laughter and softer murmurs as they set the table together.

As she and Mom made their way to the kitchen—margaritas already in hand—I kicked off my boots and took a deep breath. The house smelled like comfort, like a place you could actually settle into.

I heard footsteps thudding down the stairs and turned to see two guys heading my way. The first one was tall and lanky, dressed in a flannel over a graphic tee and jeans that were a little too long. He had this wild energy about him, like he noticed everything at once and was trying to keep up with it all.

Behind him was another guy, a bit more solid in build, with dark, tousled hair and a simple black hoodie. There was something calm and confident about him. As he got closer, I caught a whiff of cinnamon and pine—a subtle but strong scent that made me pause for a second.

The flannel guy reached the bottom of the stairs first, grinning as he held out his hand. "You must be Adrian. Melissa's been talking about you," he said, his energy practically vibrating. "I'm Stiles."

I shook his hand, a little caught off guard by how intense he was. "Nice to meet you," I replied, trying to keep up.

"And this," Stiles said, nodding toward the other guy, "is Scott."

Scott stepped forward with a warm smile, his dark eyes kind but sharp, like he was always taking in more than he let on. "Hey," he said, his voice calm. "Good to finally meet you."

"Yeah, you too," I said, doing my best to stay casual, though that cinnamon-and-pine scent still clung to the air around him, making me feel slightly off balance.

There was a brief pause as we all just kind of stood there, sizing each other up. Stiles glanced between me and Scott, grinning like he knew something we didn't.

"So," Stiles finally said, clapping his hands together, "you're officially in Beacon Hills now. It's not Paris, but we've got... trees. Lots of them."

Scott chuckled, nudging Stiles with his elbow. "Ignore him. He talks a lot, but he's harmless."

I laughed, feeling some of the tension ease. "Hey, trees sound good to me. I've had enough of city crowds for a while."

Stiles grinned at Scott. "See? He gets it."

As we headed toward the kitchen, that scent of cinnamon and pine still lingered around Scott, tugging at the edges of my thoughts. It was weirdly comforting but also... distracting.

Dinner was amazing. Melissa had made beef carnitas with fresh tortillas, and the table was filled with bowls of toppings—fresh cilantro, lime wedges, salsa, everything. It was the kind of meal that made you want to keep eating long after you were full.

Mom and Melissa were already deep into their second margaritas, swapping stories from the old days, laughing louder with each drink. Every now and then, Mom's voice would catch my attention—her hands waving animatedly as she retold some ridiculous memory.

"So," Mom started, giggling between sips, "when we were in Paris, I met up with some girlfriends, and we ended up front row at a cabaret show at the Moulin Rouge. Feather boas, sequins, and legs for days!"

I cringed, trying to ignore the embarrassment creeping up my neck. I focused on my food, determined not to let Stiles run with that story.

But of course, he wasn't going to let it slide. "Wait, wait. Moulin Rouge? Was that like a strip club with class?" He wiggled his eyebrows, trying to get a rise out of me.

Mom just laughed, waving him off. "Oh, honey, it's way more artistic than that! It's all about the glamour."

Stiles' eyes widened, and Scott nearly choked on his drink, trying not to laugh. "Classy stripping?" Stiles muttered.

I groaned, hiding my face in my hands. "Mom, please."

She grinned at me, completely unfazed. "You'd have loved it, Adrian."

Melissa turned to me with a playful smile. "Alright, Adrian. What was your favorite part of the trip?"

Grateful for the change in subject, I leaned back.

"The Midsommer festival," I said quietly. "My friend Rose took me."

Mom raised her eyebrows. "Rose, huh? The girl from the café?"

I nodded, trying not to smile. "Yeah, that's her."

Melissa leaned in, teasing. "Sounds like you had a little romance in Paris."

I felt my face heat up. "Not really," I said, quick to downplay it. "She's just a friend. But that night… it was special."

Scott nodded like he totally understood, but Stiles wasn't about to let it slide that easily. "So, did this Rose give you the flower crown or what?" he asked, grinning.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yeah, she did. Made it herself."

"Nice," Stiles said, nodding like I'd just shared the best strategy ever. "Flower crowns. Solid move. I'll remember that for the next girl I try to impress."

I shifted in my seat, feeling everyone's eyes on me, the weight of their attention making me a little self-conscious. I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "We spent the night by these huge bonfires. Everyone was dancing, wearing flower crowns, music was everywhere."

Mom jumped in, her smile turning even more mischievous. "Oh, and don't forget how Rose had to drag him home that night. Poor thing couldn't handle his wine."

I shot her a look, my face now probably a shade of red. "Mom…"

Stiles' eyes lit up, practically bouncing in his seat with excitement. "Wait—wine? You were drinking wine?

Mom waved her hand, laughing. "Well, in France, the drinking age is technically 18, but at festivals like that, no one cares if you're 17. It's part of the culture."

She laughed harder as she continued. "What was really funny was watching them trying to sneak in at sunrise, crawling through the gate like lost sheep. My poor mother nearly had a heart attack."

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as everyone around the table burst out laughing. "It wasn't that bad," I mumbled, though a small smile tugged at my lips.

The truth was, I could barely remember the night. It was a blur of bonfires, music, Rose laughing beside me, and then... nothing. Crawling through a gate? No clue. But I wasn't about to admit that.

I chuckled, trying to play it off. "Yeah, well, let's just say I'm not used to wine. Not my brightest moment."

Stiles practically jumped out of his chair, eyes wide with exaggerated shock. "Crawling through a gate? Dude, that's legendary! Was it like, 'I'll never let go, Rose!' but instead of cold water, you're just... laying in the dirt?" He dramatically flung his arms out, pretending to grab at an invisible gate. "'Promise me you'll live a long life! And, uh, help me through this shrubbery!'"

Everyone lost it. Even Scott, who was trying and failing to hold back his laughter.

I couldn't help but laugh too, shaking my head at how ridiculous it all was. "Yeah, something like that," I said, going along with the joke. "Although, honestly, it was probably more like, 'Rose, please don't let me pass out in the dirt.'"

Melissa grinned, leaning in with that same curious look. "Sounds like you had quite the adventure. Wine, flower crowns, festivals... makes Beacon Hills sound a little tame, huh?"

I shook my head, still smiling. "It was a good night, but I think I've had enough of wild festivals for a while. I'll stick to quieter things."

Mom, clearly enjoying this way too much, shot me a playful look. "Just as long as you don't end up crawling through any gates around here."

Stiles nudged Scott, his eyes practically glowing with excitement. "Dude, if that happens, you better tell us. I'm getting the camera ready."

Scott rolled his eyes but couldn't help grinning too. He glanced over at me, his expression warm and reassuring. "Don't worry," he said, his voice steady, "we've got your back. No gate-crawling necessary."

A warmth spread through my chest, and I found myself relaxing. Even though I was the new guy, the teasing made me feel like I wasn't just some stranger at the table.

As dinner wrapped up, Mom and Melissa stayed behind to clean up the kitchen, their laughter drifting through the house, along with the sound of margaritas being refilled. Meanwhile, Scott, Stiles, and I took care of the table, gathering up plates and glasses.

Of course, Stiles couldn't keep his mouth shut, turning every simple movement into a punchline. "So, Adrian," he began, grabbing a stack of plates with an exaggerated flourish, "how'd you manage to escape France without adopting a full-on beret and baguette addiction?"

I snorted, shaking my head. "The croissants were pretty addictive, though."

"Croissants?" Stiles scoffed, dropping the plates on the counter with a loud clatter. "Please. If I spent more than five minutes in France, I'd come back speaking in a terrible accent and demanding everyone call me 'Stiles le magnifique.'"

Scott rolled his eyes but couldn't hide a grin. "God, no. We already deal with your regular weirdness."

Undeterred, Stiles picked up a handful of cutlery, brandishing them like a sword. "And did you meet the love of your life while whispering sweet nothings under the Eiffel Tower? Or were you too busy drowning in fine wine?"

I handed him another plate, laughing. "More like drowning in my own bad decisions."

"Très bien!" Stiles continued, swaying like a drunken Parisian. "Next time, I'll bring you one of those tiny wine glasses, or maybe a helmet to help with the whole gate-crawling situation."

Scott elbowed him, laughing. "You're really going for it tonight, huh?"

"Gotta get all my jokes in before school starts," Stiles said with a shrug. "Besides, Adrian's new. He hasn't learned to tune me out yet."

I grinned, appreciating Stiles' relentless energy. "Don't worry, I'm a fast learner."

Stiles shot me a dramatic look. "Oh no, you're stuck with me now, mon ami." He threw a napkin over his shoulder like a scarf. "Vive la Stiles!"

I couldn't stop laughing, and even Scott was struggling to keep a straight face. "See you tomorrow, dude," Stiles said as he waved goodbye, heading out the door.

Mom glanced over from the kitchen and waved me off. "Go hang out with Scott for a bit, Adrian. Melissa and I have got this."

I followed Scott upstairs to his room on the second floor. It was pretty much what I expected for a teenage guy—messy, but not in a gross way. Clothes draped over a chair, a few sneakers kicked near the door, and some textbooks scattered across his desk. It wasn't chaotic, just lived in.

"Sorry about the mess," Scott said, scratching the back of his neck. "It's organized chaos. I mostly know where everything is."

"No worries," I said, glancing around. There were a few personal touches that caught my eye—dumbbells tucked under the bed, a basketball in the corner, and a skateboard leaning against the wall. What really got my attention, though, was the bookshelf by the window. It wasn't overflowing, but there was a solid mix of stuff—sports biographies, a book on mindfulness, and an album collection that ranged from classic rock to some alternative stuff.

Scott noticed me checking out his shelf. "I'm into music and sports," he said, a little sheepish. "Keeps me grounded. Most of the albums are from my dad's collection. He left them behind when he... you know."

I nodded. "I get it. I've got some things from my grandma that I hold onto for the same reason."

Scott smiled a little, his shoulders relaxing. "Yeah, it's weird how that stuff sticks with you, huh?"

I moved closer to the shelf, eyeing the records. "So, you're into classic rock?"

He grinned. "Yeah, my dad loved it. I guess it rubbed off on me. I like a mix of stuff, though. Depends on the mood."

I nodded, then glanced at the sports gear scattered around. "You play basketball?"

"Yeah," Scott said, his smile widening. "And lacrosse. I love it—it's fast, gets the adrenaline going."

"That's cool," I said, feeling the room settle into a comfortable vibe. "I played soccer for a while, but I wasn't great at it. These days, I'm more into hiking and reading. Helps clear my head."

Scott leaned back on his hands, nodding. "That's awesome. There are some great hiking spots around here. I go when I need to clear my head, too."

The conversation lulled for a second, but it didn't feel awkward, just natural, like we were both feeling each other out. There was this subtle tension in the air—not bad, just... there.

"So," Scott said after a beat, "besides hiking, you into anything else?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I stay active, but I'm not a big team sports guy. I've tried swimming. I guess I'm more of an outdoorsy type."

Scott nodded, like he was filing that away. "That's cool. I'll take you hiking sometime. There's a trail up in the preserve that's pretty quiet—a good place to think."

"I'd like that," I said, feeling more at ease.

We sat there for a minute, the silence between us surprisingly comfortable. But there was still this... something. A tension that made the room feel smaller, more charged. I caught Scott's gaze, and for a second, it felt like he was trying to figure me out—like he was waiting for me to say or do something. My heart sped up, and I couldn't look away, even though I knew I should.

Then, Mom's voice called up from downstairs, snapping the moment in half. "Adrian! Time to go!"

The air shifted back to normal as Scott straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Looks like that's your cue."

"Yeah," I replied, my voice sounding rougher than I expected. I cleared my throat, trying to play it cool. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

Scott's expression softened. "Definitely. It's nice having someone new around."

I nodded, feeling a mix of reluctance and relief as I stood up. "Looking forward to it."

We exchanged an awkward half-wave before I turned to leave. The tension still buzzed in my chest as I headed downstairs. Mom and Melissa were laughing in the kitchen, their voices drifting through the house. I said my goodbyes quickly and followed Mom back home.

As soon as I got inside, I kicked off my boots and headed straight upstairs to my room. I pulled off my crewneck and threw it on a chair, swapping it for a pair of sweats. When I glanced out my window, I saw Scott's house directly across from mine. His room was lit up, and for a moment, I could see him too—standing by his bed, peeling off his hoodie.

I felt a strange pang of guilt, lingering a second too long before I snapped my blinds closed. My thoughts were all over the place. Scott was just a guy—my neighbor—but something about him tugged at me in a way I couldn't ignore.

I sighed and crawled into bed, grabbing my phone and putting on some music to drown out my racing thoughts. As AlunaGeorge played softly in the background, I tried to focus on the melody, letting it pull me away from the mess in my head.

The sun was filtering through the trees, casting everything in this golden light. Rose and I were on the train, excitement buzzing between us as the French countryside blurred by in greens and golds. She was laughing, her cheeks flushed from the wine we'd been passing back and forth. She wore this white dress with little embroidered flowers at the hem, and she was painting sunflowers on my cheeks with a tiny brush she'd pulled from her bag.

"Hold still," she teased, her voice warm as she finished the last stroke. I tried not to laugh, the wine making me feel loose and light.

I was dressed simple—white tunic, black pants, scuffed boots—comfortable, like I'd been wearing this kind of thing forever. The sunflowers on my cheeks felt more than just festive; they tied me to the whole vibe of the festival, like I was a part of it. I took another swig from the flask we shared, the wine warming me from the inside out, making everything seem more alive, more real.

The train slowed as we reached this small station. Violins and flutes greeted us as we stepped off, the music wrapping around us like a hug. Up ahead, the chateau came into view—a grand old thing with golden trim that caught the last bit of sunlight. It was worn but still had that timeless beauty, like it'd seen more than we could ever imagine. The gate was inscribed with "Memento Mori," dark letters that stood out against the colorful flower garlands draped around it. There was even a skull carved beneath it—kind of morbid, but somehow it fit. The mood inside wasn't somber though. People were laughing, music was everywhere, and the smell of burning wood filled the air. It was impossible not to get caught up in the energy.

Rose led me deeper into the festival, her hand warm in mine as she pulled me toward a table covered in wildflowers. She started weaving them into a crown, her fingers moving quickly, humming to herself. I wandered over to a table where they were pouring wine and grabbed a cup, breathing in the earthy smell before taking a sip. The wine tasted rich, the kind that stays with you. Between that and the glow of the setting sun, everything around me felt almost surreal.

"Perfect," Rose said, placing the flower crown on my head. The petals were soft against my skin, their scent mixing with the smoke and herbs hanging in the air. I smiled at her, feeling like I belonged there as we made our way further into the festival. Bonfires crackled in the distance, the flames throwing shadows that danced across the faces of the people celebrating around us. The music from the violins and flutes flowed through the night, wrapping around everything like a living thing.

The chateau loomed ahead, and as we stepped inside, it was like walking into a dream. Mirrors lined the walls, stretching from floor to ceiling, reflecting the firelight until the whole room seemed to pulse with life. The golden trim on the mirrors gleamed, catching the light in a way that made everything feel infinite, like we were walking through a painting. The wooden floors beneath our feet were smooth and polished, each step echoing softly as we moved deeper into the hall.

Rose tugged on my sleeve, pulling me toward a room at the end of the hall. Inside was a wooden desk, and behind it sat an older woman who seemed both regal and inviting. Her silver hair was pulled back into an elegant updo, and she wore a deep burgundy gown that shimmered in the candlelight. Her eyes were sharp, but there was kindness in them.

"Ah, Adrian," she said, her voice rich and welcoming. "Welcome to our celebration of life. I'm Aurora."

Her words sent a shiver down my spine. Her gaze shifted to the amulet hanging around my neck—the one my grandma gave me in Versailles. The golden sun and moon etched into it seemed to glow in the candlelight.

"I see you carry the mark of protection," Aurora said softly. "A gift from one who understands the old ways."

I glanced down at the amulet, feeling warmth spread through me, like it was alive.

Aurora smiled, her gaze returning to mine. "You wear it well. Here, we honor those who walk beneath the gaze of the triple goddess, the horned king, and the winged angel. All are welcome, and all may prosper."

Her words felt heavy, like they carried more meaning than I could grasp, but I could feel them settling inside me. "Tell me, Adrian," she asked, her eyes glinting with curiosity, "what is your star sign?"

"Libra," I said automatically, the word slipping out like it had been waiting to be said.

Aurora's smile widened, like she understood something I didn't. "Balance and harmony. But you carry more than balance—you carry the weight of choice. It's a gift, but also a burden."

There's a pause as she takes a sip from her chalice, looking at my with a calculating eye. "Hope you enjoy the festival,"

Her words hung in the air as Rose gently led me away, back out into the festival. The fires were burning brighter now, their flames flickering against the darkening sky. Music and laughter filled every inch of the chateau grounds, and for a moment, everything felt perfect, like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

As the sun disappeared, the vibe of the festival shifted. The violins and flutes were replaced with something more modern—EDM pulsed through the air, blending with the laughter and chatter. The ground almost vibrated beneath us.

Rose grinned at me, pulling a small vial from her bag. She dipped her fingers inside and smeared ultraviolet paint across my skin, the glow catching the light from the fires and the thumping music. Gabriel was there too, watching with an amused smile as Rose did the same to him, painting symbols on his arms and neck.

The air felt thick, electric, as the scent of sweat, smoke, and wildflowers mixed together. People started shedding their clothes, dancing with abandon, their bodies glowing under the ultraviolet paint. The whole chateau had transformed into this living, breathing thing—a place where the outside world didn't matter, where you could lose yourself completely.

Rose pressed a small pill into my hand. "It'll make you feel everything," she whispered with a wink.

I hesitated only for a second before swallowing it with a sip of wine. Instantly, everything heightened—the music pulsed through my body, the warmth of the fire felt more intense, every touch more vivid. Gabriel moved closer, his fingers brushing against mine as we swayed to the music. There was something magnetic about him, something that made me want to be closer. His hand found my back, pulling me in as we danced together.

The energy between us was electric, a thread that pulled tighter with each beat of the music. Rose twirled around us, her laughter ringing out as she danced in the glow of the fires. The night spun on, the festival around us blurring into a swirl of lights and colors, bodies moving together in a rhythm that felt timeless.

Time seemed to stretch and bend as we danced, everything else fading into the background. And then, before I knew it, Gabriel's lips were on mine. The world slowed down, the music fading to a distant hum as I melted into the intensity of his kiss. It was soft at first, but quickly deepened, pulling me under like a wave.

The fire between us burned brighter, his touch igniting something inside me I hadn't known was there. I felt like I was on fire, every nerve in my body alive with sensation. The world tilted, spinning faster as everything—his touch, the music, the fire, the wine—became too much. I could feel myself slipping, the edges of my vision going dark as Gabriel's voice called my name, his hand gripping mine as I fell into the void.

Then, everything went quiet. The chaos of the night faded away, leaving only darkness and the sound of my own heartbeat, echoing in the silence.

I woke up to a pounding headache, the kind that made every little sound feel like someone was banging on my brain. Groaning, I rolled over in bed, squinting against the dull sunlight sneaking through the curtains. The dream still clung to me—Gabriel's kiss, the way our bodies had moved together, that crazy connection between us. But as I sat up, rubbing my temples, the details of the festival started slipping away, like fog lifting in slow motion.

Dragging myself out of bed, I moved slowly across the room and into the bathroom. The cool tile felt good under my bare feet, grounding me a little as I stepped into the shower. I turned on the water and let it pour over my shoulders like soft rain, drowning out everything else. I closed my eyes, letting the steady rhythm of the water wash away the remnants of the dream—the vivid, surreal intensity of it all.

The warmth helped ease the tension in my body, and I stood there for probably way too long, just letting the water calm me down. The dream, Gabriel, Rose, the night—it all floated around in my mind, just out of reach, but I pushed it down, focusing on the feeling of the water on my skin.

Eventually, I got out of the shower, drying off and standing in front of the mirror. Today wasn't just any day—it was my first day at Beacon Hills High. I needed to look ready for it. I grabbed my favorite vintage Rolling Stones tee, soft and perfectly worn from years of use, and threw on a sleek black denim jacket for a little edge. Paired with dark gray fitted jeans and my black Chelsea boots, I felt like I was striking the right balance. I slipped my charm around my neck, the one I always wore, before grabbing my phone and wallet.

Once I was good to go, I ran my fingers through my damp hair, making sure it looked effortlessly tousled—styled, but not too styled. Satisfied, I headed downstairs to find Mom already at the kitchen table, sipping her coffee and flipping through the newspaper. The smell of scrambled eggs and toast filled the air, and she had a plate waiting for me.

"Morning, sleepyhead," she said with a smile, glancing up at me. "Rough night?"

"You could say that," I muttered, sliding into the chair beside her. I wasn't super hungry, but I forced down a few bites, knowing I needed to eat something to get through the day.

We ate in a comfortable silence, the clinking of silverware the only sound between us. After breakfast, we got into her black Honda Civic and headed out. The drive to Beacon Hills High was a bit of a blur—just nerves and anticipation swirling around in my head as I stared out the window at the trees and suburban houses flying by.

"You ready for your first day?" Mom asked, breaking into my thoughts.

I nodded, though the knot in my stomach said otherwise. "Yeah," I replied quietly, mostly to reassure her.

She smiled and reached over to give my shoulder a light squeeze. "You'll be great, Adrian. Just be yourself, okay? Everything else will fall into place."

We pulled into the parking lot, and the building loomed ahead, bigger and more intimidating than I'd expected. Groups of students were scattered around the front entrance, laughing and talking, totally at ease. The normalcy of it all hit me in a weird way, making my heart race. I hadn't really known what to expect, but this moment felt surreal—like I was about to walk into a new chapter of my life without knowing what was on the next page.

Unbuckling my seatbelt, I grabbed my backpack from the back seat and slung it over my shoulder. "Thanks, Mom," I said, offering her a small smile as I opened the door.

She smiled back, her eyes full of that familiar warmth and encouragement. "Have a good day, Adrian. I'll see you tonight."

I nodded and stepped out of the car, watching her drive away before turning to face the school. I took a deep breath, adjusted the strap of my backpack, and started walking toward the entrance. The nerves were still there, but so was something else—something new and hopeful. Maybe this was the fresh start I needed.

As I crossed the courtyard, I could feel people staring—curious, sizing me up, maybe even judging me a little. It had that classic new-kid vibe, where every step felt like it was being watched. I kept my face neutral, trying to ignore the nerves twisting in my stomach.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Scott and Stiles by a bench, deep in conversation. When they noticed me, Scott waved, and Stiles threw me an exaggerated thumbs-up with a goofy grin. I nodded back, forcing a small smile before focusing on the entrance. The sooner I got through this day, the better.

Inside the office, the air was cooler, a break from the tension still buzzing in my chest. The receptionist, an older woman with glasses perched on the tip of her nose, gave me a practiced smile.

"Adrian Sinclair?" she asked, checking her computer.

"Yeah, that's me."

She handed me a paper with my schedule, a slip with my locker combo, and a map of the school. "Your locker's on the second floor, down the hall to your right. Welcome to Beacon Hills High."

"Thanks," I muttered, taking the papers and heading into the busy hallway.

When I got to my locker, I was happy to finally have a moment alone. But before I could even figure out the combination, I heard the distinct sound of heels clicking toward me. I glanced up and saw a redhead coming my way with a confident stride, like she owned the place. She had on a sleek white blouse tucked into a plaid skirt, topped with a fitted blazer. Her heels were high but classy, and she carried herself like someone who knew exactly what she was doing.

She stopped in front of me, looking me over with a mix of curiosity and interest, then flashed me a charming smile. "You must be new," she said smoothly. "I'm Lydia Martin."

I kept my expression cool, nodding. "Adrian."

Lydia's smile turned sly as she leaned in a bit closer, her voice dropping to a playful tone. "You know, Adrian," she said with a glint in her eyes, "you're the most interesting thing to show up around here in a while. Looking for some excitement while you figure this place out?"

I smiled back, friendly but firm. "You're gorgeous, but you're not really my type."

She blinked, caught off guard for a second, then smirked, clearly intrigued. "Not your type? Now I'm curious. What is your type?"

"Boys," I said, meeting her gaze with confidence.

She laughed softly, amused and maybe a little impressed. "Of course. The ones I can't have are always the most interesting."

Her smile softened, the flirtation easing into something more genuine. "Well, in that case, I guess we'll have to be friends. And trust me, you'll want me as a friend around here."

I couldn't help but smile back as I slung my bag over my shoulder. "I'll keep that in mind."

But Lydia wasn't done with me yet. She leaned in again, her curiosity shining through. "So, what's your schedule look like?"

I pulled out the crumpled paper from my pocket, unfolding it with a sigh. "English, Algebra, Chemistry, French II… and Art."

Her eyebrows arched slightly, like she was assessing me. "Interesting mix," she said lightly, though there was a hint of judgment. "English and Algebra—pretty standard. Chemistry… tolerable. French?" She glanced at me, curious. "Trying to impress someone?"

I shrugged with a small smirk. "Just trying to keep up."

Lydia's lips twitched with amusement. "And Art? Didn't expect that. What's your medium?"

"Painting," I replied simply.

She nodded, intrigued. "Interesting."

Before I could say anything else, Lydia grabbed the paper from my hand and scanned it quickly. "English first," she said with a knowing grin. "Lucky for you, it's on the way to my first period."

She motioned for me to follow, and I walked beside her down the crowded hallway. I could feel the eyes on us, whispers floating through the air as people tried to figure out who I was and why Lydia Martin was walking with me.

Lydia, of course, didn't miss a beat. She leaned in, her voice soft but teasing. "You know, it hasn't even been an hour, and you're already the talk of the school," she said, sounding amused. "People can't help but stare when something—or someone—stands out."

I chuckled lightly, though the attention weighed on me. "I'm not used to this kind of... attention," I admitted casually, even though the stares made me feel like I was under a microscope.

Lydia shrugged with a grin. "You'll get used to it. Around here, it's hard not to stand out when you're... well, you."

I wasn't sure if she meant that as a compliment or a warning, but I let it slide. The energy buzzing around me felt like the start of something new, and I was still finding my place in it all.

As we approached my English class, Lydia stopped at the door, leaning casually against the frame with her arms crossed. She gave me another once-over, like she was making some final judgment.

"Alright, newbie," she teased, her smile playful. "You're on your own for now, but don't worry—I'll see you in Chemistry. Stick close, though. You might need me."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "I'll keep that in mind."

With one last smirk, Lydia turned and strutted down the hall, her heels clicking against the tile. She didn't look back, but I could still feel her presence, like she'd already decided I was worth watching.

As I stepped into the classroom, I was hit with a familiar scent—cinnamon and pine. It was warm and inviting and pulled my attention to the back of the room, where Scott sat at his desk, jotting something down. His calm energy helped ease the nerves still swirling inside me.

But before I could fully settle in, I felt eyes on me again. People were glancing my way—some smiling, others winking—like I was some new attraction. What's with this school? I wondered, feeling the weight of their stares.

A small folded note landed on my desk, and I sighed, opening it. It was from someone named Jenny, with her number and a heart doodled next to it. I rolled my eyes and shoved the note into my bag. But that didn't stop another one from landing on my desk. Then another. By the time the sixth note showed up, I was over it.

The girl in front of me turned to pass another note back, smiling sweetly like she was doing me a favor. I didn't hide my annoyance, glaring at her until she froze, her face paling slightly as she quickly retracted the note. Satisfied, I tried to focus on the lesson.

But the whispers and glances continued, like I was some open book everyone was trying to read. I glanced over at Scott, and for a second, our eyes met. He gave me a small smile, like he understood, and turned back to the lesson. Somehow, that little gesture made me feel a bit more grounded.

Finally, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. I let out a quiet breath of relief and gathered my things. But before I could slip out, a group of girls surrounded me, all asking for my number with way too much enthusiasm.

I brushed them off as politely as I could and slipped out the door, trying to shake off the attention. Just as I was about to head to my next class, Scott caught up to me, falling into step beside me.

"You doing alright?" he asked, his voice light but with a hint of concern.

I shrugged with a small smile. "Yeah, just... not used to all this."

Scott grinned, nudging my shoulder. "Looks like you're popular already. What was it? Six numbers?"

I smirked. "Technically seven. But, you know, everyone loves a shiny penny."

Scott chuckled. "Maybe you should rub some dirt on it, tone down the shine."

I laughed. "Yeah, but then I'd just be a dirty penny. Not exactly the look I'm going for."

Scott's grin widened, his easygoing vibe helping me relax. As we walked, the air around us seemed to hum with energy—something almost electric. But around Scott, that intensity softened, like he had this calming effect that made it easier to tune out the lingering eyes and whispers.

We chatted about my schedule, and I found out we had Chemistry together with Stiles. That made the day feel a little less overwhelming. Conversation flowed naturally, like we'd known each other longer than just a few hours.

When we reached the Algebra classroom, I smiled at him. "Thanks for walking with me."

Scott nodded, his eyes warm. "No problem. See you in Chemistry?"

"Yeah, see you then." I gave him a quick wave before heading into class.

As soon as I stepped into the classroom, a scent hit me—cloves and oranges, sharp and familiar. It tugged at something deep inside me, pulling me back to memories I wasn't expecting to face. And then, I saw her.

Rose.

She was sitting near the edge of the room, looking effortlessly stunning like always. Her blonde hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and she was rocking a simple white tee and light-wash jeans that fit her perfectly. Her jeans were cuffed just above her white sneakers, keeping things casual but still polished in a way she could pull off. She had this free-spirited vibe that seemed to radiate from her, just like it had when we were in France.

Our eyes met, and for a second, it felt like the whole room froze. She gave me that familiar, playful smile—the one that could turn any moment into something special. She hadn't changed a bit—still the same Rose who could make everything around her feel like a dream. And now, somehow, here she was in Beacon Hills, in my Algebra class. It felt unreal.

I stood there, speechless for a moment, just trying to wrap my head around it. But then I took a deep breath and forced myself to move, my heart racing as I made my way over to her.

"Salut, mon cher," she said softly in French, her voice carrying that same easy confidence I remembered. "How have you been?"

For a second, all I could do was smile, a mix of surprise and warmth filling me up. "I've been better," I admitted, though I couldn't hide the excitement of seeing her again. "But seeing you... that's definitely a surprise."

Rose's smile grew wider, her eyes glinting with that playful spark. "Surprises can be good, right?"