A Crumbling Wall
Harry wasn't stupid.
He knew what they were doing.
They were claiming him.
It was primal, instinctual—their way of marking him as pack before he even agreed to it.
And the worst part?
He hadn't done a damn thing to stop it.
Maybe because some tiny, fractured part of him wanted to believe—needed to believe—that this was different. That they were different.
But after a lifetime of betrayals, after losing everything again and again, trust wasn't something he gave easily.
And so, he resisted.
He kept his distance.
He ignored the warmth that curled in his chest when Stiles bickered with him over coffee, when Malia grumbled about how small he was but still stood between him and any potential threat, when Derek simply existed near him without demanding anything.
Most of all, he ignored the way Peter's gaze lingered—patient, knowing, as if waiting for the moment Harry would stop running.
But running was all he knew.
So he shoved them away, convinced himself that their protection wasn't real, that it was just some wolfish instinct they would eventually lose interest in.
And yet, no matter how much distance he tried to put between them, they stayed.