Scott had not expected the text message from Quinn to hit him as hard as it did. On a quiet Saturday night, while he was sitting in his room, the simple vibration of his phone had pulled his attention away from his thoughts. The message he read wasn't long, but it felt like a sucker punch to the gut: "I think it's best if we break up. And... I don't think we can continue being friends—it would be weird."

The words blurred together in his mind as he reread them for the tenth time. A break-up wasn't entirely unexpected; things between them had been strained. But the idea that Quinn wanted to cut ties completely? That hurt. Scott had thought he knew her better than that.

Frustrated and confused, he did the only thing he could think of—he called Stiles. Fifteen minutes later, Stiles was sprawled in the chair at Scott's desk, holding Scott's phone as if it were a piece of evidence in one of his many conspiracy theories.

"This doesn't make sense," Stiles declared, squinting at the screen like the answer might magically appear if he stared hard enough. "It doesn't sound like her at all."

Scott, lying flat on his bed with his arms crossed over his chest, shook his head. "It's not that hard to believe, Stiles. We've been off for a while. Maybe this is just her way of moving on."

Stiles ignored him. "No, no, no," he said, waving a hand dismissively. "Quinn is like a rabbit—sweet, non-confrontational, maybe a little skittish. But throw away a friendship because of a break-up? No way. That's not her style."

Scott turned his head to look at his friend, his brow furrowing. "Rabbit?"

"You know what I mean," Stiles shot back, waving off the comment. "Look, she might've broken up with you, but this whole 'we can't even be friends' thing? Suspicious. Super suspicious."

Scott sighed, sitting up slightly and leaning on his elbows. "Why is it so hard to believe, Stiles? We both knew this was coming. It's not like we had some epic romance or anything."

"Exactly!" Stiles exclaimed, spinning around in the chair. "You two didn't have that spark! I mean, sure, there was kissing, some... stuff," he added vaguely, "but you both had to know deep down this wasn't a forever thing. This wasn't even a 'till next semester' thing."

Scott frowned, sitting up fully. "There was still a chance it could've been something serious."

"Doubtful," Stiles said, leaning back and tossing the phone onto the desk. "But that's not the point. The point is that Quinn doesn't strike me as someone who'd ghost you on the friendship front just because you guys broke up."

"Maybe it's for the best," Scott muttered, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

"Wrong. Absolutely not." Stiles pointed a finger at him, his voice rising in frustration. "The break-up? Fine, whatever. But dropping the friendship? No way. She's our friend, Scott. You don't just let that go. We're not pulling an Isaac here."

Scott frowned, lifting his head. "What does Isaac have to do with this?"

Stiles deadpanned. "I'm saying we're not pulling an Isaac—ignoring her, letting her drift away, and acting like it's no big deal. It is a big deal."

"Okay, okay," Scott said, holding up his hands. "But what am I supposed to do? She made her decision."

Stiles scoffed. "You approach her tomorrow at school, look her in the eyes, and tell her you're not giving up on this friendship. That's what you do."

Scott groaned, flopping back onto his bed. "Easier said than done, Stiles. She's clearly made up her mind. And honestly? It might be better this way. Especially with the Alpha Pack around. I don't want her getting hurt."

"Don't give me that!" Stiles snapped, standing up from the chair. "This has nothing to do with the Alpha Pack and everything to do with you being scared of rejection."

"I'm not scared—"

"Yes, you are!" Stiles interrupted, pointing at him. "You're afraid of walking up to her, telling her how much this friendship means to you, and her saying, 'No thanks.' But you've faced alphas, animals, hunters—you've literally faced death, Scott! How is this harder?"

Scott frowned, staring at the ceiling. "Sometimes," he said softly, "the simple things are scarier than the big ones."

Stiles froze, the intensity of Scott's words catching him off guard. He sank back into the chair, his expression softening. "Okay," he said after a pause. "Fair point. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't try. She's your friend. And she's hurting too—any idiot can see that. So go talk to her."

Scott nodded slowly, his resolve hardening. "You're right. I'll talk to her. Tomorrow."

"Good," Stiles said, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. "Step one: we need a game plan. Something smooth, something confident—like a superhero. Be all, 'Hey, Quinn, I know things are weird, but let's not throw away what we have.' Boom. Problem solved."

Scott raised an eyebrow, his scepticism clear. "Smooth? Confident? You're talking to me, not Iron Man."

Stiles waved his hand dismissively. "Details. The important thing is you approach her with conviction. Girls love that."

Scott let out a sigh, flopping back against the bed. "I'm pretty sure Quinn's not looking for conviction, Stiles. She's probably looking for space."

"Pfft. Space is overrated," Stiles replied, spinning dramatically in the desk chair. "What she needs is a heartfelt moment where you show her you actually care. Maybe throw in a little, 'I can't imagine life without you in it.' That'll get her."

Scott groaned. "You're making this sound like a rom-com."

"Dude, life is a rom-com. Have you met us? We've got drama, tension, action—"

"And a homicidal Alpha Pack," Scott interrupted.

Stiles shrugged. "Every good story needs a villain."

Scott laughed despite himself, shaking his head. "You're impossible."

"Impossible genius," Stiles corrected with a self-satisfied grin. "But seriously, no jokes this time. Just go to her tomorrow, be honest, and don't overthink it."

"That's rich coming from you," Scott said, chuckling.

"Hey, I overthink for a living," Stiles replied, pointing at himself. "It's a talent. You, my friend, just need to act."

Scott smiled faintly, the weight in his chest feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Stiles."

"Anytime," Stiles said, giving him a mock salute. "Now, go to bed. Big day tomorrow. Don't want to show up looking like you spent the whole night brooding."

Scott shook his head as Stiles started gathering his things, still rambling about strategies and backup plans. But for the first time since reading Quinn's text, Scott felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe things weren't as broken as they seemed.