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It was Monday, and Scott wished life didn't even exist.
Padding barefoot down the hall of the apartment he shared with Stiles, trackies slung low and shirtless, hair flat on one side from sleeping and yawning wide, he seriously wondered why he was awake today.
He didn't even know why he was so tired, but his limbs felt like concrete and his brain like sludge.
But still, passing Stiles' door made him pause.
He wasn't sure why at first, sleep addling his mind to much, but something wasn't... Right.
Not wrong, per say, just not right.
By the time he realised it was a scent, a few seconds had passed.
He sniffed the air, taking in the smells of the room beyond the door.
At first he thought he was only too tired to figure it out.
But then realised, he knew all the scents in that room.
He just couldn't name them because they where just so out of place.
His brain couldn't connect the dots, too tired and much too confused.
Scott figured a better smell would help clear his thoughts.
Dropping down to the floor, practically planking because some part of him warned not to make any noise either by opening the door or making a racket when he moved.
And then, he lowered his nose to the crack beneath the door and sniffed.
He was confronted with so many /smells/
The obvious and permanent ones like the pile of Stiles' clean washing that smelt like washing powder, his lacrosse bag that reeked of sweat and sport and the walls that still smelt of paint.
Of course there was Stiles himself too.
Then... Then there where the smells Scott knew but just could not place for the life of him. It was like forgetting a word, literally feeling it on the tip of your tongue and you could think of every way it could be used and how to describe it, but not the word itself was.
It was amazingly frustrating.
And that, of course, was when he should have been using his ears instead of his nose.
Because while he was so immersed in smell, he hadn't heard the near-silent footsteps on the other side of the door.
Or the fact they had walked right up to the door.
It was only Scott's werewolf instincts that brought him up to his feet and stepping away from the door before he even knew what was happening that saved him from walking straight into an embarrassing moment.
And apparently, the lack of a working brain that left him standing there for another to completely run him over.
The door opened like it was in slow motion, and with Scott so invested in scent, it seemed to roll out of the door like fog, shrouding the blatantly evil character of a sci-fi film.
Blinking at the person who stood in the doorway, Scott could suddenly tell what the smells where.
The first was a thick, strong musky smell, almost to much for his nose.
Tinged by passion and desperation, Scott really didn't know how he hadn't been able to figure out /that/ particular smell.
The second, however, made Scott want to look up to the heavens and ask how had he not realised this smell of all goddamn smells
Maybe look down and ask why was this happening as well.
It was a more subtle smell, as most people where.
Forest and fresh dirt, sweat and the distinct smell of something completely dangerous and wild. And the smell of wolf hanging over the whole lot.
"Jesus Chri-" Scott began, but found he couldn't finish.
"what the hell!?" He asked instead.
Because there, standing in only his jocks and frowny-glare, was Derek Hale.
His hair was a mess, though unlike Scotts, not from sleep and /oh my god/ he smelled of -
Derek grunted at him and maybe it was the power of the Alpha or the power of what ever deity was having mercy on Scott, but he simply pointed in the direction of the bathroom and Derek moved off.
Scott was to stunned to watch him go.
He was, however, not stunned enough to turn to Stiles splayed and sleeping body and ask what the hell he was doing sleeping with Derek Hale of all people.