[Scott hesitates, like maybe Alan hasn't really gotten a grip. He's not sure how to think of it - they remember different lives. It's more like he's taken over the body of an alternate self, at least, that's probably how it feels in Alan's case.
Maybe it's not all fake. Maybe Alan and Scout just exist in some other reality. Is that even possible?
A little smile pulls at his mouth as he turns away. Werewolves aren't real. How can he even question what's possible anymore? Especially here. Especially with - with any version of Allison Argent.
When Alan stoops to sort through the clothes, Scott heads for the closet, rooting through a few hangers before realizing he has no idea how to dress himself. Definitely no skirts, there's no way he'd remember to sit with his legs closed. He finds jeans, has to assume they'll fit since he has no idea how women's pants measurements work. He's debating the pros and cons of keeping his boxers versus having to return Allison's underwear to her when Alan's question comes.
Scott freezes, staring into the dark closet. It's just like he remembers it, trapped inside, trapped in his head, in something else's head. It was so hard to remember they weren't together. It was the perfect trap.
He turns slowly, jeans held in front of him. He can't even tell that they're skinny jeans.]
Um.
[That's a great start, he thinks, and blinks a few times before pulling in a deep, slow breath. The answer isn't because you died. They weren't together then, anyway. For a second, he bites his lip, wondering if she'll be one of those people who remembers everything from the flood, or nothing.]
You broke up with me. After...everything with Jackson, and your grandpa.
[He winces a little, like grandpa is too endearing a term for that man, and it is. But he's curious, too.]
AWKWARD EX SPAM
Maybe it's not all fake. Maybe Alan and Scout just exist in some other reality. Is that even possible?
A little smile pulls at his mouth as he turns away. Werewolves aren't real. How can he even question what's possible anymore? Especially here. Especially with - with any version of Allison Argent.
When Alan stoops to sort through the clothes, Scott heads for the closet, rooting through a few hangers before realizing he has no idea how to dress himself. Definitely no skirts, there's no way he'd remember to sit with his legs closed. He finds jeans, has to assume they'll fit since he has no idea how women's pants measurements work. He's debating the pros and cons of keeping his boxers versus having to return Allison's underwear to her when Alan's question comes.
Scott freezes, staring into the dark closet. It's just like he remembers it, trapped inside, trapped in his head, in something else's head. It was so hard to remember they weren't together. It was the perfect trap.
He turns slowly, jeans held in front of him. He can't even tell that they're skinny jeans.]
Um.
[That's a great start, he thinks, and blinks a few times before pulling in a deep, slow breath. The answer isn't because you died. They weren't together then, anyway. For a second, he bites his lip, wondering if she'll be one of those people who remembers everything from the flood, or nothing.]
You broke up with me. After...everything with Jackson, and your grandpa.
[He winces a little, like grandpa is too endearing a term for that man, and it is. But he's curious, too.]
Was it different for you?