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Summary
Scott's regard turning completely away hurts more than the wounded, incredulous eyeballing. He's bright red to the tips of his ears, and his hands are balled up tight into fists. “Tell me what the hell you were going to tell me, then,” Scott says. He's not looking at Stiles anymore, so Derek's the one who answers.
“That we're paired,” says Derek, calmly and decisively, from over Stiles's shoulder.