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It started, as many things did in Beacon Hills, with a moment so quietly profound it went unnoticed by nearly everyone—except Peter Hale.
Peter had always been an observant man. Dangerous, yes, manipulative, definitely, but mostly, annoyingly observant. He noticed things others didn’t. The twitch of a muscle, the slight change in scent, the lingering look two people tried to hide when they thought no one was watching.
And for the past several weeks, he had been watching.
It wasn’t unusual for Malia Tate and Kira Yukimura to hang out. They had bonded, in their own weird way, through being the odd ones out—Malia with her blunt aggression and occasional disregard for social etiquette, Kira with her fox spirit and quiet confidence. They trained together sometimes, laughed at private jokes no one else understood, and disappeared for long stretches with vague excuses.
Peter didn’t care much for most of the pack’s drama, but he appreciated a good secret, especially when it could be leveraged.
So when Chris Argent casually mentioned over bourbon one night, “I think Malia and Kira are sneaking off to spar. Probably just blowing off steam,” Peter had raised a brow.
“Is that what you think?” he’d drawled.
Chris looked over, assessing him. “What, you think they’re dating?”
Peter smirked. “I know they are.”
Chris snorted. “A hundred bucks says you’re wrong.”
Peter had leaned back in his chair, swirling the ice in his glass. “Make it a hundred and a bottle of Glenfiddich 21.”
“Deal.”
So now, Peter was simply waiting for the inevitable to unfold.
—
Lydia had her suspicions. Not because she had supernatural intuition about relationships, but because Kira kept smiling.
The kitsune was normally cheerful, sure, but this was different. Softer. She blushed more often. She started wearing this weird shade of plum lipstick that matched one Malia owned, and once—just once—Lydia had caught them brushing fingers in the middle of a team planning session.
It had lasted no more than two seconds. Blink and you’d miss it.
But Lydia Martin didn’t blink when it came to interpersonal drama.
She brought it up to Isabelle over chai teas at the clearing, both of them lounging on an oversized blanket.
“I’m not saying they’re definitely dating,” Lydia said, stirring her straw around with purpose, “but they’re definitely something.”
Isabelle raised a brow and tilted her head. “You think so? Malia hasn’t said anything to me. But now that you mention it… Kira was wearing one of Malia’s flannels the other day. And it smelled like Malia.”
They exchanged a look. Lydia leaned forward conspiratorially.
“I’m giving it another week. They’ll slip up.”
—
Derek had also noticed… but, like Peter, Derek noticed everything. He just rarely commented on it.
He didn’t say a word until one night at the loft, when Kira dropped Malia off after patrol, and Malia didn’t get out of the car for a full seven minutes.
Derek had watched through the loft window, arms crossed, not saying anything even when Peter strolled past behind him and smirked, “Should we give them a porch light warning?”
Derek just grunted.
Peter leaned against the wall, “She’s happy.”
Derek raised a brow. “Surprisingly wholesome of you.”
Peter gave him a look. “Not everything has to be dramatic.”
“Says the man who once set a bank vault on fire for dramatic effect.”
—
Meanwhile, Scott was absolutely oblivious.
So was Stiles. And Liam. And Isaac.
It came to a head during a movie night at Scott’s house.
All of them had gathered in the living room—popcorn, pizza, blankets, the works. Malia was already on the couch when Kira arrived late, hair damp from a shower and cheeks flushed. No one thought twice when Malia patted the seat beside her and Kira practically melted into the space, their thighs pressed together.
Scott was explaining the plot of the movie for the fifth time (no one was listening), and Stiles was arguing that Kira should have picked the horror movie instead of the dumb rom-com, when Liam glanced over and froze.
“Wait,” Liam said, blinking. “Are they… holding hands?”
Isaac turned. “What? No—wait. Wait.”
Kira and Malia didn’t even flinch. They were too engrossed in the screen.
“Oh my god,” Stiles breathed. “They’re—what is happening?”
Malia finally glanced over, deadpan as always. “What?”
Scott leaned forward, brow furrowed in confusion. “Are you guys… dating?”
Kira flushed and smiled a little. Malia shrugged. “Yeah.”
Silence.
“You—since when?” Stiles sputtered.
“Couple months,” Malia said, reaching for a slice of pizza with her free hand. “It’s not that big a deal.”
Scott looked genuinely stunned. “I didn’t know you were into girls.”
“I’m into Kira,” Malia said simply. Then, as an afterthought, “Girls are hot, though.”
Kira giggled, leaning into her side.
Stiles flailed. “How did I not know?”
“You’re not very observant,” she replied, dry.
—
Peter heard about the reveal the next morning. Derek texted him one word: “Confirmed.”
He smirked, pulled up Chris’s contact, and sent:
Told you so. I’ll take my payment in cash and scotch.
Ten minutes later, Chris responded with a grumbling "You're insufferable" followed by a picture of the Glenfiddich bottle in his cabinet.
—
Allison, Erica, and Boyd heard secondhand but were all equally thrilled. Erica let out a sharp whistle and laughed when Lydia told her.
“Kira and Malia? Oh, I love that. Power couple vibes.”
Allison smiled. “They complement each other really well. Malia brings the brute strength, and Kira’s got that grace and strategy.”
Boyd nodded once. “Glad they’re happy.”
Erica leaned over to Lydia. “Are we throwing them a party?”
“God, no,” Lydia said, rolling her eyes. “They’d both murder us.”
“Then we’ll do it in secret,” Erica replied, already scheming.
—
Later that week, the group found themselves in the woods for training. It was routine—sparring, sharpening claws, strengthening bonds. Kira and Malia moved like a practiced pair, coordinating their attacks with fluid synergy.
As they took down two training dummies in synchronized strikes, Peter clapped slowly from the edge of the clearing.
“Well, I must say,” he drawled, “it's nice when everyone else finally catches up.”
Scott frowned at him. “Wait. You knew?”
Peter smiled, smug and sharp as a knife. “Of course I did. I always know.”
Lydia arched a brow at Isabelle, “He placed a bet, didn’t he?”
Peter didn’t answer. Just turned on his heel and walked off with the satisfied air of a man a hundred dollars and one expensive bottle of scotch richer.
Isaac stared after him. “Why is he always the one who wins?”
“Because y'all keep underestimating him,” Isabelle laughed.
Kira and Malia just exchanged a look and shrugged. Their secret was out, and honestly? It felt kind of nice.
They weren’t a spectacle. They weren’t a punchline.
They were just… together.