Allison could feel the unmistakable traces of tears suggesting themselves behind her eyelids, so she buried her face in his neck in an effort to conceal them. - Because the point with Scott and Allison was that they did not end their relationship because she fell out of love with Scott; it was not conceivable, and she would always love Scott with all that she had.

Allison took in her surroundings, the two of them together; she could almost think that nothing had changed and that they were still in high school as if she had never died if she closed her eyes and pretended that she was still there. It was Scott McCall, her first love, and being in his arms was like being at home and feeling secure. Allison couldn't stop the grin from spreading over her face as she recognized him after such a long absence and leaned in to give him another kiss.

"Hi." After a time, she said it in a hushed tone.

Despite the fact that she was aware that her father would return home at some point, she wanted to remain in this state indefinitely. Even while he didn't blame Scott for what had occurred, he did hate himself.

According to her, a home is a house that is only partially equipped and is covered with boxes that are only partially empty. It consists of a car packed with her belongings and her relatives piling her into the vehicle at midnight, with the goal of getting someplace different each time. Beacon Hills is undoubtedly the neighborhood in which she has come the farthest toward establishing a permanent home.

Her eyes open to the last lingering glimpses of darkness, the edges of the sunshine reaching through the curtains with their fingers extended, the tips just peeking hints of orange and pink - just enough so that she can make out clues of shadows and figures surrounding the bed. She tilts slightly to the side and notices that Scott is staring at her. At the same time, she senses that he is murmuring something against the crown of her head.

"Scott?" she hums, his name scratching at the back of her throat as sandpaper does, her voice hoarse from lack of sleep. He is too close for her to see well, and she cannot tell whether he is frowning or smiling. She musters up enough energy to offer him a tired grin, leans over just enough to plant a short kiss on his cheek, and then asks, "Did you say something?"