Scott + Jackson
It seemed like Jackson never really got to escape from the weight that sat on his shoulders, never got a vacation from the worries and anxieties that plagued him where no one could really see. It would have been easier to collapse under it all, to cry and complain but Jackson would never let himself crumble like that. Part of it was because he was too proud, but part of him was afraid that if he did, he'd never be able to come back from it. When all he ever wanted was to be liked, respected, loved, giving up in the face of all the things that stood between him and that future was never an option.
"Yeah," he replied as he let his hand fall back to his side. Jackson wondered if he could just sense if someone was a werewolf by scent like he could almost tell exactly what brand of alcohol polluted the drink in Scott's cup. It might have been possible, but while he was still struggling to master control over this new side of him, all the smaller things like that fell by the wayside. Glancing at the cup in McCall's hand, a joking tone that bordered on mocking colored his voice. "Hoping to drown yourself if alcohol?"
Jackson didn't think Scott was really the type, but he couldn't really say he knew him all that well. Drinking wasn't ever something Jackson liked and he avoided it more often than not. Now that it wouldn't ever really have an effect on him, he had even less of a reason to drink than ever.