Part 4: Ollie's Catnip
Teen Wolf : Multishot
Stiles Stilinski x Reader
Word Count: 10.4k
Warnings: series rewrite, season 1 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, lightheadedness, an unwanted kiss, forced kiss, terror, near werewolf attack
Request: This just came from my own head 😊
Part 3: Blue Handprints
Part 4: Ollie's Catnip {You Are Here}
Part 5: Mieczyslaw
Monday had rolled around quicker than you were expecting. After a week of being sick and a weekend of hanging out with your friends, you want to get back to a regular schedule.
The deep claw marks imbedded in your shoulder were healed, but left puffy, red marks that would soon scar terribly. Seeing as you already had a surgical scar on your chest it wasn’t a big deal.
What was bothersome was that it started to ache. Like a bad knee on a rainy day, your shoulder was tweaking something awful. You were massaging it in your classroom as others began filing in for the infamous chemistry test.
A few friendly faces welcome you back and ask if you heard about the incident with the janitor and supposed serial killer.
You wave them off and wait for your friends to appear.
Allison walks in with Lydia, and they sit in front of you. “Hey, how are you doing?”
“I’m fine. Although I haven’t seen Scott since Wednesday so that’s another story.”
Lydia reapplies her lipstick and adjusts her necklaces, “We’ll conquer that bridge when we come to it. Remember, you don’t need him. He treated you badly and he has a lot of making up to do before you even suggest the thought of talking to him again.”
Your eyes widen ever so slightly, “That’s pretty harsh.”
“Just because you decide to hang with the dog toys on the side doesn’t mean you can’t support your girls in avoiding them!”
You look to Allison, “I haven’t told him anything besides that you’re hurt. And that you’re looking for an explanation. I won’t tell him anything more unless you want me to.”
“No,” she shakes her head, “No, that’s fine for now. I want him to stew in it for a while.”
“Oh trust me…” you flip your pencil between your fingers, “He’s been simmering in those thoughts all weekend. The poor boy is crushed.”
“As he should be,” Lydia flips her hair, confidence radiating off her. She would ace this test without batting an eyelash. “He’s the one that’s been miscommunicating and hiding things from you. You don’t need that kind of stress added to your life.”
You frown, eyeing the scribbles and carvings on your desktop. The boys were still hiding a number of things from you. The foggy trip to the forest on Saturday didn’t help much. But the drunken memory of Stiles kissing your hairline and making wolf jokes brought a smile to your face.
Wolf jokes… it was the full moon that night, wasn’t it?
You rub your left shoulder again as Stiles walks in to sit beside you. He waves to you and takes a passive stance in his seat – tapping his pencil in his hand and bouncing his leg like it was the pedal keeping his life support on.
He hadn’t spoken to you the rest of the weekend. Nothing about the drunkenness. Nothing about the flirty touches he kept initiating. Nothing about how those senior boys tried to take you away.
“How was your Sunday?” you finally try and say.
“Fine, I had to come up with an excuse why my dad had one less bottle in his liquor cabinet,” he watches the pencil flying around his fingers, “I had to convince him he had one too many drinks while trying to solve the current investigation.”
You nod slowly, “Has he done that before?”
“Yeah, so it wasn’t that hard for him to believe.” There was a rather sad smirk on his face as he says it. “Anyways, how’s the bump on your head? Rocks punch hard I hear.”
You laugh, “Thanks to your kiss it hasn’t bothered me at all.”
“You remember that?” he winces, trying to hide the pink blossoming across his nose. “You remember anything else?”
You wonder how much you want to embarrass him. “You certainly had some wandering hands…”
“Oh, god,” he drops his pencil and buries his head in his arms atop his desk. “I was hoping that wouldn’t come up.”
“It was just some harmless arm tickles,” you shrug, amused by his reaction. “And you helping me to the car. You know as far as being wasted goes, we weren’t blackout drunk. I remember everything pretty well.”
He takes a deep breath and rubs hard at his eyes, “I was worried sick all yesterday thinking you’d be mad at me.”
“Why would I be mad at you?” you laugh again, “We’re friends; I was leaning on Scott and holding onto his ankle most of the night. Friends are allowed to be close.”
“Yeah, but you told me how you like Andrew and I was worried that you’d be upset about me doing what I did when you were probably hoping that it was Andrew that was doing what I did because you want to go on a date with him… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”
His eyes were boring into his desk, leg back to bouncing like his life depended on it. You were smiling a sweet smile. He was so adorably endearing.
You wait until you see the honey of his eyes before saying, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”
He looks to you as if waiting for a long-winded reply like his, but he settles back into his desk and whispers, “Okay.”
“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”
He whips his head to you again, expression open and pink as he lingers on your warm gaze and soft smile. His throat bobs as Scott enters the room and makes awkward eye contact with Allison.
He sits on Stiles’ other side, giving him a blank nod as a hello. You lean forward and put a hand on Allison’s shoulder as a little silent support.
Mr. Harris starts class right after. “You have 45 minutes to complete the test. 25% of your grade can be earned right now simply by writing your name on the cover of the blue book. However, as happens every year, one of you will inexplicably fail to put your name on the cover, and I’ll be left yet again questioning my decision to ever become a teacher.”
You finish writing your name, peeking to see Stiles doing the same in a much more frantic manner. You share a smile with him as he finds your laughing gaze.
“So let’s get the disappointment over with. Begin.” Mr. Harris starts his stopwatch and the class simultaneously open their testing booklets.
You’re quick to start answering the first multiple choice question. Being someone that spends a lot of time at home, your study habits are perfection. It was a breeze knowing the answers to the entire first page.
As you flip to the backside, you notice Allison sending looks toward Scott. You follow her gaze and notice your friend having a strange, tweaky reaction to different things in the room. He kept jerking his head in different directions and squeezing his eyes shut as if to stop them from seeing something.
You share concern with Allison as you wonder what is ailing him.
Less than a minute later Scott was running out of the classroom with his backpack. Stiles was quick to follow him soon after.
“Mr. McCall!” Mr. Harris yells from his desk, “Mr. Stilinski!”
You probably would’ve followed too if Mr. Harris wasn’t currently giving a lecture about teenage delinquents and how that was a record for disappointment during an end-of-term test. But Stiles was out there with him – he probably didn’t want more attention than that. Scott was already hurting enough.
You attempt to continue the test and take deep breaths to control the random spikes in your heartbeat. Nothing unusual.
~~~
Scott was dripping in the locker room showers, the only thing having calmed him down being the forgotten inhaler in his backpack. Stiles stood back, consoling him on the panic attack.
“I looked at her, and it was like someone hit me in the ribs with a hammer.”
Stiles bites his lip, “Yeah, it’s called heartbreak. About two billion songs written about it.” And unrequited love, he thinks miserably.
Scott bangs his head against the tile wall, gripping his hair and trying to control his breathing, “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Stiles mumbles, thoughts swaying towards you. “Well, you could think about this: her dad’s a werewolf hunter, and you’re a werewolf, so it was bound to become an issue.” He could feel you smacking him on the arm, “That wasn’t helpful.”
“You think any of that matters when I feel about her like I do?”
“Dude,” Stiles lolls his head around, “I mean, yeah you got dumped, and it’s supposed to suck.”
Scott hangs his head, rubbing at his ear as he recalls, “No, that’s not it. It was like I could feel everything in the room, everyone else’s emotions. Anxiety, nerves, hunger…”
“That’ll be the test.”
“There was something warm, like love and a feeling like someone was going to be sick.”
Stiles perks up, “Who was the one feeling love?”
“It’s hard to pinpoint it,” Scott winces, “Maybe the extra heartbreak I’m feeling is because I was feeling it from Allison?”
“It’s got to be the full moon,” Stiles shrugs, “So we’ll lock you up in your room later just like we planned. That way the Alpha, who is your boss, can’t get to you, either.”
“I think we need to do a lot more than lock me in my room.” Something changes in Scott’s eyes. He stands with a new kind of assertiveness.
Stiles starts to ramble as per usual, “What, you mean because if you get out, you’d be caught by hunters?”
“No. Because if I get out, I think I might kill someone.”
“Shit,” Stiles mumbles, screwing up his face and folding his arms. “Is this that whole the Alpha wants me to kill my old pack so I can be a part of his bullshit?” He backs away from the menacing gleam now in Scott’s face. “We’re not going to let that happen. The Alpha has already targeted each of us. I’m not going to let him sway you into doing it yourself.”
“I wonder who will be the first.”
Stiles does not like the condemning tone to his voice as he says that.
~~~
You were heading to the library after school, keeping your backpack on your right shoulder. Consoling your two heartbroken friends and avoiding the hostility between Lydia and Jackson had given you a different type of exhaustion.
But nothing a healthy dose of scientific research for your chemistry project couldn’t fix.
Having memorized the layout of the library, you knew where to look for microbial research. You select a textbook and go to the front desk to check out a school Chromebook – which happened to be the latest donation for student use that year.
You were even more surprised when you went for the couches and tables. Stiles was sitting there doing his own kind of research.
“I thought you were taking care of Scott?”
Stiles seems just as surprised to see you. There was a frantic second where he tries to shuffle around his doodle pads and books. “Uh… yeah, he sort of got tired of me ‘yapping’ at him all day.” He has a funny side smile as he laughs.
“Breakups are hard,” you nod, sucking in your lips. “What are you doing here?” You lean across his table, trying to read his research upside down.
He gets fidgety again, scratching his head and making a low sound in his throat. “Nothing! Just a little hobby.”
“Wolves?” you ask, finally pulling one of his books towards you. “I didn’t know you had an interest in… wildlife.” You snicker as he yanks the book back.
“Ha ha, yeah very funny. I do just so happen to have an… interest… in w-wolves.”
You struggle to take him seriously, “And why wolves specifically?”
His throat bobs and his eyes wander for a second, “… because they say Derek is a serial killer. But you told me that the video store manager was killed by a wolf, not a human. So I’m sort of seeing if it’s possible all the murders were done by a rabid wolf and not a man… or a mountain lion.” He says it so quickly that you’re not sure if it’s his ADHD or him trying to cover his tracks.
You itch to touch your left shoulder, “What have you found out?” You sit across from him and look eager – almost heartened that he was taking your eyewitness account so seriously.
He seems resistant for a second before losing the rigidness in his shoulders. He melts forward into the table as he speaks to you in a hushed voice. “I was looking at their hunting patterns. Wolves are very endurance based predators. They don’t need to sneak up on their prey or have the element of surprise. They’re willing to travel for miles until they find an opportunity to strike.”
“So once you’re a target you’re pretty much screwed,” you smirk – but you’re unnerved at the fact Stiles wasn’t sharing your amusement.
“Right,” he plays around with his papers, “And they’re very smart with their targets. They use visual cues, their hearing, and scent to identify the perfect prey.”
You watch his speckled face as he explains, “What makes the perfect prey?”
His warm sappy eyes find yours, “They go for the weakest or sickest of the herd first.” His voice is almost solemn as he says it, “They seize the advantage in a hunt by going for a more vulnerable animal. They are smart enough to weigh their options for the peak outcome.”
“I didn’t know wolves were so clever.”
“Clever hunters,” Stiles scoffs. “And brutal killers. They don’t have the skillset to kill their victims quickly. Their prey usually die from shock or blood loss as the pack starts tearing them apart like a mob.”
You shiver unexpectedly, “Lovely research, Stiles. I’m going to have those recurring nightmares from the video store again.”
He was watching your amused face with something hollow. He looks sad… and worried. “Sorry, I’m being morbid.”
“It’s been a strange couple weeks,” you say, flipping through the index of your textbook, “While you’re here, do you want to meet about our science project?”
“The one that isn’t due for another month? Yeah, sure,” he finally smiles, warming up at your particular quirks.
You find the page on Escherichia coli. “Well, we’re going to need a few weeks to let the bacteria grow in the petri dishes.”
Stiles makes a face, “Bacteria?”
“I want to test some food handlers rules. There are many ways to cook and defrost different meats – how do we know which is the best to kill any unwanted bacteria?” You smile wide, “We plant some foodborne illness in meat, freeze it and defrost it in different ways before cooking it. We’ll swab them before and after cooking to see what bacteria grows.”
“What bacteria were you thinking?” Stiles folds his arms, stomach starting to feel a little queasy.
“E. coli,” you beam, “It’s a coliform bacterium that can cause food poisoning and diarrhea.”
Stiles swallows hard, “And you thought my research was lovely…”
“Come on, I know Mr. Harris would sign off on us getting some E. coli samples and we can conduct it in the lab. And after we can have steak for dinner.”
“I am not eating any kind of meat that you had stuffed full of a diarrhea bacteria!”
You laugh and miss the look of marveling in Stiles’ gaze. “Don’t you have lacrosse practice today?”
He watches you take notes with your pretty handwriting, completely forgetting about his research. “Yeah, actually. I have to hit the lockers in about ten minutes.”
“Hopefully that’ll be good for Scott,” you sigh, still giving most of your attention to your notes. “It might help him get some pent up feelings out.”
Stiles was very against that idea, pulling on his sleeves and starting to bounce his leg. “Maybe. Hey, speaking of Scott. When we were at the forest with him… there was something you said…”
“We both said a lot of things that night,” you snicker, “Kind of happens when you’re intoxicated.”
“No, it was something that I didn’t think much about until I remembered it the next morning,” he bows his head to try and get into your eyeline as you continue to write. “Can I ask you my personal question of the day?”
You laugh at the use of that question since you’ve become closer friends, “Sure, Stilinski.”
“You said you’ve never had anything past a situationship before,” he looks at your bright eyes with a slanted brow, “Because they get scared about you dying. What does that mean?”
There was a shiver in your eyes, but you remain steady, “I don’t know, Stiles – we were drunk. I probably just meant the inevitable. Everyone dies eventually.”
“Sure,” he says quietly, registering your evasiveness immediately. “Especially in this town.”
You shake your head, going back to your E. coli notes. “I almost wish it was the mountain lion, so we’d at least know it was dead and gone.” You flip the pages of your textbook, “I’m going to sit with Lydia today.”
“You’re going to watch?” he sounds lighthearted at that.
You smile, “Yeah, I want to support my boys. And, you know, Allison isn’t going to be there like usual.”
Stiles nods, staring at you longer than he should’ve. He couldn’t help admiring the natural rosiness to your cheeks when you weren’t sick.
“You worried about your heart?” he asks, starting to pack up his own research. “It’ll be loud and wild.”
“Maybe a little,” you say, “But everyone knows, and they can help if I feel faint.” You watch him stand from the table, “I’ll see you out on the field.”
~~~
Stiles was on a high. Scott was made captain, and he was now on the first line. Thank god for pinkeye.
“Are you not freaking out? I’m freaking out,” he has a stupid smile on his face, bouncing as he walks.
Scott was still brooding, “What’s the point? It’s just a stupid title. And I could practically smell the jealousy in there.”
“You’re still smelling everyone’s emotions?” Stiles stops them in the hallway, “Like from the test this morning?”
Scott is mumbling as he says, “Yeah, it’s like the full moon’s turned everything up to 10.”
Stiles, in his usual fidgety manner, awkwardly brings up, “Can you pick up on stuff like, I don’t know, desire?” He looks down the hall and his eyes warm into that sweet brown color.
It wasn’t registering in Scott, “What do you mean, desire?”
“Like… sexual desire.”
“Sexual desire?” Scott deadpans. He was dealing with a breakup and this guy has the audacity to ask him about sexual desires. His mind immediately pinpoints a moment when he and Allison were kissing on the bed. It made his blood boil.
Stiles was still talking around it, “Yeah, sexual desire. Lust, passion, arousal.”
After a huff of contempt, Scott peers down the hall and spots what Stiles is after. “From (Y/N)?”
Stiles looks toward the double doors at the end of the hall and gulps at your standing figure. You’re talking to Andrew and Danny, shocked at something they’re saying. You look towards the boys and wave, giving two big thumbs up. Apparently the lacrosse team had told you the big news about the recent promotions.
“What?” Stiles says quickly, waving back at you, “No, in a general, broad sense, can you determine sexual desire?”
Scott was experiencing a strange combination of anger and amusement, “From (Y/N) to you?”
“Fine, yes!” Stiles says louder than he means to, “From (Y/N) to me.” He bares his teeth a little in frustration, “Look, I need to know if I have a chance with this girl, okay.” He looks to you again to see Lydia appear to take you away. “I’ve been obsessing over her since getting back from winter break. She’s all I can think about!”
“Why don’t you just ask her? We’re all friends.”
Stiles twitches, “Well, to save myself utterly crushing humiliation. Thank you, Scott. I don’t want her pulling out the ‘I just see you as a friend’ line. I think I’d have to switch high schools.” He pulls on his uniform, “Please, can you just go up and ask if she likes me? See if her heartbeat rises…”
“Her heartbeat is always all over the place,” Scott rolls his eyes, “Hence the medical condition.”
“I don’t know,” Stiles grounds out, flailing his arms over his head, “See if pheromones come out or something!”
Scott turns on his heel and walks away, “Fine.”
Stiles is left in shock and pink tinging his cheeks, “I love you. I love you! You’re my best friend in the whole world.” He grips his lacrosse stick tight enough to hear the leather handle squeak.
At the end of the hall, talking with Lydia, you mutter something that sounds eerily like ‘Andrew.’ Scott didn’t let it bother him, “Hey, (Y/N), can we talk for a second?”
You play with your jacket, noticing the off color to his eyes before saying, “Yeah, of course.”
Lydia rolls her eyes, “I’ll save you a seat on the stands.” She flounces off smelling of heavenly perfume.
You lead Scott off to the nearest empty classroom, arms folded as you ask, “Are you okay?”
“I just needed to ask you something,” he says with his head bowed, sounding hurt as he continues, “Do you… do you know if Allison still likes me?”
You tilt your chin down, frowning slightly at the puppy-dog eyes he was giving you. “Of course she still likes you. I told you it was going to take a long time for her to get over you. That’s probably why she isn’t here cheering on her friends.”
“Friends…”
“I mean, yeah she’ll always like you as a friend,” you say sincerely, “I don’t think she could ever hate you.”
Scott wasn’t liking the answer. He was glowering again, all puppy-dog erased from his eyes. His hands were curling into fists as he says, “Just friends.”
You sound timid as you continue, “She doesn’t want any animosity between you, but yeah… maybe cooling off as just friends could ease the tension.”
He takes a step forward and the room feels three degrees colder, “You’re saying I should just forget all about my feelings for her?”
You take a sudden step back, your heart beginning to leap in your chest. Scott did not look like the friendly version of himself you had grown accustomed to. He was being dark and menacing, an edge to his voice that you did not like.
A hand going to your chest as it usually did to somehow contain your heartbeat, you say, “For the time being, maybe. Just see it as you’re taking a break. When you see her again…”
“Then I need to take my mind off of her somehow,” he says, creeping his way toward you – almost like he was stalking.
You were being backed into a wall, “Scott, are you okay? You seem a little off.” Your shoulders hit the wall, “You’re scaring me.”
He takes a long sniff and cocks his head to the side, “Scaring you a lot, actually.” He invades your personal space – to the point where you can feel the angry heat radiating off him. “Your heart is racing.”
You gulp and Scott eyes the pulse galloping in your neck. “What are you doing?”
“I’m trying to distract myself from the breakup. You said you would help me.” And his hands snap to your face, holding it in place as he crushes his lips to yours. He is stronger than you were expecting, pulling you to him with rigid arms.
You try to flail away, but Scott’s hands land on your upper arms, pining you between him and the wall. He kisses you hungrily – angrily – as he goes in for more and more. Your muffled cries of defiance are smothered in his mouth. It was bruising and intense, way more than you were ready for.
When he eventually pulls away you are quick to smack him across the face. Shoving at his solid form before running from the abandoned classroom. You sprint for the farthest restroom and find it empty.
You lean against a sink before looking in the mirror. Your hair was ratted in the back and the swollen red of your lips was a giveaway. You were just realizing you were crying when the alarm of your watch finally registered in your brain.
Your heart was still pounding in your chest and before long you’d be lightheaded.
It took nearly twenty minutes for you to calm down. Sitting on the dirty tiled floor, head between your knees, and tears running down your nose. You wonder what had gotten into Scott for him to take advantage of you like that.
Scott wasn’t that kind of guy, right?
You had received texts from both Lydia and Stiles before you made it outside. Lydia asking where you were and Stiles asking about your heart. He had gotten an alarm on his phone too.
Scott had told him it was because you were thinking about him… that you had confessed that you did, in fact, have a crush on Stiles too.
Lydia could see the closed, distraught look on your face as you climb the bleachers. “What happened? Have you been crying?” She touches the redness under your eyes.
You push her away, holding yourself and whispering, “I just had a moment. I’m fine.”
It wasn’t enough for Lydia, her manicured nails tilting your chin towards her, “Have you been kissing?!”
You rub at your lips, “Not by choice.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks with a sudden lowered tone. The usual façade of the flirty popular spring fling queen was gone. “Did some guy…?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” you whisper again, eyeing the field and rubbing up and down your arms. “Let’s just enjoy the game.”
Lydia was still staring at you, “(Y/N), we need to report this.”
“No, it was an accident,” you say defensively, “He didn’t mean to.”
“Who?”
“Noone, Lydia please,” you start to feel your eyes water again, “I promised Stiles I’d be here, and I don’t break those promises.”
A huff escapes Lydia, “That’s ridiculous. That idiot friend of yours would understand you leaving because somebody assaul…”
You hiss at her, “Stop! You’ll send my heart rate sky rocketing.”
She purses her lips, yanking her bag towards her and flushed with anger, “Fine. At least let me help hide the evidence. You don’t want anyone else questioning you.” She extracts a make-up wipe and a calming chapstick. “And then you’ll tell me what little bitch did this and we’ll set the dogs on him.”
You crack a tiny sad smile, “Thanks, Lydia.”
“We’ve got a whole lacrosse team that would be on your side.” She folds her arms and crosses her legs, tapping her floating foot in the air. “Jackson and Andrew would stand up for you.”
You watch Scott get pummeled to the ground, jumping back up like nothing happened. “I’m not sure I want the lacrosse team knowing.” Andrew stands as goalie, fending off all the incoming pitches. “I’m not even sure what happened.”
An overenthusiastic player in jersey #24 waves at you emphatically. He’s practically on his tiptoes as he grovels for your attention….
You know instantly that it’s Stiles.
You return his high energy with a small wave and in return his points to his chest, right above his heart, and gives you a thumbs up in question. He’s asking about your heartbeat.
After a second of appreciation, you give him a hesitant thumbs up before wrapping your arms around yourself again. Stiles grips his lacrosse stick nervously – Scott was going in for another try.
Only it ends with him clipping Andrew in the helmet, slamming him to the ground. You stand with Lydia, gasping at the sound of the impact. You’re fumbling down the bleacher stairs as everyone huddles around Andrew.
You hear Stiles’ voice as he confronts Scott. “Dude, what the hell are you doing?”
“What? He’s twice the size of me.”
“Yeah, but everybody likes Andrew. Now everybody’s gonna hate you.”
You speed across the grass, avoiding Stiles and Scott as he says, “I don’t care.” You catch his eyes and flinch away, skirting to the other side of the goalpost and to the fallen Andrew. He had a bloody nose but was probably safe from a concussion.
Stiles was stuck on the fact that you had flinched away from him and Scott. Why would you run away like that? He watches your crouching figure console Andrew, pushing your hair behind your ears.
There was still a redness to your eyes and a chapped swollenness to your mouth.
And Stiles was putting two and two together. He was slack jawed and turning to the retreating figure of Scott. Disbelief was the only way to describe what he was feeling.
Disbelief and full blown rage.
But he was more worried about you.
As they were carting Andrew away, along with most of the players and Lydia bickering with Jackson – you were left by the goalpost shaking and quiet.
He was gauging your response as he nears you. “(Y/N)?” He lifts a hand to your arm and you flinch out of his touch. It disappoints him – a punch to his gut. “What’s wrong?”
You gulp, avoiding his eyes, “Uh… it’s nothing. I’m just worried about Andrew.”
He frowns, tensing his jaw, “Did… Did something happen with Scott?”
You’re gripping your arms as you shake your head, “I told you it was nothing, Stiles. I j-just had a heart rate spike and I don’t feel so well.”
The evasiveness was getting to Stiles. He grinds his teeth, “(Y/N), I have a feeling your spike had something to do with Scott.” He wishes you would look at him, “Please, tell me the truth.”
Your eyes were starting to water, “Don’t make me say it, Stiles. I haven’t even processed what’s happened,” you run your fingers through your hair, blowing out a shaky breath, “I don’t want to think about it.”
God, he wants to touch you again. He wants to hold you. “I think I know,” he whispers, rage broiling in his veins. “That son of a bitch.”
You sniff, looking towards the sky to avoid letting the tears fall. It was stabbing a knife into Stiles’ heart.
“Lydia’s my ride home,” you say, your voice cracking, “I have to find her. I’m sure she’s still… fighting with Jackson.”
“No,” Stiles says instantly, “Absolutely not. I’ll drive you home. Just let me change real quick.” He starts stripping his uniform immediately, throwing his gloves with a little more force than was necessary.
You shove your hands in your pockets, still shaking regardless of how warm the spring afternoon was. “That’s kind of you Stiles, but…”
“If you say not to worry and walk away, I swear to god I’ll freak out,” he tosses his jersey and shoulder pads on the grass. “I see it as my privilege to escort you home. Please? It’ll make me feel better about leaving you knowing you’re safe.” His pleading made his eyes warm and syrupy. Your favorite shade of brown.
You reluctantly look at him with your red eyes – it seems to develop worrisome wrinkles in his forehead. “Okay.”
“Okay,” he repeats, hopeful, “Okay. Let’s go.” He avoids touching you, much to his dismay, and leads the way to the parking lot.
“Don’t you need to put your stuff back in your locker?” you ask quietly.
“Nope,” he says frankly, “This is more important.” He walks beside you, giving you some distance.
You can’t help the smile that wants to appear, “Thank you.”
He holds open the jeep door for you and throws his stuff unceremoniously in the back. He’s racing out of the parking lot, tension evident in his shoulders as he sneaks quick looks at your cowering figure.
You’re huddled against the door, holding your arms again.
Stiles has his usual hand on the wheel and the other on the stick shift. His chest was tight and painful as he tries to think of something to say, “I’m not going to ask you if you’re okay again because I know you’re not. And I can tell you just want to sit and think but I got to admit it’s freaking impossible for me to sit still and be quiet. You’re scaring the hell out of me, and I just want to help. I just…” he moves the hand on the stick shift to the edge of your chair. “I want to make you feel better. I’m not good at this. I’m not good at much… except maybe talking when I’m nervous…”
You silently move your hand to Stiles’. He’s quick to grip your fingers and gasp a sigh of relief.
“Oh, thank god,” he laughs awkwardly, “I can do this. Is this helping you feel better? If it is, you can hold my hand for as long as you need. I’ll hold your hand all night if that’s what it takes… I’ll hold your hand…”
“Stiles,” you say, quietly amused. “Please stop talking.”
“Sure,” he says, zipping his lip with his free hand. He mouths silently, “No more talking.”
The rest of the ride was quiet, except for the rumble of the engine and the incessant tapping of Stiles’ thumb against the steering wheel. He sometimes lifts your conjoined hands to change gears. Other times he subtly moves his thumb up your index finger, perhaps trying to be soothing.
You watch things fly past the window as you near your house. The shakiness of Stiles’ constantly moving hands was almost therapeutic. It distracts you to feel his fingers dance around your hand. You wipe at your eyes as the jeep stops in your driveway.
Stiles jumps out of the car and bangs his hip on the headlight as he runs for your side. He curses terribly and opens your door, “M’lady,” he pants in pain.
You slide out, tears smeared beneath your eyes as you say, “Thank you, Stiles.”
As he shuts the door you contemplate for about three seconds before going in for a hug.
Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you place your tearstained face near his neck. He returns the hug timidly, careful with how he’s touching you. He keeps his hands near your shoulder blades, at the top of your back.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m going to try and figure this out.”
Your sniffles cause him physical pain. “I’ll see you later.”
He waves you off, stewing in his new plan to contain Scott’s rabid werewolf side and to get his full revenge in payback for treating you like this.
~~~
After a nap and an ice pack for your swollen face and oncoming headache, you feel more clearheaded. Oliver, the gray cat, has his front paws perched on your knee, searching for more pats to the head.
“I just don’t get it,” you say, speaking to your cat as if he were your therapist. “I understand that he’s going through a breakup, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like a jackass.” You hold the icepack to your temples, “There must be something else going on – or maybe that’s just something Scott is capable of, and I didn’t see it.”
Oliver chirps at you, butting his head into your palm.
“I know, Ollie,” you say, “I don’t need anymore stress added to my life.”
With your mom helping dispatch with a call in the forest and your dad managing the firehouse that night, you were grateful to be home alone with your problems. It was a shame they had to work so much to maintain the debt from your medical bills.
But they never complained.
The moon was full and bright like a flashlight through your window. You thought about texting Allison but thought better of it.
You were, however, texting Lydia to keep away from filing a police report. You had no idea she was so invested in your care. She always seemed slightly aloof and as if her priorities were centered around high school popularity.
But maybe she had her own set of secrets like everyone else in this town.
You continue to talk with Oliver as the moon rises in the sky. It’s dark and chilly outside and you can hear the rustling of budding branches. It gives the night a strange ominous tone. It prompts you to the open window to peer at the darkness.
Oliver purrs and finds a spot at the foot of your bed to curl up.
The ache in your shoulder reappears as you gaze at the moon. “I think I need to go back to sleep.”
There was a sudden howl on the wind, loud enough that it sent a chill through your bones. You quickly slam the window shut, staring at your scared reflection in the glass. “You need to calm down, (Y/N).”
But there was something moving in the distance that caught your attention. Something fast and on all fours. Something animal… but…
You squint your eyes, pressing against the window to look past neighbor fences and thick growths of trees. There was some kind of creature running through yards and… straight towards your house.
The breath leaving your lungs was shallow as you realize – this thing was coming at you. You watch it reach your yard and stop. It stands and all you see are yellow eyes, sharp teeth, and a furry face.
You make eye contact with the creature and panic, gasping aloud as you back away. “Oh my god…”
Blood was pumping in your ears as you flounder. Where do you go? What do you do? You scramble to find something useful, a strange clawing coming from the walls below.
Where was your phone?
Your eyes dart to your bed and you pounce. Hands frantically searching beneath pillows and sheets, Ollie grumbles and jumps off the bed. Panting, you find the cellphone under your blanket, rolling off the mattress and running out of your room.
That thing knew you were in the bedroom.
There was a louder sound of clawing and splintering wood downstairs. The squeak of metal told you that the front door had swung open. The silence that follows makes you even more terrified. You thought something rabid was entering your house, but instead it was deadly quiet.
You cross the hallway and to your parents room, closing the door as quietly as possible. Speeding towards their ensuite bathroom, you lock yourself in. You think about your options – your parents? 911? Stiles? You don’t want to sound paranoid.
You decide to text your mom, “Are you coming home soon?” and then texting Stiles, “SOS.” You weren’t going to risk talking out loud if there was a tweaking madman entering the house in search of you.
There was the familiar creak of the squeaky floorboard in the hall that usually signaled that your parents were up and about. Whatever that thing was… it was moving past your room and further down the hall.
Your phone begins to buzz with a call from Stiles. You quickly decline, stopping the buzzing sound. You do the same with the next call he tries to make.
A steely cold burrows in your skin, ears trained for any sound coming from outside. You sit on the bathmat, holding your phone so it puts an eerie light across your face. Stiles resorts to texting you.
“I’m already on my way.”
“Are you okay? What’s going on?”
“Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”
“I’m right down the street.”
You tap out a reply, your breath shaky against your knees as they’re pressed to your chest. “There’s something in my house.”
You hear something from your parents bedroom.
“Are you somewhere safe?” Stiles replies. “What is it?”
You move your thumbs quickly, “It’s right outside the door.”
Your phone continues to buzz with frantic replies from Stiles, but you’re preoccupied with the slow, terrifying turning of the doorknob. It squeaks metallically as it’s manipulated. And after a few tries the creature stops.
The door then rattles with a sudden roar of noise. Scraping hands bang against the wood, the panels straining under the force of whatever is on the other side. You scream as a howl penetrates your ears.
The same howl you heard outside your bedroom window.
Fear envelopes you as you scramble to the far wall, screwing up the bathmat and knocking the shampoo bottle off the side of the tub. You resort to dialing 911 as the door bends under the hands of the growling creature.
“(Y/N)!”
Another voice comes from downstairs and you’re afraid to reply, “Stiles!?”
Heavy footfalls are coming up the stairs as the creature hesitates in its assault on the door. You pull at the collar of your pajamas, choking on your breath as your heart fails to oxygenate your body.
The voice of Stiles is so near, you fear for his safety as the creature howls again. But what Stiles says puts you into more shock.
“Scott, calm down buddy. You don’t want to do this,” he sounds full of fear, “This isn’t you, man. Snap out of it!”
You gasp for breath, clawing at your own chest as your heart works in overtime. You can barely register the things you hear on the other side of the door.
A different growl was sounding and (what you hope isn’t) Scott turns toward it. Stiles was encouraging the action.
“Go after the howls, Scott. Go join your other werewolf friends! Get out of here!”
It turns into Stiles banging on the bathroom door – with much less force than whatever power Scott possessed.
“(Y/N)? (Y/N), open the door please. It’s just me – Scott left with Derek. I promise it’s safe now.” He must’ve checked his phone because now he was speaking with a new level of panic, “Hold on, (Y/N). Just try to breathe! Focus on your surroundings – ground yourself!”
He was jumping and searching for those emergency bathroom keys that were sometimes left on the molding above the door. Thankfully your parents never took chances and kept those keys there.
Stiles was cursing himself for fumbling the key in the lock, forcing it open. He fell to the floor with his momentum, slipping on the tile to get to you.
“Holy shit – oh my god. (Y/N), you need to breathe.” He kneels beside you and puts a hand over yours holding your chest, “Just take a breath, please.” Your lips were turning blue from the lack of oxygen. Your eyes were fluttering shut.
Stiles was rubbing your hand against your chest, wrapping his other arm around your shoulders and shaking you into him. “Stay with me, (Y/N). You can’t pass out while you’re not breathing.”
You gasp something shallow, but it was the first breath he hears you take, “That’s it… god.” He puts his head against yours, “You can do it, take another.”
He holds you as you start to take more shallow breaths, each getting stronger by the second. The darkness creeping into your star-spangled vision became clearer; and the tingling in your hands and feet lessen.
Stiles is whispering quiet praises to whatever power helps you breathe evenly again. He holds up your wrist and watches your heart rate lower out of danger.
You rest against his chest, your head laying against his collarbone. You sound out of breath as you say, “You have… explaining to do.”
He chuckles solemnly, your head bouncing against his chest, “Remember that thing that wasn’t exactly mine to tell?”
“Scott?”
“Yeah,” he says, “Something happened when we found Derek’s dead sister in the woods… Scott was bit.” He was grateful for not looking at your reaction, just holding you close as your heartbeat steadies. “He was bit by a werewolf.”
You weakly smack his arm, “Bullshit.”
“Not even a little bit. Our friend is a werewolf. And so is Derek,” he says, “That’s why Derek has been invading – he’s trying to help Scott take control.”
“I don’t believe you,” you say, still sounding out of breath. Your head was aching with the lack of oxygen.
Stiles takes a deep breath, making you rise and fall against him. “Derek isn’t the serial killer attacking everyone. All those kills were done by the Alpha – that’s the big bad wolf that bit Scott and is trying to make him a part of his pack.”
“An Alpha?” you want to laugh but know it would send you into a coughing fit.
“Yes, and on the full moon the Alpha has more control over Scott. The moon has been messing with him all day, which you witnessed firsthand.”
That gives you a shiver, forcing you up from the ground, gripping the bathtub for support.
“Woah,” Stiles gets up with you, hands hovering at your back, “Take it slow.”
“You’re telling me the reason Scott has been snapping at everyone and shoving his tongue down my throat is because of the full moon?”
“Shoves his what down your what?”
You stand straight and nearly blackout until you hold onto the glass shower door. “Where is he now?” You start stumbling out of the bathroom and towards your bedroom, the perfect view of the front yard.
Stiles slips on the tile to follow you, terrified you were going to fall again.
Looking out the window, bathed in moonlight, you spy two beings on the edge of the street – heading towards the forest. Glowing eyes, pointed ears, furry faces, and snarling fangs. They were disappearing into the night.
What you saw before the home invasion was real.
“Was Derek bitten by the Alpha too?”
“Uh… no,” Stiles says, looking at you like a bomb about to go off. He was waiting for the outrage. “He was born a werewolf. He just wants to kill the Alpha for killing his sister. Scott is his link.”
You flex your hands, getting the feeling back in your fingers, “You were already on your way when I texted you. How did you know I was in trouble?” You could hear the audible breath Stiles took, the sound of him scratching his shaved head.
“To make him a part of his pack, the Alpha wants Scott to get rid of his old pack. Me, Allison, Lydia and Jackson… and you.” He takes a pause, “I knew he’d go after one of us under the control of the full moon.”
“You were doing research on the hunting habits of wolves today,” you whisper as the memory appears, running your fingers through your hair.
Stiles tries to focus on how beautiful you look in the moonlight. Beautiful and alive. Thank god Derek showed up.
“You’re right. And I knew wolves take their time with their targets…”
“The weakest and sickest of the herd,” you whisper again. “He was wearing me down today. He cornered me and… it was like he could smell the fear on me.”
Stiles swallows hard, his hands balling into fists, “Yeah. He was making a plan who to pick off one at a time.”
You fold your arms, nodding thoughtfully, wishing the headache to go away. “As far as secrets go… that is one hell of one.”
Stiles wrings his hands, “Yeah, you can see why we don’t want to rope too many people into it.”
“Who knows?” you ask, still debating your options.
“Derek and myself,” he sighs, watching your closed off stance. “But who else knows about werewolves? The Argents do.”
Your brow furrows, still staring out the window, “Allison’s family?”
“Her parents and her Aunt Kate,” he nods, “They’re werewolf hunters. Have been for centuries and it’s part of the reason they moved here.”
“Allison?”
“As far as we know, she’s clueless about the whole thing. But now that she’s spending so much time at home because of the breakup… I think her aunt my have a little too much influence.”
Your fingers dig into your arms, “Interesting.”
Stiles lets the silence hit for a few seconds before inching towards you more, “Interesting?”
You feel the hurt start to creep into your chest. The kind of aching hurt that only comes from feeling betrayal and an overwhelmingness to hide. “I think you should go, Stiles.”
He stands straight, “What?”
Tilting your head over your shoulder, you mumble, “I’ve heard enough and I would like you to leave. My mom will be home soon.” You stay where you are, feeling in need of a long sleep. “I need time to process. I need time alone. Thank you for coming for me and telling me the truth, but I want to be by myself now.”
He bites his tongue, “Are you sure?”
“Goodnight, Stiles.”
“(Y/N), listen to me. It was scary at first for me too,” he sounds nervous, “I know it’s a shock, but…”
“Please leave, Stilinski. I won’t ask again.”
He huffs his frustration, “Okay, I get it. Will you at least tell me when your mom gets here? Just so I know you’re…”
“My mom is on the same dispatch call your dad is tonight. When he gets home you’ll know my mom is getting home too.”
It was quiet after that, Stiles taking a few steps back and grinding his teeth. He was almost out the door when he says, “I’m glad you’re safe, (Y/N).”
Minutes later you watch the blue jeep drive away. An hour later you’re still standing at the window, basking in the cool moonlight. Two hours later your mom enters the driveway.
And you’re finally able to step away and lower your arms – lightheaded from your locked knees.
“Oh, hello sweetie,” Angela says at the door, Ollie at her ankles. “Why are you still awake?”
You let the exhaustion show, “I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to wait until you got home.”
Your mom pouts, walking to you with open arms, “I could use a hug too.” You embrace and feel the knots of tension in her shoulders.
“Long call?”
Angela holds you back by the shoulders and inspects your tiresome complexion. “There were another couple deaths in the forest. It’s being ruled an accident for now, might’ve just fallen in a bonfire because they were drunk.”
“Died in a fire?” you say with a gruesome wince.
“Yep,” your mother sighs, “It was nice seeing your dad though. Fire department was called too.” She ponders your expression, “Why can’t you sleep?”
You lick your dry lips, “My heart has been all over the place. It’s hard to relax.”
Brows knitted, Angela puts a hand to the side of your face, “You feeling stressed at all?”
“You could say that. There’s been drama in the friend group.”
She nods and kisses your hairline, “I’ll make us some tea. Let me put my things away and we can hang out on the couch.” She’s satisfied with your small smile, leaving for her bedroom.
It was just dawning on you that she might see something when she yells…
“Hey, what are these claw marks in my bathroom door!?”
You rub harshly at your tired eyes, “Um… Ollie got into the catnip again?”
~~~
School had gotten strange the next week. It was already tense with Scott and Allison’s breakup, but now that you weren’t talking to the boys… it had felt very estranged. Both Scott and Stiles had tried to contact you, but you still need some time.
The bombshell of the things going on in Beacon Hills was a lot to take in.
It made your little secret seem minor in comparison.
You were sitting in the lunchroom, picking at your meal with your other friends. Jackson had been tense with Lydia the last few weeks and you could smell another breakup coming. His mild jackassery was starting to get on your nerves as he ignores you and the girls.
“He seriously started sending you pictures of you two together?” Lydia sneers, “What kind of move is that?”
“He’s trying to get back together with you,” you say a little melancholy.
Allison plays with her necklace, lost in thought, “It felt like he was trying to make me feel bad for breaking up with him.”
“He is completely clueless,” you sigh, “Most idiots in love are.”
Lydia squints her eyes at you suspiciously, “Speaking of idiots in love. Do you care to explain why you’re also ignoring dork #1 and dork #2?”
Your eyes momentarily shift across the cafeteria to where Scott and Stiles were eating. Stiles was shoving a chicken tender into his mouth with his usual amount of grace. The rest of his tray held macaroni and cheese… a painful memory of him telling you about the gourmet mac and cheese his mom used to make.
“Nothing just… some weird things happened.”
“Like dork #2 confessing his obvious feelings for you?” Lydia continues. “I don’t blame you for rejecting him. He’s a little weirdo.”
You snap your head to her, “You mean Stiles?”
“He’s been drooling over you since you started school,” Allison agrees, “Scott used to tell me about it.”
You shove your lunch tray away, “No! I wasn’t aware anyone was harboring any feelings for me.”
“Well, if we stick to that topic,” Lydia purses her lips, “Andrew Wickstrom is also a harborer of feelings.”
“And maybe two others on the lacrosse team,” Allison chuckles.
You shake your head, closing your eyes momentarily, “No, in fact Scott came onto me.” You rub at your temples, listening to Allison hold her breath.
“Excuse me?”
You look to her, sorrowful in how you say, “He cornered me and kissed me.”
“What!?”
“It was quick and only the one time. He said he was just trying to get his mind off you. I slapped him and everything,” you say with a little more urgency, “And obviously he’s super regretful because now he’s trying to get on your good side again.”
“What a little shit,” Lydia curses.
Allison was even more visibly upset than before, “I can’t believe that.”
You bite the inside of your cheek, “I didn’t want to tell you, but you deserve to know. Scott wasn’t himself that day. He’s been really wrecked.”
“That’s not a good enough excuse,” Allison mutters.
“Has he apologized at all?” Lydia asks with an edge of rage.
You shrug, “I haven’t exactly given him the chance to. That’s why I haven’t been talking to them.” You look to Allison with slanted brows, “I’m really sorry, Allison. I tried to make him stop.”
She shakes her head, snapping herself out of whatever fogginess had invaded her mind. “It wasn’t your fault. I don’t blame you.” She looks toward the boys before standing, “I need the bathroom.”
You nod, giving her space, instead watching Jackson stare down someone from across the cafeteria. Lydia was looking at him too with some semblance of impatience and frustration. In a nonchalant move, Jackson steals the green apple from your forgotten tray.
“How are you two?” you whisper to Lydia.
She scowls, “He’s been a little cozy with Allison if I’m being honest,” she picks a tomato from her salad. “We don’t talk much anymore, just the occasional make out and quickie in the car.”
You refrain from grimacing, “What is going on with everyone?”
“With spring comes all new drama,” she smiles derisively, “Springtime fever as they call it.”
Jackson suddenly stands and leaves them to gossip. Lydia follows him with her eyes, a moment of hurt flashing through them.
“I don’t think I can take much more drama,” you sigh with a fake smile, “My heart can’t take it.”
Lydia looks to you with genuine sympathy. You had grown to love the moments when she was real. “Then it’s a good thing we’re all taking a break. We’re the perfect girl squad. No boys allowed.”
You smile a little wider, “I’d like that.”
Your last period after lunch was gym, which usually consisted of you doing things for Coach since you had a doctor’s note banning you from raising your heart rate. While everyone was in the locker rooms changing, you talk with Finstock.
“I don’t care what they do today, Westbrook,” he groans, his whistle swinging around his neck, “I’m too busy drawing up plays for the game tonight. Bring out the basketballs and jump ropes and freaking hopscotch, I don’t care. Hell, let them use the pools to swim laps.” He scratches at his crazed hair, “Just make them do something for the period – and don’t come looking for me. Thanks, Westbrook.”
You blow out a whistled sigh, “No problem, Coach.” You roll out the cart of basketballs and volleyballs, a couple jump ropes dangling on the side. Your classmates start to trickle out in their gym attire.
Using your loudest voice you announce it was going to be a free workout period – they’re free to use the pools or the gym as long as they’re engaging in a sport of some kind.
Allison voices her wish to swim and Jackson is quick to agree, leading the way back to the lockers. Scott doesn’t say a word, just mindlessly follows them at a distance.
You watch many hands go for the gym equipment, a basketball falling to the floor. You catch it as it tries to bounce away.
“Hey, Westbrook!”
You look up to see Andrew holding his hands up for the ball. A smile on your lips, you pass the ball, pleased it lands right in his hands.
“How are you?” he asks, walking up to you. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
You push some hair behind your ear, “Oh, just some post sickness keeping me away. I’m all good now.” You put your hands in your pockets, his lovely curly hair in ringlets against his forehead. “How have you been?”
“Not gonna lie,” he spins the basketball on his index finger, “I’ve missed seeing you at lacrosse and keeping Finstock in line in economics.”
You fold your arms, watching the ball spin, “It is good seeing you. I didn’t get a chance to talk to you much last practice – how’s the nose?”
He puts the ball under his arm and leans down to your height, “How does it look?” he grimaces comically, “I don’t dare look – I bet it’s grotesque and crooked and completely messed up.”
You giggle, clamping your index finger and thumb around the arch of his nose, “It looks fine to me.” You wiggle his face around and shove him away, noticing the adorable dimples coming out on his cheeks. “I’m glad it wasn’t something worse.”
“Yeah, McCall was in a funk that day.”
“That’s one word for it.” You sigh, “You going to show me some moves?” You gesture to the basketball, “Any three-pointers?”
He smiles bright, dribbling the ball, “If I make a three-pointer… how about you go on that date with me?”
Your cheeks feel warm as you try to contain your smile, “It’s a deal. Shoot straight, Wickstrom.”
He winks at you and goes for the three-point line outside the black arc surrounding the basket. He dribbles the ball twice before bending his knees and taking aim. With an arm extension, the ball flies in a smooth arch right into the basket.
Andrew holds his arm in that shooting pose, turning to you with a flush growing across his nose, “Nothing but net.”
“Jokes on you,” you say in a sweet voice that was feigning confidence, “I would’ve gone out with you even if you hadn’t made the shot.”
He laughs, walking up to you once more, “Does Friday sound good? Seven o’ clock?”
You say, “Sounds perfect.”
Before he jogs off to join the shirts and skins game being created on the sidelines, he looks at you with his warm expression. “Are you coming to the game tonight?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I might have a girls night…”
“I thought you had to help Finstock being his TA?”
“Oh, no – that’s just during school hours. I’m a regular fan in the stands during games.” You rub awkwardly at your arms as you say, “Things have been tense with some of the lacrosse players.”
He nods, his face suddenly serious with understanding. “I get it. I’m not saying you have to come… but I would love to see you there. Do what’s best for you.”
You take a genuine sigh of relief, “I needed that.” You nod your head towards the team huddles, “Now go earn your gym credit.”
“Finstock isn’t here, Westbrook,” he shrugs, already backing away.
“But he’s left me in charge; I could still fail you.”
He winks again, “You wouldn’t do that to me, sweetheart.”
You laugh as he retreats, but you know what he says is true. You were just glad to be moving on to perhaps a semi-normal relationship with someone that didn’t tangle with werewolves or supernatural hunters or murder investigations.
Stiles was sitting on the bleachers with a couple other kids not wanting to play the games. Each on their phone or reading a book or talking with a friend. Stiles was sitting between the benches, his legs hanging over the side.
He had a deep scowl on his face and twitchy fingers rotating his phone in his palm. He watches your exchange with Andrew with heat in his stomach. He was furious at the entire situation.
Upset that you hadn’t explained your distance. Angry that he hadn’t told you the truth sooner. Mad at himself for letting Scott loose on the full moon. Irritated that his life was consumed by Scott’s problems to the point that he felt like a major comedic side character. One that doesn’t usually get the girl.
But most of all furious that the guy you decide to date isn’t a bad guy at all. Andrew is kind and funny and supportive. He’s such a good guy that Stiles couldn’t be mad at him. And that made him even more mad.
~~~
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