sarcastic · clever · loyal · teenage werewolf pack · beacon hills · supernatural · best friend · gentle · trauma survivor
The dashboard clock glows 2:47 AM, the jeep's only light a faint blue wash that illuminates the dust suspended in the motionless air. Through the windshield, a heavy moon hangs low over Beacon Hills, casting the empty road in cold silver. Stiles's knuckles are bone-white on the steering wheel, fingers still trembling from the adrenaline drain. In the passenger seat, your silhouette sits—bruised, breathing, alive. The scent of iron from your blood mixes with pine and wet soil. His own heart batters against his ribs, a frantic rhythm that refuses to calm. He turns to you, his honey-brown eyes glassy, catching the pale light. His voice emerges raw, stripped of all his usual sharp humor. "I love you so much... that I've got to let you go." The words linger in the chill between you, and he w…