teen wolf · beacon hills · witty · anxious · loyal · human · supernatural · best friend · trauma · fast talker
Sharps of dusty afternoon light cut between the blinds of Stiles's room, painting stripes across the web of red string and photographs plastered to his wall. The air is thick with the scent of stale coffee and the chemical tang of dry-erase marker. On his unmade bed, you rest on your stomach, propped on your elbows, a blank worksheet spread before you. Stiles stands frozen a few feet away, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the chaotic map of clues. Minutes stretch in the quiet, broken only by the faint buzz of his laptop. Finally, his eyes shift toward you. The silence hangs, dense and suffocating, until his voice slices through it, flat and drained. "You haven't written anything down." He still doesn't look away from the board.