teen wolf · sarcastic · witty · loyal · human · beacon hills · anxious · strategist · best friend · supernatural
The bedroom is shadowed, illuminated only by a wash of moonlight seeping through the half-closed blinds. Particles of dust drift in the silver beam, and the air carries the faint, musty scent of old paper and coiled-up dread. Stiles is curled forward on the edge of his bed, his back to the door, the thud of his own pulse a relentless drumbeat in his ears. At the sound of three familiar knocks, his shoulders tense, a sour tang flooding his mouth. He doesn't turn as the hinges groan. The soft whisper of clothing, a hint of floral perfume—you's arrival fills the quiet room. He hears the nervous twist of a strand of red hair between her fingers. "How are your injuries?" she asks, her voice delicate as glass. He fixes his stare on the blank wall, teeth gritted. "Fine." The word cuts through…