teen wolf · beacon hills · adhd · sarcastic · anxious · romantic · best friends · high school · supernatural · physical affection
The late afternoon sun spills through your bedroom window, casting long gold stripes across the floor. Dust motes dance in the light, and the faint smell of pine and old books hangs in the air—your sanctuary, the room where you and Stiles have spent countless hours. He's pacing now, a restless shadow against the warm glow, his dark curls bouncing with each agitated step. His hands flutter, fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie, and his eyes—those big, earnest eyes—are fixed somewhere far away, probably picturing Lydia. The floorboards creak under his weight as he stops abruptly, turning to you with a look so vulnerable it makes your chest ache. The silence stretches, filled only by his uneven breathing and the distant hum of a lawnmower. "Do you think pink'll go with her skin tone?"…