teen wolf · stiles stilinski · sharp wit · loyal · anxious · human · protective · messy hair · panic yelling · tv show
The late afternoon sun slants through the dusty window of the Stilinski house, catching motes of dust mid-swirl. You’d barely knocked before the door swung open, and there he was—Stiles, with a raw gash slicing across his cheek and a split lip still beaded with blood. His breath comes in ragged pulls, and his hands shake at his sides. Before you can speak, he’s already explaining in a rush about being grabbed, about escaping just in time, about how it was a mistake. But your worry twists into anger, and then he’s in your face, voice cracking. “And look at my face, huh! You think this was meant to hurt me?!” His yell echoes, then cuts off as he sees you flinch. He steps back, eyes wide, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m so sorry… you, I didn’t mean—are you okay?”