boy / agent

who   knew   calling   old   people   would   give   her   the   best   news   ?   tracking   down   her   grandmother’s   number   was   the   best   thing   she’d   done   since                 since   anything,   really.   after   hitting   dead-ends   over,   and   over,   she   was   growing   wary   about   her   own   purpose   and   was   so   close   to   just   accepting   that   she   was   meant   to   walk   this   journey   alone,   with   no   answers.   to   be   fair,   she   didn’t   exactly   get   answers   but   it   was   another   step   in   the   right   direction,   or   just   a   direction   that   she   was   grateful   to   have.   at   some   point,   she   almost   felt   like   a   nuisance.   why   would   it   be   anyone   else’s   business   but   her   own,   and   yet   every   single   time   she   thought   she’d   gotten   a   step   closer,   she   was   pulling   stiles   back   into   her   own   mess.

just   a   bit   too   excited   to   give   him   a   heads   up,   she   was   let   into   the   house   by   noah   already   on   his   way   out   to   work   and   she   was   quick   to   run   up   the   stairs.   she’d   been   in   his   room   enough   times   to   remember   and   didn’t   even   think   to   knock,   only   swing   open   his   door   with   full   excitement   and   anticipation   built   in   her   chest,   just   to   freeze   her   movements.   lips   were   parted   and   wide   eyes   already   managed   to   scan   him   up   and   down   before   forcing   herself   to   land   on   his   face,   gaze   narrowing,     “      what   the   fuck   ?     ”

he   breathes   in   and   out,   his   hand   is   placed   carefully,   shifting   a   few   centimeters   until   he   finds   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙵𝙴𝙲𝚃   𝚂𝙿𝙾𝚃.   the   lights   in   his   bedroom   are   low,   the   blinds   shut,   and   his   goodbyes   to   his   dad   all   taken   care   of.   no   one   would   be   coming   in,   no   one   was   even   supposed   to   be   coming   over.   last   time   he   had   texted   scott   he   was   so   absorbed   in   a   video   game   that   stiles   knew   he   would   be   FROZEN   in   the   same   spot   on   the   couch   for   pretty   much   the   next   𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴   𝙷𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂  or   so.   he   wasn’t   sure   about   where   everyone   else   was   but   if   they   were   texting   him   it   was   probably   an   emergency   anyways.   for   now,   he’d   have   the   whole   place   to   himself.

for     @hesolved··

ringing   in   her   ears,   forced   wind   pushing   dark   locks   around   haphazardly                chaos,   the   word   struck   a   certain   fear   within   her,   coupled   with   nostalgia.   a   nostalgia   for   a   past   without   a   face,   one   with   FEAR   THAT   REVERBERATED   THROUGH   HER   BONES.   the   ground   didn’t   feel   like   the   ground   she   used   to   walk   on   without   a   second   thought,   but   her   legs   didn’t   move   the   way   she   figured   and   everything   felt   so   wrong.   echoes   of   a   train   moving   past,   doors   locked   and   she   could’ve   sworn   she   was   on   it                  was   she   left   behind   ?   tattered   dress   flowed   as   she   walked,   chipped   nails   scratching   at   her   wrist   like   she   couldn’t   tell   if   she’d   gone   numb   or   JUST   FORGOTTEN   HOW   TO   FEEL.   footsteps   halted                   dark   skies   overhead   and   the   warmth   seeping   from   closed   blinds   on   the   other   side.

a   knock,   or   maybe   she   rang   the   doorbell.   she   could’ve   sworn   it   wasn’t   working   the   last   time                 when   was   the   last   time   ?   door   opened,   light   landing   on   tired   features   and   the   breath   knocked   out   of   her   lungs.   NOSTALGIA   STARED   HER   IN   THE   EYES,   only   far   more   evolved   than   she   remembered.

“     stiles   ?     ”      stiles,   stiles,   st                HE’S   TRYING   TO   KILL   ME   !   flashes   of   a   night,   desperation   met   with   fear   and   full   confidence   had   condemned   a   child   to   be   her   doom.   stiles,   she   was   lashing   out   with   her   claws   just   to   keep   him   away,   stiles                   HE’S   TRYING   TO   KILL   ME   !    blinking,   ends   of   brims   twitched,   sharp   inhale,       “      hi,   sweetie.   it’s   mom.     ”

the   house   felt   empty.   it   felt   lonely.   it   was   always   quiet   when   his   dad   was   at   work,   his   thoughts   filling   the   silence   in   ways   he   wished   they   didn’t.   but   he   was   on   edge,   glancing   over   his   shoulder,   studying   the   pictures   that   lined   the   walls   in   FEAR   that   he   would   look   at   one   to   find   he   wasn’t   in   it.   erased.   as   if   it   were   never   really   over.   he   wasn’t   sure   that   anything   was   over   in   beacon   hills,   just   hovering   in   the   𝙴𝚈𝙴   𝙾𝙵   𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙴,   waiting   for   the   storm   to   hit.

there’s   a   knock   at   the   door   and   his   body   stiffens,   it   was   just   scott.   it   was   always   just   scott. he   doesn’t   look   out   the   window   before   he   opens   the   door,   doing   so   would   mean   he’s   paranoid   and   he   doesn’t   want   scott   to   think   he’s   not   okay.   “   hey   dude   i   was   wondering   when   you   were   —   ”   voice   trails   off   into   silence   when   he   sees   who’s   really   there.   𝙼𝙾𝙼   ?   that   didn’t   .   .   .   it   wasn’t   .   .   .   blood   runs   cold   when   he   hears   her   voice,   she   calls   him   sweetie   and   it’s   sickly   sweet,   his   stomach   churning   as   he   stares   with   wide   eyes,   𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢   𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜.

“       right.       ”       brushing   off   his   response,   skeptical   gaze   flickered   over   for   just   a   moment,   mimicking   his   expression.   with   every   passing   moment,   she   felt   like   this   whole   thing   was   a   mistake   and   that   she   was   doing   something   so   pointless,   that   it   wouldn’t   have   even   mattered   a   few   years   from   now,   and   still,   HER   STUBBORNNESS   KEPT   HER   FROM   MOVING   AWAY.   he   didn’t   seem   to   look   at   her   the   same   way   the   others   did   and   she   wasn’t   used   to   it,   but   she   liked   it.   to   an   extent.       “       a   herd   of   assholes   ?   they’re   not   that   bad.       ”       and   she   waited   a   beat   before   adding,       “       i   mean,   yeah   they   are.       ”       

apologetic   in   her   tone,   she   couldn’t   help   the   grimace   that   washed   over   soft   features   as   she   watched   him   treat   his   food   with   aggression.       “       well,   that   herd   of   assholes,   particularly   those   two   guys,   don’t   really   know   how   to   take   a   hint   or   even   an   explicit   rejection   and   i   was   thinking   about   how   it   only   worked   when   you   were   there.       ”       another   small   sip   from   her   milkshake,       “       they   don’t   like   you.   YOU   DON’T   LIKE   THEM.   i   think   you’re   kinda   cool.       ”       and   so   she   leaned   forward   just   a   bit,       “       a   long   game   of   sorts,   i   guess   ?   be   my   boyfriend.       ”

He   rolls   his   eyes,   before   they   settle   into   an   annoyed   gaze,   curiosity   just   beneath   the   surface.   He   wanted   to   know   what   she   wanted   from   him.   Setting   his   drink   down,   he   picks   up   a   napkin,   messily   cleaning   the   grease   off   his   fingers   before   dropping   the   wadded   up   napkin   into   the   empty   basket.   Head   tilts   and   he   lets   out   a   sigh,   falling   back   in   the   seat   and   studying   her   with   raised   brows   upon   hearing   her   words.   She   had   to   know   that   were   that   bad.   She   wasn’t   stupid.      “      why   do   you   even   hang   out   with   them   ?   obviously   you   see   through   their   ooo   look   at   me   act.   so   what   gives   ?   ”   

WHEN her phone chimes, alerting her that she got a new email, she figures that’s that. Business was done and she could go hunt Adam down for her free drink. But then he’s talking again and her heart lifts because maybe they’re not done just yet. Hope is a dangerous thing. She should count herself lucky that she’s gotten the snippets of his time she has. 

After his whole spiel, she wasn’t expecting for him to actually hand his number over. She had accepted that her “joke” didn’t go as planned. Yet, here it was, ten numbers scrawled on a piece of receipt paper and she didn’t know what she was going to do with it. She definitely wasn’t going to leak it because she wasn’t an asshole. Would she call? How exactly would she go about asking him out? 

‘Hey dude, if you’re in the area and not on stage or hanging out with ridiculously gorgeous models, do you maybe wanna hit up this greasy dive bar? If you’re lucky I might put on a shirt that hasn’t been lying on my floor for three days!’ 

Yeah. That would go over well. Again, she wasn’t an asshole, so she doubted she would hit him up out of the blue for tickets (though, how bitchin’ would that be?) For now, all she can do with the number is hold it in her hand and look at him like this bewildered animal he’s rescued from a forest fire. 

While she was press and in the wrong hands, giving his number out would be a very bad idea, she had no desire to expose, slander or harass celebrities. In fact, she tried to do as little of that as possible. All she wanted to do was write think pieces for Pulse the “more adult” counterpart to her current employer, Pop Pulse. One good thing that came out of her out of control teenager rebellion phase was that she got really into the music scene. While investigative journalism was her dream she thought it would be a pretty good deal if she got to pick the brains on her favorite musicians for a living. Ask the their process, their influences, how their views on the world shaped the kind of music they wanted to make, talk about their love for the art. It didn’t work out that way. Instead, she got to ask bubblegum pop princesses what conditioner they used, what their favorite apps were and what emojis they used most.

❝Thanks, I’ll uh,❞ She waves the receipt between two fingers before going to shove it in her back pocket, ❝I’ll hit you up.❞

It would probably be better if she gave him her number first. That way he could call when it was convenient to him. Then, she wouldn’t risk bothering him. Before she can fish her phone out though, Adam is shouting her name across the bar.

❝MALIA! MALIA! MALI—OH MY GOD, MALIA!❞  

Adam comes barreling toward them, red in the face, shirt wet with go knows what. Judging by the empty glasses in his hands, it’s probably whatever drinks were in there. He’s panting by the time he gets to them and has to bend over to catch his breath.

❝You’ll—you’ll never—I saw—❞

❝I wasn’t looking to take body shots, Adam,❞ Malia grumbles, taking a glass from him and tilting it. Dry as a bone. 

Gulping down air, Adam tries to start his sentence again, ❝You’ll never believe who I saw at the bar. Lydia Martin!❞ Malia tries to quiet him down, but Adam only gets more riled up, ❝LYDIA FUCKING MARTIN. LIKE, THE HOTTEST GIRL I’VE EVER SEEN IN THE ENTIRE WORLD. IS HERE, JUST, SIPPING A BEER LIKE SHE’S NOT SEX ON LEGS. AND—❞

Adam’s eyes fall on Stiles and Malia is worried he’ll pop like a fucking balloon then and there. 

❝ Oh my god.❞ He breathes, staring at Stiles like he’s a god among mortals.

❝Adam,❞ Malia hisses through her teeth, ❝Be cool.❞

❝ Oh my god.❞ Adam’s voice rises as if he’s about to cry (or a tween girl about to fangirl), ❝ Oh my god, it’s you. ❞

Malia looks at Stiles with an apologetic look on her face. Just as she starts to try to fix the situation, Adam is running his mouth again.

❝ Dude, I fucking love you. Holy—oh my god, I’m—I’m not that drunk am I? Oh my god, I’m gonna faint—❞

❝Please, don’t.❞

❝ You’re— ❞ Adam lets out an incredulous laugh, ❝ You’re fucking— ❞   

Adam turns to Malia, jerking a thumb in Stiles’ direction, ❝ Malia, do you know who this is? ❞

Well, I was trying to get to know him before you showed up.

❝ Dude, I—you’re—here, Mal, hold these.❞ Despite Malia’s protests, Adam shoves the glasses in her hands like she’s some kind of shelf and continues to talk to Stiles without nothing but stars in his eyes, ❝ You’re a fucking legend dude. Like, your shit? God me through some tough shit dude, you don’t even fucking know. I fucking idolize you oh my—let me buy you a drink? I mean, not in a gay way—not that there’s anything wrong with gay people! Love them! Go gays! I mean, there’s some hot guys out there, you know? I just, oh my god I’m freaking the fuck out right now I can’t believe I’m looking at you and not a 2D poster on my wall, holy fuck.❞

She’d   hit   him   up.   That   was.   .   .   something.   Good,   great,   exciting   —   all   were   options   of   how   he’d   define   the   somewhat   turn   of   events.   But,   there   was   this   feeling   in   his   gut.   It   felt   like   it   was   a   lie,   like   they’d   maybe   share   a   drink   and   they’d   part   ways   and   that   would   be   that.   They’d   go   back   to   their   lives,   him   in   some   city   that   wasn’t   home   and   her   probably   talking   to   some   asshole   A-lister   that   would   treat   her   like   shit   even   though   she   didn’t   deserve   it.   Why   did   that   bother   him   as   much   as   it   did   ?

There   were   other   girls   out   there.   So   why   the   hell   was   he   so   hung   up   on   one   that   he   barely   knew   ?   If   he   asked   Scott,   the   guy   would   probably   tell   him   something   deep   and   emotional   and   Stiles   would   immediately   have   the   urge   to   shove   that   down   as   far   as   he   possibly   could.   Maybe   it   was   just   the   sting   of   possible   rejection.   It   wasn’t   something   he   was   used   to   anymore,   which   when   he   really   thought   about   it,   was   kinda   weird.

As   a   kid   back   in   Beacon   Hills,   he   never   thought   that   he   would   be   anything   more   than   just   a   kid   who   sat   in   the   back   of   the   class,   watching   the   clock,   counting   down   the   seconds   until   him   and   his   best   friend   could   hang   out   in   his   garage   and   make   noise   until   the   neighbors   complained.   Now,   here   he   was,   years   into   making   sense   of   fuzzy   memories   that   he   detailed   on   his   skin   with   ink.   He   never   thought   he’d   have   those   either.   That   part   was   all   Scott’s   fault.   

He   didn’t   deserve   it.   The   fame   and   the   adoring   fans   and   the   hefty   check   that   came   in   the   mail   every   month.   At   least,   not   any   more   than   the   next   person.   Stiles   wasn’t   special,   never   had   been.   His   friends   ?   His   bandmates   ?   He   wasn’t   like   them.   They   were   amazing   in   ways   that   he   never   thought   he   could   be   and   when   he   looked   at   the   girl   in   front   of   him,   he   saw   she   had   that   spark   too.   She   deserved   better   than   shitty   dive   bars   and   terrible   bosses.

  “      awesome,   yeah.      ”      Awkward   chuckle   falls   out,   shifting   his   weight   from   heel   to   toe   as   he   scrambles   for   something   to   say,      “      if   you   call   and   i   don’t   answer   just   shoot   a   text,   sometimes   i   assume   it’s   my   manager   calling   so   i   let   it   ring   to   fuck   with   him.      ”   

Brows   raise   when   he   hears   a   voice   shouting   out   her   name   and   his   eyes   shift,   falling   on   a   guy   that   Malia   could   definitely   do   better   than.   He   hoped   she   knew   that   she   was   totally   out   his   league.   Adam,   Stiles   learns,   is   weird   wet   dude’s   name.   Of   course   it   was.   He   looked   like   an   Adam.   Adams   were   always   creeps   that   had   these   freaky   eyes   that   made   you   think   they   were   undressing   everyone   they   saw.   One   glance   at   him   told   Stiles   that   he   fit   the   bill.

Biting   down   on   his   lip,   he   looks   across   the   bar,   making   eye   contact   with   the   “sex   on   legs”   in   question.   Her   eyes   are   wide,   tugging   on   Allison’s   shirt   and   whispering   something   in   her   ear.   Whatever   she   says   makes   Allison   stiffen   and   the   two   sneak   out   back.   It’s   not   surprising.   At   this   point   they   pretty   much   had   a   system   for   getting   out   of   uncomfortable   crowds   without   making   a   scene.   Usually   someone   took   one   for   the   team   and   dealt   with   the   problem.   Most   often,   it   was   Scott.   This   time   apparently   it   was   going   to   be   him.   Great.

A   tight-lipped   smile   fills   his   features   and   he   shrugs   off   Malia’s   apologetic   glance,   he   was   lucky   this   hadn’t   already   happened   tonight.   He   pushes   out   a   small   laugh,      “      yeah   !   it’s   me,   in   the   flesh.      ”      Finger   points   between   the   two   of   them,      “      are   you   guys   .   .   .   ?      ”      God   please   don’t   tell   him   they   were   dating,      “      you   two   know   each   other   ?      ”      As   if   that   wasn’t   totally   obvious,   way   to   keep   the   great   first   impression   going,   Stiles.

  “      i’m   glad   !   it   always   means   a   lot   to   hear   that,   you   know,   what   you   put   out   there   actually   really   helps   some   people.   it   reminds   me   why   we   go   into   the   studio   every   day   and   it’s   pretty   awesome   that   me   banging   on   drums   can   make   an   impact.      ”      In   a   way,   it’s   rehearsed.   Something   he’s   said   to   more   people   than   he   can   count,   but   even   if   Adam   was   seriously   interrupting   his   conversation   and   creating   a   scene,   it   wasn’t   untrue.   He   just   wished   not   all   eyes   were   on   them.   

  “      if   you   want   a   photo   or   something,   dude,   i’d   love   to   take   one.   then   maybe   the   THREE   of   us   can   have   a   drink   or   two   together   ?   malia   was   just   telling   me   about   her   demon   boss   from   hell,   do   uh   do   you   guys   work   together   ?   ”   

“     are   you   going   to   eat   those   fries   or   just   stare   at   me   the   whole   time   ?     ”     she   wasn’t   even   sure   if   he   was   really   looking   at   her,   but   even   from   her   peripherals,   she   felt   like   she   was   the   only   one   actually   focusing   on   her   meal.   slender   digits   lightly   curled   around   the   glass   of   her   milkshake,   sipping   from   the   straw   and   gaze   finally   flickered   over   to   him,   ENDS   OF   PETALS   TURNING   UPWARDS   THE   SLIGHTEST.     “     okay,   okay.     ”     pulling   back,   posture   straightened,     “     you’re   probably   really   confused   and   i   just   want   to   apologize   for   that   night.   but   i   do   have   a   proposition   for   you.     ”      maybe   if   she   smiled   enough,   he   wouldn’t   say   no.   

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡

A   cheery   woman’s   voice   chimes   from   above.   "Game   over      Please   restart   and   try   again."   The   old   woman   holds   a   baby   in   her   arms   and   makes   to   pass   it   to   you.   Will   you   take   it   ?

♡     .     ﹠     surprise     starter     for     @lostvacvnt·.

“   long  time  no  see,  did  you  grow  a  jawline?  you’re  looking  —  extra,  mmmh,   ”   tone  drawled  on  as  she  took  the  time  to  inspect  him,  pearls  pulling  her  bottom  lip  in  as  she  bit  down,  manicured  brow  arching.  she  made  no  attempt  to  hide  that  she  was  more  than  into  him,  not  that  she  ever  hid  it,  anyways.  but  sometimes  she  was  convinced  she  couldn’t  stand  him  to  the  point  that  it  made  him  attractive.  she’d  invited  him  for  dinner  at  one  of  the  diners  near  the  campus,  not  really  wanting  to  risk  going  too  far.  she  had  an  assignment  due,  and  she  was  really  trying  to  practice  the  whole  good  citizen  thing  by  pretending  the  rules  actually  applied  to  her.   seated  at  a  corner  table  (  where  the  tables  were  ridiculously  small  but  it  fit  the  aesthetic  or  whatever  ),  she  adjusted  in  her  seat,  leg  crossing  over  her  knee  and  she  leaned  forward  to  lightly  tug  on  the  front  of  his  shirt,  a  habit  of  hers.   “   i  know  you’re  doing  the  whole  sherlock  holmes  thing  and  being  investigative-y  with  the  the  big  boys  and  i  might  need  your  help  with  something.  it’s  not  that  important  though,   ”   leaning  back,  she  played  with  the  silver  utensils,  lips  pursing  in  thought,   “   my  roommate  was  killed.  not  by  me,  though,  it  was  done  so  tastelessly  and  it  ruined  my  rug  that  I  bought  but  —  ”   looking  up,  she  shot  him  a  grin,   “   i’m  like,  89%  sure  someone’s  taunting  me.  and  it’s  getting  old,  like  i’m  just  trying  to  move  on.  i  cannot  be  stuck  dealing  with  some  butthurt  maniac  who’s  upset  that  i  killed  their  mom  or  daughter  or  whatever.  like,  when  i  was  going  through  my ‘people  don’t  matter’  phase.  which,  i’m  proud  to  say  i’m  making  progress  on  moving  out  of.  you  should  be  proud.   ”

Arms   cross,   eyes   narrowing,   she   was   definitely   only   saying   that   because   she   was   about   to   ask   him   for   something   that   he   was   pretty   sure   he   wouldn’t   want   to   give   her,   so,   she   was   stroking   his   ego   to   butter   him   up   to   be   open   to   her.   He   didn’t   know   how   to   tell   her   that   he   didn’t   care   —   oh   wait,   yes   he   did   and   if   he   didn’t   tell   her,   it   was   going   to   kill   him   inside.      “      get   to   the   point,   katherine,   i   don’t   have   all   day   to   sit   around   listening   to   you   get   all   hot   and   bothered   in   an   effort   to   manipulate   me.      ”      He   pinches   the   bridge   of   his   nose   when   she   refers   to   his   prestigious   internship   as   a   Sherlock   Holmes   experience   and   sucks   in   a   deep   breath,   rolling   his   eyes   so   deeply   that   his   whole   body   moves   with   it,   sighing   a   few   more   times   for   good   measure.      “      wow   i   totally   want   to   help   you   now   after   you   say   that.      ”      He   deadpans,   expression   unamused.   

crystal   hues   refused   to   tear   away   from   her   current   project,   something   she   honestly   didn’t   even   have   an   elaborate   plan   for   initially   but   was   working   on   a   whim,   nimble   digits   pulling   away   at   the   metal   that   just   wouldn’t   budge.     “     if   i   tell   you,   it   wouldn’t   be   a   super   top   secret,   extremely   dangerous   and   volatile   weapon   cherished   by   the   highest   of   the   highest,   would   it   ?     ”     teasing   laced   in   her   tone,   she   wrinkled   her   nose   at   the   scent   of   the   fruit.   she   would’ve   thought   by   now   she’d   gotten   over   it,   but   honestly,   it   was   beginning   to   feel   like   her   nose   couldn’t   breathe   anymore.   or   her   lungs.   it   was   just   so   strong.   maybe   that   was   why   she   was   irritated   a   lot,   because   her   nose   was   angry.     “     .   .   .   honestly   that’s   not   the   worst   idea   in   the   world,   stilinski,   i   might   put   lasers.     ”     she   wasn’t   going   to.   not   for   this   one,   at   least.   this   one   —   was   something   quiet   and   cunning   .   .   .   much   like   her   mother   when   she   wanted   to   give   her   a   heart   attack.   

it   felt   like   no   matter   how   hard   she   was   trying,   that   stupid   piece   of   metal   just   wouldn’t   fuckin   —     “     hey,   stiles   ?   i   hate   asking   but   can   you   help   me   get   this   piece   detached   because   i   lose   my   mind   and   break   it   because   i’m   getting   a   little   angry   and   i   might   smash   it   and   they’re   going   to   fire   me.   i   don’t   think   i   want   to   get   fired.   not   that   the   pay   is   any   good   but   this   is   my   kink   and   i’m   really   not   lookin’   to   —     ”     stopping   herself,   she   inhaled   sharply,   forced   grin   on   her   features   as   she   eyed   him   just   a   little   crazily,   much   like   dr.   frankenstein   on   the   verge   of   a   creation,   impatient.     “     bring   your   warm   butt   over   here   and   help   !     ”

He   rolls   his   eyes   in   such   a   way   that   there’s   no   possible   way   she   could   miss   it,   letting   out   an   annoyed   groan   and   slumping   slightly   in   his   seat,      “      highest   of   the   highest   my   ass.   you   think   king   softie   cherishes   any   weapons   ?   besides   i’m   doing   my   job.   i’m   supposed   to   be   monitoring   what   you   get   up   to   in   here,   you   kinda   have   to   tell   me.      ”      He   didn’t   know   the   king   personally   —   well   actually,   he   kind   of   did.   They   had   sat   in   the   same   room   multiple   times   and   Ben   had   high-fived   him   like   twice   during   practice   so   they   were   pretty   much   best   friends.   It   wasn’t   that   Stiles   hated   the   guy,   he   didn’t.   He   just   didn’t   trust   anyone   who   smiled   that   much.   No   one   was   that   happy,   it   was   impossible.   Which   made   him   an   evil   dirty   liar   that   could,   under   no   circumstances,   ever   be   trusted.   He   didn’t   get   why   everyone   didn’t   understand   that.   Plus   he   was   rich   and   rich   people   were   terrible.

The inquiry comes after just ten seconds of 𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 ( because apparently when alcohol was added to the mix, Stiles talked even more ), frustrated scoff thrown back his way. Having spent over an hour trying to find him, his vague texts her only form of navigation, the thought of pulling up to a grotty fast food place doesn’t sound remotely tempting to the girl. “I’m taking you 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄,” Lydia reminds Stiles stiffly, “Not stopping for a carbs at three in the morning.” She would make sure that he got something to eat back at his house, some bread or crackers that were lying around to soak up the alcohol in his system, but she doesn’t trust him not to throw up if they stop off anywhere. “Need I remind you that you can hardly even stand, Stiles?” She points out, 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒓𝒏 seeping through that stern voice she’s using, “How exactly do you think you’re going to be able to go up to a counter order a taco?”

END  of  the  world  or  not,  patience  wasn’t  a  virtue  she  had  recently  acquired.  The  world  left  her  constantly  on  edge.  Irritable.  Every  morning,  she  knew  the  day  could  be  her  last.  She  even  anticipated  having  to  suddenly  pack  up  and  leave  the  one  home  she  had  left  behind.  Before  shit  hit  the  fan,  Malia  was  arguably  too  lax.  It  took  a  lot  to  get  a  reaction  out  of  her.  Stoic  was  her  default.  Now,  every  creak,  crack  and  snap  had  her  reaching  for  a  weapon.  Everyone  had  ulterior  motives.  No  one  or  nothing  could  be  trusted.  Don’t  get  comfortable  or  you  could  end  up  taking  a  permanent  dirt  nap.  Vigilance  was  exhausting.

Maybe  that’s  why  she’s  too  tired  to  hop  up  on  her  feet  and  make  good  on  her  threat  to  pummel  him  when  he  starts  singing.  Well  he’s  not  singing.  Humming  is  different.  Closing  her  eyes,  she  drags  oxygen  in  through  her  nostrils.  That  deep  breathing,  yoga,  meditation  crap  never  worked  for  her.  It  all  was  crunchy  granola  bullshit,  but  at  least  it  gave  her  something  else  to  focus  on  than  any  underlying  urges  to  punch  a  wall.  

December?  She  must  have  misheard  him.  December?  The  sirens  first  went  off  in  December.  It’s  one  of  those  memories  that  feels  both  like  yesterday  and  eight  years  ago.  The  Tate  family  was  out  getting  their  Christmas  tree,  first  of  December,  like  they  always  did.  Dad  was  busy  cutting  down  one  that  she  and  Kylie  had  finally  agreed  on.  Thwack!  Thwack!  Thwack!  Dad  struck  the  tree  over  and  over  with  his  ax  while  Malia  and  her  sister  sang  some  stupid  song,  laughing  and  screaming  with  glee.  Their  laughter  died  down  as  a  man  stumbled  toward  them,  grumbling  under  his  breath.  Her  mother  had  mumbled  something  about  him  being  a  drunk.  Dad  had  started  to  apologise  for  the  noise,  but  the  guy  didn’t  answer.  He  just…stood  there.  His  head  was  hanging  low.  Ever  so  often  it  sounded  like  he  was…growling.

The  details  get  lost  from  there.  She  remembers  Mom  warning  Dad  not  to  get  close  to  him  and  Dad  assuring  her  it  was  alright.  She  remembers  the  cold  fear  coursing  through  her  body  as  the  man,  looking  something  more  like  a  nightmare  than  a  human,  lunging  on  Dad.  She  remembers  the  sound  of  Kylie’s  scream,  being  told  to  run  to  the  car  with  Mom.  Her  legs  must  have  been  turned  to  stone,  she  couldn’t  move.  All  she  could  do  was  stare  at  her  Dad’s  axe  that  he  had  dropped  and  think  about  how  her  father  was  going  to  die  right  in  front  of  her.

She  remembers  a  crack.  And  then  another.  The  growling  stopping.  Her  dad  taking  the  axe  out  of  her  hand.  Her  hands  were  coated  with  blood.  Going  home  and  packing  one  backpack  each  and  going  to  grandma  and  grandpa’s  house.  Leaving  town  would  be  a  disaster,  so  they  just  went  somewhere  there  were  less  people.  That  just  had  to  survive  until  the  hysteria  died  down,  then  they  would  get  out  of  Beacon  Hills.  That  was  the  plan.  For  months.  And  months.  And  months.

December  to  now  was  a  hell  of  a  long  time  to  be  alone.  If  she  didn’t  have  her  dad,  she  wouldn’t  have  survived  as  long  as  she  did.   ❝  shit.  ❞  The  word  topples  out  of  her.  What  does  she  say?  Sorry?  It  wasn’t  her  fault  zombies  ate  his  family  or  whatever.  ❝  my,  um—❞  her  brows  furrow  as  she  looks  down  at  her  nails,  picking  at  the  skin  around  them,  ❝  it’s  been  like,  two  months  for  me.  Probably  three.  I  don’t  know,  like  I  said,  don’t  keep  track.  but  i  know  today  is  the  first  time  i’ve  left  my  house  since  it’s  happened  and  i  ran  into  you  so,  ❞  with  a  heavy  sigh,  she  pulls  herself  up  to  her  feet,  ❝  lucky  me.  ❞

Nose  scrunches  at  the  mention  of  his  previous  activities  pre  apocalypse,  ❝  oh  god.  i  knew  it.  i  pegged  you  for  some  kind  of  nerd.  you  probably  had  a  hard  on  when  the  zombie  apocalypse  stuff  went  down.  then  you  could  really  show  those  bullies  that  playing  videos  games  all  day  was  a  life  saving  skill  and  not  totally  lame.  ❞  after  a  moment  she  asks,   ❝  did  the  games  even  help?  can  you  fire  a  gun?  outside  of  an  xbox  i  mean.  a  real  one.  ❞    

He   shrugs,   though   he’s   not   really   sure   why,   she   can’t   see   him.   But   this   is   really   the   first   proper   conversation   he’s   had   for   as   long   as   he   can   remember.   Well,   maybe   not   the   first   proper   one   but   the   first   one   that   doesn’t   involve   deals   or   weapons   or   talking   his   way   out   of   some   hole   he   had   inevitably   dug   himself   in.   He   supposes   that   it’s   just   another   old   habit   that   he   hasn’t   been   able   to   drop   yet.

Hopping   out,   he   grabs   a   towel,   shaking   it   through   his   hair   before   methodically   drying   every   small   drop   that   runs   down   his   arms.   It’s   calming   in   a   way   he   couldn’t   have   predicted.      “      shit   is   right.      ”      Stiles   mumbles,   more   under   his   breath   than   anything   else.      “      you   totally   could   have   run   into   a   complete   creep,   ya   know.   you   got   pretty   lucky   with   me,   all   i   do   is   steal   your   water   and   offer   riveting   conversation   and   adventures.   also   i   have   great   music   taste.   something   in   surprisingly   short   supply   right   now.      Against   all   odds,   a   smile   creeps   onto   his   face,   he   doesn’t   even   realize   it   until   he’s   staring   at   himself   in   the   mirror.

He   hardly   recognizes   himself,   he   looks   so   tired   now.   Older   too.   He   supposes   that   he   is.      “      i   gotta   give   you   props   though.   it   isn’t   easy   to   go   out   the   first   time   alone.   especially   when   you’ve   got   digs   like   this.      ”   If   he   could   have   afforded   the   luxury,   he   thinks   he   might   have   tried   to   make   supplies   last   even   longer,   just   to   avoid   going   out.   Pulling   on   the   clothes,   he’s   moments   from   peeking   his   head   out   when   her   words   wash   over   him   in   a   cold   chill.

Can   you   fire   a   gun?   He   sees   his   dad,   thrusting   a   weapon   in   his   direction   and   offering   a   squeeze   on   the   shoulder   -   an   affirmation,   you   can   do   this.   Can   you   fire   a   gun?   He   sees   Melissa,   hands   shaking   as   she   sobs   and   sobs   and   sobs,   it’s   incessant   and   she   can   hardly   get   the   words   out   but   Stiles   knows   what   she’s   saying;   Scott,   you   have   to   get   to   Scott.   Can   you   fire   a   gun?   He   sees   the   face   of   his   best   friend,   the   only   person   that   has   stuck   by   him   through   everything,   the   person   that   Stiles   spent   a   lifetime   laughing   with,   the   person   who   managed   to   somewhat   fill   the   hole   in   his   family   that   was   left   when   his   mother   died.

  And   then   he   watches   as   the   bullet   leaves   the   barrel   of   his   gun   and   Scott’s   face   is   transformed,   shreds   of   flesh   tearing   on   his   forehead   and   milky   white   eyes   offering   a   flash   of   recognition;   his   lips   part   and   Stiles   sees   what   could   either   be   his   best   friend   about   to   say   his   name   or   just   another   desperate   cry.   His   body   falls,   skull   cracking   on   the   concrete,   a   masterpiece   of   blood   staining   the   wall   forever.   It   was   a   perfect   shot.   Can   you   fire   a   gun?   He   wishes   he   couldn’t.