#twenty four

You stared across the dancefloor in a mixture of awe and longing, watching as your friends smiled and laughed, paired off with girls from your homeroom as they succumbed to the beauty of the atmosphere. Your feet had yet to ache from the joyous dancing you had already spent with them, but being the odd one out wasn't something you necessarily found solace in. The music was slower now, and the bodies of nervous couples moved closer together as much as your teachers would allow a cohort of thirteen-year-olds to get.

It crossed your mind that maybe having two boys as your closest friends wasn't always the best thing, despite how much happiness you shared with them, as you saw Scott smiling nervously before holding Sally Wilkinson's hand and Stiles talking with Taylor Davis. They found dates quickly, and you couldn't help the tiniest bit of hurt that squeezed at your heart due to being the remainder in a group of three. But you tried to show a strong facade, wanting more to spend the night with your friends and revel in their goofiness as one danced erratically and the other too afraid to move without a hit from his asthma puffer. Your time with them tonight was great, but incredibly short-lived.

It was easy to be forgotten where you sat, the shadows from the bleachers nearly close enough to engulf you completely if it wasn't for the fairy lights that adorned the wall above. Their mellow glow shone down on you like a softened halo, picking up the sparkles of your dress with ease and the glittery body spray that created a translucent celestial scene over your skin. Your hands sat gently within your lap, fiddling mindlessly with the rings your mother let you borrow as they were twisted around your fingers in a mismatched pattern. And It was then when your eyes couldn't stay forward, eventually hanging low, suddenly interested in picking at a small sequin near the hem of your skirt. The slow tune that echoed throughout the gym swiftly became haunting to you, a mockery, a reminder of isolation.

Oh, to be thirteen and to feel this lonely definitely wasn't on your regime for tonight.

Your feet tapped in nervousness, heels clicking gently against the wooden gym floor. You just wanted your friends, you needed them, to be able to take this night by the horns and make it your own. And you're more than sure that they would drop everything in an instant to be by your side, but it was their happiness too and they were spending it with their dates. You couldn't jeopardise that.

You would have been mere seconds from standing up if it wasn't for another body blocking your escape, the dark grey suit catching your gaze first before recognising the lame tie that he was forced to wear tonight - the one that you loved, simply because he didn't.

"Stiles?" Your voice was quiet, but he could hear it clearly among the gentle vibe of the room. He smiled sheepishly as hands sunk deep into the pockets of his slacks, his buzzed head dropping into a nod. The last time you saw him in a suit was the day of his mother's funeral; the brief memory of young brown eyes watering, bottom lip bitten and quivering. He had grown since then, as much as you had, but not nearly as much as the sacred friendship that pulled you both so effortlessly together. You looked up and into his caramelised eyes, the tone only complemented more by the golden lights that dazzled behind you. With a brow raised in confusion, you hummed to him, "Where's Taylor? I thought you'd be dancing with her?"

The boy winced before a chuckle pushed past his lips in a huff, his arm raising to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck, "She wanted to spend the rest of the night with her friends." The puzzled contort of your features still didn't fade, the young naiveness prompting your eyes to grow wider as you silently asked for him to elaborate. A grumble settled in his throat as he cleared it, the corners of his lips briefly flicking up before a boyish smile could be formed. Stiles prayed that you couldn't see the blush dusting his cheeks as he watched you, "Well, she actually said that I was... I was too distracted."

"Distracted?" Your voice found hilarity, a smile of your own making an appearance as it lit up your face. With a slightly tilted head, you followed the red tinge that grew brighter against Stiles' pale skin as it now licked at his nose and gathered under his ears. "You had like, one of the prettiest girls in our year to dance with and you were distracted. With what?"

"Mhm." He didn't know what to say; how to articulate that his gaze had been locked on you ever since you left your small group a few songs ago. He didn't know what it was, either, that prompted him to stare as if you were physically pulling him to you, a force of will and magnetized whim. He just didn't know. But what he could gather was that you looked beautiful and he missed your smile as you were blanketed by sadness in the corner of the gym. He desired to hear your laugh play endlessly, a broken record that he would never fix. He wanted your touch even more after you left a fiery imprint on his arm from before, the heat and electrified tenderness left by your circling fingers on his bicep had still seeped through his formal blazer. Maybe, he did know, and the thought of it left him breathless.

Stiles inhaled deeply, eyes flickering from yours to the floor with haste before he released his shaky sigh, "I was looking at you."

It was an answer that you didn't expect, the shock surely evident as it contorted your facial features; a raised bow to your hairline, and jaw dropped from the words weighing heavily on the tip of your tongue. Stiles Stilinski was distracted by you. You wanted to ask why, to delve deep inside his mind and figure out just what made you so enticing that he would abandon his original plan to be by your side instead. But you couldn't speak, even though your face said it all and the flattery was well worth the way your cheeks grew rosy and bashful.

The Stilinski boy was observant. He always had been. His father had told him so, many times, with the addition of mentioning that he was too observant for his own good. And that's how Stiles knew that he hadn't gone too far and that this moment was one of understanding and enchanting daze. His confidence grew as he mirrored the sparkle in your eye and the way your lips curled perfectly into the smile he had become so incredibly infatuated with. He quickly licked at his lips, stance straightening, "I kinda didn't want to be here with Taylor, I wanted to keep hanging out with you. And when I saw you over here, I just kept thinking how... I don't know...". He rolled his head, body squirming from the embarrassment of saying his thoughts aloud, luckily filtered otherwise his sentences would be a blubbering mess, "You just look really pretty tonight. And I didn't get to tell you. A-and I just really, I really, want to dance with you right now. If... i-if you'll dance with me, too..."

His hand stretched toward you, a beacon, an invitation, alluring to your dreams for the night, and did he actually just call you pretty? Stiles called you pretty, and he wanted to dance with you, he wanted to be in your presence and it was so sweet. Your palm slid against his, the boy's lengthy fingers closing around it instantly, and you felt your shoulders drop in contentedness. Your tooth scraped against your bottom lip before beaming, a smile bright and fulfilling, and you couldn't help the small chuckle that fell from you as your body rose from the plastic seat, "I would really like that."

Stiles' mind was buzzing; a concoction of silly thoughts about whether his hands were clammy, or if his dance moves were too outlandish. His heart was hammering and he was sure that if your fingertips idled near his wrist then you would be able to feel his racing pulse. He sucked in a deep breath as panic began to set in - but it was his desire to look over his shoulder, a need to look at your face and into your eyes, that prompted him to settle immediately. The boy saw the kindness from that day in his closet when you held him as he cried, and in the classroom on his first day of school. Every moment that you shared appeared before him and he exhaled, a gentle release, and he knew that things would be okay.

Tender and slow tunes continued to echo throughout the gym, and what was once a haunting melody became a sound to entice anticipation. You jumped slightly as you felt Stiles' hand settle respectively on your waist, a small apology whispered under his breath with a complementing smile. He took the lead and began to sway you both, small motions, forgetting to move his feet as he gazed over you in fondness. He didn't regain awareness until you glanced up at him and smiled.

"I'm really happy that you're not dancing with Taylor Davis." You said, quiet enough for him to hear, and he snorted in response.

Stiles smiled back at you, his hand unconsciously squeezing your waist in thought, "Maybe I shouldn't have asked her in the first place. You're much more fun to hang out with, anyway."

"...She didn't like your moves, did she?" You said quickly, recalling a moment at one point where his arms were flailing and his date smiled with utter awkwardness.

"I nearly hit her in the face, Y/N! I will never live it down." Exasperation spurted from Stiles, his eyes rolling as over-exaggeration filled the space between you both. The hand that was placed firmly on your waist clutched at his heart in dramatics, and it caused you to lightly whack his chest as you chuckled at his atypical behaviour. Stiles proved his own point as he watched you - how you laughed with him, how you didn't look away or appear embarrassed. You were content with being in his energetic bubble and his heart nearly soared through the gymnasium's ceiling. "You don't care that I can't dance, right?"

"You can dance, Stiles. It's not... how other people would dance, but I like the way you do. Because it shows who you are, and you're my friend, and I will always be happy to dance with you like that."

"With my wavy arms and whirly hips?"

You laughed and it was absolute second nature now when it came to your friend, "Even when you step on my toes or if you ever whack me in the face. Promise."

He seemed happy with that, a familiar warmth encasing your waist as his hand returned. He shone his teeth in a goofy grin, voice light and airy, "That would be nice. I'll hold your word to it, though."