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laheysdork · 3 years

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enough for you - void stiles

summary: void has sworn to leave his malicious habits behind for you, but when his darkness got the best of him, he’s starting to doubt whether he’s enough for you

word count: 2.8k

warnings: minor descriptions of blood, violence and injury and also a whole lot of angst

a/n: not too proud of this but it’s my first void fic for @writingsbychlo’s void month! (a day late but better late than never right?) hope yall enjoy it 🤍 oh and as always please mind the grammatical errors

With bloodied hands, he gazes at the lifeless bodies scattered on the floor, a pool of blood starting to form under his feet. Still in a hazy trance, he inhales a sharp gasp, feeling the air fill his lungs as he regains his consciousness, pictures flashing his mind.

Moments ago, his wrists were tied firmly to the arms of a metal chair as he tried to break free, feeling the straining sting each time he pushed. Three hunters, probably Monroe’s men, brought him to an abandoned room located somewhere in the Beacon Hills tunnels earlier, having the orders to beat some information out of him since Monroe was pretty skeptical about the deal with Scott.

Yes, Void was no friend to Scott, not after the whole debacle a few years back. But you were. And somehow, the hunters knew just how important you are to him.

“The mighty, fearful nogitsune, look at him now, tied down to a chair like a poor dog,” one of the men tutted as he hovered around the room while the others stood around.

A punch was thrown to his cheeks, a red mark starting to appear from the harsh contact.

“Let’s make this easy, you tell me what Scott’s pack is up to, and maybe I’ll let you go alive.”

Glaring at the man in front of him, Void stayed quiet. His lack of response earned another round of fits on his throbbing face that was already starting to bruise.

“Where are they?” He pulled Void’s hair back, revealing his badly injured face to him, a smirk plastered on Void’s face.

“Is this all you got?” he snickered, spitting some blood out of his ripped lips.

Frustrated, he told the two men behind him to prep a machine as he clasps wires onto Void’s torso. He then turned away to grab a bucket of water, dumping it all over Void, drenching his clothes and body.

“You ask for it.” After grabbing a controller from one of his fellow hunters, he pressed the button as a sudden electric current jolted through Void’s body.

“Now tell me, what are they up to?” he asked which was followed by Void’s maniacal laugh.

“Suck my dick.” Amping up the voltage, he pressed the button again, Void groaning painfully.

The ‘interview’ went on for a while as Void tried to hold his rage back, the darkness seeping through. Oh, how much he wanted to let chaos loose again. He could easily let the power consume him once more, the electricity barely wounding him. But he held those urges back and let them torture him only for one reason- no, one person, you.

You’re his anchor, his tether to the light. You bring out the best in him, making a lover out of the once heartless sociopath.

But his effort was to no avail once those sickly bastards brought up your name.

“God, look at you! All beaten up. Is it just me or are you getting weaker? People talked highly of you, it’s kind of disappointing.” He then inched closer to him, both of them face to face with each other. “Oh, or maybe it’s that little human bitch that you’re hooking up with. I wonder how loud she’ll scream tonight when we shoot her little pack to death.”

“What?” Void spat, the man starting to process the information he just unintentionally gave out.

“You planned a fucking massacre?!” Void snapped as he furiously jerked his body in order to free himself. Panicked, the man backed off and pressed the button, electrocuting Void once again.

“I’m going to kill all of you!” Void yelled as he relentlessly tried to break free.

As more profanities and threats left Void’s lips, the man grew anxious, turning up the voltage to debilitate him as much as possible. But what he didn’t know was that the rope binding Void to the chair was slowly burning.

With one last yank, the ropes snapped off as Void immediately got on his feet. The man who was previously taunting Void backed away as the other two men with guns shielded him.

Before they could shoot, Void advanced to one of them, knocked his head, and grab ahold of his gun. He then shot his colleague with the gun before turning to him, firing another load to make sure he’s dead.

Two men down, one more to go.

The unarmed man took out a pocket knife, aimlessly swinging it in the air, trying to defend himself. Waiting for the right timing, Void held his hand out, forcefully grabbing the man’s arm. Squeezing it tightly, he twisted the man’s arm until the knife clangs onto the floor.

Claiming the abandoned knife, Void wrapped his arms around the man’s neck, shoving him to the wall.

“You think you can kill the nogitsune?” With gritted teeth, he stabbed the man in the stomach, a red patch slowly spreads on his shirt, and twist the blade around, an agonizing wail left the man’s lips.

“Bad idea,” he growled as he pulled the knife out and let it slip out of his grip, the man plopping down to the cold concrete, slowly passing out.

And here he is now, standing frozen in front of the aftermath. As the adrenaline starts to fade out, a tangle of unresolved emotions floods him.

Surprisingly, the emotion he’s able to first figure out is guilt. He has vowed not to kill again, not to let his devious self take over again, and he broke that vow, one that he made just for you.

Oh God, Y/N. He recalls what the man previously said before he was slaughtered in cold-blooded. Without thinking twice, Void rushes over to Scott’s house where Y/N said she would meet the pack after they have executed their plan to distract the hunters.

Bursting the door open, Void is met with your shocked face, the pack also having similar looks on their face. You are unsure whether you are more surprised by his unexpected arrival or by the blood splatters all over his body.

“Void, what are you-“

“You all need to leave, now! They’re going to attack,” Void demands frantically.

“What do you mean-“

“Everybody get down!” Lydia screams.

Before anyone can process anything, red lasers are pointed into the house, sounds of gunshots filling the air as everyone immediately duck down.

Instinctively, Void hovers over you, covering you from the flying bullets and the shattering glasses. He embraces you so tightly in his arms, protecting you from the danger that is currently occurring.

As the shots subside, his wrapped arms loosen around you. But instead of being met with your terrified but completely safe figure, he is met with more blood on his hands as your eyes flutter shut, slipping out of your consciousness.

────── ˋ*✧₊∘

With trembling arms and bouncy feet, Void sits in the waiting room of the hospital along with Scott and Malia. He is on edge, probably close to losing his sanity. The thought of losing the only person he has ever loved is killing him.

“Y/N and Mason are out of surgery. Thankfully the bullets missed all the vital organs so they will be okay. Melissa, Lydia, and Argent are still inside. It might take a bit longer since their wounds are more severe,” Sheriff Stilinski explains as Void immediately searches for your room.

Swinging the door open, he sees you laying on the bed in the tedious white hospital gown, tucked in a warm quilt perfectly like you’re simply asleep. Moving closer, the sound of beeping machines and your soft wheezes slowly grow more audible. Dragging a chair to the side of your bed, he gently sits down, not making any noises that could wake you up.

He places his palms on top of yours as he scans through the details of your peacefully sleeping face. The moles scattered along your face, the little bumps on your skin, the few acne scars on your cheeks, he finds those flaws you usually pointed out to him to be beautiful. He has always thought that you are perfect, even since the day he fell in love with you.

“Are we seriously trusting him?” Stiles grunted unbelievably as he pointed over to his doppelgänger.

“We need all the help we can get, Stiles.” Scott tried to convince his best friend as the rest of the pack stood quietly, not wanting to take sides.

“Am I the only sane person here? He killed Allison, Scott! How are we going to trust him?”

Void raised his hands halfway, in a classroom manner. “Technically, the oni killed her-“

“Shut up, Void. The OG Stiles is talking,” Stiles snarked which earned a few muffled giggles from several members of the pack, yourself included.

“I don’t trust him too, Stiles. But the beast is out there and we have to catch him.” Scott gave Stiles one of his pitiful puppy eyes as Stiles rolled his eyes and grumbled in defeat.

“Fine. But watch it, Void,” Stiles turned to him, getting closer. “Cause I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” He stuck up two of his fingers and pointed them from his eyes to Void’s, basically implying that he will be skeptically observing him, before walking past Void, bumping his shoulders on the way.

As the tension cools down, the pack was back to discussing a way to get through to Mason. Over the slightly messy animal clinic, due to the previous dread doctors encounter, Void was sat on the corner, not wanting to be too involved in the discussion, knowing he would only cause more dispute.

“Here.” You approached him and hand him a bag of chocolate chip cookies that you didn’t get to eat earlier. “Eat up, you look like you’re dying.”

“Yeah well, that’s what you get for going on a strife and pain fast for a long time,” Void scoffed as he accepted your act of kindness, mumbling a small ‘thank you'.

“Well, I’m glad you no longer went down that road.” You awkwardly straightened the wrinkled materials of your jeans and slumped beside Void.

“Why are you talking to me? I mean I killed your friend, shouldn’t you be mad at me like Stiles?” The tone of his voice was sincere, no judgment or skepticism, just genuinely clueless.

“What you did was inexcusable but I believe everyone deserves a second chance, even you.” You turned to look at his whiskey eyes, identical to your best friend’s but with a hint of darkness and sorrow.

“And I suppose Allison would have wanted me to not live with so much hatred in my heart. She would’ve wanted me to forgive you.” You shrugged as you snitched the untouched bag of cookies from his hands and open the packaging, trying to shift the mood.

“On second thought, I’ll have one.” You grabbed one cookie in your hand and took a big bite.

“Now, you can have the rest,” you mumbled while still chewing the cookies as you gave him back the now opened bag of cookies.

He watched you slowly finish your cookie, not really eating one himself. He was too occupied with your beauty, even though crumbs were all over your face from all of the munchings. But most importantly, he was in awe of your kind heart. Never in his thousand years of life had Void felt this much warmth. And never did he expect the cause of it to be you, an ordinary girl who simply choose to see the goodness in this wicked and vile world.

From that moment forward, Void made a vow to himself. He promised to leave his malicious habits behind and be a better person, for you.

But that promise was broken. He did this to you.

Even after killing all those men, he still wasn’t quick enough to save you.

Maybe it’s karma. Maybe, the universe is trying to punish him for not living up to his words, and you’re the one paying for his sins.

He is no good for you. You’re like an angel, and he is the devil, corrupting you. Whenever he is around, chaos and pain will always follow and he doesn’t want you to be caught in the crossfires of his wars, not anymore.

His fingers are now intertwined with yours as warm tears slowly flow down his cheeks.

Bringing your entwined hand up to his face, he pressed his lips on the back of your palm and rest it back on the bed.

Tucking stray hairs away from your face, he then leans in to place another chaste kiss on your forehead before standing up.

“I’m going to make them pay,” he mutters sternly before heading out of your room.

Just as he reached the door handle, he glances at you one last time, his lips purse up to a melancholic smile.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers as he finally goes through the door.

────── ˋ*✧₊∘

Hearing pumps and buzzes, you slowly get a hold of your senses, starting to wake up. Inhaling sharply, a pungent smell of chemicals immediately clouds your sense of smell as an excruciating sting strikes your left shoulder.

Mind still blurry, you try to recollect the incident earlier. Instantly, you flutter your eyes open, squinting at the sudden bright light entering your pupils. You carefully sit up, not to initiate further pain from the bullet wound, and try to take in your surroundings.

It is empty.

You’re about to ignore the throbbing ache, get on your feet, and search for the others, but was stopped by the sight of a bag of chocolate chip cookies wrapped with a tiny sky blue ribbon and a neatly folded letter on top of your bedside table.

Beaming to yourself, you grab your favorite treats first, tearing the wrappers before shoving one up your mouth, feeling overly hungry from the long surgery.

Placing the rest back on the bedside table and dusting some crumbs off your hands, you switch to the piece of paper with your name on it, written by handwriting you’re too familiar with. You gently lift the top fold, revealing the written message inside the page left by your boyfriend.

Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter would reach you once you wake up and that Malia didn’t throw it away just to tick me off, but you’re probably wondering why I’m not there in the hospital with you by now.

Well, I did something, Y/N. Something I promised not to do. I let the darkness take over me and I don’t think I can hold it back anymore.

I’m a monster, Y/N. No matter how much I try, that’s just who I am, dangerous and poisonous, and I don’t want you to get hurt more because of me.

So now, I’ll be away, trying to catch the son of a bitch who did this to you, and knowing you, you will continue to fight with your friends. But after we’re done, please don’t come find me.

Being with you has been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life and I was incredibly lucky to be able to know you and be loved by you, but I’m never going to be enough for you, Y/N.

You’re the most selfless, loving, and beautiful person I’ve ever met. Even when the whole world has given up on me, you have always believed in me. And because of that, you deserve someone better, someone who can keep you safe and happy, someone I can’t be.

And I’m so sorry that you won’t get a proper goodbye because I’m afraid that if I wait until you wake up, I might not have the strength to let you go.

So please, take care, love. Always be the ray of sunshine I know you are. Keep on touching people’s hearts, just like you touched mine.

Goodbye, darling.

Remember, I’ll always love you, forever.

Love, your devious boyfriend, Void.

A quiet sob leaves your lips, cheeks damp from the warm tears that unknowingly started to pour out midway through the letter.

If the sting you felt earlier from your wound was painful, well this one is surely a zillion times worse, your whole body aching and the worse part is that there’s nothing you can do to ease it.

It is as if all the air inside your lungs are sucked out from you, unable to breathe, occasionally gasping and choking on your own tears.

Crumpling the letter, you clutch your chest where the pain is almost unbearable. You curl up and let yourself weep and drown in misery for a while, not being able to cease the crying anyways.

As you slowly grow tired, eyes puffy and nose red, you lean back on the headboard.

The agony never stopped, but you no longer have the energy to cry anymore, all the life left in your body drained out.

What’s left in you is just a numb and empty feeling, your heart no longer whole, a part of it left along with him.

You stare soullessly into the void monotonous room, the only thing you can think about is how you’re going to continue to live without the love of your life.

Amongst the negative thoughts, a flickering hope fights to emerge within you, that maybe you can convince him to stay.

Wiping the drying tears away, you finally made up your mind. You are a fighter, you do not give up. So from now on, you’re hell-bent to make him come back to you, to make him believe that he is indeed enough for you.

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raksh-writes · 3 years

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Surprise! It's a Fox! (and a few more of 'em too!)

Fandom: Teen Wolf

Pairing: Nogitsune & Stiles Stilinski, Nogitsune/Stiles Stilinski

Words: ~1,2k

Warnings: None, it’s not even romantic and could tots be read as platonic!

Check the work on AO3 for more information and tags!

This just came to my head today and I didn't want to lose it, so I've dictated this small lil’ thing in a span of few hours, cleaned it up and here it is. Also, for some reason, my brain decided past tense for this, don't ask me why ;p I feel like it reads a bit differently than my other fics, but I hope it’s gonna be an enjoyable one nonetheless! I might make this into a small 'verse of its own too, who knows 👀

Enjoy! ^^ And all the love ❤

✦✧✦✧

There were foxes. In their backyard.

Foxes.

In their backyard.

Three adult ones that Stiles could see — and all of them with differently colored hides, funnily enough. One of them, resembling a very fluffy, toasted marshmallow, seemed to be sun basking in the grass without a care in the world, another — a dark silver fox with a slender snout and one white sock — appeared to be stalking the edges of the patio, and the most typical-looking one, with bright orange fur and black-tipped ears, was happily zooming around; chased by a small little kit stumbling behind it. And there were much more of them. A whole ass litter of them. From the youngest one that seemed like it was barely able to eat solid food to a few fairly grown ones play-biting at each other. And Stiles stood there, watching them frolic and chirp and just simply look like a bunch of happy foxes. Completely at a loss for words.

“What— How did you— Why—”

Reaching up a hand to cover his mouth, Stiles shook his head, something tight and aching taking hold of his chest.

Beside him, Void stood perfectly still, face a blank mask but for his eyes, dark gaze following the foxes around.

“It was no way to live,” he answered, cool and collected, but under that unbelievably smooth voice, the unmoving lines of his body, the steel was unmistakable.

Stiles' heart skipped a beat, then jumped up into his throat like it wanted to escape right through his mouth.

“What do you mean?” he asked weakly, already knowing and dreading the answer, even when something like an electric current of excitement zapped up his spine.

Void ignored his question, just as unwaveringly still.

“You thought about adopting one,” he said instead, “you wanted it.”

And just then, in that exact moment, something in Stiles broke — a small little dam that held off the welling up emotions cracking open.

“Yes! One! Maybe two! And only if we could provide them a good space, proper care, and that's if my dad even agreed! Fuck, goddammit, it was only a thought! A maybe, a Big maybe! But this—” Stiles turned around on his heel, arm swinging wildly at the state of their backyard. “This is— these are—”

All the words he could say died on his lips as Stiles watched the foxes play around in the grass, chasing each other to their heart's content. And then— he looked at Void. Really looked. And noticed, for the first time, the rigidness to his shoulders, the jump of clenched muscles on his jaw. It reminded him very suddenly of watching those videos a few days ago, of the rescued foxes at the sanctuary, of the ones trapped in those painfully small cages — and the demon perched at his back, eyes focused on the screen from above Stiles' shoulder. The realization hit him then, hard and sharp.

Fishing the phone out of his pocket, Stiles pulled up every news site he could think of and started scrolling through. It didn't even take long to find.

There.

A couple of short articles, posted a few hours ago — a fur farm being suddenly closed, the owner going basically bankrupt in the span of the night, and under them comments about sanctuaries around the country gaining a few new fox residents.

“You...”

His eyes stayed locked on the phone but really — he wasn't seeing much of anything right now.

“There was... no more space left for them,” the demon answered, as softly as Stiles had ever heard him.

A couple of noises caught Stiles' attention — the sound a cross between a chirp and a squeak. When he looked up from his phone, Stiles noticed a pair of kits had broken off from the group. They came up close to the patio and were now trying to climb the stairs, seemingly determined to reach Stiles at the top.

Watching them stumble and fall, Stiles thought about the owner — there were no reports about him being in any way injured, but they might’ve just not mentioned it. Void had definitely paid him a visit, though, otherwise this— this wouldn't have happened. Still, no mention of injuries didn't mean much when the demon could torture someone without ever laying a finger on them. And he did, Stiles was sure of it, knew it down to his bones. Void did this.

The two kits whined as if both offended at the stairs and despairing their inability to climb them. Stiles' heart dropped back into his chest, into the tight and aching hold around it — but under that, inside the cage of his ribs, a warmth started to spread, bringing new wetness to his eyes. It stung, hot and fierce, when he blinked the tears away.

Crouching down, Stiles reached for the kits to pick them up. They squealed, squirming in his hands, but when he put them down on the boards they immediately started to paw and nip at his legs, demanding Stiles to pet and play with them. A smile quivering in the corner of his mouth, Stiles gave in, occupying himself with two handfuls of small little foxes, petting and scratching and nipping back at them until a wet, watery laugh escaped the tight confines of his chest; the aching knot unraveling until all the tension seemingly went away, as if it was never there in the first place. The warmth that was left felt a little like a captured ray of sunshine, bright and feather-light.

Next to him, Void had also crouched down, keeping himself in a somewhat wary, but also surprisingly open way. When Stiles looked at the demon, there was the silver fox from earlier beside him — it had climbed up to the patio and was curiously sniffing at the air around Void. It seemed taken with the demon in some way, boldly coming closer to approach him, just like the kits tried to with Stiles; maybe the fox was still a young one too. With its darker hide, slender snout and striking light-green eyes, it was definitely one of the prettiest foxes Stiles has ever seen — figured that it would come straight up to Void.

Stiles tried, and failed, to hold back his smile when the fox became even bolder, almost jumping straight into Void's lap. It braced its front paws on his knee, stretching up to sniff at his chin, its long fluffy tail swishing behind its hind legs, bringing attention to the one white sock. It was wholly and unbelievably cute. Just — plain, old adorable.

And, finally, Void had given in too — slowly, very slowly reaching up to offer pets to the fox. It sniffed at his hand — and didn't back away when the demon started to scratch its fluffy neck. The white-tipped tail swished even harder, the fox’s eyes turning half-lidded.

If it was a normal situation, it would have taken much more time and much more work for the foxes to warm up to them. To start trusting humans at all. But it wasn't a normal situation — and Void wasn't human. Which, well, Stiles wasn't either, not really.

A sharp hissing breath left his mouth — when Void looked back at him, when their eyes met, Stiles almost forgot about the two kits still nipping at his fingers. They whined, trying to capture his attention again, and he had to rip himself away from Void's dark, dark gaze.

“Okay,” he breathed out, “okay. We'll figure it out.”

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moonmirrorart · 4 years

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You really have to learn not to trust a fox.

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writingsbychlo · 4 years

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more ways than one (02)

word count; 5135

summary; you have to patch up the man you found, and help him tend to his wounds, and at least try and find some kind of common ground.

notes; things will begin to pick up pretty soon, I promise. we’re just laying the foundations.

warnings; graphic descriptions of injury, gore, blood, near-death experiences.

You were panicking as you looked out of the main bay windows, barely able to see your own car down below where it was parked out front from the dark that had set in, and the rain was pelting against the windows. You had practically bitten your thumbnail right down to a stub and your chest was almost aching from how long your heart had been pounding against it in fear.

Cold shivers had long since set over your body, your hair still dripping with water from where you had gotten caught out in the woods searching for the missing male when the storm clouds had finally cracked, and your skin was still sticky as it slowly dried in the cool environment of Derek’s loft. The lights were all turned off so that you could see best outside, a few candles lit to give you just enough light to move around, and yet, you could barely see anything more than outlines on the horizon, your breath fogging up the glass as you pressed your forehead to it and cursed.

You had lost an injured man who had no idea where he was, possibly even who he was, and you still had no idea whether he understood you. He looked exactly like your best friend, and you’d kept him a secret for twenty-four hours now. Your friends would be pissed when they found out. You really weren’t sure what you’d do if one of the pack found him first, or a regular person, or the Sheriff.

Your eyes stung as salty tears lined them, and you had already busied yourself with every task you could think of, knowing it was unsafe for you to go back out there searching, no matter how much you wanted to. The roads would be slippy in the storm, the window howling fiercely and it wasn’t safe to drive. It wasn’t safe to wander the woods alone in the dark anywhere, but certainly not in Beacon Hills, and despite the strained situation between you and the man, you were deeply concerned for him.

The wounds on his back were open and debilitating, and he hadn't eaten in at least twenty four hours, most likely more. He didn’t talk, and he seemed to have no idea where he was. All you could do was wait until the morning before going out searching again, and at this point, it was beginning to feel more and more like you’d be going out in the morning to search for a body instead of a fleeing person.

Just as you were giving up hope, the stumbling sound of heavy and uneven footsteps on the stairs outside of the entrance was heard, and you almost fell over in your rush to get to the door, sliding the metal open and wincing at the emphasises sound of screeching metal in your hurry, Your mind was practically spinning as your eyes locked onto the dishevelled form before you, and he was barely holding himself up as he climbed the final step, his body slumping over in exhaustion and he fell towards the ground, your feet moving you forward to catch him before you even had a second to think about it.

He stumbled into your arms, his skin so cold he was almost blue and you let out a ragged and relieved sigh, a shaky laugh sounding from you the pure relief flooding through you made you feel like you were floating in the clouds. His gaze found yours, eyes half-lidded and dazed and he focused in on the unshed tears lining your eyes, confusion etching onto his tired features but for once, it wasn’t a judgemental confusion.

Your arms sealed around his waist, one of his own slung loosely over your shoulders as you guided him over to the couch, his feet all but dragging against the floor as you tried to carry him along and he collapsed down on the soft material, falling onto his stomach and letting out a low groan under his breath as his face pressed into the cushions. His body was shaking from the cold you were panicking, rolling on the balls of your feet as your spinning mind tried to process every option.

He tried to move, yet another sound of pain leaving him and you dropped to your knees, your gaze finding his as you knelt by his head looking over his body as you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, brushing the wet strands of hair that was flopping into his eyes away, and his gaze on your narrowed, tiredly analysing your movements as you mumbled to yourself about a plan.

With a hand on the edge of the coffee table, you stripped the light jacket from sitting on your shoulders, shaking yourself down nervously as you moved around, all but bouncing on your feet as a new kind of energy-filled your body, and you made your way toward the kitchen, poking your head back around the doorframe for a split second to look at the man still collapsed across the furniture.

“Don’t fucking run again!”

He merely grunted in response, what had to be the most sarcastic grunt you had ever heard, and you were sure if he weren’t half-dead - and knew what it meant - he’d probably be flipping you off for your comment. Instead, you hurried around, swiping the handful of rags that you’d been intending to use before as you fill a dish with warm water, trying to balance the collection in your arms as you moved back towards him. Pushing the coffee table as close to the couch as you could get it, you knelt beside him, taking a deep breath as your hands hovered over his back, palms spread open as you paused, your eyes open wide as you tried to process where to begin.

“Look, I know you don’t trust me, but you’re just going to have to suck it up and let me fix you up, okay?”

All you received in response was a low sigh, and you placed one hand down on his lower back carefully, his whole body tensing up at the contact, a low sound of discomfort leaving him as he did, and you placed the other down on his upper arm, squeezing his bicep lightly in reassurance and you felt his muscles ease just a little from the gesture.

“I’ll talk you through it all, okay? And I’ll go slow.”

You had no idea whether he was understanding you, but his eyes found yours, no longer narrowed and scrutinising, simply watching you, and you turned to the bowl of warm water, pulling it toward you and grabbing the first of the stack of cloths you would have to wash and replace before Derek came home. Dipping the end of the cloth into the water enough to wet it, you lifted it up before his eyes, and he observed you carefully, his body twitching as he considered moving, inevitably choosing to fight his flight instinct and stay where he was.

“I’m just going to clean your back first, you’re covering in dirt. I’ll be careful.” You nodded to him, before pressing the warm cloth to his skin, wiping in slow movements, cautiously moving around the edges of each cut as you cleared his skin of the dirt, pale flesh showing up each time you dipped the cloth back into the water. You swallowed thickly as you noticed the murky colour of the cleaning water holding a slight red tinge, your heart sinking for him each time you came across a new cut and bruise on his flesh, wondering just what he got himself into while he was out there alone.

Moving along his arms, you cleaned his skin carefully, everything you could see as you worked, until you were holding the hand that wasn’t propped under his head, cleaning along his fingers delicately, and they twitched in your hold, what almost resembled a light squeeze before you pulled away, heat crawling up your cheeks as your head ducked, and you offered him a small smile as you put the filthy rag down.

“You’re not going to like this next part.” The tension in his body returned, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, and yet his body never shifted this time. Tearing open the bag of cotton ball swabs, you took one in your hand, unscrewing the lid of the anti-bacterial wash and dabbing some onto the small applicator, his nose scrunching up as the smell filled the air, and it prompted a small laugh from you. “Yeah, it doesn’t smell great. It reminds me of hospitals, which is really where you should be, but I have a feeling that wouldn't work out very well.”

You shot him a pointed glare at his word as you continued to soak the cotton balls, lining them up along the table until you had a fair amount ready to work with, and he watched you build the collection, his gaze flicking between your face and the swabs you were preparing.

“This is going to sting, but it’ll stop them getting infected, okay? I’ll start with the little scratches.”

Doing exactly as you said you would, you dabbed the first cotton ball along his skin, and he huffed out at the contact, squirming as the antiseptic soaked into his cuts and grazes, and you moved over the smallest injuries you could find, avoiding the fleshy red wounds along either side to his middle back, focusing your attention on them until you’d cleaned each one, his body shaky slightly under your hold. You placed it down beside the discarded bowl of water, wringing your hands nervously as you picked up a fresh swab.

Looking at him, you could almost make out the worry in his eyes, his fingers curled around the edge of the cushion so hard you were sure his fingers would burst right through the material and into the stuffing inside. On a small act of comfort, you peeled his fingers from the couch, slipping your hand into his, your palms pressed together as your fingers wrapped around the back of his hand, his own hanging limp in your grasp as you returned your focus to his injuries.

Deciding to start with the furthest cut, you adjusted yourself on your knees, leaning over him with the first swab in hand and you squeezed his hand lightly before dabbing it softly along the wound, his body arching and a tortured cry leaving his lips as his eyes squeezed shut, his fingers wrapping around your own and gripping so tight your own eyes watered, but you allowed him to hold on.

Once the cotton swab had turned from snow white to crimson red, you swapped it out, dropping it to the floor and replacing it as you worked as swiftly as you could. As you cleared away the blood, both fresh and old, you began to truly see the extent of the injuries. The flesh was torn and ripped raw, chunks of flesh and muscle missing, and it became apparent that these weren’t just clean cut slashes but more like ripped away holes, as though something had torn down his back. You sniffed, pulling away for a second to blink back tears as you shivered at the mere thought of just how much pain he must be in, sympathy pains racking your body as you choked back the bile rising in your throat in order to clean the bloody mess.

His fingers flexed around your own, and you squeezed back as you moved onto the second one, his body tensing up and goosebumps crawled over his skin, his muscles so tense you worried they may lock in that position, and the only sounds between you both were your occasional sniffs from you and the grunts and groans the man beneath you made as you cleaned him up.

You left out a relieved little cheer as you finally finished, and your head hung back for a moment as your eyes closed, and the man under you relaxed, his fingers going slack in your hold as you slipped your hand free. His eyes were half-lidded and his lips parted as he let out shirt breaths, and you relaxed, rolling your shoulders as you wiped your bloodied fingers clean, on a fresh rag, picking up the packet of the largest paper stitches you had and tearing the top open with your teeth.

“You did so good.” You whispered, and his lips closed, sealing in a thin line as he focused his sighs on you, eyes searching yours carefully. “I’m going to put a few of these on to close the wounds so they heal better, then some bandages and we’re done.”

Taking the first row of the large sticky items, you lined up a row long the unaffected skin on the first cut, from the top to the bottom as you prepared yourself, a hand soothing over his lower back carefully as you readied yourself and him. Pinching the skin together, he shuffled uncomfortably, burying his face in the cushion to muffle the noises he made as you quickly sealed down the strips, pulling back to see if they’d hold, and your eyes widened, a happy cheer leaving you as the skin remained pulled taut, the stitches holding the wounds shut as best they could so they could begin to heal.

Repeating the action on the other side, you dropped the empty sheet of stitches to the floor, wiping at your forehead as you slumped back, unfolding your aching legs from underneath you as you lay across the cold stone floor, a tired sigh leaving you as you both relaxed. When you’d taken a minute, praising yourself for the work you’d done, you forced yourself back up, finding he’d turned his head to the side and was looking at you once again. “Think you can sit up for me?”

He blinked at you, and you reached out to him, taking his shoulder carefully as you tried to ease him up into a sitting position, and he growled at you his eyes flashing with anger to warn you away and you backed off, hands raised as you let out a deep sigh.

“Just when I thought we were making progress.” You mumbled, shaking your head and watching as he struggled on weak arms to push himself up, his face contorting in pain and for a moment you worries he’d burst open the stitches you’d done on his back, but he managed to heave himself up into a sitting position, twisting his body until he was tiredly sitting on the edge of the couch, hands bracing himself on his knees as his upper body hunched over on itself.

Soaking and ringing out one of the final clean rags you had, you handed it to him, motioning to the dirt covering his torso and he looked between it and himself, before taking it in a shaky hand and cleaning himself off as best he could. Water dripped down from the cloth, leaving streaks along his pants and the couch before dripping to the floor, but it was the least of your concerns right now, and you busied yourself with prepping the padding and gauze while he did, the wet sound of the cloth dropping to the floor alerting you that he was done.

Taking the padding first, you moved behind him, tape in hand as you sealed down padding over the cuts, something that sounded almost like a relieved sigh sounding from him as you covered the cuts, the cool air of the loft no longer brushing over them and irritating the raw and exposed flesh, his body sagging under the weight of holding it up, his skin twitching in each place your fingers brushed against. Circling back to his front, you picked up the roll of wrapping, kneeling up before him between his parted legs, a slight heat rising to your cheeks as he remained where he was, his unsteady breaths brushing over your cheeks with each light pant he released. “Can you lift your arms for me?”

You motioned with your own arms for him, and he did as instructed, his arms rising up just enough for you to be able to tuck your arms underneath. Sealing the end of the wrapping down to the centre of his chest with a piece of tape, you moved the roll around, your face so close to his your noses were almost touching, your hands passing the roll around in what could be mistaken for a hug had you closed your arms around him any tighter. Once you had the roll in your other hand, you pulled back, circling around his front again, his arms shaking as he struggled to hold them out in his weakened state.

Each time you moved back in, it gave you a chance to really observe him. Everything from the speckled moles on his jaw to the shade of his eyes was the same as your best friend, and despite the sickly pale clour of his skin and the sunken bags under his eyes, you knew they would be identical once he healed, your confusion only deepening at the situation.

Once you were sure he was fully bandaged up, you ripped the fabric off sealing it down with a few pieces of tape, fastening the bandages in various places around his body. It didn’t look great, not as good a job as Melissa could have done, but it was pretty good for your best effort, and you rewarded yourself with a smile, nodding at your work.

Gathering the equipment that was around you, your eyes closed in one the flannel you’d stripped away earlier so that you didn’t have long sleeves in the way. It was Stiles’, one you’d stolen a long time ago, and you held it out to the man carefully, his eyes flicking over the item before lifting an arm to take it. He struggled to ease his arms into it, your own hands helping him get it up over his shoulders, and he was looking more and more like your best friend with everything you did to try and help him.

Taking the used and dirty equipment, you dumped them all in the kitchen sink, washing them tiredly as you suppressed your yawn, leaving them on the rack beside to sink to dry once they were scrubbed clean. The towels you’d used would have to be washed, and so you wrapped up all the rubbish on in the last clean one, a bloody mess sealed within and you tied it tight leaving the rest of the medical supplies on the table.

When you glanced back to the man, he’d keeled over, a small smile flicking on your face at the similarity between him and Stiles as you took in the way his cheek was pressed to the cushion, jaw open and eyes fluttering as he slept, one arm hanging over the edge of the couch as his legs spread out, the other arm tucked under his head as he lay on his stomach.

Taking your bag, you shrugged it up onto your shoulder, the bundle to be disposed of and clean in one hand as you took your keys in the other, blowing out the candles and closing the loft door, making sure to lock both of them behind you as you went. Despite the tiredness crawling through your body as you got into your car, you couldn't help but feel good about yourself, knowing all you had accomplished tonight.

--------------

You were exhausted when you returned the next morning, arms wrapped tightly around another bag full of belongings, and you laughed to yourself at the idea that by the time Derek came home, he’d think you’d moved into his place. Unlocking the door, the motions awkward and jerky as you struggled to get the keys into the lock, but you finally succeeded, the door sliding open as you stepped into the room.

You had barely turned around from closing the door when something flew past your head rapidly, bouncing off of the now-closed door and you let out a small shriek in shock, some of the items in your arms toppling to the floor as you jumped. Your eyes closed in on the object, one of Derek’s wooden coasters sitting on the floor by the wall, and your eyes narrowed as you turned to glare at the man who was standing by the couch.

“Don’t fucking throw things at me!”

Your angry scream shocked him, and his hands balled into fists by his sides, but he at least had the decency to look a little ashamed of his actions as he shuffled from one foot to the other. You scowled at him, grumbling under your breath and he scoffed as you shot him a dirty look. He frowned at you, your eyes locked in an intense staredown between the two of you, and his jaw clenched. He blinked, the soft honey colour slipping away as the orbs filled entirely with a deep black, before he blinked again, the darkness having slipped away and your jaw dropped, the edges of his lips flicking up for a split second in a hint to a smirk that you almost didn’t catch sight of it was gone so quickly.

“You know what? Those were your clothes that you made me drop, so you and your.. creepy eyes can pick up the clothes off of the floor.” You kicked the bundle toward him, before stomping away to the kitchen, ensuring to give him an extra dirty look as you went. To your surprise, when you glanced over your shoulder, he was standing before the dropped clothes, before kneeling awkwardly, his knees hitting the floor as he tried not to lean too far while picking them up, folding them in terrible piles and placing them on the coffee table before him and climbing to his feet.

He winced as he did, but quickly schooled his features, your attention moving back to the bag of food before you as you pulled open the fridge, hearing him shuffling about behind you as he slowly entered the kitchen. You were unstacking groceries into the fridge, packing items in the cupboards as you slowly emptied the heavy bag in your arms until the ache no longer existed.

Finally turning to him, you leaned back against the counter, your eyes taking in every detail as his face as you watched him. “You look better. Thanks to my amazing medical skills, not your stupid attempt to get pneumonia.” You grumbled, and you heard him huff in response, your lips quirking up at the sides. Colour had filled his skin once again, his statue holding a little stronger and more lively, he stood taller than he had last night and he’d managed to do up the buttons on the front of the flannel covering his body, even if they were done askew, but this was the first time since you’d seen him that he’d actually been wearing a shirt, and this the injuries, almost making him look normal.

Your nose wrinkled as you reached his feet, both his pants and skin caked in dry mud and dirt, the pants were torn and the smell of dirt, sweat and blood hung in the air around him, even with your human senses it was overwhelming and you were more than glad to have no wolf senses in this moment.

“You need a bath. I should also change your wrappings.” He stiffened at the mention of his bandages, and you made sure to stand as far from him as you could while walking around him, picking up a pair of grey sweatpants and a navy blue cotton t-shirt from the pile, glancing over your shoulders as your eyebrows raised. “Well? Come on. You’re going to stink everything up.”

He growled lowly, glaring at you as he followed you through the large complex, glancing around curiously as you took him up the spiral staircase, and you weren’t sure if he’d bothered exploring or whether he’d just stuck to lurking around the couch. Opening the large bathroom door, you dropped the fresh clothes down on the counter as he stood in the doorway, practically filling it frame to frame with his broad shoulders as you plugged the tub, switching on the taps and listening to water filling the tub.

You searched through the cabinets for a fresh sponge, swiping it from it’s wrapping and finding some shampoo and body wash, placing them all along the side of the tub for him as the water filled up. “I’ll leave the clothes here, and when you’re done, I’ll help you rewrap your bandages.”

As the water ran, you made your way over to him, nodding slowly to the shirt he was wearing, and his fingers undid the buttons slowly, his body tense and stiff as he slipped the flannel from his arms, your fingers peeling at the tape holding them down as you let the material fall away slowly. Once it had cleared, you checked that the padding was still secure, humming as you looked at it happily, the lack of blood soaking through meaning that the paper stitches were holding tight.

He looked at you pointedly as you turned off the taps, heat flooding to your cheeks as you nodded, hurrying from the room quickly and shutting the door behind you, leaning back against the cold wood as your eyes closed. Seconds later, you heard the water sloshing, knowing that he had climbed into the tub and you shook your head, retreating from the bathroom slowly and making your way back to the kitchen choosing to busy yourself with washing and chopping some carrots as you waited.

You had just finished scraping the carrots into the boiling water over the hob, having put a little too much effort into slicing them into tiny pieces to occupy your buzzing mind. The floorboards creaking behind you are what caught your attention, and you spun around, taking a shallow breath as you turned to look at the man, wet hair spiky and sticking up in random directions as he searched through the collection on the table as he fished about for the bandages, the grey sweats sitting on his hips just barely brushing the edge of the tape holding on the padding.

“Let me help you; you won’t be able to do it alone.” The second you doubted him, his eyes flashed up to meet yours in a burning glare, a look you were quickly becoming accustomed to and you halted in your steps immediately. Your brows raised as he held the roll close to himself, sneering at you as he turned his back and wandered away, your eyes wide as you watched him walk up the stairs and your jaw dropped, a scoff leaving you as you shook your head.

Turning back to the kitchen, you searched through the cupboards, finding the instant noodles again and dropping them into the pan of bubbling water alongside the thinly sliced carrots. Sprinkling the flavour packets over the top and stirring the water carefully, you got two dishes out of the cupboard, turning to place them on the counter and you jumped as you looked at the tall man watching you. His eyes were avoiding your own as he shuffled between his feet, eventually letting his shoulders slump as he held out the roll of bandages to you, a wince on his face as he shifted uncomfortably.

In his other hand dangled the blue t-shirt, and you turned down the heat on the hob before taking the bundle from him silently, shooting him a small smile and placing a hand on his chest to push him back from the doorway to and you could feel the irrational beat of his heart under your hand, which you quickly retracted as you had him angled in the lighting you needed. Taking the roll of sticky tape from the table, you snapped a few pieces off and stuck them in tabs along his arm, before adjusting them outwards in the air and pinning down the first piece just over his ribs.

Your arms pushed around him, his chin tilting up to rest over your head each time you leaned back into him, your hair brushing against his skin and you caught a whiff of the pleasantly scented citrus body wash he had used his skin truly clean for the first time since you had saved him. You worked quietly, only the combined deep breaths of you both and the bubbling of the boiling water only ten metres away from you.

“You smell better now. You smell good.” You were fastening the bandages in the front as you spoke, and he looked down at you, humming under his breath once you finished speaking and you chuckled lightly at the basic response, but it was a nice change from grunting and growling.

Once you were happy with the way they were secured, you stepped back, and he pushed his hands through the sleeves of the t-shirt, raising his hands up as far as he could as he tried to shrug the material onto his body, a pained noise leaving him as he struggled, the material getting caught around his elbows. You stepped in, taking the material and lifting it up, helping to guide his head through the gap, tugging it down over his body until the ends were brushing the band of the sweatpants, and you tapped his hips, taking a step back and turning away from him.

A hand sealed around your wrist, not in the tight and bruising grips you had been used to from him, but in such a feather-light touch there was barely a weight on your skin, and your eyes scanned along the arm to his eyes. He looked at you carefully, licking over his bottom lip and opening his mouth, closing it again before swallowing down thickly before fixing a gaze on you.

“Thank you.”

He coughed after speaking, his voice so hoarse and raspy that he could barely speak the words, and he stretched out his throat, shifting his head side to side form the discomfort speaking the words must have caused. For once, the tension in the room dissipated, and you felt like there was finally some kind of common ground between the two of you. You finally gave him a smile, nodding your head toward the kitchen as you stepped backwards toward it, the smell drifting through the room. “C’mon. I made noodles again. Maybe you’ll actually eat it this time.”

162 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

Never Trust A Fox

“They’re tricksters. They’ll fool you, they’ll fool everyone.”

#nogitjune #nogit june #nogit-june #void month

47 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

Void!Stiles + Witchcraft

“The darkness carves out who you were truly meant to be.”

#nogitjune #nogit june #nogit-june #void month

40 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 4 years

Text

Stone Walls

“See the light inside of someone who only sees darkness."

#nogitjune #nogit-june #nogit june #void month

34 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (05)

word count; 11,931

summary; after a surprise visit to see the man you can’t get out of your head, a deeper chat only makes the two of you closer.

notes; sorry it’s a couple of minutes late, y’all, but I hope you love it!

warnings; none, really! just some sad references but that’s about it!

Leaning across the counter with a second portion of pancakes for your friend, Lydia scooped out a generous helping of the best vanilla ice cream the two of you could find at the store, and slathering it with syrup to follow. Balancing your elbows on the kitchen counter, your redhead-friend rubbed at Allison’s back slowly, and the brunette was digging in.

Her hair was greasy and pulled back, with half of the strands falling out. The usually bright and bouncy curls that she wore had gone limp and become tangled waves, and some strays hairs were sticking to the syrup on her cheeks. Running a cloth under the tap, you wrung it free of loose drops, and turned to her. Wiping at her cheeks as she chewed, you cleared away the dry tears that had pools in the dimples, feeling her chew aggressively at her meal as you cleaned her up.

“You get much sleep last night, Ally?”

“No. Spent the night staring at that stupid spot on Facebook that says ‘single’.” She scoffed through her food, a few crumbs spraying free, and you sighed. Putting the cloth down, you moved around the counter, hugging her from the side, and brushing a hand along her hair soothingly. “My eyes hurt from the screen. Can I have more pancakes?”

“You have anymore pancakes, you’re gonna’ explode.” You giggled, and she groaned, her head dropping to her hands as she rubbed the heels of her hands into them. Allison had always been excellent at hiding her feelings, she was a master at it, really, and it wasn’t often that she let you and Lydia in on her problems until they’d become overwhelming. You’d known her for years, and her poker face still bested you both, until every wall cracked and the glass shattered. “How about a shower or something, instead?”

“I don’t feel like a shower.”

“A bath, then? I’ll run it real nice, with bubbles, and put some salts in it. Make it smell real good. Afterwards, we can do some skincare, and I’ll curl your hair. Make you feel beautiful and strong again, and make him see what he’s missing.” Lydia twirled a limp piece of deep brown hair that seemed a little duller than usual around a single thin finger.

“Yeah. Okay.” She sighed, pausing a little longer, and pushing a syrupy plate away from herself, groaning again when she looked at it. Running her finger through the melted ice cream and sticky syrup, she ducked the pad clean, letting Lydia guide her away, but not without glancing back over her shoulder to you. She was just as shocked as you were, Allison was taking her break-up hard, and it had come out of nowhere.

Your phone chimed in your back pocket, it had been going off for hours since you’d woken up, but a chance to check it hadn't arisen since Allison had scraped herself out of her bedroom at just after midday. The screen lit up with Noah’s name across the front, a few other texts, ones that didn’t actually require your response but just updating you on the progress of your car. It had been towed, and his tutor had looked over it, signing it off as a part of his own graduation project and it had arrived at his garage, hooked up to one of the lifts and ready to be installed.

This was simply a text to let you know that he was going to start work on it, and that he was excited to do so.

Leaning back on the counter, you nibbled a little on your lower lip, trying to decide how to reply. While none of his messages demanded an answer, you wanted to be able to at least start a conversation with him because you hadn't been given a chance all day. Your thumb hovered over the screen, unsure of quite how to proceed because despite being able to work easily with everyone else, he still threw you off, and made you nervous.

With a few quick taps against the interactive glass, you had ent your response. Something simple, a joke about hoping the car wasn’t terminal once he opened it up, and after only a second, the ‘delivered’ notice underneath your text changed to a ‘read’ receipt. You waited, the few dots flashing under your message in a grey bubble for a little while.

“Who’re you smiling at?” Lydia teased, and you jumped, never having heard the shorter woman sneaking into the kitchen once again, and she was standing at the other side of the island, fingers tapping on the counter. “Don’t try and deny it, you’re all smiley and bright. It’s cute. Who’s on the other end?”

You sighed, placing the device face down, the text back from him not yet having come through, and you pushed yourself up to sit on the counter as she matched you, legs swinging as she waited opposite you. “Noah. He’s fixing my car for me.”

“That pile of rust can even be fixed? I thought it was hopeless.”

“So did I.” Your hands clasped between your knees, rubbing nervously as you hoped to hear the buzz and chime of your phone on the counter with the incoming text that was leaving you hanging, but the gap only grew. “But, he says he can check it out. He’s gonna’ add it onto his graduate project, so he can fix it through the college.”

“Sounds.. sweet.” Her eyes narrowed, a calculating look directed toward you and you squirmed a little under her gaze. “So, what is this, exactly?”

“What is what?” A single, perfectly manicured brow rose at your denial, and your eyes rolled involuntarily at yourself, watching her lean back onto her hands and cross one leg over the other, a little scary in her stance as her stare remained. “Okay, fine. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even really know if he likes me at all. I don’t know how I really feel about him, and whether the fact that he’s opening up to me is just making me feel special. I’m focusing on my study, that has to come first.”

“You’re being smart. Smart with your heart. I like that.”

“Well, I don’t want to end up like Ally. She’s hurting so much, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it as well as her, and she’s not handling it all that well.” There was a giggle shared between you both, and at the mention of your other roommate, your eyes flickered around. There was silence filling the apartment, not the subtle splashing and crying that you’d expected. “Where is she? You drew that bath quickly.”

“I didn’t even get a chance. I left her sitting on the edge of her bed, and when I came back to ask her which salts she wanted, she’d pulled the curtains and fallen asleep. She needs it.” Your heart ached for her, and you only hoped she’d be able to recover from her heartbreak soon, because watching a woman so powerful, someone you adored and admired so much, crumble as she had, was devastating. Your eyes flicked down to your phone, the silence bothering you now, and as you turned it over and the home screen flashed up, there were no notifications. “No text?”

“No.”

“Well, y’know, he’s working on your car, right? He’s probably got greasy fingers, doesn’t want to touch his phone, or whatever.” She shrugged, and you knew she was just trying to make you feel better, but you allowed it to happen. It was plausible, it made sense, and at the end of the day, you hadn't done anything wrong, so he couldn’t be mad at you. “I think you should go over there.”

“To the garage?”

“Yeah. I mean, you can’t help with the car, you can barely keep it running when it’s road-worthy, but you could keep him cheery.” There was a joke hiding behind her eyes, the mood she was referring to being the grumpiness he usually held having melted away a little, and you hoped you were at least partially responsible for that.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. He doesn’t take well to surprise company.”

“Yeah, in crowds. Take a sandwich or something, like a peace offering.” She hopped down, heels clicking on the floor as she did, and she moved around to the fridge. Opening it up and peering inside, tutting to herself. “Okay. We don’t have sandwich things. We barely have anything, actually. We need to go shopping, but I still think you should go.”

“I think I’m just gonna’ g-”

Her hand slammed down on the counter, a loud clink from the promise ring on her index finger, and you jumped. “Go get dressed, look pretty, and if you’re speedy, I’ll pack a chocolate bar in your bag.”

“Uh, excuse me, mom. I don’t even have the address to the garage.”

“I’ll text Stiles while you’re getting dressed.” She countered, and you slid down from where you were stood to stand opposite her, tucking your phone into the pocket of your pyjama pants.

“I don’t have a car to get there.”

“I’ll call a cab.” Her arms crossed over her chest, clearly not taking no for an answer, and you huffed an exhale through your nose.

“Why are you pushing this so hard?” The question was hanging in their air, the sudden enthusiasm she showed towards whatever was going on was a little overwhelming, and her defensive stance sagged a little.

“Because I think you’re good for him, and I think he’s good for you too. Leigh said she saw you at the restaurant a few days ago, with a guy who made you smile in a way that can’t be faked.” Her arms fell to hang by her sides, and she took a fraction of a step closer to you. “I’ll be damned if years from now he’s just a ‘what if’ while you cry on my shoulder the night before your wedding. Maybe it works out, maybe it doesn’t maybe it never takes off, but at least he’ll never be a ‘what if’ that haunts you. I don’t want another broken-hearted best friend.”

“Lyds..”

“Don’t do that. I’m not going mushy. I’m just looking out for you.” She pointed a red-painted nail at you, a smile curling on matching coloured lips. “So, go put on the yellow floral sundress that makes your tits look good, and I’ll book you a cab. Then, you’ll always know that you gave it a go.”

“Fine.” Her face split in a grin at your confirmation, white teeth shining to you as she clapped excitedly, producing her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, waving her other hand at you as she shooed you into your room. “I only need a couple of minutes.”

“Take your time. Look cute.” She gave you a wink as you walked away, trying to avoid the way you felt about seeing him to focus on the care your best friend gave to you. Closing the door, the room felt unusually silent as you looked around. Your rooms as tidy, you’d spent the night cleaning as a way to keep yourself away while consoling Allison, who’d lay on your bed staring at the ceiling into the early hours, before retiring to her bed.

As instructed, you plucked the yellow sundress she spoke of so fondly from the closet, and placed it down onto the bed, smoothing it out. The summer was coming in but the temperatures were still a little chilly, meaning a jacket was necessary, but Lydia wouldn't be so approving. When she set her mind on an outfit, there was usually a purpose behind it, and today’s purpose was to make you feel flirty.

This dress had always held confidence for you before now, it had been a first date dress, and a party dress, and a picnic dress, but right now it was working for you as simply a friendly-hangout dress. It was testing the waters, to get a rise out of him. A reaction to see whether you could make his eyes do that flickering scan with their eyes that boys did that made girls get butterflies, or whether he simply wouldn't care.

You felt comfortable in it, hands brushing away creases over the front of your body as denim creased from the jacket on your arms, socks sliding against the floor as you went. The door clicked a little behind you, a freshly applied set of products on your phase still having that momentary adjustment period that made your nose twitch, trying to resist the urge to touch it. Lydia was texting at the counter, your bag out beside her, still open as she’s packed it, and a pair of boots on the floor.

Spinning around a bar stool at the sound of your entry, her eyes moved along you, head tipping to the side, nodding slowly to herself in a way you couldn't analyse. Pulling on the shoes she had laid out, you dd a twirl for her, skirt flaring a little as you did. “Glad to see you took my advice.”

“Well, it would have taken me hours had I not already been styled.”

“That’s true.” She fastened the catch on your purse, sliding it towards you, the chain rattling as it moved and sliding from the table, ready to be caught by your awaiting hand. Opening it back up to put your phone inside, you rooted past the keys, lipgloss and wallet to find your chocolate, frowning at the candy you pulled out.

“I thought I was getting a chocolate bar.”

“You were, but we only had one left and I ate it while booking your cab.” You held up the lollipop, staring at it for a second, before putting it back inside. “Besides, it’s a candy for the cab, so you don’t have to talk to the cabbie. I know how you hate that.”

“I don’t hate it, it’s just always so awkward. The last cabbie I had told me about his dead cat. Why is cab conversation always so weird?” She chuckled, seemingly just as confused by it. Her phone chimed, and she picked it up, reading the notification for a split second, before turning it to you, and tapping her acrylic against the screen.

“Your cab is here.”

“I feel kinda’ nauseous.” You rubbed at your stomach, trying to soothe your nerves, and she came to stand before you. Her hands cupped your cheeks, forcing you to look her in the eyes as your face was a little squished in her hold. “I don’t even feel like this before dates.

“Get over it. Worst case, say you were passing by and wanted to say ‘hi’.” Hands dropped to your shoulder and she rounded to stand behind you, short stance holding a lot of power as she pushed you toward the door. “Now, get your cute little ass out to your cab, and go have some fun.”

“You’ll be okay with Ally on your own?” You paused in the doorway, hand on the frame once she’d opened it, half in the hall and half in the doorway, staring at her and searching for an excuse to stay, without pushing yourself from your comfort zone.

“She’s asleep, and then she’ll just want more food and to watch movies while crying. I got this.” Her hand waved, shaking her head, and pushing you back out further into the corridor. With a final glance, she closed the door, locking it from the inside to make a point, and your jaw dropped. She was watching you through the glass in the door, you knew it, and so you shook your head at her, before walking away.

As promised, there was a cab waiting for you outside, pulled up to the curb-side and you stepped inside, confirming your order with him, and he set off. Unfortunately for you, you’d never actually been to this side of campus, it was nowhere near where your psychology studies took place, and the drive was at least ten minutes. You’d never dared to venture much further than that of the science labs to pick up Lydia after a class.

The computer rooms were unfamiliar to you, you didn’t have a lot of friends who studied much over there, just a few acquaintances who took film and media, and so once you’d passed all of the production buildings, you were approaching that of mechanics and engineering. A large row of garages was laid out, and while the smell of this cab wasn’t as bad as the last, there was a smell of petrol coming in through the open windows that you’d have to get used to.

Metal saws going that sounded like nails on a chalkboard as you passed them by, at least forty individual garages, each with a student name above them, the courtyard out front was lined with cobblestones and a couple of benches. Your cab pulled up at the front of the small maze, wide passages ways for getting vehicles in and out of in several rows.

There was water by your feet as you stepped out, running from garage number six as a car inside was hosed down, and it looked as though it had been entirely taken apart. It was caked in dirt and oil, so much so that you could barely see the components inside, and a little voice in your head prompted you to think that at least your car wasn’t that bad. Of the garages that had their doors open and students working inside, almost all of those heads snapped up in a mechanics concern when the cab you were in let out a groan and a screech against the stone as it pulled away.

You couldn't see Noah, his garage wasn’t one of those that faced straight out into the main courtyard, and yet with the clouds overhead and rain threatening to break, you were positive that there couldn’t be that many to look through. The student who’d been hosing down the engine parts stopped, the sound of the jetwash coming to a close and you hadn't realised how loud it was until suddenly there was a silence surrounding it, and you let out a shaky breath.

With only a few steps, you were making your way over, knocking gently on the metal side of the closing door, and your knuckles rang out loudly at the contact. His head snapped up, thick red hair slicked back but strands were beginning to fall into his face, and he stood up from a crouch, brushing his hands off on his pants.

“Hey, uh, can I help you with something? You lost?”

“No, not lost.” You frowned, shuffling your hand to search for your bag strap, and holding on, fingers scratching at the denim with your growing anxiety.

“You look lost. Shouldn’t wear dresses here, sparks might burn your skin, you ever been to a garage before, o-”

“I’m looking for someone.” You cut off, a tight smile on your lips and his brows rose, his lips pursing at having been cut off, and a stagnant silence formed. “Noah, you know which garage number he is?”

“Who?”

Your brows furrowed, and his hands tucked into the pockets of his overalls as though it was nothing. Your hand come up, a little higher than your head in a signal. “About this tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Likes to wear dark colours and leather jackets. Frowns a lot. Any of this ringing a bell?”

“You talking about Stiles’ brother? He’s in lot ‘32. At the back.”

“His name is Noah.” You mumbled, following it with a louder ‘thank you’ for the advice, and beginning to follow the numbers above each heading. Not all of the doors were open, most were pulled closed signalling that nobody was inside, but on a few, the shutters had been pulled up. It was fascinating to see what was inside of a car, or a bike, or even the beaten up food-truck that was being renovated in lot ‘18. The walk was longer than you were expecting, each lot that wasn’t facing the courtyard had a parking space beside it for the student’s own vehicles if they needed it, doubling the space up, and your boots were scuffling against cobblestones for almost ten minutes before you found the one you were looking for.

As you rounded the corner, the door to lot ‘32 pulled up and open, and it was a little messy. Stiles’ compulsive cleaning clearly hadn't reached this space, it was Noah’s only. Various tools were scattered around, on both the floor and the counters. His jacket was slung onto a coat hook, almost falling off, and his phone and keys were on the table closest to you. Several textbooks were stacked on shelves too, with greasy fingerprints from previous usage on them.

You knocked gently on the metal, your knuckles aching a little at the contact once again, and you lifted your hand, rubbing carefully at the skin there. He was underneath your car, the hood pulled up, only his legs sticking out and there was already dirt forming on the edge of the denim. Rolling out on the board from underneath, he blinked a little at the light adjustment, staring at you blankly until his vision cleared, and then his brows were furrowing.

��Hey.” He slid out a little further, turning off the torch on his head and taking it off, a strip of pale skin that hadn't gotten as dirty as the rest of his skin, leaving a blank space that reminded you of tan-lines, and you stepped a little further in. “This is pretty much the last place I’d expect to see you.”

Your hands came together in front of you, fingers flicking around the garage and fingers playing as you swerved away from his questioning stare. “Yeah, you’re not the only one. First person I met had pretty much the same reaction, told me I don’t belong here, ‘specially not in this dress, apparently.”

You looked back to him, his eyes sweeping along you slowly, and he swallowed down, the apple bobbing in his throat before flickering back up to you. “You look great. Ignore them. Everyone here is a bit of a prick. Not to sound like one of them, but what are you doing here?”

His voice was a little flatter than usual, there was less emotion in his voice, and while he hadn't been all that chatty at all, he was less talkative today than you’d been getting used to. “I just wanted to hang out, see you ‘in action’, since you get to see me doing psychology stuff all the time.” His lips barely moved at your joke, a brief flicker at the edge, even when you laughed softly to yourself, and he nodded.

He stood up, brushing off greasy hands on his pants and leaving stains on the denim, but if you looked close enough, you could see various shades of differently faded stains, and you figured this must be one of several working outfits. “Well, good thing you’re here. I have some forms from my tutor for you. You just have to sign off, some disclaimers about a student, not a professional mechanic, working on your car, all that.”

“Yeah, of course.”

He wandered away, disappearing into the back of the garage, and when he came back, there was a small collection of papers in one hand. Three copies, each with a pin on the top to hold them and a pen in the other hand. He handed both over, his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet as you glanced over them. “I put a little cross where you need to sign on them all, to make it easier for you. There’s a copy for you, for my tutor, and one I can keep here in the garage. If you don’t want to sign them all, just sign one and I’ll photocopy it, or something.”

“I don’t mind signing them all, it’s fine.”

He only nodded, standing there for a second, and you pulled out the metal stool from underneath the counter, sitting down on it and beginning to work through the papers to look for signatures and dates to place. After the first few pages, he stopped watching, no longer leaning over your shoulder, and moving away from you. You hadn't realised that he had left until the wheels of his board were scraping on the floor again, and the muffled clanging of the work on the underside of your car had resumed.

Unlike what you’d learned about him, there was no music playing, and you’d found both from his habits, and from Stiles, that Noah basically had a playlist for everything. With how much work he must do and how much time he must spend here, you found it unlikely that he wouldn’t have a playlist for the garage. You figured something with heavy rock, loud metal music, rap and deep bass. It suited the atmosphere.

Flicking through some more papers, you put your name in print, and the date, and your signature, but the tension between you both was too much. Only the scratch of the pen drying en on the paper and the clinking of tools being swapped out occasionally was filling the silence, and the air around you was becoming thicker and harder to breathe with every inhale you took.

“You mind if I play some music?”

“If you want to.” You’d spied the abandoned speaker sitting on the counter, tucked away with a portable charger following it, and its wire wrapped around. With only a few steps to your bag, you retrieved your phone, taking the sweet treat that Lydia had slipped inside too, and undoing the wrapper. As a bubblegum flavour washed over your tastebuds, telling you blue would be staining your tongue by the time you were finished, you plugged in your phone.

“Any preference?”

“Whatever you want is fine.” He mumbled, and you sighed, wishing he would at least let you in a little bit, but he wasn’t making it any easier for you to break the tension. Instead, you were left to scroll through the music selections that you had download to your phone, in silence. Following the vibe that he gave off, you put on some AC/DC, the first thing that came to mind, and the minuscule movements you made came to a halt, a chuckle following only a second later. As short and dry as it was, you still congratulated yourself on getting a rise out of him at all.

“Your garage is giving me Iron Man vibes.”

“Noah Stark.” He muttered, empty of tone but a joke nonetheless, and you sat back down on the stool. His foot tapped lightly, but there was no rhythm to his movement as the rock filled the air at the vest volume the small speaker had, and he showed no signs of cheering up.

Eventually, you turned back to fill out the forms. The ink was getting thinner and paler as you went, and by the final few dotted lines to fill you were shaking it just to get any at all, but you managed to do so, and you gave a quiet cheer to yourself at having finished it. By now, you felt like you had the following lines all memorised for your confirmation and permissions. Folding them neatly into threes, they sat out on the desk, and you tucked one into your bag. The other two, you left sitting on the desk, tidily pushed to the side. “I’ve finished the forms.”

He grunted, a sound that almost sounded like the word ‘great’, but it barely formed syllables, and you kicked your feet on the stool in time with the rhythm. This had been exactly what you were worried about. You had shown up out of the blue, and overwhelmed him, clearly, it wasn’t a good time, and you couldn't believe you let Lydia talk you into this. The lollipop in your hand was dwindling, and pulling it from between your lips, it was half the size it had been, the flavour fading slightly, but it was still enjoyable.

Everything felt like it was becoming duller now. You were anxious, and bored, and worried that you had overstepped, and if it wasn’t the feeling of twisting nausea like a rollercoaster ride, then you didn’t really feel anything right now. “I’m sorry for just showing up, Noah.”

“What?” His words were quiet from under the car, a groan following it, and he dropped the tool in his hand, swapping it for a smaller wrench, and you turned on the stool to look at him.

“I said that I’m sorry for just showing up here.” You could only see his legs, the bottom half of him sticking out from under the car, and he didn’t budge at your words. “This is, like, your alone time and whatever. I was gonna’ bring you something like a sandwich but I didn’t have sandwich fillings, but now I feel like I should have brought something, or maybe gone to the shops beforehand because then at least I’d have something to give you, a-”

“You’re doing that rambling thing again.” He cut you off, still not coming out from under the car, and your hands clenched together, your stomach churning.

“I know, I’m sorry. For the rambling, but also for just showing up here. I know you don’t like surprises, and that’s exactly what I did. I feel like I shouldn’t have come at all, because I’m clearly bothering you but you’re just not saying it because you’re being nice.” He slid out from underneath the car, head torch leaving his head once again, and he sat up on the board. Folding his legs to sit up more, he wrapped his arms around them, and sighed.

“You’re not bothering me.” He moved, wiping his forehead on his shirt to clear a slight build-up of sweat, and he looked back to you. “I just have a lot on my mind right now, I’m stressed. But, I’m not trying to make you feel bad. It’s nice to have company, actually. Nobody ever comes to the garage to see me, and if you’re the surprise, then I like it. This is nice. I’m sorry I’m making you feel this way. My head is just-” He waved a hand, and then scrunched it into a fist, the action being all the words that he could handle. “-weird. I don’t know. Not good thoughts.”

You hopped up from the chair, and he watched you move, swallowing down thickly again as you approached him. Sitting on the edge of the board and facing him, you copied his position, Sitting up on the edge of the board and your legs folded between his, your hands on the board in front of you to sit up. There was a frown on his face, his eyes flittering across your features again, and his frown deepened.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” You gave him a smile, and he tried to return it, but his head was hanging shamefully. “You know, I’m a great listener.”

“You know when you said we could talk, without it being for the study, did you mean it?” There was a vulnerability in his eyes, like a bridge was being built, one that you’d never even broached before, and your breath hitched as his gaze remained locked on yours.

“Of course, I did. No recorder, nothing. Just me and you, talking. With AC/DC in the background.”

He laughed a little, the most honest and hearty sound you’d garnered from him yet today, and he shuffled a little closer. “Speaking of, do you mind if I change the music up?”

“You don’t like my choice?”

“I do, but I just don’t think classic rock is the choice for this conversation.” He stood, going over to your phone and picking up the device, bringing the speaker and the phone over to the two of you. While you waited, your tongue swirled around what remained of your lollipop, watching him take a seat back before you, and using your teeth to pull the rest of it off.

Placing the stick down on the ground, what was left of the hard candy crunched between your teeth. Putting your password into the device, you turned it back to him, adjusting the volume down to a low level. As he scrolled through music, you waited, rocking the board slightly with the two of you on it, and he fell into a pattern of matching you on it. The two of you pushed back and forth together, and after a few minutes of silence, you realised he was searching his own profile, and choosing between all of his own playlists.

The gentle notes of 70s country music came through the speaker, and he turned the volume down even lower, until it was just more of a soothing him in the background of you both, and he rubbed his hands together nervously in front of himself.

“You okay, Noah? Whatever it is, seems like it’s really eating at you.”

“It's just some news I got today from Stiles. It feels stupid the more I think about actually saying it to another person, but it’s really bothering me.” He sighed, dropping his head down and running his fingers through his hair in agitation, no care for the oil and grease staining his fingertips. Your forearms were resting on bent legs, and you reached your hands out to him. He looked at you for a second, gaze narrowing slightly on your open hands, before he gave in.

Slipping his hands into your own, his fingers squeezed tightly around the backs of your palms, searching for that comfort, and you curled yours back. “I’m not judging you, okay? I just wanna’ help.”

“I’m just really stressed lately. With it being last year, and all. It’s like, you’re born, and your life is planned out for you. It’s easy. You’re born, you go to pre-K, onto elementary, and then to middle school, high school, and you’re here in college. Your path is planned, it’s easy, you follow the yellow-brick road, or whatever. But, then, suddenly you come out at the end of college and it’s like wading out into the ocean and hitting the continental slope.” His exhale was shaky, and you squeezed his hands lightly, his fingers flexing backwards in response.

“I understand how you feel. I have all my hopes pinned on this final exam. I’m just a kid, studying other kids, trying to make a judgement on what I’ve learned, and this exam decides my future.” You sighed, and he smirked, nodding his head.

“Right? It’s fucking terrifying.”

“And that’s what’s hanging over your head?”

“No.” That frown was back, his hands tightening and loosening, the thoughts flying through his mind visible like a script you couldn't read, watching as he tried to decipher his thoughts and put them together. “It would be easy for me to just get a job at a garage, right? There are garages everywhere, and people’s cars always break down, so it wouldn’t be such a struggle.”

“You can always fix my car, when I inevitable break it.” He smiled, the rocking of the board that you both sat on coming to a stop, despite you trying to lighten the mood.

“My first customer. Promise you’ll be loyal?”

“Totally.”

“Cool.” He whispered, and just like that, the mood was slipping down again. “Stiles wants to travel. He’s been with Derek for years now, and they have their ups and downs but they have never even taken a break. They want to travel together, they’re making plans together. That makes sense, I get it and I’m happy for him, but it’s always been me and him making plans. I’m kinda’ throw by it. We’re hurtling towards the end of the year, six months to go and I’m going to be left alone on the lurch, while he makes plans, and this time, I really will be left behind.”

“Oh, Noah..”

“No, don’t pity me, okay?” He sniffled a little, but he was angry at himself, and it was clear that he hated how much he was bothered by it. “Don’t pity me because it’s stupid. I can’t have my twin right by my side forever like some kind of safety blanket. I have to be able to let him go, because he has clearly let go of his dependence on me years ago, but it just feels so sudden and rushed now.”

“Well, what about your dad? You could go and see him for a while?”

“That's even worse.” His voice trembled as he spoke, your confusion only growing. “I can’t go home until I have something to show for it. Stiles is going to go off and travel the world with his boyfriend. If I just go back to my little town and get a part-time job at the only garage in town, it’s like admitting defeat. It’s like admitting I’m the loser son to everyone who already knows it, but just said it behind my back.”

“You’re not a loser.”

“Yeah, I kinda’ am. Stiles blossomed during college, he had that college experience that makes kids wanna’ go to the same college when they’re older just to try and have even half the experience their parents did.” You grinned, his metaphor being something that made you spark with a little amusement. “I haven’t got anything to show for it.”

“You do, you’re just not as loud as Stiles, and as we’ve already covered, that's a good thing.”

“Yeah, like what?” He challenged, and you paused, feeling put on the spot, and your mind came up blank. “Exactly.”

“Give me a minute, I’m thinking!” You hummed, searching your brain, and there was a lot that you still didn’t know about him, making your task harder. “Okay, well, for starters, you’re helping me graduate. By taking part in my study, you’re changing my whole future. I think that's pretty awesome.”

“That doesn’t count. But, thanks, I guess.”

“Do you want to hear something that might help?” His brows raised, and you dared to shuffle a few inches closer across the board, your joint hands falling to sit on the board between you both as you straighten your legs out underneath his own. “Might make you feel less shitty if you know someone else has it worse?”

“That always does make me feel better. As long as it’s not you, because that wouldn't make me feel good. I don’t want you to be in bad shit.” He squeezed your hand, before letting go, dropping down to lean back on his hands for support, and your cheeks warmed a little.

“It's not me. It’s my friend, Allison.” He was curious, you could see it on his face, and as he became less caught up in his own problems, his mood was already lifting. “She got dumped last night, by the guy she drove three hours to see a couple of weeks ago.”

“That fucking sucks.”

“Yeah. It came out of nowhere, because Ally is one of those ‘see the best ‘til everything goes majorly wrong’ kind of thing.” He grimaced, the expression being exactly how you felt about it, and you could only nod. “He’s been building a friendship with this transfer girl called Kira, she came over and started taking zoology with him. She knows a lot about foxes or wolves, or something, and Scott liked that, apparently.”

“Did she have to drive back three hours on that heartbreak?”

“Oh, he didn’t break up with her then. He broke it off with her over Facetime.” He gagged falsely, making you giggle a little, because it was an accurate representation. “That's how I felt!”

“Even I wouldn't break up with someone like that, and I’m the least socially functioning person on the planet.”

“I don’t know, Stiles probably knows a few inmates who have slightly less social skills.” You pinched your fingers together, as close as you could, and he scoffed, knocking your hand out of the way. “You feel any better?”

“Yeah, a little, I guess. Thanks.” The silence formed between you both again, and he shifted, his legs folded against the concrete until he looked more like he was kneeling, the music playing slowly. Mostly guitar notes, ones that he was tapping his fingers to slowly as he matched the rhythm, and this silence was much more comfortable. You were relieved, knowing that it wasn’t something you had done, but there was a swirling discomfort.

You were relieved, your mood was lifted back up high, but there was something still weighing him down, and you hated to think that he was still dwelling on it. You could see that there was guilt for him too, guilt for feeling angry at his brother for leaving him and guilt at himself for wishing Stiles would stay. The two would be separated at some point in their lives, it was only natural that they would be, but Noah wasn’t ready for that, and Stiles was moving on without him.

Shuffling forwards and folding your legs up to sit cross-legged on the board, your arms came out. He looked at you for a second, studying you, before looking down at himself. “You don’t want to do that. I’m covered in dirt from the underside of your car.”

“I don’t care.” Your fingers wiggled, motioning him in, and his body sagged as he let go of his tension, shifting forwards on his knees to fall into your arms. His chin hooked over your shoulder, a sigh leaving him, and his arms wrapped back around you even more firmly. Squeezed tight, and you ran one hand along his back soothingly in a way he’d done before for you, while the other rubbed over his shoulder blades.

Reaching up a little further, your hand moved on the base of his neck, scratching lightly at the shorter hairs there, before slipping up. Rubbing your fingers through his hair, he let out a soft sound, slumping further into you, and the tips of his fingers were digging into your lower back as he held onto you. “That feels nice, actually.”

“Everyone likes having their hair petted when they feel down. Makes them feel looked after, cared for.”

“Stop being such a psychology major.” He snorted, letting you play with his hair and hold him close for a second longer, before pulling back. His fingers wrapped around your wrist delicately, pulling it down, and his thumb smoothed over your skin, leaving a little black stain there against your skin, the oil on his hands marking it. “I got oil on your jacket.”

He frowned again, and you looked down at it, a few patchy spots of greying transfer on the denim, and it wasn’t too much.

“If you use dish detergent, it should come out pretty easily.”

“I’ll give it a try.” You stood, smoothing your skirt down and offering your hands to him, pulling him to his feet. “You wanna’ tell me what’s wrong with my car, then?”

“I wouldn’t even know where to start. Did you do this to it, or did you buy it with some of these issues?”

A shrug was the only answer you could give, hands coming to rest on your hips. “It was pretty crappy when I bought it, not this bad, but not great. It was only a couple hundred bucks. I had to get the brake pads replaced when I got it, and the suspension sucked, and one of the windows was broken. But, it’s just been getting progressively worse.”

“Okay, well, when I’m done with it, it won't be like that. You’ll be driving safely. I have a rough idea of some parts or order to start with, but I think I’ll spray it down and take it apart a little to get started with.” He looked over at it, worrying his lower lip between his teeth, staring at the vehicle for a second. “Of course, if I can find a paint match, I can fix up some of the scratches, this car is really battered and bruised, and I’m pretty sure this model is from, like, 2005 but I haven’t searched it. I know that in the supplies and storage we’ve got some tyres I can put on it, your traction is basically gone, a-” He cut himself off, turning to look at you as you stared at it, you could feel his eyes on you, and you turned to meet him. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“For.. talking. A lot. About cars.” He was a little strained, and you nudged him with your arm, turning back to glance at it for a second.

“Don’t apologise, I was listening. I was just thinking about how huge of a favour I’m gonna’ owe you when this is done.” You smiled, twisting back to him and his eyes flickered over your face, seeming not to believe that you were really listening. “When I went to the garage, they quoted me three-hundred bucks just for the coil springs to be replaced, and you’re doing all this for me for free. I don’t think it should be for free. I owe you.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll figure something out.” He smirked, and you gasped, holding a hand over your heart in faux shock. “I do have one thing to show you, though!” He held his finger up, motioning for you to wait, and he moved away. Taking your car keys from where they’d been left hanging on the key-rack, he opened the front sea, sitting half into the driver’s seat, and pushing the key into the ignition.

After a few splutters and a couple of scraping turn-overs, the car started up. The engine didn’t sound so healthy, and it almost faulted out, but the car started up, and your hands flew up into the air with a cheer. Despite the struggle it had, it was at least working, and you were surprised he’d managed to achieve so much in just a few hours. “I can’t believe you got it to start up already!”

“Are you doubting my mad mechanic skills?” He killed the engine, pulling the key back out and hanging it on the rack, your keyrings and a photograph in a plastic slip dangling on them, and he slammed the door shut. “I’m probably going to call it a day, but I think it’s some pretty good progress for starting out.”

“It’s amazing progress!” He came back to standing by your side, reaching past you to pick up his jacket, and he reached inside. Pulling out a set of wipes, he took one free, wiping down his hands of grease as best he could. “Thanks for doing this for me.”

“Thanks for coming to visit me.” He finished cleaning his hands, tucking the wipes back into his pockets, the whole pack in one, and the dirty ones in the other, zipping and buttoning them up tightly. Pulling your phone from the speaker, he switched the gadget off and wrapped the wire back up, the silence forming between you both once again. Tucking it into your bag when he handed it over, he sealed up his phone into his pocket, and turned back to look at you. “You want a ride?”

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” You scoffed, turning away from him to walk towards the entrance of the garage, and back out onto the pathway. He was scowling as he followed you, but his cheeks were red, and he snatched up his keys and your spare signed papers as he went, giving you a second to grab your bag.

“I meant, do you want a ride home? On the bike.” His cheeks only got a little redder, and as he stretched up to reach the top of the garage, his shirt rode up a little bit, dark hairs flashed along the bottom of his stomach for only a second, before pulling down the door. It shuddered as it did, and you looked away, letting him return to his normal height and lock the door with the padlock still hanging through the gap, before turning back to him. “So?”

“Yeah, that’d be pretty fun.”

You followed him to the side of the building, his bike parked up on the concrete in his dedicated parking space, his helmet hanging by one of the traps on his handles, and he took it off. Placing it over his head and letting each side with the buckle swing free for a moment, he opened up the back, revealing the second helmet with the bright blue shine.

Handing it over to you, you made sure to smooth down your hair as best as possible, before placing the helmet over your head. It was cushioned, and squeezed in a way that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but it was tight, and you were still getting used to the padding. His fingers were under your chin, the index finger knuckle digging slightly into your jaw as he tipped your head up. Staring to the sky, he did up the catch up and tapped the top, wobbling your head side to side with enough force to move your body, and you giggled a little at the action. “I think it’s on there!”

“Just checking!” He did his buckle up, smirking as you tried to steady yourself from your dizziness, and he swung his leg over the bike, popping the brace from the ground as it sprang back into place. With keys in the ignition, the bike roared into life, and you stood before him. “Any time today would be awesome.”

“Oh, cut it out.” You glared at him, swinging your leg across the bike, shifting a little on the seat once you were settled, and he zipped up the front of his jacket. Doing up a couple of the buttons along the denim, you made sure it was secure around your body, before your hands were slipping under his arms, and around his front. Leaning in closer, your front pressed to his back, you held on tightly. Feet lifted from the floor and tucked against the bike securely, you patted his front carefully in signal of being ready.

Taking the hint, he revved for a second, before the bike was spurring into life, and you couldn't help the jump you made as it did. It somehow seemed scarier to weave between the pathways of garages than it was on the roads, the thinner passages that he seemed to master perfectly. Once the two of you hit the roads, you could let a held breath go free, and you were enjoying the atmosphere again.

Seeing the university campus from the roads while on a motorbike was like seeing them for the first time, a flying journey of colour and buildings. As you went, your body seemed to tune into the ticks and twitches he made as you rode. His side would clench a little a split second before a turn, and you were beginning to lean into them with him instinctually instead of by prompt, and your fingers no longer dug into the muscles of his stomach with fear but your palms could lay flat.

Your bag was sliding around in the box behind you each time you came to a stop or a pause at a traffic light, you could hear it thump in the box, before the engine was revving again. When you finally pulled back into the parking lot of your building, he stopped the bike entirely, popping the stand back out with his toes before switching off the engine. Swinging your leg over the back and hopping a little once you were free, you came to stand back before him.

He stayed sitting on the leather, his head turning to look at you, and his upper body followed, hands coming up to undo the catch. As he lifted the helmet away, your hair got stuck in it, your head yanking to follow, and you stumbled with it, knee bumping against the edge of the bike.

“Wait, wait, wait, my hair!”

“I see that!” There was an air of panic to his voice, and he held the helmet up, your hair going slack where it was stuck, and you set to work untangling it. With all the wind that came and the breeze that had flown past, a free strand of your hair had gotten wrapped up in the catch, and you undid the knots that were forming delicately, trying not to pull them any tighter, until you were free to step back. Rubbing one hand at your scalp and one at your knee, a red patch that would form a purple bruise by the morning, but the pain was already fading. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Not the worst injuries I’ve ever lived through.” You teased, and he gave a gentle laugh, his eyes flicking down to the watch on his wrist, seeing the afternoon already fading into the evening. “What are you gonna’ do with your evening?”

“Uh, well, Stiles is going over to stay at Derek’s so they can talk about plans after graduating.” His voice was mocking over the words, and he looked disappointed in himself to follow but he couldn't help it, and you let a hand fall to his shoulder. Rubbing lightly he huffed, and looked back up to you. “I don’t know. Probably just going to sulk and try to forget about it. I normally like it when I have the place to myself for a bit, so, I’ll make the most of it.”

“You wanna’ have alone time?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m kind of a loner. I’ve become pretty comfortable in my own company.” You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing, but his laughter was infectious as you tried to contain it, but your walls quickly crumbled.

“I’m serious, do you want to be alone?”

“What, you offering to keep me company?” He hummed, turning to place your helmet down on the seat behind himself.

“Yes, actually, I am.”

His face snapped back up, eyes a little wide as he stared at you. “You, uh, you’re serious? You want to hang out?”

“I think you’ve probably never seen a movie other than Star Wars, what with being related to Stiles and all, and I’m in the mood for Chinese food. I think that we should order a lot of food, and find some good comedies, or maybe make our house bigger on Minecraft, and not think about graduation for a while.” Arms crossing over your chest formed like armour, defensively in case you were rejected, watching in tentative and prolonged silence for Noah’s reply.

“Well, I think you’d better hop on, then.” He handed you your helmet back, and you held it between your hands.

“Well, there’s a really good Chinese place not far from here, and your place is only a ten-minute walk.” You rounded to the side of the bike, undoing the catch on the back-box, before swapping the helmet in your hands for the bag inside. Once it was sealed back up, Noah was already standing up, hands tucked into his pockets once he’d unzipped his jacket, and you laced your arm through his. “You sure you want company?”

“Normally it’d be a ‘no’, but I’ve been growing progressively fonder of your company.”

“Good. Because you’re going to love the egg grief rice at this place. It’s my guilty pleasure.”

“I hope it lives up to the hype, then.” His brows wiggled, slightly teasingly, and you pulled him along towards the steps at the edge of the parking lot. The skies were clouding over with a pastel array, blue being washed away as the night threatened to come in. Purple was forming overhead, pinks and oranges surrounding the sun as it disappeared behind tall buildings, no longer visible, and street lights were coming on. Dull and warm yellows from faded bulbs, flickering a little as you went, and the signs on the buildings were beginning to light up for nightlife.

There was a comfortable lull between you both, while you weren’t overly familiar with his side of campus, he wasn’t all that familiar with yours. He was trying to take it in and commit at least a fraction of it to memory, you could tell, in the way that his gaze was flicking over the streets, the buildings the people, constantly. His guard was up, every person you passed on the street who offered you both polite smiles and greetings as they went made him duck his head a little lower.

He paused, letting you do all of the greetings and petting the heads of dogs when dog-walkers passed by, your arm always finding a home linked through his again, and he let out a quiet breath of relief when you’d reached the restaurant. It wasn’t much of a dine-in place, a few small tables on the polished linoleum but it wasn’t the sort of place you’d want to stay. The lights were bright and the walls weren’t overly decorated, a few bonsai trees in pots and a stack of magazines next to the chairs in the waiting area, but their speciality was takeaway.

Heading up to the counter, a friendly face greeted you, the son of the owner who attended this school and often gave you discounts or slipped free extras into your order, more than happy to see you on a busy Friday night. You’d been fourth down in the queue to be packed, everybody wanting this food, and upon placing your order, you’d been left to sit.

There was shouting, and yelling, music coming from the background in a language that was too fast for you to even pick out the few words you’d learned over the years, and the sound of loud sizzling. The spicy mixture of smells never failed to make your stomach rumble, like a teaser to get your appetite going, or the trailers before a movie, getting you all worked up for the meal that was coming.

Thirty minutes later, with two takeout bags in hand, the two of you had been finishing the last of the walk to his apartment, Noah mumbling about how he’d never heard of this place, despite how close it was. It was a hidden gem that didn’t have a website, just a Facebook page and leaflets around the campus, keeping it a well-known secret for the lucky adventurers of town.

Balancing both bags in your arms upon reaching the top of the stairs, so that he could fish the keys from his pockets and hold the door open for you, the steam was beginning to soak through a little where the tops had been curled over, the stickers holding them shut to keep the heat locked in was becoming looser and beginning to peel themselves from the brown packaging.

Welcoming you inside, he held the door for you, scratching at the back of his neck and closing the door after you both. Hanging his keys up on the hook by the door, he flicked the lights on, the bulbs taking a second to process the electric sparking through them before light was filling the room. He looked around, hands rubbing in front of his body, staring out at the empty living room.

“Alright, well, make yourself comfortable, I guess.” It still seemed a little uncomfortable for Noah to invite anybody into his home, and you understood that. This was a safe place, this was where he could come after a long day and feel secure, and so introducing someone else to that little perimeter of safety was always going to be worrying, and you glanced over at the couches, noting the neat fold in the top of each one, presumably done by Stiles in a fit of anxious cleaning. “I’m going to go and clean up a little. Plates are in the cupboards.”

He was scratching at his skin again, patches of dried oil and grease on his skin leaving red marks in their wake as he scratched it away, and you weren’t all that surprised, the thought alone was making you feel itchy. “Take your time, I’ll be fine here.”

He nodded, hesitating for only a second longer, before moving away, and his bedroom door closed. Putting the two large bags down on the kitchen counters, you started up the sink, washing your hands under it, and using a good lathering of soap to strip the oil from your wrist that had been smeared there.

Drying them off on a towel, the sounds of water thundering down on the base of a bathtub was loud for you to hear, even through the thick wooden door. Hanging your jacket up on the racks and taking off your shoes, your toes wiggled against the hardwood floors, still feeling slightly out of place in a home you didn’t know all that well, yet. He was humming, to a song you vaguely recognised but the lyrics were escaping you, and you placed two large dinner plates down on the counter.

Grabbing two glasses, you took the bundle over to the coffee table, setting them down with coasters and laying them out, before retrieving the bags. Opening everything up slowly, and peeling back the double-wrapped paper and foil that was keeping it all warm, steam curling out into the air on the other sides of your fingers. Spicy and sweeter smells filled the air, and as you began to lay it all out as best you could, the door clicked open.

At the sound, the first place your head went to was the bathroom, but the door was still locked, the humming on the other side continued, and light from under the door was spilling out. Instead, there was scuffling to the directions of the front door, and your head whipped around.

“Jeez, Stiles, you gave me a heart attack.”

He shrieked, hand clutched over his chest as he looked up from his phone, eyes wide for a second, before his gaze fixed on you. “You gave me a heart attack!” He wandered over, eyes rapidly finding all of the food you had laid out, and picky fingers reached down to pick up a spring roll, taking a bite from the end. He cursed at the heat, hot fillings spilling out onto his tongue. He chewed despite it, puffing out hot air like a dragon and you cringed at the way he acted, wondering why he was the twin who’d somehow managed to snag a long-term relationship. “This is super romantic, and all, but you know I’m gay, right?”

“Shut up, this isn’t for you, so make the most of that spring roll because you’re not getting any more!” You slapped at the back of his hand when he reached for another, while holding the other between his teeth, and he flipped you off as he pulled back.

“Fine, fine. Where’s my brother, anyway?”

“He’s in the shower.”

Stiles swallowed the mouthful he had, his eyes flicking over the dinner plates, and the meal you had, before going to the bathroom door, and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit, are you and my brother doing it?”

“What? No.” You glanced back, noting how it all seemed when you took it all in, and your eyes went wide. “What! No! Stiles!”

“Noah.” Came a grumbled voice, and your cheeks warmed when you looked back towards the corridor. With a fresh set of clothes on, water soaking through in a few patches and he was rubbing a towel over his head.

“Stiles.” You insisted, and Noah’s head came up, catching sight of his brother, and a friendly smile graced his features. Dropping the towel he’d been using on his hair to the kitchen counter, the slightly-taller met his brother in the middle.

“Hey, Sti. What are you doing back?”

“Interrupting something, apparently,” Stiles smirked, and you rolled your eyes at him, meaning back in the couch cushions to hide your discomfort. “I came back to get my phone charger.”

“You drove all the way back here for a phone charger?” Stiles was already walking away, disappearing into his bedroom to get the cable, and you turned to Noah. He only shrugged, placing down the hoodie that he had slung over his other arm, leaving it on the back of the couch, before Stiles reappeared.

“Der has one of those Samsung Galaxy thingies. I have an iPhone. They ain’t compatible.” Stiles sighed, and you chuckled at him. Leaning over the edge of the couch, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, ruffling his brother’s wet hair, before heading back towards the door. Turning on his heel and walking backwards, he winked at the pair of you as Noah settled onto the couch beside you, both staring at the flannel-clad boy in the doorway. “Have fun on your date.”

Your mouth opened, a protest ready on the tip of your tongue, but the door was slamming again, and you huffed out the breath instead. Noah stared out at the food, his eyes scanning over everything, and you realised that he was worried about what Stiles had said. “I couldn't find the cutlery drawer.”

“What?” His attention was on you, it was enough of a distraction to drag his focus to you, and you smiled.

“Knives and forks. I couldn't find your cutlery drawer.”

“Oh.” He hummed, settling back into the cushions for a second, before snapping up to his feet, taking the action. “Oh! Right, yeah, ‘course. It’s all in that drawer that gets kinda’ stuck.” You followed him, a drawer that was so stuck you thought it was just a decorative drawer front, and it rattled loudly as he yanked it open. Plucking two sets of knives and forks, and a couple of spoons for serving up, he came back over. There were two pairs of chopsticks inside, and you snapped the wood apart, laying a set across the tips of each plate. As he sat, he took the hoodie he’d left, laying it across his lap, and putting down the utensils. “I brought you this. I thought it might be a bit more comfortable than wearing denim all evening.”

“You’re letting me borrow a hoodie? Your hoodies always look so soft!” You took the fabric from him, the zip on the front undone, and you shuffled forward to perch on the edge of your seat to pull it on. The oversized material on his broad shoulders was hanging over the edge of yours a little, and long sleeves were picked through where his thumb would go, but your index finger could slip through that patch instead, and you pulled it close around yourself.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah, always. I hope it’s a weird question, those are always fun.” You turned back to him, watching as he scooped out a portion of rice onto his plate in order to avoid your eye as he searched for his word. You began to dish up your own food, peeling open the tub of sweet and sour sauce.

“What’s your favourite kind of frog?”

You beamed, the soft laugh you made gaining you a quick glance from him, and there was a smirk on his face. “I like those tree frogs with the poisonous secretions that tribespeople scrape off to make those fatal blow-dart things.”

“You answered that suspiciously fast. Who the fuck has a favourite frog?”

“I have a favourite lizard too, but it’s my turn to ask a question.” He nodded his head, swapping containers with you as he reached for something else, and you took the spoon too. “So, what was your real question?”

“Oh.” His face fell again, and you shifted closer, bumping your shoulder with him to encourage him silently, the two of you filling your plates. “I just wanted to know if us hanging out, and seeming like friends, is just for the study, or whether we’re really friends?”

“What do you want us to be, Noah?”

He tensed up slightly, clearly uncomfortable and on-edge about the question, and you gave him his time to answer. It took him a few minutes, but you were more than willing to give him that time, letting the scrapes of cutlery on porcelain and the polite crunches of food keep the silence from taking over.

“It’s not a trick-question, Noah. I just genuinely want to know what you want, so I’m not pushing any boundaries that you don’t want me to cross.”

“Okay, well, I don’t think I just want to be a lab rat to you. I like hanging out with you, you don’t make me feel so nervous anymore, in fact, you kinda’ make me feel at ease when I get overwhelmed by other people. I like how I feel around you, so, I don’t want to lose that.” He stabbed aggressively at a dumpling on his plate, using it to stop any more words from spilling out as he stuffed the whole of it between his cheeks, and it was clear that when he was really being himself, or had other things on his mind, he was just as messy and reckless an eater as Stiles was. “But, if you don’t want to be friends with me, or even act like we knew each other after this, then I’d totally get it. I’m not exactly anyone’s top choice for a friend, and you have a lot of friends, you don’t need anymore, when I don’t even have anything to offer anyway-”

You knelt up, taking his head in your hands, and pressing a kiss to his forehead, damp strands of hair brushing your nose as you gave him the same calming gesture he’d given you not so long prior. “Now who's rambling, huh?”

“Too much time with you, obviously.” He whispered, smiling when you sank back down to sit before him, and he reached his fingers up, two brushing lightly along his hairline where your lips had been. “Thanks. I was freaking out a bit.”

“I could tell, but you don’t need to. I’m not leaving until you actually tell me to.”

“Okay. Good.” He slowed the eating of his food, the half-chewed dumpling that had been pocketed in his cheeks like a hamster as the diversion failed him was returning, and he faced the TV for a second, lips pulled din half of a cocky smile a second later. “My friends have been asking about you. I think you need to kick their asses online again and remind them of your crowning victory.”

“Absolutely I will. Long live the queen.” He laughed softly at the joke, eyes flickering over your face as you turned to him, and there was a gleam in his eyes that you only ever saw when he let you get this close. It was a spark that was often extinguished by fear when others came around, but ignited when he was comfortable, and you were glad you got the privilege of knowing him when he truly let his guard down.

“So, what is your favourite lizard, then?”

204 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don’t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

208 notes · View notes

writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (07)

word count; 11,151

summary; your meeting with noah doesn’t quite go as expected, and then he makes an unexpected development with his anxiety.

notes; you’re gonna love it. just start reading.

warnings; make a dentist appointment.

It was the first truly warm day of the year, the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds and you were ready to enjoy it. Your favourite summer dress was one, a lightweight one than the others, and there was more of a pep in your step. While it wasn’t all that bright out, a pair of shades still resided on your nose, balanced on the bridge as you wandered out across the field. Wooden benches were still empty for the early hours in the morning and you were waiting for the hours to tick on and the sun to move higher across the sky.

Noah was already waiting for you, sitting under a tree with his back popped up against it, his legs stretched out before him. His arms were folded over his chest and his legs were crossed at the ankles, a blank stare on his face as he stared out across the field, unaware of your approach.

He jumped when your shadow fell over him, a wide smile on your face and his gaze flickered over you. “What’s with the sunglasses?”

“It’s the first warm day! Or, it’ll get warmer by about midday. It’s gonna’ be bright!”

“Uh-huh.” He huffed, and you rolled the picnic blanket out from under your arm, flapping it against the crunch of grass wearing a light shine of dew, and you sat down against it. Noah stared at it, a hand coming out to brush over the felt lining of it, before he was lifting himself up, shuffling closer to you a little as he sat on the blanket instead.

“What's up with the attitude today, huh?”

“I don’t have an attitude.” He snapped, his jaw clenching a little, and you raised your brows at him, progressively growing less wary of his tone and moods, knowing it was mostly born from discomfort or issues in his life, and not hatred for you. He frowned, nails picking at the skin around his nails as he pondered the problem, and you took his hand away, stopping the inadvertent harm he was causing himself. Resting his hand in your lap, your fingers wrapped around his, holding onto it, and his head twisted against the trunk of the tree to meet your eyes. “Alright. I’m sorry, sunshine. I’m just having a shitty day.”

“Why didn’t you just cancel, then?”

“Because, if I did that then I’d only spend the day sulking, and I don’t sulk as much when I’m with you. I didn’t feel like sulking all day.” He shrugged, your hands squeezing around his and he smiled a little, his gaze moving over you. “Cute dress.”

“Okay, well, how about we don’t study, then? Let's just hang out.”

“You’ll fall behind if we blow-off sessions every time I’m in a bad mood.”

“This isn’t every time, this is just once. To make you feel better.” You pressed up to his side, your arms wrapping around his arm, and your cheek fell to rest on his shoulder. He sagged against you, his own cheek coming to rest on the top of your head, and he mumbled another apology for his poor mood. “I still like your company, even when it’s not the best company.” He twisted, lips bushing the crown of your head for only a moment, but you pressed back into it. “You know what makes me feel better sometimes?”

“What?”

“Staring at the clouds and trying to pick out shapes and things.” He snorted a laugh, groaning when you forced him to his feet, dragging the picnic blanket out from under the tree and further into the grass, dandelions and daisies amongst the wash of green. Your bag fell off as it moved, and he scooped up both yours and his, placing them back on the blanket once you were happy with its position. Sitting down on it, he followed after you, and you pressed his shoulders down until he was laying, staring up at the sky, and you copied his position, laying beside him. “Perfect.”

“Now what?”

“Now, you just pick shapes out of the sky and the clouds.” Your gaze moved over the white masses, trying to find your first shape to point out to him. He shuffled a little more beside you, clearly trying to get comfortable, before the arm that was lying between your two bodies was lifting. Folding at the elbow to cushion his head against his palm, there was a little groan to his sigh as he squinted up at the sky. “Okay, so, look right there. It's a crocodile.”

“I don’t see a crocodile.” He mumbled, his eyes following the direction that your fingers were pointing, but you could tell that he was looking in entirely the wrong direction.

“A little to the left.” You mumbled, grinning at the way his head tipped way too far, almost looking to the horizon instead of the sky, and you chuckled. Placing a finger and thumb on either side of his chin, you tipped his head some more. “You see it now?”

“If I say no, will you be mad at me?”

“‘Course not. Just tell me what you see up there.” Your hand slipped down from his face, the scratch of stubble underneath his skin threatening to break out again making sudden a little, and your hand came back down to rest on the blanket.

“Okay, well, I see clumps of evaporated water reflecting light and giving the appearance of something soft and fluffy in the sky.” You slapped at his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs as you did, and he wheezed out his laughter, rolling over to nudge you back in retaliation. “Fine! Okay, um..”

His words trailed off, staring up at the sky, and as you looked at him, you could see the concentration on his face. Taking your glasses off, you placed them over his nose, watching his face scrunch up a little to adjust them, before his head was rolling to look at you. His lips turned up, a softer smile at the edges, and he wiggled his nose a little, letting them settle on his face in the way that suited him. “Don’t focus too much, just pick out random shapes.”

He nodded a little, eyes finding yours through the tinted glass for just a few seconds longer, before he was looking back to the sky, as he was told to do so. “Alright, well, I guess the one right overhead kinda’ looks a bit like a t-rex.”

“A t-rex, huh?”

“Well, what do you see?” He scoffed, and you giggled at him, nudging him with your elbow.

“I see a cat.” His head tipped to the side, staring up at it, and he gave a vague hum. You weren’t convinced that he was seeing that either, but he didn’t want to disagree with you, and your eyes were drawn back to him again as he continued to stare up at the sky. “What else do you see?”

“I think the one to the bottom left of the t-rex looks a bit like a house.” He mumbled, and his lashes were moving in the gap under the glasses and his nose, showing that he was looking rapidly over the sky, and he seemed to be letting his reservations about the activity go. “Also, I don’t really see anything in the one next to it either, but it has a relaxing shape. It feels non-threatening.”

“Do you normally feel threatened by clouds?”

“Oh, shut up.” He muttered, rolling to the side, laughter on the tip of his tongue and his elbow came down. Bumping against the top of your head in his actions, you yelled, a spike of pain that quickly faded, and his laughter broke free. As you brought a hand up to rub at the top of your head, he rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow and using the other to roll you into him, his hand coming up to hold the back of your head softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Despite him laughing, he leaned down, huffs of air washing over your face as his body shook, and he pressed a soft kiss to your hairline, still laughing. Moving your hand out of the way, he rubbed his hand over the top of your skull, the place where his elbow collided with. When his cheek moved to rest on the top of your head on the impromptu half-hug, he was laughing loudly again.

“If it makes you feel any better, I feel better?”

“You only feel better because you gave me brain damage or a concussion, or something.” You pushed away from him, rolling back to lay again to face the sky, and as he stayed propped up on his side, he let his arm fall flat, your head resting against his arm as you lay there.

“Maybe a little, but only because it was funny.” He teased, humour threatening to break free once again. His fingers wiggled, his arm moving underneath you again, your head shifting with each flex of his arm. “You’re going to give me a dead arm, and I hate that tingly feeling.”

“Oh, I get it. You just hate me today.” You gave a heavy groan as you hauled yourself to sitting up, and he rolled back to lay down. Letting his arms both fold behind his head with a cocky smirk, his legs crossed again at the ankles as he looked back to the sky. Crossing your legs and folding down the edges of your dress, you were more than happy to just sit beside him, letting the quiet take over.

“Will you tell me about those ink card things? This kinda’ feels like that. I’ve always wondered about them.” Your brows furrowed, trying to work out what he meant for a second, before you realised it was the splotch cards.

“I don’t think they apply to you.”

Maybe, but I’m still curious.” He shuffled, head coming to rest a little closer to your legs, and you propped yourself up with a hand behind yourself, the other picking at loose strings on your dress.

“Alright, to start with, its official name is the ‘Rorschach test’.” His eyes closed under the glasses, at such a close distance you could see such through the lens, and it made you smile, gently. “It’s a method of psychological testing. Groups of ten, normally, some are black and white but some have colour on, too.”

“What are they used for?”

“Well, typically, they’re just used for revealing a person’s emotional functioning or unconscious thoughts. It’s like a personality test, it digs up a little bit about things we maybe don’t know about ourselves.” There were daisies scattered around you, and as you spoke, you began to pick a few, the spring flowers forming a pile on the blanket in front of you. “It’s kind of controversial, though. They use it a lot in court cases when determining mental health, and debates like whether a detainee should be in a prison or a mental health institution.”

“I always thought it was for the big mental health issues. You always see it in those weird psychological thrillers, like the sort of thing Sarah Paulson would star in, you know?”

“You get all your knowledge of psychology from horror movies?”

“I’ve never asked anybody about psychology before.” He snipped back, a cheeky look crossing over his features. “I bet all you know about mechanics is what you’ve learned from ‘Grease’.”

“Fair play, Stilinski.” You began to thread together some of the daisies, poking holes into them with your nails and beginning to link them up a few at a time into the beginnings of a chain. “Well, the tests aren’t all that great, anyway. They aren’t good at picking out a lot of your normal mental health issues, like anxiety or depression. They’re great for schizophrenia or multiple personality, y’know, the rarer ones that they make movies like ‘Split’ about, but they’re not much use after that.”

Silence formed, as he took in the words, the void between your speech finishing and his never beginning, only shattered when he took a deep inhale. “They’re not as exciting as I thought they’d be.”

“Not everything in psychology is like the weird mental health hospitals you see in the movies. Those ones with Nurse Ratched and Doctor Frankenstein and all that weird shit you see going on in the movies, none of that is real.” He twisted to look at you, head tilted in your direction, and you played your half-formed daisy chain down. “Sorry to break it to you.”

“Eh, I kinda figured, anyway.” He did his best to shrug from the position he was laying in, before shifting again. Propping himself up on his elbows, he shuffled across the blanket, until he could rest his head on the cross of your legs, sweeping the pile of daisies out of his way so as not to be crushed, and you felt a little shocked at the gesture.

He didn’t seem like the sort of person to initiate any kind of intimacy, and he didn’t seem like someone who’d like PDA. In fact, everything about Noah Stilinski screamed privacy and never drawing attention in public, but he continued to surprise you.

With every session you did, and every late-night phone call to catch up on questions while he was distracted with video games or midday calls while he was in his garage, you learned more and more about him. Once his guards were down, it came out that he tended to talk just as much as Stiles, he was chatty in his own way, and you loved it. You loved hearing everything that he had to say, really. He was passionate about a lot more things than he let on.

Despite the dark and cold exterior he let everyone perceive him in, he was more like bright technicolour and bursts of warmth that let you feel at home, but only for the few people that he deemed trustworthy enough to see it.

“So, if being a psychology major is oh-so-boring, then why do you do it?”

“I never said it was boring.” You continued with your daisy chain, the threads beginning to come together, and as your hands sat over the top of him to work, a little pile of woven daisies was forming to the right side of his head on your knee. “I like it. I like not only knowing that I can understand someone more, but I like that I can help people understand themselves.”

“That's deep.” He whispered, a smile to follow it at the laugh you gave him.

“Yeah, well, it’s also kinda’ selfish. I just like being able to understand people in social situations better. I find that a lot of understanding a person in public means understanding them as an individual, and it makes me feel better about myself if I know other people aren’t as powerful as my mind makes them out to be when I’m insecure.” The daises reached the floor, pausing as little in your work as you realised just how much you’d let slip there, and you let out a sigh.

You’d never intended to grow this close to Noah Stilinski, he was supposed to be the one being studied, the one who would pour out his inner thoughts to be deciphered, but the more time you spent with him, the more you realised you bore your soul to him just as much. “So, you analyse all your friends like this, then?”

He had a way of making you laugh, of making you feel better when you were down that nobody else had quite mastered yet, and he seemed to do it with such ease. A teasing joke, a kiss to your forehead or a piece of validation that held a deeper meaning than any of the confirmations the people who surrounded you on a daily basis always seemed to come up with. Running a finger over the bridge of his nose, slowly, he tipped up, bumping the tip of the digit from the end of his nose, and your finger brushed lightly over his lips for a second, a smile still present on them. “Just the special ones, starshine.”

His grin only widened at that.

“So, what about you? What makes mechanics and engineering so interesting, huh?”

You continued your work, moving past the intimacy of the moment you’d shared, and breaking your near-monologuing to him by promoting him to talk about his own major. “It started as something more practical than enjoyment, but I did come to be pretty fond of it.”

“You didn’t want to take it when you first applied to colleges?”

“I didn’t even know what to take when I was first applying to colleges.” Your chain was long enough now, and after tying it off at one of the ends, you lifted it, placing it like a crown onto your head. “Did you just make a daisy crown for yourself?”

“Yeah. Problem?”

“No. It’s cute.” He licked his lips, drying a little and he was staring up at you from your lap. You weren’t sure whether you approved of this angle. It wasn’t your best one, that was for sure but he’d chosen it and whether or not you liked it, he had already seen it now. “Can you make me one?”

“You want a flower crown?” You teased, his cheeks flushing with a little pink, and a chilling wind swept across you. The sun was higher in the sky now, and you had expected it to get warmer, but it hadn't. The lack of heat has left you without a jacket and sitting out in the chill as the time passed you by and the afternoon was tickling in. “I can’t do you a flower crown laying down, you’d have to get up.”

“I don’t want to, I’m happy here.”

He shuffled, as though to make his point, and a warmth spread over your own cheeks, your heart skipping a little in his chest. It surprised you, you weren’t easily sure when Noah had been able to have such an effect on you. Somewhere between the secession as you watched him open up a little more, and the jokes you’d share over your headsets on nights where you’d connect online to play games, he’d made something more permanent in your life than just a study. “How about I just thread some daises into your hair, then?”

“Yeah, okay.” He frowned, and you began to run your fingers through the hair that you could reach, spiking his hair up gently. “Will you make me one next time?”

“Yeah, I promise.” It was adorable, the image of him in your mind with flowers in his hair and sunglasses on his face, smiling wide and happy. Next time, you’d take him somewhere more special than just the campus grasses, somewhere better. Bigger flowers, softer grass, more sun and fewer people, somewhere that was just for the two of you. “You said you didn’t know what you wanted to do when applying for colleges, but you love mechanics so much now. How’d that happen?”

“I don’t know, really.” He let out something soft between a grunt and a sigh when your fingers caught at a tangle in his hair, pulling it loose and spiking his hair up a little more, and his head jerked slightly. A whispered apology left your lips, one which he accepted with only a gentle smile, before settling his neck back comfortably. “Stiles knew he was gonna’ go to this college and take their criminal psychology course since Sophomore year, or something. He always knew what he wanted.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” He chuckled, and you pushed the first daisy into the front of his hair, his eyes crossing under the glasses as he tried to look up at it, unable to see the white petals poking down into the chocolate locks. “We always promised we would go to college together, so when he set his heart on this college, I started checking out courses. Nothing called to me, y’know? Nothing stood out. So, it’s the beginning of Senior year and Stiles and I come down to look around, and the jeep breaks. Obviously, because it’s a piece of crap old car. One of the kids doing mechanics offered to fix it, and we got to check out the garages, We never would have beforehand, and I don’t know, all the tinkering around on mechanics I did at home suddenly made me feel like I could make a skill out of it. I was good at it and I could get better.”

“You are a pretty awesome mechanic.” A smirk formed from him at your words, and you continued to lace flowers into his hair slowly and methodically.

“I’ve never been much good at anything before. I liked how it made me feel.” His body deflated a little, a weak attempt at a shrug, and you brushed loose petals from your legs once you decided there were enough flowers in his hair. “How do I look?”

“Pretty.” You teased, giggling at the expression he made for a second, before he was sitting up again, legs crossing as he sat directly before you, and he took the sunglasses off.

“Then that makes two of us.”

“You’re smooth. Smoother than you let on. You’re just a flirt, really.” He was smirking again, then, and one eye dropped in a wink.

“I’m out of practice, but thanks.” Folding the glasses away and placing them on the blanket between you, his denim-covered knees brushed yours when he moved. His gaze was on you, somehow feeling more personal than just through the lenses, and silence fell over you both. Reaching up with another daisy, his gaze followed your hand as you tucked it behind his ear, like a cigarette or a pen, and the heights of his cheeks tinted pink. “I’ve been talking for a while. You talk now.”

“I like hearing you talk.” One of his brows raised, your jaw dropping for a second as you tried to find a way to explain yourself, and you couldn’t. It was your turn to take on warm cheeks, and he reached up, taking a daisy in two slightly calloused fingers, before placing the flower to match his. “You just get so passionate, I mean. I like that you talk to me now, not like the way we were at first. I like our chats.”

“Well, I like hearing you talk, too.” He dared to lift a hand, a single finger running over the back of your hand and tracing the clean skin on your arms, with an inked finger that contrasted the pure flesh. “So, we take turns, and it’s your turn.”

“Okay, fine.” You gave a dramatic sigh, the edges of his lips flicking up in amusement at the act as his finger drew aimless shapes onto tingling skin. “What do you want me to talk about?”

“Uh.. I don’t know.” He hummed to himself, brows dipping as he squinted, clearly trying to think of something. Flipping your palm over, he moved to trace the lines on the skin there, the dips and wrinkles, before pausing when his thoughts clicked. “What inspired you to do a study on twins, then?

“I wish I could take the credit and say I was really creative, but actually, we were all assigned a prompt.” His drawing took up again, the shapes being traced into your flesh were soothing, your fingers twitching every so often as he worked. “My professor wrote a bunch of threads onto pieces of paper, and everyone had to pick one out. I picked out ‘twins’.”

“I was hoping it would be more exciting, to be honest.”

“At least I didn’t get Stiles!” Your face was splitting in a wide grin then, and his attention was brought up to you as his motions paused once more. “He picked out ‘fetishes’!”

“Fetishes?” Noah echoed, his laughter soon following, and you creased a little in the middle as you bowed to meet him, your forehead finding his shoulder as you laughed. His body was shaking underneath you, deep laughter in your ear, and it was a tranquil kind of moment to be a part of.

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you! I mean, he does criminal psychology. He has to interview criminals.” When you pulled back, there was a tinkle to your companion’s eye as humour raced through his veins. “He literally has to go and ask the worst of the worst about what makes them horny!”

“That sounds awful.”

“You bet it does!”

Once your laughter had faded, that same comfortable quiet reemerged, and his focus moved up to the ring on your index finger. He promptly began to turn it, rotating slowly, and a flash moved through your mind in comparison to Stiles. It was obvious that they both suffered from anxiety, and they both liked to fidget to distract themselves, but somehow, Noah’s was becoming endearing to you.

“It gave me a lot of ideas, at first.” He jumped slightly, your vice unexpected, and he twisted the ring back into place, before pulling his hands into his lap as he tuned in to listen to you after his mind had drifted. “For weeks, I was just developing all of these ideas. I had different sets of twins lined up, and I had so many options. I was lucky, really.”

“If you didn’t pick us, what would you have done?” You liked that he cared enough to ask questions, and that he cared enough to hold onto details of things you did. It made you feel like someone truly bothered to know you, not just know the version of you that was popular and liked the crowds.

“I had this set of twins lined up, Derek’s friends, and I would have probably done the same question, this one has the most potential. They’re kinda’ like you and Stiles.”

“So, what made you choose us?” There was a slight tremor to his voice, nothing fragile or breakable, but he was searching for some kind of validation from you, something to make him feel special for being chosen, but you already knew he was.

“Well, for starters, you and Stiles have something that they didn’t. You had the single parent advantage, which really narrowed in on my study, and made my hypothesis all the more valid.” His eyes searched yours, but nothing gave away the evident disappointment he held, it was just something you could feel lingering in the air between you both.

“Oh, right.”

“Plus, y’know, I wanted to get to know you a little more.” The energy between you both lit up once again, sparks as he sat up a little straighter. That beautiful smile that rarely made an appearance in public but was becoming a common sight in your presence was back.

“Oh, you wanted to get to know me after one collision in a coffee shop, and so few strained greetings over three years that you could count them in one hand?” He chuckled, teasing you even though it was exactly what you wanted to hear. Leaning back on your hands, you shrugged, the flower crown atop your head tipping to the side.

Your eyes rolled a little as he laughed at his statement, letting him get it out of his system before you continued. “Stiles talks about you all the time. I kinda’ felt like I knew you.”

“That’s sorta’ sweet. In a slightly uncomfortable way, but I know you mean it to be cute.”

“I had to get to know you somehow! You never came to any of the parties I invited you to via Stiles, and you never stopped to talk when I saw you on campus.”

“You invited me to parties?” His voice was a fraction higher than usual, vulnerable now, and you nodded to him, not wanting to ruin the fragile moment. “I never knew that. Stiles always mentioned parties, but I told him I didn’t want to go. I never even gave him a chance to tell me you extended the invite. I thought he was just offering to take me out of pity.”

“Just so you know, the invites weren’t pitying. They were genuine, I always wanted to meet you properly.” He took the promise to heart, his lips rolling together a little to contain his grin, and he accepted the compliment.

“Is it my turn to talk?”

“Looks like it.” He sighed, rolling his head from side to side a little, and the amusement of the moment washed away, something else sweeping in that was heavier.

“I want to get something off of my chest, and you’re a good listener. I trust you.” You didn’t push him, giving him the time in the quiet to focus his thoughts, and to sort whatever jumbled mess was rattling around in his mind. “I hate being in public.”

“I know that.” Your voice was sugar-sweet, and he rolled his eyes playfully, the tension breaker grateful received as he shoved you lightly, but was more comfortable in the conversation already.

“I just mean that I find social situations terrifying.” His teeth came to clamp on his bottom lip, pearly whites digging into the flesh and turning it red, and you lifted your hand. Settling it over his jaw and pulling his lip free, your thumb smoothed over his chin, rubbing comfortingly and trying to soothe him. “Thanks..”

‘It’s okay. You’re okay with me, I swear it.”

“I know I am. I feel safe with you.” His hand smoothed over the top of yours, squeezing lightly, in the same gesture he’d refused from you only a couple of months ago. “I just feel like such a disappointment to everyone else, though. When I’m with you, I don’t feel like I have to be anything else. You like me for being separate from Stiles. But, with everyone else, I feel like I’m not as good as my brother. He’s already won them all over, they already love him, and I don’t know how to fit in the way he does. Everyone who looks at us knows he’s the better twin, I see it on their faces.”

“That would make you the lesser twin, and that isn’t true.” He didn’t meet your eyes at first, hesitant to do it at all, and yet once he did, he was stuck there. “If you trust me, then you have to trust me when I say that you’re just as good as Stiles, and better in some ways. Stiles is better at you than criminal psychology, that's his skill, and he is better in social situations, that's true. He can’t fix jeeps the way you do, he doesn’t have good taste in music like you do, all his playlists suck, and he can’t do mechanics like you can.”

“I know, but-”

“No buts. You’re better in some ways, lesser in others, but nobody else knows that. Nobody needs to know your ups and downs, because you’re great as you are. I think you’re epic, I don’t think you’re any less than Stiles.” His lip wobbled a little as he smiled, his insecurities flashing through, and you leaned in, resting your forehead against his as he sighed shakily, before pulling away. “You’re a whole other person. You’re someone special, Noah. Own it.”

“I don’t blame, Stiles. If that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It wasn’t.” You assured him, and he reached up, playing with his hair once again in his anxiety, and he paused halfway through when the daisies began to fall from his hair. A frown formed on his face, deeper than the one that had been there previously, and you gathered them up. Taking his fingers away from his hair, he chose to instead pick at the skin around the edges of his fingers, scratching nervously. “You’re not a bad person, just because you’re not your brother. You’re my starshine.”

He took a deep breath, choking back whatever he was feeling, before nodding. Leaning forwards, his hands cupped your cheeks, pulling you in closer to him until his breath was washing over your face in soft pants. The smell of mint, something cool from whatever he had done previously in the day, and his hands were warm on your cheeks, making the cold everywhere else feel amplified. A kiss was pressed to your forehead, delicate and simple, his lips lingering against the skin, slightly chapped and scratching as they dragged over the skin when he pulled away, before his forehead was pressing there instead.

Running a hand up over his chest, you paused over his heart, the steady and powerful thump underneath a change to the racing you had expected, but he was calm, and it helped to calm you. Pushing him backwards lightly, he sat back up, less worry and stress evident on his features as he soothed himself in the comfort of the moment. “C’mon, get it off your shoulders. I’ll put the daisies back in your hair while you talk.”

He dipped his head down, letting you get to the space you could see as he didn’t have to hold your gaze, and his fingers curled into the blanket to support himself as he keeled forward. “I don’t blame my brother, I love him. But, there’s this tension between us. There’s a distance, and I hate that it’s so hard for me to make friends. I blame myself for letting myself get this closed off, but I have this anger, you know?”

“Anger at Stiles?” You whispered, pushing the stems of the plants back into his hair slowly.

“Yeah. Myself too, I guess. Just this anger, and I don’t tell Stiles because he just wouldn't get it.” Hooking a hand around the back of his neck, you rubbed at the flesh there, nails scraping at the shorter hairs, and a rumbling sound left him as he pressed back up into the touch a little. “It’s so hard to make friends now, because Stiles just goes ahead and befriends everyone. He’s left me behind, and everyone wants me to be just like him but I’m not enough.”

“You’re enough for me.” You mumbled, his eyes flicking up to you for a brief glance, but there was enough gratitude held in them for you to drown in it. Noah had already decided people would hate him, he saw himself living in the shadow of his brother and didn’t realise he was the sunshine of his own world, that he was lighting himself up every angle day, and he had so much to offer. The weight of Stiles was too much for him to bear, he felt like he didn’t stand a chance when he was by his brother’s side but was too afraid to leave it, and you hated that he couldn’t see his own worth. “You’re more than enough, and if some people can’t see past Stiles then that’s their loss.”

“Thank you for listening to me complain.” He sat up, the flowers in his hair coming loose, the stems wilting now that they were picked, and they didn’t sit as well as they had when he was laying down. The warmth of his hair wasn’t helping the wilting, and as they began to fall out again, you frowned.

“Do you feel better now?”

“I do, actually.” He shook his head, more of the flowers falling away, and you took the crown from your head, placing it atop his instead. Once it was in place, the soft breeze that had been sweeping over you for the last hour or so, reached the exposed skin of underarms that had once been folded down. It was chilling, a shiver moving along your body as goosebumps rose on your arms. Moving them back down to wrap around yourself, his face contorted into concern, his hands coming up to rub along your shoulders and down to your elbows. “You’re cold.”

“Only a little.”

“Why didn’t you say something? I’ve been talking for ages, and you’re only wearing a summer dress.” He stood up, brushing himself off before holding his hands out, and he pulled you to your feet as soon as you’d placed your hands into his.

“I was having fun, I like talking to you. This was nice.” He shrugged off his jacket, wrapping the dark denim over your shoulders, and it was warm as you put your arms through the sleeves. “I thought it would be warmer, the sun is out!”

“Sun doesn’t always mean heat, you know.” He teased, and you pulled the jacket further around yourself, the tattoos on his arm more obvious to you now. You’d never had much of a chance to appreciate them before, up close while he was in shifter sleeves. Taking his wrist in one hand, your fingers mooted over the designs, higher up than you’d ever seen before as you moved to the hem of the sleeve. As you moved higher, his hand settled on your waist, under the edge of the jacket on your summer dress, and his fingers rubbed at the material. “I am wondering why you’re all dressed up, though. Not that I don’t appreciate getting to be seen out and about with such a pretty lady, but I don’t think this is for me.”

His arm twisted to let you look further around at the back, shuddering as your fingers smoothed over the ink in feather-light touches. “I have lunch plans. Not too long from now, but I’m going out to lunch with Stiles and some friends.”

He only hummed, tucking your sunglasses onto the neckline of his t-shirt before the two of you beginning to fold away the picnic blanket that you’d brought out. Shaking off the dead daisies and following the fold lines that were present, you fastened it up with the catch that was there, and left it sitting by your leg. “Can I come with you?”

“To lunch?” You couldn't hide your surprise, his hands tucking into his pockets as he toed at the dirt on the floor, seeming utterly tense and overwhelmed, and he nodded his confirmation.

“I mean, if not, I totally get that. I don’t want to impose, or anything-”

He huffed, your body colliding with his as your arms slung around his neck, and he chuckled at the excited squeal-like sound that you let out. His arms came free a second later, wrapping around your waist to hold you just as tightly and you bounced on the balls of your feet. “I would love it if you came!”

“That seems slightly dramatic.” He teased, and you pulled back, staring intently at him as his arms remained around your waist, your sights flicking over his face as he smiled, just for you to see.

“It’s not. I really would love it. I will love it. No exaggeration at all.”

“I don’t think anyone’s been this excited to have lunch with me since the first time I went to visit my dad after leaving for college.” He used his foot to inch the blanket back towards the two of you from where it had dropped to the floor, his arms never loosening.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t think I’d be this excited either to hang out after the way the first time I came to see you went, but here we are.” He pinched lightly at your side for the insult, finally letting you go so you could sink back to rest on your feet properly. “However, now I always look forward to seeing you.”

“I look forward to seeing you, too.”

“You’re sappy. You’re just soft and mushy deep down.” You poked at his stomach, the hard muscles underneath not moving, and his brows raised a little as you scowled. “On the inside you’re soft.”

“Don’t tell anyone. It’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Oh, and that would just be the end of the world. Heaven forbid anyone should know that Noah Stilinski is really just a sweetheart and a gentleman.” He ducked down, picking up your picnic blanket and holding it under one arm.

“I’ll take my jacket back if you keep mocking me.” He huffed, and you grinned, taking his hands in yours and lacing the fingers of one hand with his. His hand flexed around yours’ almost instantly, an expression you’d never seen on his face before passing over as he held onto your hand like you’d done to him.

“What, and let me freeze to death? I don’t think so.” You tutted at him, and he only scoffed in response. You began to walk, to which he was more than happy to simply follow your guidance as you led the way.

“You wouldn't freeze, it’s a light breeze and almost summer. You’re so dramatic.”

Your brows raised, pulling back from him until your arms were raised between you both at your connected hands, and as you walked, he turned to look at you. “Okay, alright, let's test that theory.” He smirked, waiting for your actions, and you began to shrug the jacket off. His smirk fell away once bare skin was exposed, you got the jacket as far as your elbows before he was letting a cross between a growl and a grunt out. Reaching with his free hand, he pulled it back up, crossing to tug up the other side too, and settling it on your shoulders.

“Fine. But, only because if you catch a chill and get sick, then we can’t hang out, and I’d get lonely.”

“Good enough for me.” You smiled, keeping it wrapped sour you, and he used your joined hands to pull you back to his side.

“So, where exactly are we going for lunch?” There was concern again now; worry that it would be somewhere overwhelmingly crowded, you were sure, and you squeezed his hand.

“Nowhere too busy, it’s just a little café. How about I text them, and tell them to get a seat outside, and then if you want to leave at any point, you can just go.”

“No, I want to stay. I’ll be okay, we’ll keep the seat inside, or else I’ll freeze.” He chuckled, cooling down as you warmed up in the lack of a jacket, and as the two of you reached the edge of the parking lot, you detoured to his bike. Tucking the blanket inside the seat compartment, he sealed it back up, keeping it locked securely. “I’ll give you a ride home later.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

He walked with you, a comfortable level of quiet falling between you both, the scrape of concrete under your feet becoming that of cobble pathways once you had cleared the parking lot, and you were making your way across campus.

You were used to the feeling of eyes on you, you knew people would look and wave, that was a lifestyle you’d been a part of for years. That wasn’t Noah’s lifestyle, though. That wasn’t what he was used to, that wasn’t something he was comfortable with yet, and so as you began to enter the more crowded spots across campus, you pressed in a little closer to him.

He was grateful for the act, you could tell from the way he was letting out little sighs, occasionally turning to you, his gaze finding yours, glances of reassurance as he finally managed to relax. In your eyes, these were just your friends, passing by and saying hello, but to Noah, these were strangers who would be judging him, or people who were simply reminded of Stiles like he was a reflection of his brother.

Despite your initial impressions, there was a lot about Noah to dig up. He was the sweet boy you’d met in the coffee shop all those years ago on the first month at college, and then he was the elusive brother of your best friend. He was the moody twin who yelled at you, he was the vulnerable boy with tattoos, and he was the shy man with a huge heart and a pretty smile. There was a lot about him that you adored, things you’d never had a chance to notice before, and had all come crashing over you in recent months.

When you finally cleared the buildings and arrived at the small café that was hidden on the corner, you were greeted by warmth from the inside, a content kind of heat that came from busy buildings. Cosy furniture decorated the interior, wooden tables that resembled picnic tables, benches beside each one, and your friends were already gathered around one of the larger sets in the back room.

The lunch crowd wasn’t too crowded, not as much going on as there would be in the evening and so you could already hear them from the front door as you entered. Shucking off Noah’s jacket to be able to return it to him, he slung it over his arm, and you laced your hand through the crook. “Whenever you’re ready, okay? And if you want to leave, just let me know, we’ll go.”

“We?”

“I’m not gonna’ let you walk off on your own. We’ll go together. I’m pretty good at making up excuses.” He chuckled, his arm flexing as you stepped out of the doorway together, giving him a moment to adjust. “So, do you think we should go with a fake emergency or forgotten appointment? The first one is more fun, but the maintenance of it can be-”

Noah pressed a finger over your lips, chuckling slightly at the playful scoff you let out, his hand sliding down from your face to sit on your neck. His thumb stroked lightly under your jaw, standing to look at you for a second, and rolling his eyes as his smile returned. “I don’t want to plan an escape route, because then I’m just setting myself up to fail. I’m being optimistic.”

“Optimism looks good on you.”

He only winked, before deciding he was ready, taking the first steps to pull you along behind him as you made your way over. Weaving between rustic-style tables and into the second room.

Your friends were dotted around the table, Stiles was at one end, the closest to the edge of the bench and a spot had clearly been left for you opposite them. Derek was beside him, and two friends of Derek were there too. A blonde with bright red lipstick who you’d seen several times, a feisty attitude with dark jokes and a lot of feminist power, and her boyfriend, who was a lot quieter.

The two of them had another friend who they’d brought along, tall with curly hair and a scarf, someone who seemed familiar but you’d yet to meet, and Allison on another side. Beside her was Lydia and Leigh, and then the space that had been left open for you.

“Alright, scoot up. Make space for two.”

Heads snapped up to look at the pair of you as you made your arrival apparent. Lydia, Allison and Leigh all turned to glance over their shoulders, the three girls shuffling up the bench as matching wide grins broke on both of your roommates’ faces. Stiles shifted, sitting up a little further, and his face was schooled from a wide grin to something unreadable as the two of you took your seats on the bench. Noah sat at the end, directly opposite his brother, and the two were stuck in some kind of stare-off.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Stiles’ eyes narrowed on his brother, tension building again, before Stiles’ face was splitting into a smile so wide you’d rarely ever seen it. “You never want to go out with me anymore. I’m glad you’re here, man.” His gaze moved to you, one brow quirking as he watched you untangle your arm from Noah’s to be able to pick up the menu sitting before you both. “I guess I have you thank for that.”

“Not at all, Noah wanted to be here.”

“Sounds unlikely.” Stiles hummed, and Noah chuckled, but there was something empty to it, and you huffed on his behalf. The chatter was taking up once again, focus moving away from the two of you, and you leaned over a little to share the menu between the two of you, so that he could see it too.

Lifting his arm up, you tucked yourself underneath it, his arm settling over your shoulders, and you could feel his gaze on you as you continued to look at the menu. He settled after a second, his attention leaving you to go back to the menu, and he relaxed with you. His fingers were brushing over your shoulder, bare skin where the strap of your dress didn’t reach, tracing patterns there to once again soothe himself.

Stiles fixed you with a look, your eyes moving over the top of the menu as Noah mumbled into your ear about the different options on the menu and what it was that he was thinking of getting.

You shrugged lightly, your cheeks tinting with a shy flush when he raised a brow, a silent conversation going on between the two of you. Glancing back at the twin by your side as he continued to talk, he stuttered for a second, falling silent as he realised he’d gotten off-track. He made a smile, whispering an apology under his breath and you shook your head, encouraging him on, ready to hear what else he had to say.

The waitress came, taking a drinks order and a food order from the table, and the chatter fell silent once again. Menus were gathered in, and the conversation continued around the both of you. Something about the future, what everyone was thinking of doing, but the conversation sounded more like listing off the wishes of a bucket list than that of a solid plan.

“Are you travelling or staying put after college?” The question was directed to you, from the boy you’d learned to be Isaac and you’d gotten so comfortable listening to everyone else’s conversation that you hadn't offered your input in a long time, and you placed your drink down.

“I have no idea, that depends on where offers me a placement, I guess.”

“You’re not going anywhere in that crappy car. I don’t trust it, what if you break down on the highway, or something?” Lydia interrupted, a few laughs going up around the table.

“Oh, my God. That’s my worst fear, and you know that, don’t bring it up.” You groaned, the amusement only growing, and as your laughter rose with them you found an opportunity to help submerge Noah into the conversation. “Noah has been working on my car, though. He’s an awesome mechanic, so hopefully, I’ll be up and running again soon enough.” You held your hands up with your fingers crossed, and a few of the others matched you, all wishing good luck on it.

“Besides, that broken car has been giving her a chance to ride something a little more exciting, huh?” Stiles snickered at his own joke, Derek by his side groaning, and Erica reached around behind her boyfriend to smack at the back of Stiles’ head. The former twin yelped, rubbing at the back of his head, a mixture of complaints and laughter still going. “I was talking about the bike!”

“No you weren’t, you freak.” Erica muttered, rolling her eyes and Derek only shrugged when Stiles looked to him for support, and he scowled.

“The bike is great, though. I don’t know much about it, but it’s loud and fast and cool.”

“It’s ‘loud and fast and cool’.” Stiles mocked again, and if you’d been sat beside him, you would have taken the same actions as Erica. Derek heaved a sigh as Stiles continued to tease his brother, Noah with reddening cheeks and a stiffening posture beside the two of you. Lifting your hand up, you wove your fingers with his over your shoulder, and he let out a slight sigh as your fingers found his, squeezing to comfort himself.

“You got a bike, dude?” Boyd spoke for the first time yet, his voice was deeper than you’d expected, and Noah’s attention moved to him. His head dipped in a series of subtle nods, and Boyd copied him. The two were very similar, and you thought that may have been the end of it, before the other man was speaking once again. “What kinda’ bike is it? My uncle had a 99’ Yamaha, and he was always tinkering with it when I’d go to visit him in the summers when I was younger.”

“It's a Kawasaki Ninja.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Boyd hummed, the conversation completely going over your head, you wouldn’t be able to tell one from another, but they both seemed to understand what it meant.

“You can, uh, check her out sometime, if you want. I rebuilt the engine myself. Bought her for scraps at a real good price, actually.” He was boasting a little, his chest puffing up as he was proud of himself, and you turned to look at him.

“I didn’t know that.”

“You never asked.” He smirked, and you rolled your eyes, shoving at his shoulder lightly.

“I’d love to come and see the bike. It’s kind of a passion of mine.” A plan was made, the idea of Noah actually making a new friend was something that made you proud. This was a friendship he formed himself, one that couldn’t be overshadowed by Stiles because his brother couldn't relate to this, it wasn’t his expertise and he couldn't impose. This was something that would belong entirely to Noah, it was his and his alone, and you were just along to watch it unfold.

Once that initial spark had been created, the two seemed to fire off in chatter. You’d never heard Noah talk so much to another person, Stiles was left in awe too, and Erica cracked the joke loudly that her boyfriend never spoke so much himself. There was a lot similar between Noah and Void, a lot to be compared, and while Boyd didn’t quite have the same shadow lingering over him, he too preferred the quiet to the noise.

Food came and went, the fingers that had been playing anxiously with your own on your shoulder had stopped, his nerves settling down as he grew more comfortable with the people around him. Eventually, his arm left your shoulders, moving to eat his food and to use his hands to emphasise every point he made, just like his brother did. It was an adorable trait, only evident in Noah when he got excited, however, and allowed himself to crawl out of his shell a little more.

Lydia and Leigh left before dessert, plans to go for a date night later in the evening that drew them both away and they left their money on the check. Allison and Isaac were hitting it off, two you noticed beginning to bond together, flirty little comments between the two of you that seemed to go unnoticed. Erica and Boyd were the next to go, soon after the desserts had been eaten, the two slipping away.

You’d worried at that stage that the conversation might end, that as his newfound friend was leaving it would cause Noah to close in on himself again. However, they exchanged numbers, Noah willingly giving out his details, and you couldn't help the spike of selfish pride and feeling slightly responsible for being able to encourage him out into such behaviours. The pair made a plan to meet up, the discussion about bikes and engines and other things that you’d never be able to understand was a solid event, a friendship blossoming.

This time, he was a little bolder. Noah lifted his arm himself, wrapping it over your shoulders and pulling you in closer to him, his cheeks flushed and his features a little tense but he wasn’t yet getting overwhelmed, and once there was only six of you left around the table, he let out a slow breath.

Stiles dominated the conversation, as usual, he was the one talking non-stop, barely even stopping to catch his breath as he skipped from story to story, fun facts and jokes thrown into the mix. It was something you were familiar with, Noah too, and Derek, everyone you knew was well-acquainted with the way that Stiles operated.

Despite that, they eventually had to leave too. Derek and Stiles cleared what was left of their check, Allison and Isaac going with them. The rut your friend had been in as she attempted to get over her break-up was clearing. The tall boy with curly hair and a scarf was helping to dissipate that fog, and you hoped that he continued to be this good for her, even if nothing ever came from it. You hadn't seen her smile this widely in weeks, and then there was silence, just the two of you left at the table as you waved to the four who were leaving, Stiles patting himself down for keys.

Letting out a deep breath, the waitress came away to clear the last of the plates, placing the last of the check with only your and Noah’s food left on it down in front of you both. When you were alone again, he turned to you, eyes searching your own as you both revelled in the isolations once again.

“Well, that wasn’t so bad, right?” He chuckled, shaking his head a little as his gaze dropped down. He was looking at you, taking you in, eyes moving over every inch of your face slowly, as though he was trying to memorise you, and when you smiled, his eyes fixed onto your lips. “You got to hang out with your brother, and made a new friend. A new friend who Stiles can’t steal away, and he likes you for you.”

Pressing a finger into his chest to finish your sentence, he grabbed your hand, holding onto it tightly as he lowered it back down to sit in his lap, and turned to face you more directly. “I kinda’ liked it. I haven’t hung around my brother without having that whole secret tension and anger in a long time. It was nice to not feel guilty for being mad. It was nice to not be mad.”

“You were awesome. I didn’t get half of what you were saying, but Boyd did, and that’s what matters.”

“I was only awesome because you were here.” He sighed, and you shrugged, tipping his chin up a little to face you.

“Just because you needed my help to start, doesn’t mean you’ll always rely on me.” He grinned, using the arm around you to tug you in, close enough to press a kiss to your forehead, and you pressed into the action. You were growing fond of the way the simple kisses of reassurance could make your heart race, and the look in his eyes when it was just the two of you, and the nervous attachments he took from you through physical affections.

“We’d hang out together, all the time, things have been so different these last few years that I almost forgot what it’s like to be around him without feeling jealous.”

“You felt different today?” You pressed a little more, to see whether he’d open up to you about it again, and he nodded.

“Yeah. We used to work on his jeep together, and watch shows together, and swap clothes to take tests for one another. We were attached at the hip, y’know? That’s what I was used to.” Reaching up to rub at the hand over your shoulder, something sweet crossed over his face, his eyes flicking to that spot for a brief moment in acknowledgement of the action. “Stiles is so busy nowadays. I tried to keep up with his podcast for a while, but then I missed a few while doing my Freshman year exams, I missed what was going on and got confused, and he stopped talking to me about it. All the stuff he used to confide in me about, he was projecting to strangers on the internet and leaving me out of the loop.”

“If it makes you feel any better, and you can’t tell Stiles this, but sometimes I don’t listen to the podcast either.”

Something that was just shy of a smirk was present on Noah’s lips at your comment. “Sometimes, I just feel like I don’t know him anymore. There were nights when we would steal my dad’s JD and sneak onto the roof to talk, but now there’s nothing. Today, though, it was different. He was talking to me, to us all, and I felt updated on his life again. I didn’t feel like I was less than him today. I felt like his equal.”

“You are his equal, Noah.” Your thumb played with his own, a game that you weren’t focusing on as it took place, and he chuckled as he pinned your thumb with his own.

“So you keep saying, but that’s not how it felt. Stiles was the positive one, he was chatty and full of life, and it made me look so void.” He took a deep breath, distracting himself for a second as he glanced at the check, but you never looked away, waiting for him to go on. “People would come up to me for a while, thinking I was Stiles. They’d be so enthusiastic when they greeted me, and there was always such disappointment, that they tried to hide, when they realised I wasn’t my brother. They never wanted to talk to me.”

“I like talking to you.”

“I know you do, but you’re not like everyone else, sweetheart.” The pet name seemingly slipped out before he could stop it, because the race of colour to his cheeks suggested he was shy about it and you leaned a little closer. Resting your head on his shoulder, you hoped it was enough of a symbol of security that he didn’t need to worry about his slip of tongue, and he seemed or get the hint. His head tipped, resting on top of your own.

Silence fell between you both again, and he produced his wallet, placing down enough notes to cover what was left on the check, and the waitress retrieved it only a few seconds later, a tip included in the cost. You weren’t rushed out of your seats, though. The evening crowd was on the horizon, you wouldn't linger much longer, but while the moment was still fresh and you were here, you were going to make it last.

“I love my brother so much, but I always feel second-best compared to him. But I don’t feel like that when I’m with you.”

“Good, because you’re never gonna’ be second best with me, Noah.” He squeezed you a little tighter, his hand holding yours more firmly, and the moment was prolonged again. “I get it, you know. That it can be hard, always feeling like there’s something hanging over your head, someone better that everyone would rather see.”

He snorted a laugh, pulling back to look at you as his eyes glittered in amusement. “How the hell would you know how that feels, little Miss Sunshine?”

“I have this cousin who’s a couple of years older than me. Only a couple, but she always seemed miles ahead of me.” You pulled out your phone, beginning to search for a picture of her as you spoke. “She’s married and pregnant now, but she’s beautiful. She takes care of her skin and hair, and she likes to work out so she always looks great. She’s even carrying her pregnancy well.”

Handing over your phone, her Facebook page was up, some photographs of her and her husband that were so good they looked like professional modelling shots, and he let out a low whistle at the sight.

“She’s so charming, too. She never made anyone mad, she was always the one who could talk her way out of anything, and she always made people laugh.”

“She sounds like you.”

“She’s me, but, like, a thousand times better.” You huffed, tucking the phone away again, and his brows rose in slight shock. “She always looked better than me in family photos, she always got slightly better grades, she was always the one my parents compared me to when trying to motivate me. She even made me feel insecure in the damn Christmas onesies for family photos when I had to get a size bigger than her, and yet I still love her, because she’s my family, and she’s important.”

He was grinning, then, something that was infectious, and you couldn't help your smile as he stared at you.

“What?”

“Matching Christmas onesies?” He teased, and you groaned, pulling away from him a little more, but he only pulled you right back in as his laughter was buried in your hair.

“Stop laughing, it wasn’t my idea! My family is big on sending out annual Christmas cards. I know it’s lame, but they like it!” That only seemed to further his entertainment, and by the time he’d managed to get it under control, his nose was bumping against your forehead, pants of air softly hitting the side of your face. “Shut up, you brat.”

“Hey, c’mon, I think it’s kinda’ cute.” He tried to steady his laughter, dragging his nose up to your hairline, and staying there. His hands had dropped to your waist, pulling you in closer and you let him do so, your shoulder pressing to his chest. “You’re pretty cute too, I guess. In an annoyingly peppy, summer dresses and lollipops kind of way.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not so bad yourself. In a moody, motorcycle, leather jackets and tattoos kind of way.”

“You wanna’ get out of here?” He mumbled, lips dipping down to brush your ear lightly, and your throat felt dry, only able to nod in response. “I don’t want the day to end yet, how about we go for a ride. I’m not ready to say bye to you, just yet.”

“That sounds pretty great to me.” He stood, pulling his jacket back up onto his body from where it had been abandoned beside him so long ago, and he held a hand out for you. The appendage trembled slightly, nervous as he waited for rejection, but you laced your fingers through his, and held on tightly.

Together the two of you walked, hand in hand out of the restaurant, a whole day having passed together, and yet, it seemed like it still wasn’t enough.

#nogitjune #nogit-june #SITS #sun in the shadows #void stiles #void stiles au #void stiles x reader #void stiles/reader #void stiles teen wolf #dylan o'brien #dylan obrien #dylan obrien x reader #dylan obrien/reader #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles stilinski x reader #void month

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (02)

word count; 8229

summary; after trying to do something nice for noah, it backfires a little bit, and ruins everything you’d worked towards so far.

notes; just wait ‘til the end, it’s worth it.

warnings; mentions of a panic attack, mild drug use.

“Hey!”

The man before you jumped rather violently, and you cringed slightly, settling down against the wooden bench opposite him. His eyes narrowed on you, pausing for a second and waiting for you to continue, to make your purpose clear, before he was letting out a sigh. Lifting the headphones he wore away, the muted sounds of heavy rock music were dulled with a single tap on his computer, and he lowered the screen slightly to look at you.

Can you even see anything on that screen? I can never see computer screens outside, it sucks.”

“Don’t face the sun, and it’s cloudy today. Why are you here?” He pressed, a mock-scowl taking over as you stared at him, and he didn’t flinch. “Seriously, what do you want? You said we weren’t starting the study for a few days yet. You could have emailed me any changes, or texted it. So, what is it? Because I was listening to my music, uninterrupted.”

“Well, yes, you were. But, here’s the thing, you’re a loner.” His features only deteriorated into something even moodier, and you shrugged. “Your words, not mine, so don’t look at me like that!”

“You’d better have a point.”

“Well, you don’t have friends. I can change that. We can sit together, and besides, I want some company while I eat my sandwich.” You lifted a wrapped sandwich from your bag, the hot bread inside heating your fingertips through the foil, and you placed it down onto the table before yourself, beginning to unwrap it. “Besides, I told you that doing this study would be fun, or at least casual, since you don’t know what fun is. Don’t you think this is more fun than just scheduling ‘fun’? Two birds, one stone.”

He paused, staring at you for a second, before giving in. Closing his laptop more, and resting his headphones on top of it. “Three birds.”

“What?” You stared, lifting the baguette from inside, and taking a bite from it, his eye dropping down to the sandwich for a second, and you considered offering him half of it before an expression that looked like judgement crossed his features.

“Sandwich company, answering study questions, trying to force me to make friends.” With each statement he made, he lifted another finger up, until three were raised up in the air, counting off his points. “That makes, one, two, three birds with one stone.”

“Okay, sure.” You chuckled, rooting through your bag and taking another bite of your lunch, finding the voice recorder that you had been loaned by the psychology department, and clicking the switch on the side down. The box flickered on, red for a moment, the wires inside waking up, and after a second, it turned green. Swallowing your mouthful and clearing your throat lightly, you pushed the device to the middle of the table between you both. “Can you state your full name, and that you’re a willing participant in this study for the recorder for me?”

“That really necessary?”

“Yes. It’s proof that I didn’t coerce you into doing this study, and that you’re aware you’re being studied and consent to it, and also, so that you know that the only evidence I can use for my study is what I record.” His eyes left yours glancing down at the gadget with the blinking green light, before giving in.

Folding his arms across the top of the table, he squirmed a little in his seat, and frowned. “Noah Stilinski, well-aware I’m being studied like a lab rat.”

“You’re the worst.” You muttered, rolling your eyes, and he stuck his tongue out at your childishly. The cat made you smile a little, hiding it behind your sandwich as you lifted it back up, taking another bite, and leaving him hanging in silence as payment for his comment, while he stared at you, frown only deepening. “What music were you listening to?”

“Is this small-talk, or study-talk?”

“Both, I guess. I’m just curious.” You nodded your head towards the computer, and he glanced down, his shoulders sinking a little as the tension melted away, and his lips flicked up at the corners. “Anything I’d know?”

“Doubtful. I was listening to a rock mix playlist. I don't know them all.” You nodded along, humming slightly, and silence fell between you both once again. “You got a favourite AC/DC song?”

Your brows shot up, the silence being broken, and his eyes were back on yours. A little darker than his brothers, the pale caramel that Stiles possessed was filled with soft golden flecks, shades almost reaching yellow in the sun, but Noah’s were a little darker. The shade of his eyes was more like whiskey, swirling with deeper browns and only a thinner collection of gold towards the centre of his eyes, complimenting the darker aura that circled him at all times.

“You said it was small talk and study talk. That’s my go-to rock, it always picks me up. Now I’m the curious one. So, you got a favourite AC/DC song?” He pressed again, and you leaned forwards, your arms bracing on the table as you grinned.

“‘Shoot to Thrill’.”

“Why?”

“Reminds me of Iron Man. I like Iron Man.” He looked a little confused for a second, and as you watched him for a moment longer, you realised that there was almost a smile curling on his lips, and with each encounter, you were inching closer and closer to gaining a real emotion from him. “My turn for a question then. How about you tell me what you’re studying here.”

“Not a fair question, I already know what you’re studying.” He shot back, and you shrugged, tearing another piece from your sandwich, and something similar to amusement flickered over his face as you ate it, waiting expectantly and not retracting your words. “Fine, I’m studying mechanics and engineering.”

“You like it?”

“I love it, actually.” He paused, his eyes flicking back to the recording device, and the chatter around you from various other tables seemed to fade away. You were teetering on the edge of something, you could tell, words that were right on the tip of his tongue but left unspoken. You wrapped up what was left of your sandwich, pushing it away from yourself, left hanging on the verge of something exceptional as he considered his next words. A breakthrough, something that wasn’t a simple response but something more concrete, a crack in the hard exterior that he put up. “It’s, uh, fun. I do know what fun is. To me, anyway.”

“That's it?” Your shoulders sank a little, feeling the hope you’d formed beginning to dwindle, and his brows furrowed, eyes crinkling at the edges as he stared in dull confusion.

“What d’you mean ‘that's it’? That's what I study.”

“I don’t know. I thought you were going to tell me something. Talk about it, why you like it, what makes it fun, y’know? I thought there was more.”

There was a deep breath on his end, and another long pause. His hands sank below the edge of the table, rubbing his palms against the denim of his dark-wash skinny jeans. “Nobody ever asks much more. Stiles is taking the interesting degree. Everyone wants to know more about criminal psychology, nobody cares about cars.”

“Yeah, well, interesting is a relative term. I don’t want to know about criminal psychology.”

“You don’t?” The first real emotion you’d ever received from him was doubt, mixed with surprise, it seemed that your words held little meaning to him, and you shuffled on the bench a little bit.

“Not one bit. It would make me paranoid, to know all the evil things people do, to know how they work, what things pass for ‘normal’, so I can never speak to a cashier or someone friendly on a plane again, because one time in 1987 a woman was killed in the parking lot by a chatty cashier or a teen was killed in the airport bathrooms once in ‘99.” He licked his lips, letting them part slightly, a slow breath exhaled, and he seemed to loosen up a little more. “I don’t want to know that, I don’t want to see the bad in the world. I’m not ignorant to it, I know it’s there, but I don’t want to be suspicious of everything I come across.”

“But you want to know about mechanics?”

“Not really, mechanics never interested me. I can barely get my own car to work, the piece of crap breaks every ten minutes. I want to know why you like it, what makes it interesting to you.”

With that, he was inching out of his shell a little more. There was a lot of it that you didn’t understand, confusing words and terms, and you knew nothing about the inside of an engine or what made it work, but he spoke about it passionately. The reservedness he’d started with melted away, shortened sentences grew longer as he got more comfortable talking about something that he enjoyed, and you couldn't help the smile you let grow.

Enthusiasm in others had always been something you'd enjoyed. Listening to other people talk with such joy about their hobbies and their passions, and that same empathetic nature was one of the topics that most attracts you to psychology in the first place. The make-up of each individual person, what made them special and unique, everything from preferred songs to favourite colours to the place they grew up in as a child helped to shape and mould them as a person, and you’d always been fascinated by the way people worked.

He was a lot like Stiles in some respects. The physical likeness aside, Noah barely stopped for breath once he was talking about something he enjoyed, and you were sure that in the last several minutes alone, he had spoken more to you and your recorder than he must’ve spoken to anyone in the past year, perhaps save for his brothers or his professors. He used his hands a lot to talk, even when he didn’t realise it, his hands making weak motions to describe actions, and emphasising his points, and his eyes glittered the same way Stiles’ did, face moving between expressions in a blur of speed with every sentence.

He had nervous ticks, the bouncing of his leg as he spoke and the way he ran his hands through his hair every so often, but he didn’t gel it like his brother did, and he was actively trying not to trip over his words with the haste at which he was speaking them.

When he eventually glanced back up, his cheeks were pink for a little bit, and his gaze once again dropped to the recording device on the table. “Sorry. That was a long time, wasn’t it?”

“I liked listening to it. Learned a lot more about mechanics than I knew before, but it's all slipping away as we speak. What’s a wrench for, again?” He laughed, the most honest and real sound you’d ever heard from him, something full and warm instead of the usual flat and cold tone you were met with. “See? You have loads to say. I like it when you have real emotions and you’re not just void. There’s a lot to you, I think. I learn it all eventually.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I do.” You teased, sitting up a little further, and your finger switched where you left them lying in front of you, resisting the urge to reach out and let your hand sit over his, knowing that he didn’t like it. “Why do you compare yourself to your brother so much?”

He shrugged, shutting down once again as his shoulder’s tensed, sitting up a little straighter as his body went rigid, internally berating yourself for forcing him to close off like this. Before he could answer, someone else was sitting down, one the bench that was the same side as you, the metal dipping and shifting, a bag hitting the grass at your feet, and there was movement on the other side too. Two of the boys from the football team, you knew them well, sweet at heart but rowdy at a party, and Noah went completely stiff before you, his lips pursing into a thin line.

“Hey, h-” The one beside you paused, staring for a second at Noah, before enlightenment spread over his face. “You’re not Stiles. You’re his brother, right?”

“Yeah. Stiles’ brother.” The jock only hummed, and Noah offered you a pointed look, the timing of their arrival answering your question, and you reached out for the recorder. Switching it off at the side, the light flickered from green to red, processing everything and saving it, before the light was gone altogether, and you slipped it into a pocket on your bag.

“Noah. Not just Stiles’ brother. Have some manners.”

“Oh, okay. Sorry, mom.” One of them snickered, and you grinned, a slight smell of sweat surrounding them both, and you realised they must have just come straight from practice. Your nose screwed up a little, and you bumped your arm against his, rolling your eyes a little.

“You didn’t bother to shower before coming here?”

“Oh, shut it. Do you know how hard we’ve been practising? There’s a game coming up.” You gasped over-dramatically, a laugh leaving you at the scoff he let out, and it only furthered your amusement.

“Oh, because it’s so hard to throw a ball around a field. Gosh, the struggle you bear!” The man on the other side reached over, picking up what was left of your sandwich and tearing into it, despite your complaints. He flipped you off, both for your words and your insult of their sport, but it was all good-natured and you knew that easily by the smiles they bore. “Get your own food, asshat!”

“Oh, because asking people questions about their home life is so hard.” He turned to Noah now, whose hands were clasped under the edge of the table, his eyes cast down and shoulders rigid, and your brows pulled together a little bit. “Is that what she’s doing? Asking you dumb questions about it and trying to diagnose you?”

Noah’s lips were pressed into a thin line, a strained smile that looked more like a grimace as he only nodded, and the banter had come to an end, The footballer beside you had clearly expected some kind of witty retort in response, to keep the conversation going, and the air around the four of you had fallen flat. You weren’t sure where they’d come from, or why, but it hadn't exactly been a shock to you. You often had friends come and join you, and you sometimes found them. Whenever you finished a class alone or they did, you'd join whoever you could at a table, the schedules never truly linking up.

That’s how you'd found Noah, a quick scan of the outside eating area had located him, but now you sensed that you may have made a mistake, something uncomfortable curling in your gut as you looked at him.

Following closely behind the footballers who’d joined you were a couple of the cheerleaders, friendly girls who had bothered to shower, all chatting happily as they came over, having detoured to get their own food as they did, and the chatter around the table was only getting louder. It was an atmosphere that you were used to, chatter from different conversations surrounding you as you dipped and weaved between each one, the social interactions coming easily to you, and it had slipped your mind that it didn’t come quite so easily to other people.

Sarah was a cheerleader, who was specialising in computer graphics, and she was usually put in charge of choreographing the effects and lighting for pep rallies and cheer routines. Her work had always stunned you, it was beautiful every time you saw it, and so when she told you of her plans beforehand, you always found yourself sucked into it. Movement from the corner of your eye caught your attention, your head turning for a split second, and a racing kind of chill went through you. His eyes found yours, only for the briefest of seconds, and he rubbed his hands together not giving you a chance to even mouth the question of finding out if he was okay, before he seemed to snap.

Noah’s face was a blank kind of panic, hurried movements as he grabbed for his bag, sweeping up his belongings roughly and knocking a paper cup of half-drunk tea from the table, a mumbled apology that was barely audible under his breath as he rushed away. The tea splashed to the floor, leaving marks along the bench as it did and the residents on either side of the bench jumped away from the liquid as it spilt. Your gaze followed the boy who was leaving, his name itching in the back of your throat to call out, but he was shakily packing away his bag, walking faster than you’d seen him move yet, and guilt was clawing within as realisation washed over.

You’d left him alone, unattended. You’d interrupted his lunchtime serenity with your presence that had resulted in the arrival of your friends. He’d drowned in a social situation that you swam easily in when he’d trusted you to hold his head above water, and as he fumbled to fasten up his bag, the girls before you mopping up a split beverage, your shoulders slumped a little.

“Who even was that?”

“Noah Stilinski.” You mumbled, eyes still tracking him as he walked further and further away, and you sighed, resting your chin on your hand, elbow braced against the table for support.

“Isn’t that Stiles’ brother? The moody one?” Your gut only twisted further, the knot tightened as you knew he was still close enough that he may have heard that statement, and you turned to face her, scowl on her lips as she wiped up the last of what had been her drink.

“He’s not moody, he just doesn't do well in crowds.”

“Yeah, clearly! He spilt my drink and barely stopped to apologise.” She groaned, a handful of wet napkins sitting on the bench before you, but you were no longer focusing on the conversation.

In fact, it all seemed to fade away. You found yourself incapable of focusing on any more cheer routines, or computer effects, lighting scenarios or anything else that came along. Your mind was occupied, swirling with guilt and regret as you thought about the boy you’d failed to help, invading his downtime and launching him in at the deep end of social interactions. You had hoped Stiles would come to the table at some point, and you’d be able to ask him about making reparations, or even how to fix it, whether Noah would be alright, but the chatty twin didn’t make an appearance, despite your sitting there for almost an hour longer.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hey, Stiles.” You cringed a little, staring up at the boy before you, one of his hands holding the door open as the fingers of the other toyed with the slightly oversized sleeves of his flannel shirt. He glanced back over his shoulder, a closed door with loud and aggressive heavy rock playing from behind it, muffled but still enough to make the floors shake with the deepest bass, and you sighed. “How’s he doin’?”

“Not great. He’s not so good with people.”

“I was just trying to help, I didn’t mean for-”

“I know.” Your friend smiled, and you held onto your breath slightly as you looked back to him, eyes moving from over his shoulder to his eyes, which were sparkling a little now, softer, and he let a smile break free. “I’ve tried before. I appreciate what you were trying to do. He’s just stuck in his shell.”

“Well, I brought pizza to apologise.” Stiles’ eyes flicked down to the box under your arm, which you were lifting up to present to him, and his brows raised. You knew he’d already noticed it, his eyes had flickered down to it occasionally throughout your conversation, and his nostrils flavoured occasionally to take in the tomato and cheese aroma that came from the warm dough base. “It’s plain. I know you like that Hawaiian one, which I still think is gross, by the way, but I wasn’t sure if identical twins shared pizza tipping references.”

Stiles smirked, stepping out of the way to let you inside, and he took your purse from your shoulder for you, hanging it up by one strap on a coat peg and slamming the door closed with a little more force than necessary. You assumed it was to alert Noah to the presence of someone else, but either he didn’t hear or he simply didn’t care, because the volume of the music didn't change and he never appeared. “A good call, really. His favourite is chicken and mushrooms.”

“Also gross, mushrooms suck.” You chastised, and Stile spatted excitedly at the countertop, getting a plate for himself from the cupboard. Lifting it open, steam curled out and he peered into the box in your arms, groaning pornographically at the sight before himself. “One slice. This pizza isn’t for you.”

“I’m taking two.” He muttered, only giving you a second to protest as he put a slice on his plate, before he was lifting a second one, and taking a large bite for it. You slammed the cardboard shut before his hand could slide back to snatch another. “Hey, that might go to waste. I don’t know how far you’ll get with Noah. When his music is that loud, and this playlist, he normally doesn’t want to talk. Sometimes, he doesn’t even wanna’ talk to me.”

“This playlist?”

“Yeah. He likes to make playlists for things. Different moods, situations, whatever. He has, like, two hundred of them.” Stiles spoke through his food, your interest piquing, and he shrugged, swallowing his mouthful and taking another. “This is his stressed, or overwhelmed, or something, playlist. It gets loud enough to drown out his anxiety, or whatever.”

Guilt swam through you, a frown forming on your face, and Stiles seemed to sense that he’d put his foot in his mouth. He tried to retract the words, stuttering a little as he did, but you let out a sigh.

“Not that, y’know, you made him like that! Like, it’s not your fault, or anything! Sometimes he just struggles, you didn’t know, I'm making this worse. Fuck.” He took a particularly large bite, stuffing his mouth full with the rest of the pizza until he couldn't talk, his cheeks bloated like a hamster. He nodded his head towards Noah’s door, picking up his plate and moving towards the other end of the kitchen counter, as if to give you some more privacy, even though he was nosey and you knew he’d be watching.

Picking up your pizza box once again, you inched forwards, stopping in front of the door with the music playing from behind, and hesitating. You were nervous, and guilty, and you weren’t sure how he’d react. Your experiences with him so far hadn't exactly been stellar, and so as your knuckles knocked against the wood, the pit in your stomach only grew.

There was shuffling on the other side, what sounded like the scraping of a desk chair, and the music was suddenly turned down much lower, before the door was swinging open. Smoke was the first to curl out, a funky smell that you recognised easily and a cold breeze washing over you from the open window he had to filter through some of the smoke. His hair was messy, eyes wide a little, and his hands dropped to his waist, pulling up the edges of low sitting sweats over his hips.

He stared at you for a second longer, lips parting when his jaw dropped, and you hoped that maybe he’d say something, but that hope was dashed down. He stepped back, out of the doorway before you and into the bedroom, jaw snapping shut and eyes narrowing a little, before the door was slamming in your face. A puff of smoke around the seals of the door, and then you were staring at green-painted wood only an inch from the tip of your nose, your body deflating with disappointment.

Turning, Stiles offered you a pitying glance from the end of the kitchen counter, patting the stool next to himself, and you wandered over slowly. Hopping up onto it, a large hand landed atop your head, ruffling your hair in a comforting gesture, and you let your lips flick up a little in response.

“Hey, more pizza for me and you, okay? Silver linings, and all.”

“Oh, shut it, you. You kinda’ suck at comforting.” You teased, and he gasped dramatically, heading over to one of the cupboards to get you a plate, and a glass for a drink. Placing both of them down before you, he opened the fridge, eyes scanning over the options inside, and beginning to list them off to you. Choosing a can of pop, he snapped it open, pouring it into the glass, and you wrapped your hands around it, staring down at the bubbling content. “I really fucked it up, Stiles.”

“Hey, c’mon, don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“No, no, I did.” Rubbing a hand over your forehead, you put your drink down, untouched, and folded your arms over the cold surface. Twisting your head, you rested your cheek against your forearms, slouched in the seat. “I pushed him too hard, it wasn’t even my place to do so. It wasn’t part of the study, I just thought I could do something nice, but instead, I did something mean. I didn’t intend to. Knowing you gave someone a panic attack fucking sucks, you know?”

“If it makes you feel any better, I did it a bunch by accident in the first few years. I just wanted to help him, too. He just freezes up. He’ll be fine.” Stiles wasn’t great at consoling you, but you appreciated that he was trying his best. Silence fell between you both again, and Stiles busied himself with lifting the cardboard enough to pull out a piece from inside, and bite off the tip of the slice.

You let the silence linger for a second, before the sound of a door unlocking again made your head snap up. You sat up in your chair fully, your head spinning a little and your eyesight blurring momentarily from the sudden movement. Noah wandered out into the corridor, head pressed down a little flatter and a hoodie now clad on his body, his hands rubbing over the same grey sweats nervously as he came to stand in the middle of the hall, perpendicular from his open doorway.

“My, uh, my room. It was messy.” He cleared his throat a little, the rasp from smoke still present, and you could only nod silently, letting him take a few steps forwards. “Wasn’t really expecting anyone.” He lifted his chin, seeming a little strained in the conversation, and he scratched at his neck, unshaved stubble threatening to break through the skin with any further growth. “Sorry for, y’know, slamming a door in your face, I guess.”

“Looks like you made quite the impression.” Stile snickered, an attempt at breaking the tension with a poorly-timed joke and you turned to glare at him.

“Get fucked, you moron.” Noah grouched, and Stiles only smirked wider, a groan leaving you before Stiles even let his retort out, because you knew what was coming. Pacing away from the table towards the door, with his piece of pizza hanging from his lips, he grabbed for his jacket.

“Maybe I will. He patted his pockets, finding his keys already in there, and winking at you both. “I’m going to Derek’s. Later, losers.” The door slammed with his exit, and you were once again left alone with Noah Stilinski, tension rising to dangerous levels again as thick silence surrounded you.

“You brought pizza?”

Your eyes moved to the box, still open, three out of eight slices now missing, and you laughed lightly. “Yeah. Apology pizza, but it’s more like half an apology pizza, now. Stiles ate some.”

He only hummed, standing there for a second longer. Moving forwards, he went to the fridge, cans and bottles rattling inside the door as he opened it, and he grabbed a ginger beer. Hooking the lid onto the edge of the counter he hit against the top, uncapping it and letting the metal bounce over the surface to be tidied up later. He turned to face you, taking a long and deep swig as he stood there, and you picked your glass up just for something to do, and break your stare. When he finished, he licked over his lips, glancing back to his took, before his attention was on you again.

“I am sorry, Noah. I just wanted to help, but instead, I was a total bitch. I didn’t mean to do that to you. I didn’t know they were all going to come over, I just thought I’d sit with you, so you didn’t have to sit alone.”

“It’s okay.” His tone was a little smoother now, the drink easing a smoke-raw throat, and you offered him a soft smile, one which he awkwardly attempted to return. “I don't think you were a bitch. I get what you were trying to do. I’m not mad about it, I’m just a little.. shaken, I suppose.”

“I get that sometimes. When your social battery gets drained.”

“Oh, and you’ve experienced that?” He was mocking you, but only lightly, a teasing look on his face now, and your breath laughs joined his, the awkwardness melting just slightly.

“More often than you’d think, actually. I don’t like crowds, I just deal with them better than you do.”

“Touché.” He mumbled, taking another large gulp of his drink. “Are you staying, then?”

“You want me to?” You’d already been surprised by his behaviour tonight, simply by the fact that he had even bothered to come out to speak to you at all, and as he picked up what was left of the pizza in the box and wandered away towards his room, you were simply left to follow. “Are you sure?”

“I mean, there’s worse company in the world. You weren’t that bad, before your friends came over.” He placed the pizza own on his desk, the window closed and the smoke cleared, the smell of his cologne a little stronger in the air and you wanted to chuckle at the idea of him trying to use it as an impromptu air freshener, but you were too busy glancing around. It wasn’t as gothic as you’d expected, and it was much calmer and more organised than Stiles’. The few posters on his walls were all lined up neatly and pinned up in a clean row, three along the wall over his dresser, and one by his desk. There were a few photo frames on the top of his dresser and one of himself, his father and Stiles on his desk, a photo that looked to be a few years old, maybe high school, and you smiled a little at it.

He sat down on his bed after closing the door behind you, picking up a piece of pizza and tearing some off with his teeth, before he was leaning back in his pillows. There was a video game paused on screen, his headset and controller sitting out, and you perched yourself on the edge of his bed by his feet, his eyes glued to you as you did.

“You can’t stay if you’re gonna’ make it weird. Okay? Just, stop it.”

“I’m nervous, alright! You make me nervous. With all your moody energy.” You muttered, eyes flickering over the room, and he chuckled slightly. Atop his bedside table was a blunt, stabbed out and no longer smoking but only half-used, besides an empty glass of water and his new bottle of root beer, his phone, a lighter, and an Xbox controller. “I don’t know how to act around you. You make me feel all stressed out when you do that thing where you glare at me even when I’m trying to be nice, and I don’t know how to act around you because you say that you don’t hate me but you make me feel like you do, and I’m normally great at these things and small talk and faking my way through it but you make my head feel all static-y.”

You took a deep breath, and he leaned back, continuing to stare at you blankly, folding his arms behind his head, and your hands balled by your sides into fists.

“See? Just like that! I’m here, trying to apologise because-”

“I already told you it was fine, though.”

You glared at him a little, huffing at the interruption. “Yeah, you did, but still you’re making me feel all outcast and unwanted and like I’m invading your space by the way you treat me, when I’m just trying to be your friend. If you don’t want me here, just say so, but you invited me to stay in what now feels like a very suspicious and backhanded invite.” Another nervous breath, shaking a little, and you turned your gaze away from him, feeling like you were shrinking smaller and smaller under the man’s stare. You motioned towards the blunt on his bedside table, hand shaking a little as you pointed. “You mind?”

His eyes followed it, turning back to you a second later, and he shook his head as he lifted up the ashtray. Offering it to you, you took the blunt between two fingers and placed it between your lips, letting him lift the lighter. Shuffling across the edge of the bed toward you as you perched on the edge. Lifting it up, he sparked the end for you, sitting in silence and watching you as you took a deep breath once the tip had burned for a second, dragging the smoke into your lungs, and holding it there.

It had been a while since you’d smoked, and the tingling burn it left along the back of your throat was enough to scratch lightly, and pulling back, you coughed lightly through your exhale, but let out a slow breath through it all. “Good stuff.” You leaned back, balancing on one hand, and taking another drag, the silence between you and Noah easing a little as you felt the swimming buzz of a high beginning to circle through you already.

“Yeah. Share it.” You held it out, and he took it from you, lifting it to his lips and settling more comfortably by your side, his arm pressing up against yours and brushing as his arm shifted to move the blunt. “You feel better yet?”

“Y’know, you’re not so great at this whole comfort thing.” You chuckled, and he returned the sound; “Usually you’re supposed to be, like, ‘hey, you’ll be fine’ or hug them, or something.”

When he’d taken his own drag, he lifted his arm, settling it over your shoulders and letting out his breath of smoke, letting you lean against him. Pressing the tip of the roll against your lips, you accepted it, his fingers brushing your lips as you inhaled slowly, letting the smoke race through your blood from your lungs. Once you were a little more relaxed, you shifted, letting your head fall to his shoulder.

As you sat together, you shared the blunt, his arm over your shoulder to hold it to your lips occasionally. When it was finished, he stubbed the spliff out on the ashtray and placed it in the bin when it was done, the ash still smoking slightly on the porcelain.

“I appreciate what you were trying to do. I think it was nice, sort of. I really do, and I don’t hate what you were trying to do and neither do I hate you.” He squeezed your shoulder slightly, pulling you a little closer, and his hand rubbed along your arm in what you figured was supposed to be comforting. “It just doesn’t work out so well to just dive in the deep like that, and I know that you didn’t mean to, but it was overwhelming. But, you’re not so bad, so I forgive you. No hard feelings, or whatever.”

“That’s just the effect of the apology pizza.”

“Well, next time, for the record, I like chicken and mushroom, too.” He reached over, grabbing a slice of the plain pizza and taking a large bite, and you took a second to process his words, before you were scoffing, and sitting up to catch his eyes.

“I don’t know whether to be happy or insulted.” He let out a sound of acknowledgement at your words, distorted by his mouthful of pizza, but his expression read as a little curious, and you couldn't help your smile now. “Happy that you still want to hang out and do the study, and all, but insulted that you think I’m going to fuck up again.”

“Well, you’re bound to. But, it’s fine, because if you bring a better pizza next time, I’ll forgive you faster.”

“You suck.” You moved back, shuffling a little further up the bed, and he only grinned at the teasing comment, shuffling back to sit amongst the pillows. “Well, what do you want to do?”

“I’m going to play video games. You can just hang around, or leave, whatever you want. I’m pretty impartial.” He shrugged, moving around to find his controller again.

“I’ll just make myself comfy, then.” You adjusted yourself on the bed, pushing his legs out of the way, and he huffed as you did, sitting in the centre of the mattress.

“Bit too comfy, already.” His eyes narrowed on you, and you shrugged, a brow raising at him as you stuck out your tongue, and he rolled his eyes lightly. Turning to the television, you took in the game he was playing, watching as the ‘pause’ screen cleared and he set back off on the game.

“What are you playing?”

“‘Call of Duty’.” He mumbled, attention fixed to the screen, and you watched for a few more minutes. Taking a slice of pizza, you offered one to Noah too, and he took it letting it hang from his mouth somewhat unattractive as he played and used his teeth to pull it up further into his mouth with each bite. Staring at him in slight disapproval, you held your own carefully, making sure you weren’t making quite such a mess of cheese and sauce on your chin as he did, which he wiped away once his piece was finished. His gaze never left the screen, and his fingers never left the controller, until the round came to an end and he turned to stare at you. “You can talk on the mic, if you want.

There was a headset by your legs, muffled sound coming through it, and you lifted it, settling it over your ears. Once it was comfortably over your ears, the sound was coming through more, and you could hear the noises that were taking place on the screen. The music outside of this headset was playing softly again, half-muted rock that you couldn't fully make out but could still hear, and you tried to pick out the voices that were playing.

“Oh, that’s Led Zeppelin. Noah’s back.”

“That’s not Led, you moron.”

“Shut it and shoot, alright?”

Lifting the headphones down, you turned back to Noah, covering the microphone for a second, and his eyes left the screen to flick to you for a brief moment, before they were focusing again. “Is this Led Zeppelin?”

“‘Black Sabbath’.” He muttered, keeping his attention where it was and helping out his team, and you nodded, putting the device back into place atop your head.

“You know, boys, it’s actually ‘Black Sabbath’.”

Silence came over the microphone for a second, and you turned to look at Noah, a slight smirk on his face as he must've figured the response you were getting.

“Was that a girl?”

“From Noah’s headset.”

“Impossible. He doesn't know any girls. He barely has any mates.”

“They’re saying I don’t have any friends, aren’t they?” He grinned, cheering loudly to himself as he won his round, the scoring cards flicking up on the screen a few seconds later, and you nodded. He sat up further, adjusting himself until he had a leg on either side of your folded legs, taking the headset from you. Holding one side over his ears, he bickered with his friends, and you reached out to take the controller from his hands, interested about the game on screen and wanting to take a turn.

You loaded up a new match slowly, Noah watching as you did so, and nodding or shaking his head each time, until the countdown began to show, and the action took up place around you. Leaving the headset pooled around his neck and the chatter to go unheard, he leaned closer, adjusting your grip on the controller.

“Alright, use this stick to move and this one to turn, use your thumbs, alright?” You let him teach you, letting him talk you through each movement, and reset it for you when you were killed for waiting too long, before letting you take control. Each of the buttons he’d taught you were lingering in the front of your mind, and for a second, you just wandered around, waiting to see the Gamertags of his friends in this match. “Don’t forget to crouch down when you shoot, so that they can’t s-”

You did so, crouching behind an obstacle on the battlefield and taking a single shot at one of his friends, the headshot taking him down instantly, and Noah’s words got cut off in his own throat. “Did I get the shoot button right?”

“You headshotted him!” He pointed at the screen, looking between you and the television for a second, before a scowl that was nothing like his usual one, a little more playful, was taking over. “You’ve played this before!”

“Yeah, I’m really good, actually.” You didn’t have to look at him for that, you continued to play on the screen, the screaming and yelling of his friends over the microphone as you continued to take them out time and time again. He watched, cheering on a little behind you, and back chatting to his friends over the radio each time, narrating what was happening, and shit-talking on your behalf through the microphone, until the game stats were flashing up again, and you threw your hands up, a clear championship on the records from your playing. “Told you I was good.”

You turned, twisting on the sheets and kneeling up a little, kneeling between his legs as he slumped back into the pillows. “Why did you let me teach you if you knew how to play?”

His cheeks flushed slightly pink as he thought back on his juvenile teaching, and you shrugged. “It was sweet. You were being nice, and it made me feel like we were friends.” He nodded, leaning over to the bedside table and taking his wallet out. Pulling a twenty dollar note from within, he offered it to you, sitting up to meet you, eye level and somewhat challenging.

You stared at it, confused by the gesture for a few seconds, and then it clicked within your mind. His words from days prior at the coffee shop came rushing back to you, and you laughed under your breath, staring from the money, to him again. Pushing on his hand, you shook your head, and he pushed it back, insisting on you taking it. “C’mon, it’s only fair. You’ve surprised me quite a bit today.”

“I know I have, but you can put this towards takeout for next time we hang out.”

He raised his brows, pausing for a second before tucking it back into the front pocket of his wallet, and nodding. “So, there will be a next time, then?”

“I’m having fun. You’re not as scary when you stop glaring at me. Being buzzed also kinda’ helps. You loosen up when you smoke.” You teased him, scratching his cheeks with your fingers into a smile that looked more like a grimace, and he let out a vague laugh, shaking his head out of your grip and pushing you away from himself with his foot.

‘Yeah, well, I’m not as anxious when I smoke.” He shrugged, the mood seeming to go a little more serious as he sat back, smile falling away to a neutral expression again. “That’s why I do it. I know people think I do more, but I don't. Just a little weed when I’m feeling anxious, it keeps me off the edge.”

“I know. That's when I do it, normally.” He studied you for a second, his lips curling up slightly at the edges, into a genuine expression of understanding. It was a moment when you'd finally found something to connect to him with, something to show him that the gap between you both wasn’t as large as it came through his eyes, and that he wasn’t such an outcast as he thought he was. “You know, when you’re up for it, maybe I can introduce you to some more cool people. A few at a time, I’ll keep a handle on it more.”

“I’ll think about it.” You nodded, accepting that much of an answer and not wanting to push him any further. The game was still on-screen behind you but neither of you was all that focused on it, the silence settling over you both once again. There was an unspoken tension and uncertainty, but it wasn't as awkward as it had been, it didn’t feel suffocating but instead felt like a manageable obstacle to overcome. “Everyone just sees me as ‘Stiles’ brother’. It’s not exactly easy to make new friends.”

You sighed, standing from the bed and looking through his games, trying to think of what to say to him as quiet came back to sit in the divide between you. “You know, I met you first. I was a transfer to psychology, my parents didn’t want me doing it at first. I met you while I was still in my medical biology classes, in a coffee shop queue. We talked and you gave me your name, and I thought Stiles was you the first day in my psychology class. Called him ‘Noah’ and said it’d been a while. He told me you were his brother and I couldn't remember his name for a while, so in my head, he was just ‘Noah’s brother’.”

“It’s never been that way around before.” He seemed slightly uncomfortable, not with you but simply in uncertain territory, and you paused over one game case, trying not to let him see the smile on your face at making another breakthrough with him. “I’m sorry that I never spoke to you after that. We rapidly joined different social circles.”

“It’s cool. We’re friends now, right?”

“Sure. Begrudgingly, I’ll be your friend.” You scoffed, pulling the game free, and turning to face him, chucking it onto the bed before him. He picked it up, staring at it for a second, and watching as you took the second controller from the charging port on the shelf that it was sitting on. “You want to play Minecraft? I haven’t played this in years.”

“I happen to love Minecraft.”

“Fine. We can build a new world together.” You gasped falsely, turning to him and making your way over to the bed, a hand held over your heart theatrically.

“Building a world together, we might as well just get married. That’s so intense.” You gave an emphasised wink, and he glared, turning away from you and opening up the case, taking the DVD from inside. “Move up, I want to lean on the headboard too, or I’ll get backache.”

He smirked slightly, as though the thought of making you sit there with backache anyway was amusing for him. He eventually shuffled closer to the wall, letting you sit down among the warmed cushions. He loaded up the game, settling back in beside you. You created yourself a character, and settled in, letting him choose all the settings for the world, before it was loading up, the screen split as you both spawned into it.

“Can we build our house next to a jungle?” He turned to look at you, pausing from where he’d begun to chop down a tree. You only shrugged, beginning on the same task, before night fell and mobs began to fall. “What? I like the cats.”

His eyes flickered over your face for a moment, something between a smirk and a smile taking place. He licked over his lips, staring for a second longer, as though he was trying to figure you out, before moving focus back to the game. “Yeah, okay. I like to collect the cats, too.”

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (04)

word count; 14,720

summary; after going to dinner with derek and stiles for the study, you and noah get a little more of a chance to bond when you’re left alone.

notes; this part is the longest one (I think?). I was going to split it in two, but there wasn’t exactly a convenient half-way point.

warnings; mentions of panic attacks, mentions of death

“Damn, don’t you look pretty?” Lydia practically purred, back pressed to your door frame as she fanned herself of mock heat, and you paused from where the lipliner you held was sitting over your upper lip. Half-applied, with a matching lipstick on your desk, she winked seductively at you, before grinning widely, and all but skipping into the room. “Dressed up for a hot date?”

“No.” You sighed, continuing the art of lining your lips, the outside standing out a little more, before you were picking up the matching lipstick to pair to it.

“Oh? Then what are you getting dressed up for?”

“I’m going to dinner.” You mumbled through a pout, trying to accurately apply the colour and not smudge it up your face, knowing that it would ruin everything else you had applied, and you’d run late if you had to start over.

“Dinner, huh? You did your hair, you did your makeup, you’re wearing the ‘look at my lips’ lipstick, and a slightly shorter skirt than usual, mind you all your skirts are short an-” You turned, throwing a capped eyeliner at her for her comment, and she complained as it bounced from her forehead, her hand coming up to cover it. “That better not leave a mark! Anyway, you’re wearing all your date attire, so are you sure you’re not going on a date?”

“I’m going to dinner with Stiles and Derek.”

“Oh.” She hummed, leaning back onto her hands as she sat on her bed, seemingly a little disappointed.

“And Noah.”

“Oh.” She smirked again, making you roll your eyes as you blotted your lips on a tissue. Checking you were happy with it all, and running your finger under your eyes to pick up any shadow residue, you were satisfied. “His name comes up a lot nowadays.”

“When? When has it come up?” Her eyes narrowed on you, menacingly for the comment, because you knew she couldn't put an exact date to it. “Besides, we’re doing a study together. His name is probably gonna’ come up a lot, he’s part of my final assignment.”

“Sure, I get that. I just feel there’s something different.”

“That’s probably your juice cleanse.” You teased, setting your make-up with a light layer of mist, and turning to face her. “Okay, for real, how do I look?”

“Why do you care if it’s not a date?” She fired back, picking at her cuticles and staring at you expectantly over her nails, a cheeky flare stitched to her expressions.

“Because I want to look nice, at least!” You scoffed, picking up a small purse and beginning to stuff into it your wallet, keys, phone, ad makeup top-ups.

“For who? The gay brother, the gay brother’s boyfriend? Or, the hot, single, straight brother with the tattoos and the moody fix-me attitude that makes you all flustered?” You stopped, staring at her for a second, before your shoulders slumped.

“Okay, so, maybe I want him to think I’m cute! But, there’s a confusing reason. He doesn’t like me, okay? Everyone likes me, and I just want to know that when I’m in a room with people, they like me, they’re not talking about me behind my back or something! Most boys just like me because I look cute, so, same logic.” You shrugged, fastening the bag and lifting it onto your shoulder, hearing your best friend and roommate let out a slow sigh.

“Maybe, he just likes you because he doesn’t have any friends, and you’re being nice to him.” Your eyes narrowed, sensing something more that she was saying, the gears in her eyes were practically spinning with her thoughts. “So, Aiden told Isaac who told Allison, who told me last night over some wine, that Noah mentioned you the other day.”

“I’m still trying to keep up with that train of people. What the hell was that?”

“He just said that you guys hung out the other day after that whole social fiasco you forced upon him. He talked to Aiden about it, because Aiden takes mechanics with him and they talk about bikes sometimes. Aiden said that Noah said you’re ‘not so bad’.” She shrugged, and you couldn’t help the giggle that passed your lips.

“Lyds, c’mon, you’ve gotta’ be kidding me. You held me back for that piece of information. That I’m ‘not so bad’? He’s told me that, in a variation of those words, at least. Jeez.”

“Yeah, well, most of the time it’s all doom and gloom with him. He’s supposedly talked more since starting this study.” The redhead kept going, and you rolled your eyes, rolling up the sleeves on your cardigan and moving forwards towards your door.

“Probably because I've encouraged him to try and reach out a little more, and promised to help him.” You turned, looking over your shoulder at the girl staring at you from her seat on the mattress. “I’m going out, try not to let friends of friends of friends’ rumours make your head spin anymore.” Your teasing words made her scowl at you, before standing and exiting your room for you to switch off the light. Your door closed, and she wandered away silently towards her bedroom.

You walked in the opposite direction, away towards the front door, and when you looked back, the halls were empty, her door pushed halfway closed. Tugging on your coat and opening the door, you patted yourself down to check you still had everything.

“See you later, Lyds, don’t wait up!”

“Have fun on your date!” She hollered back, voice a little muffled with the distance and the interference, and you scoffed.”

“Not a date!”

The door slammed behind you, leaving you in the corridor, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder and rooting through your bag to find your car keys. They were at the bottom, prompting you to almost drop everything else on the staircase as you hopped down them, trying to keep it all inside as you went.

The air got colder and colder the lower in the building you got, the stony concrete of the steps grating under your boots as you went. You were glad that you’d taken a coat with you upon leaving the apartment, because there was a distinctive chill that only came with the underground car parking lot of your building. Summer or winter, this carpark always seemed to be freezing cold, and sometimes it would flood with water in the early spring months such as these, and so you were grateful that it hadn't today.

You were met with dry pavement as you stepped out, the metal door slamming loudly behind you as you paused, staring around to try and remember where you’d parked your car, and spotting the little red machine at the other end of the complex. There weren’t as many cars to pass by on your walk to it today as there had been the day you’d parked it there, but that was most likely due to it being Friday night.

There was always a lot to do on campus on a Friday night. As the summer threatened to come in and the weather was beginning to clear, making garden parties and barbecues the events to replace game nights and pyjama parties. Pressing down on the unlock button of your keys you waited, standing before a slightly dirty car that could do with a clean. It flashed, but the car didn’t recognise the signal, and it didn’t open up, the door not budging an inch when you pulled on the handle. You tried again, the chirp and flash of dulled lights signalling its recognition but not the action being carried out, and you groaned.

Tossing your head back, you sighed, taking a deep breath, and moving to automatically unlock your car. Opening it up with the key in the lock instead, you had to tug extra hard to free it up, the whole car feeling like it was falling apart. Once you had replaced it with the ignition instead of the door, your bag sitting on the passenger seat and the car sputtering as you attempted to start it up.

The first came flat, a terribly strained sound leaving the engine as it tried to turn over but failed, and you tried again. The second time brought a few jumps from the car, but it fell flat again, and only on the third time did it finally manage to start up. Your radio wasn’t tuned and loud classical jazz came through the speakers, which you turned down, the overuse of trumpets already threatening to bring on a headache. Reversing from the parking spot slowly and checking your mirrors, the journey began.

The dull lighting of the underground parking lot lightened up to natural lighting as you neared the entrance, the entrance on your side of the ramp lighting up to pale grey skies, the evening still fading out from a cloudy day into the night, the sun present behind the clouds. As you reached halfway up the ramp, the car was sputtering again, your lights flashing as the engine threatened to crap out, and your foot pressed down on the peddle more. It wasn’t exactly a struggle of a ramp, it barely counted as an incline, and your car couldn't even handle that now. As you tried to drive up, the engine gave way, everything dropping dead.

Rolling backwards slowly, you fell back into the seat with a huff, waiting for your car to come to a stop. Pulling up on the handbrake, your car came to a stop in the middle of the pathway, and your arms crossed. Staring out for a second, you tried to decide what to do, and the several attempts to restart your engine again just weren’t cutting it now. The time on your phone read that you were due at the restaurant in only ten minutes, the drive itself being fifteen, and you still had a car to sort.

Coming down the opposite ramp was a car holding the four kids that lived in the flat directly above your own, ones you’d interacted with a couple of times but couldn't remember the names of, all of them being only sophomores. They stopped before you, rolling down their window, and you felt a chill of embarrassment strike through you, pulling in your stomach as you had to crack your door open to hear them.

“Odd place to park. You alright?”

“My car broke down trying to get up the ramp.” You muttered, open palm slamming a little against the wheel, and several chuckles came from inside.

“You need a jumpstart?”

“I don’t have cables. You?” The kid inside shook his head, asking around each of his friends, but neither had anything to offer, and he only shrugged.

“Why don’t we try pushing your car into a parking space, for now?” His girlfriend suggested. She was a sweet girl, with streaks of blue in her hair and a shiny nose piercing, and it was the best option you had. “We can park up, and then between the five of us, I think we can push it into a space.”

“Sounds great, thanks, guys.” The kid behind the wheel offered you a salute, and he pulled forwards, making you a little envious of his fully working car as it spun away and momentarily out of sight to park up. It gave you a chance to at least book a cab to arrive within the next few minutes, and you booked one to the restaurant to pick you up from the curbside. Putting your bag onto your shoulder and taking out your keys from the ignition, they were tucked away into your pocket, for now, taking off the handbrake before climbing from the car.

The small group was making the way over, a little chilly without all of their jackets and jumpers, ready to get back inside but still willing to help, and you were more than thankful for that. Both of the back doors were opened and so were the front, the group each taking hold of a door and the roof of the car, as you took a seat behind the wheel again. You seemed to unanimously and silently select a parking space, the one that was closest to the car and only a few metres away.

With five people working on the movement, it wasn’t so hard. The car rolled easily with the force of four people pushing only a small vehicle, but the navigation was hard. It took a couple of minutes to readjust the vehicle into the parking space, and it was still haphazard. It was tucked reasonably well inside of the lines and wouldn't be hit, and you were able to lock it back up.

Your phone chimed in your pocket, signalling you to the arrival of your cab, and the kids were clearly more than eager to get away from the chill. You thanked them again, and made an effort to commit their names to memory, before taking a quick jog up the ramp and out onto the main street, scanning for the cab that was waiting for you. It was sitting on the corner, the car chugging slightly as its engine continued to run, and the slight heels of your boots clicked on the sidewalk as you walked over to it.

The door opened on the first try, unlike your own, the lock and handle working perfectly, and you stumbled a little on the pavement with the force you’d pulled it open with, muscle memory from your own broken vehicle making you tug a little harder than necessary. With a mumbled apology, you asked the cab rider to repeat the name of the booking to you to be sure it was your own, and he did so the destination following. He was moving as soon as you were inside, the door slamming on your side only a second before he took off from the curbside, and you adjusted yourself across the leather, settling back into it.

There was a vague smell of smoke, something overpowered by perfume from the rider before you, and perhaps the one before her had been a smoker because the scent still lingered. Behind that too was leather cleaner, a pinch of citrus under it, and it was an odd combination of smells that made your nose screw up slightly. If it stuck to your clothes, you’d be thrown off all night, and it made you wish you’d brought your perfume with you. You tried to sit forwards, to not lean back into the seats and make more contact with the worn material than you had to, watching the metre tick up in price as the familiar cityscape flashed by.

It wasn’t all that far from the university, and going to school in an urban area expanded just how much you had to do, not restricting you to campus activities. You knew the town well, you knew everything that took place on a fun Friday night, and yet you always were surprised by the traffic and the congestion on the roads that came with it. It felt like there were more people on the roads than there was space to live in the town.

You were thirty minutes late by the time you got there, cheeks flush from a slight jog after telling your driver to simply drop you on the corner of the block instead of queuing in more cars, and the restaurant was warm inside, doing nothing to lessen the flush on your cheeks. The heat from your cheeks at the rush seemed to spread all over your body, and you paused in the doorway, the chatter of the evening crowd meeting your ears as it began to build. The door behind you jingled as it fell shut, and close to the back in a circular booth was Stiles and Noah.

The former twin was chatting animatedly about something you couldn't possibly know and something you probably wouldn't be able to keep up with, four menus sitting out on the table and two empty glasses between the two of them, two more half-drunk drinks with straws and meted ice too, rings on the napkins from condensation, and guilt pooled within you at how long they’d waited.

You navigated between the people, letting the waitress at the front know you were a part of a current booking and you already had a table, guiding yourself through the crowds towards them, and Noah noticed you coming first. He was facing the entrance in his booth, the spare napkin from the pot on the table that he’d been ripping pieces off of was left abandoned, and he straightened up from where he’d slumped over in the black leather seats.

As soon as Stiles realised that Noah’s seemingly captivated attention was gone, he turned to look over his own shoulder, one flannel covered arm coming up over the back of the seat to look, and his face shifted through a myriad of emotions upon seeing you. Relief, surprise, a little shock, and then something cocky as you approached.

“You know, this isn’t fashionably late anymore, this is just late.”

“I know, I know.” You muttered, fingers shaking a little with the haste you applied to trying to undo the tie on the front of your coat to loosen it, and you were able to shuck it down your arms. Stiles took it from you, putting your bag and your coat with the pile he’d built between himself and his brother at the opposite side of the circular booth, and you smoothed down the edges of your skirt. “My stupid car officially crapped out, on the ramp of my building, and I had to push it into a parking space and call a cab.”

You were trying to keep positive, but you could sense your own simmering irritation underneath it all, and your shoulders slumped a little as Stiles snickered. “On the ramp? The ramp with like a half percentage incline? Did you roll backwards and everything?”

“Yes, I rolled backwards. Like, half a metre. I wasn’t spinning around the carpark backwards and screaming like something from Scooby-Doo, like I’m sure you’re picturing.” You shifted, taking a seat beside Noah as Stiles continued to chuckle, and the boy beside you shuffled up a little to make room, pulling his drinks and his pile of torn napkin away to sit in front of him again. Your gratitude was whispered under your vice, turning to look at him, and his lips flicked up at the edges with a gentle nod in acknowledgement.

“You know, as funny as the image is, you should have called. I could have come and picked you up, or something.” His laughter eventually subsided, leaving only his natural concern as a friend to show through, even though you were just fine.

“Don’t you think if I could call, I would have texted to say I was running late?” Your brows raised at him, and the more energetic twin chuckled across from you. “Seriously, you know how crappy the reception is under the building in the parking lot, and by the time I was in the taxi, I was more preoccupied trying to work out why it smelled weird and making sure I wasn’t being kidnapped, or something. I don’t like looking down at my phone in cabs. It only takes two seconds to pull off into a weird alley and be murdered.”

“I thought Stiles was supposed to be the paranoid psychology major.” Noah joked, and your jaw hung a little as you turned to look at him, a smirk on his face but he stared down at the table, his fingertips tapping on the wooden surface anxiously. You shifted, bumping your shoulder against his with a playful scoff, and Stiles sat back in his seat, much like his brother.

“Oh, so the other twin has sarcasm and jokes now, too?” He mumbled, his brother daring to look up and catch his eye, narrowing in a challenging way.

“I had it before you did, I just use it reservedly to be less irritating and make the most of its theatrical shock.” Noah spat back, and you chuckled at the attitude shared between the two of them. You turned to look at him, noticing the way the leather of his jacket blended with that of the seats, almost like a piece of camouflage and you had to try and suppress a chuckle at the thought. “So, uh, what’s wrong with your car?”

Your eyes snapped up from looking at the silver details of the jacket, to where Noah was now risking looking up to meet your eyes, and you turned a little more to him. “The engine. Everything, really, though. The locks are broken and the radio doesn't work, it’s the worst car ever.”

“I’ve been telling you that since second year,” Stiles muttered, the drink in his glass slurping as he sipped through his straw languidly, and you scowled at him.

“I know that, and I never denied it.” He shrugged, picking up his menu and beginning to scan his eyes over it, Noah doing much the same, but he left his sitting flat on the table in front of him. The waitress came over, forcing Noah back into his shell as she took a drinks order for you, going back over the specials that you had missed, and once she was gone, your eyes flicked over the other menu still unattended. “Is Derek coming?”

Stiles looked up, his eyes moving over to it for a second, and he bit down on his lower lip, before offering a smile and looking up. “Maybe. I think so, he said he would but something came up, so he’s not sure when he’ll get here. He says to just get ordering and he’ll add something on when he gets here.”

“If he gets here,” Noah added, and Stiles frowned, glaring at his brother for a second, who never bothered to look up, and there was a lingering tension between the two over the comment that you didn’t quite understand. A cold drink was placed down in front of you, ice clinking against the edges of the glass, and you folded a napkin in half to create a makeshift coaster.

“Well, I’ve never been here before. So, why don’t you tell me what’s good? You picked the place, I assume you’ve been here before.” Your eyes found Stiles’, and he looked utterly shocked at the idea.

“You’ve never been here? It’s so good, though!” He placed his menu down flat, spinning it around to face you, and his finger laid over the starters section. “Well, normally, Noah and I will split a bunch of the starters, so you can join in with that, if you’d like. There are some great choices. Like, the steamed gyoza. They’re all great, so we normally get them all.”

“I like the chicken ones best,” Noah added, and you turned, smiling a little as he chipped in his opinion.

“If you like something spicy, then I’d recommend one of the curries, but the ramen is amazing too. So is the teppanyaki, it’s all amazing, actually.” Stiles was distracted, being to describe and list off all the details of the dishes in detail, and the twin beside you chuckled.

“The teriyaki sirloin steak soba is pretty good.” He whispered, not to interrupt his brother’s flowing speech. You leaned back a little, turning to face Noah some more, and his eyes flickered your dress, taking you in the same way you had him, before swirling brown eyes were settling on yours. “You want to ask something, right? I can tell. Like a sixth sense, I can feel your weird tension.”

“Yeah, I do.” You grinned, letting yourself fully relax into the seat, and Stiles was busy still explaining the intricate flavours of his favourite dish, completely oblivious now of everything else going on around him. “Do I smell weird?”

“That’s your question?” He looked shocked, before he was smiling a little, biting at the inside of his cheek to hide his amusement, but he couldn’t muffle the chuckle. “Are you serious?”

“Uh, dead serious. The cab smelt weird, and now I’m all anxious that it’s all over me!” Stiles paused, both of you looking up as a shadow fell over the table, and Derek was peering down at all of you. He stripped off his coat, tossing it to the other side of the booth to join the rest, and sitting down beside Stiles. There was a drink he’d brought over, clearly having stopped at the bar to pick it up before making his way over. He sat beside his boyfriend, Stiles looking over the moon that he’d made it in time, and you gave them their privacy, turning back to your new friend. “I mean it, Noah, sniff me!”

“I’m not doing that. What if you do smell weird? Then I have to live with knowing that weird smell.”

“You’re the worst.” You huffed, trying to pull up the edge of your shirt to smell it but the lower-cut neckline made it hard, and you huffed, picking up your drink to take a long sip. As you did, icy glass tingling against your fingertips, and Noah leaned over. With a frown, he leaned in, sniffling lightly against your hair, and you froze slightly, letting him do so for a moment. He hesitated, before leaning back, and letting out the slow breath, and shuffling a little. “So?”

You placed your drink down, wiping a finger over your straw to remove possible excess lipstick, and his head fell back against the leather. “You smell good. Like, really good, actually. Can’t smell any weird cab, just whatever perfume you’re wearing. It’s nice.”

“Thanks, I liked it because the bottle had a cute design.”

He scoffed, his eyes rolling, but there was a fonder expression on his face than there had been previously, so you let it slide, hoping your smile wasn’t showing through too clearly. His hand sat atop the table, on a menu that he wasn’t using because he already knew what he wanted, beside a pile of nervously torn up paper. Inked skin was sticking out from the edge of a grey jumper underneath a black leather jacket, the patterns going all the way down to his knuckles, and you trace the designs with your eyes You wanted to reach out, to trace them with your fingers, but you were well-aware how much he hated that and so you resisted the urge.

“I like your finger tattoos. I’ve never had a chance to tell you, but I like them.” His fingers flexed, and then he produced his other hand, a little sigh on his lips as he rested his other hand beside it, skin clear and free of ink, a stark comparison to the other. “They’re pretty cool. They must have hurt a lot, I hear it hurts a lot over the bone. I’ve never been brave enough to get a tattoo, but yours look just.. epic.”

“Thanks. They didn’t hurt so much, you kinda’ get used to it after a coupla’ minutes.” The silence fell between you both again.

After a couple more minutes, listening to the chatter between the men opposite you and scanning over your menu, a waitress coming over to ask if you were ready to order. It was the same girl from before, who you didn’t recognise from your university, and as you looked more, you weren’t sure she was even that age. Maybe she was a high-schooler, or maybe she didn’t go to college at all, but she seemed happy with who she was, a wide smile that didn’t seem fake as she listened to Stiles’ jokes about the menu while taking his order.

She moved around the table, Stiles’ having ordered enough starters to feed a small army, and you ordered a bowl of ramen for your main, Noah ordered something you hadn't had a chance to read about yet and you tried to remember what it was, so you could look the menu up online later. As soon as she was gone, the chatter took up again, your best friend creating enough conversation for all four of you.

Derek didn’t speak much, you’d noticed that in all the times you’d hung out with him over the years. He was much like Noah in that respect, he was quiet and preferred smaller crowds, the company of a very select few, and was often happy - or, willing - to just sit and listen to Stiles talk. “Do they mean anything?”

Noah jumped a little in his seat, clearly lost in his thoughts and you idly wondered how much time he’d previously spent sitting silently and third-wheeling to Stiles and Derek when the energetic twin forced him out. He eyed you, dubiously for your comment, and sitting up a little straighter. His elbows balanced on the table, cheek on top of his hand as he turned to you, and you twisted to give him equal attention. “Is this for your study?”

“Yes.” His shoulders seemingly slumped, and you placed a hand on the table, only an inch from his own, and his eyes moved to it. You hadn't touched him, you knew he wouldn't want that, but you were hoping that he’d be able to recognise that you were still trying to be comforting to him. “I mean, this dinner is. I figured it would make you a little more comfortable to do something more casual, so I left Stiles in charge of it. I thought he’d pick a coffee house or takeout at your place, not this. The tattoos, that's just because I’m curious, and I want to get to know you a little better.”

That only seemed to make him more suspicious, as though it wasn’t plausible that you’d want to know about him, but he gave in. Leaning forwards to take off his jacket, he seemed uncomfortable at the idea of shedding a layer, like it was armour or protection, and rolled up the grey jumper sleeve as far as it could go. It got stuck just below his elbow, the material pulled tight, pale skin covered with delicate black ink and intricate designs, and you felt your breath be stolen at them. You’d never had a chance to observe them up close, and they were beautiful, your fingertips twitching to trace them.

“They’re amazing, Noah.”

“Thanks. Some of them I designed, some of them I didn’t. I got a full sleeve, it looks pretty cool, I think. I don’t want the other side doing. At least, not yet.” He lifted his arm, upper arm sitting over your hand as he moved close enough for you to see the details. Turning your hand around to be able to hold his arm gently, the skin under your fingertips was warm, gathered from under two layers of closing in a warm restaurant, and his muscles twitched involuntarily under your touch. “Do you want to know which ones I designed myself?”

“You bet I do.”

He smiled a little at that, his eyes flicking up to meet your own. “Well, I’m not so great at drawing. So, I just came up with some ideas and the artists did a lot of the actual artwork. I have this one on my forearm-” His arm flipped over, fingers wrapping a little around your wrist as he showed you the back of his arm, dark hairs growing in slightly thinner patches than the other through that of the damage to the pores from ink. “-I made this one because I got inspired by a cool dragon on one of Stiles’ online multiplayer fantasy game things, but I wanted it to be more.. mechanical, I guess.”

“It reminds me of your motorbike. It feels very you.”

“It makes me think of my motorbike, too.” The edges of his lips quirked up, and he paused for a second, the inching out of his shell that he’d done for a second was already beginning to retract when plates were placed down against the wood. He was jolted out of the safe bubble he’d created, his fingers loosening on your arm as he made to sit back, and your grip on him tightened slightly. He looked to you, a single flash of slight insecurity passing over once again neutral features, and you paid the waitress no mind, Stiles doing enough public chatting for you.

Your other hand came up, instead, tracing lightly over a bouquet of tulips, all in black and white but these were the only tattoos to have even a hint of colour, very pale splashes of orange and pink tracing along the edges of the black and leaving outlines to the flowers, fading away into stems that wrapped around his wrists. You traced them, his fingers flexing and tightening again on your arm as he relaxed. “What about this one? It’s really pretty.”

“That was my first one, actually. I got it for my mom, they were her favourite flowers. She likes red and pink tulips. My dad says it’s because she thought they clashed, and you aren’t supposed to put pink and orange together, but she liked things that clashed. She’d always tell my dad that the things that aren’t supposed to go together are usually the things that go the best together. She was, well, losing it a little at the end, but I still think pink and orange look good.”

“You two gonna’ eat or what? Because I’ll eat all of this, and my main. I’ll do it.” Stiles interrupted, and Noah slinked his hand away, his arm falling back down under the table and pulling down his sleeve.

“You could not, you dumbass. You’d tap out before you got through it all.” You teased, grabbing a pair of chopsticks from the side of the dish and snapping them apart, adjusting them in your fingers, before picking up a dumpling. “These are the chicken ones, right?”

“Yeah, now try it. I want to see your reaction.” He pushed, Noah leaning over with his own chopsticks and dunking them into the sauce in the middle. You followed suit, letting the sauce drip from the end and turning it in your grip. There was silence around the table, all waiting on your reaction, and you did so. Taking a bite from the tip, you gave it a second, chewing it slowly, and taking in the flavours. Stiles’ brows couldn't get any further into his hairline without straining himself, and you giggled, swallowing the mouthful and nodding your head.

“Okay, I get it now. This is really good, I don’t know how I’ve survived without this all my life.”

It was an exaggeration, and just what Stiles wanted to hear, your best friend seemingly chuffed with himself at the praise. The starters were shared between you, the tall and moody athlete across from you eating the most, followed by Stiles, who somehow managed to eat a disproportionately large portion of food for the amount of chatting he did, and then Noah. He had pulled a few of the plates over to your side of the table, trying to get them out of Stiles’ reach so that you could at least get to try one of everything, and it wasn’t a gesture that went unnoticed.

Once the empty plates had already been cleared, you were beginning to feel full already, and your fingers laced over your stomach as you leaned back in your chair. You’d rarely indulged in this kind of food, Asian food was something that had always been hit or miss with you, but this was filling you up faster than anything and you couldn't stop eating because it was so good. The restaurant itself was small and crowded, as many tables packed in, with low lighting and leather booth seats. It had pretty pictures of famous artists and signed frames, with newspaper cutouts from the 80s with positive reviews when it had been founded, the hidden gem being something special that you wished you’d known of before.

Staring around the people you were with, your heart felt full, a warm atmosphere with jokes and chatter from your friend, listening to Derek and Stiles playfully bicker with an argument you weren’t sure how it had started. You’d almost forgotten why you were there, the peaceful presence of Noah beside you now that the animosity was cleared, a tentative friendship threatening to start, and the energetic presence of your best friend. You loved Stiles, and he seemed to love constant action and thrill, but sometimes you preferred the vibe that Noah had, the calmer one that centred around having enough quiet to just be with your thoughts.

“Can you pass me my bag?” You whispered, head turning to Noah from where it as leant against the leather, and he nodded, reaching across for the small purse and passing it over to you. You’d forgotten your recorder, but there was a voice notes app on your phone and so you could make do. Taking out your phone, and passing it back, you waved it a little to Stiles, placing it down in the middle of the table. The hush fell over you all, clinking plates and background noise chatter of other patrons to fill their gap, but the people around the table were quiet.

Noah sighed beside you, something vaguely like disappointment and a little chill ran through you at the sound, pooling like guilt in your stomach, before you hit record. You didn’t even have a chance to speak, to talk them through the usual introductions that you’d used a couple of times already, before Stiles was beating you to the point.

“Stiles Stilinski, full permission to be recorded, but only my voice. I’m a radio star, baby.” He winked dramatically at the end, tapping his fingers on the table, and you rolled your eyes at his antics. Your eyes turned to Noah, and he cleared his throat slightly, leaning in toward the phone to speak his information.

“Uh, Noah Stilinski. Permission to be recorded.” You smiled, trying to comfort him slightly when he pulled back, scratching under his jaw with his anxiety, and you were starting to learn his ticks and tells.

“Great, I just-”

“Derek Hale, full permission to be recorded.” Your friend’s boyfriend chipped in, and you grinned at him, a toothy smile that you rarely saw poking through on a stubbled jaw.

“Well, thanks for joining us for this one, Derek. All questions will be about you now, of course.”

“I’d expect nothing less.” He played along, making you grin a little, and Stiles rested an arm over his boyfriend’s shoulder, the two settling in for the questions that were to come.

“So, first question; what’s up with the nickname ‘Stiles’? I’ve never asked, but I want to know. I also want to know why you get such a weird nickname and Noah never did? You must’ve been a weird kid.” Stiles beamed, wickedly, leaning forwards as he prepared for a story, and Noah groaned beside you lightly, only spurring the laughter between you and Derek. “Feels like it’s story time.”

“First off, Stiles is an awesome nickname. Don’t hate, you wish you had a nickname this cool.” He mocked, fingers lacing on the table as he sat forwards. “And secondly, ‘Noah’ is a nickname too.”

“‘Noah’ is a name?” You turned to face the brother whom the name belonged to, raising a brow, and he shrugged a little. “It’s a nickname?”

“We both have Polish names. Stiles is only called ‘Stiles’ because he’s lazy with nicknames and couldn’t put ‘mischief’ on his school forms when he was younger.”

“Mischief?” You echoed, feeling a little lost, and a fond look crossed over both of their faces as you said it.

“Me and Noah were like mini-partners in crime when we were little. My mother nicknamed us ‘naughty’ and ‘mischief’ after our Polish names. Mine is Mieczysław. So, I went with Stiles because it was the first nickname that came to mind after my mother died and I made our dad call us by new nicknames, and it stuck.” He shrugged, sitting back to sip his drink, and a lower atmosphere settled over the group. You hadn't expected to even broach the topic of their mom until later in the study, it was a topic that you were dreading having to bring up despite how relevant it was, because you’d seen how Stiles got when her anniversary or her birthday came around.

“So, what’s your name, Noah?”

He stared for a second, a slight grimace taking over like he didn’t connect much to his Polish roots, and perhaps he just didn’t like to think about them. Despite ‘Stilinski’ being an unusual name, it was his mother’s side that held his Polish ancestry, not his father’s. “Nowaweis.”

He spoke through a slight accent, not the Americanised way Stiles poke his name, but with a genuine tilt to the words, the way his mother must’ve taught him, and his jaw snapped shut after speaking the word. It rattled around your brain, you weren’t sure you’d heard it correctly at all, but you could see where he’d pulled ‘Noah’ from it. “Like, No-wa-wise?”

His head shook, lips daring to twist slightly into something more positive, and his head tipped up slightly from staring at the table. His eyes were locked on your own, that bubble of security formed around you both again as he corrected you; “No, like, ‘vice’ at the end, not ‘wise’. Pronounce it like No-wa-vice.”

“Nowaweis.” You repeated, slowly, sounding out the syllables like he’d told you, and his brows loosened from a seemingly permanent furrow as he nodded. He looked a little softer like this, the lines along his forehead smoothing out, and you’d only ever seen him like this before when he was high, letting his fears and restraints go behind the sealed door of his own bedroom. “Nowaweis. I like it.”

“Thanks, I don’t think about it a lot anymore.”

“Well, I think you should, it’s sweet.” His gaze stuck to yours for a second longer, eyes narrowing in that same way you were used to now, knowing he wasn’t glaring at you or judging you, just trying to work you out. “So, tell me about the two of you when you were kids. I want to hear about the origin of your ‘naughty’ and ‘mischief’ nicknames.”

That seemed to be the key for Stiles. As soon as you’d cracked that door open by an inch, he had blown it right off of its hinges in his excitement. He told you all about what he and Noah got up to when they were little, the antics of swapping clothes to confuse their parents, and taking tests for one another. Stories of scaring and pranking anybody who didn’t know there was two of them, and all about how they would stick together through thick and thin.

When Stiles got lice in third grade and had to shave his head, Noah had done so with him, and his mother had shaved both of their heads for them in the bathroom that night before taking them out for ice cream. He told them about both getting their first tattoos done together in their senior year of high school, and how Noah had been afraid to get it done alone. Stiles had passed out at the sight of the needle, with only half a tulip done on the back of his shoulder, and Noah had to hold him down to get it finished, only one flower being able to be done before he’d tapped out.

Stiles also told you about the bedroom they’d shared at home before moving to a bigger house, and how their dad had painted it directly down the middle to make it an even split. He spilt jokes about Noah’s gothic phase in high school when he’d painted every wall and the ceiling in his room black, and all of his furniture, and for a while, Noah had teased him back. Your cheeks had ached from giggling as you listened to the pair talk about their childhood and growing up.

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, the mains had been delivered, and you’d tucked in and enjoyed, and Stiles had told you all about their first month in college when they discovered this place. Before Stiles had started his podcast, a name which you now understood, the title ‘Mischief’s Mic’ never having made much sense to you before, and before Noah’s reputation had grown. Once they’d moved onto the topic of college, it was more just Stiles talking, and Noah adding a few hums and mumbled confirmations whenever he was drawn into the discussion, but busying himself with eating instead.

Once the plates had been cleared, and the gap between you all was left over an empty table and a drinks refill, Stiles moved on to talking about his mother. A sombre mood set over everyone, and you listened as Stiles explained about his mother.

It was heart-wrenching, and your eyes stung a little with a burn in the back of your throat as you tried not to cry because while you hadn't known Stiles as a child, it was like you were looking at him. As he told you about how much he loved her, and all the fun things she used to do with Noah and himself, and he was vulnerable. It was like you were looking at a young Stiles. He was a child again, teary eyes and scared and hurt as he talked about his mom, and he held your hand across the table.

He was delicate and fragile, and Noah seemed to be closing back up behind you, and once he was finished and he’d walked you slowly through the development of his mother’s decline in health to the last day he’d been to visit her and talk about graduation, you couldn't help but let a tear go. He told you he’d told her all about you too, and the friends he’d made, because he liked to believe that somewhere she was still watching him. Noah didn’t agree with that, Noah didn’t like to talk to her, or to pretend she was still there, which hurt him more. He preferred to visit her, and sit quietly, and remember when she really was there, instead of kidding himself, and the table fell into quiet.

Dessert menus were sitting out in front of all of you, had been for almost an hour but nobody had looked down at them, and the waitress had clearly realised what was going on after a second time coming over to ask, because she glanced up occasionally from the desk she worked at, to see whether it was time to come over.

When five minutes of silence had passed on the clock, and all the drinks around the table were once again sitting empty, Stiles broke the silence again. He stood up, wiping at salt-irritated red cheeks and stuffing the wet napkin he’d used to mop his cheeks into his pocket. The blinking light on your phone showed it was still recording, and he let out a weak and raspy laugh. “Okay, well, I’m going for a wiz and then I’m getting two desserts, because I deserve it.”

“Sounds good.” You smiled, unable to help how guilty you felt over it all, and Stiles seemed to sense it.

“Hey, it’s fine. I like talking about her, it’s just sad. I knew these questions would come up when I agreed to do your study, before you’d even come up with these questions.” He reached over, leaning across the booth to pull you into a hug, and you squeezed him tightly. You loved your best friend, and even though he was the sad one, he was comforting you. He’d always been selfless that way. When he pulled back, it was with the usual bright smile he always wore, his typical personality peeking through the storm clouds like warm sunshine once again. “Babe, can you get me another drink while I’m gone? And tell the waitress we’re gonna’ order soon. I need sugar.”

“Normally I’d disagree, you’re hyper enough as it is, but we’ll let it slide this time.” You teased, and Noah let out a vague huff of a laugh beside you as Derek chuckled, and Stiles scowled, flipping you off as he walked away. Derek excused himself from the table a moment later, taking the empty glasses away to the bar to get his boyfriend a new drink. You were left alone with Noah, the silence falling over you both, and you turned to face him, his finger flicking at the edge of the menu as he stared at it, but he wasn’t reading it. He looked a little dissociated, a frown on his face. “You okay, Noah?”

He looked up, eyes a little dull for a moment, before he took a deep breath, straightening up from where he’d slumped over. “Yeah, I’m okay?”

“You sure?” You dared to reach out, pressing your hand down over the edge of the menu upon which his fiddling had increased. He stopped, your hand resting over his as it was hidden underneath the menu.

“Yeah, really.” He turned to face you some more, an attempt at a smile on the edges of his lips. “I just hate thinking about my mom. I also hate thinking about how close I used to be with Stiles, but we’re not so much anymore.” He sighed, his other arm bracing on the back of the bench behind your head, fingers picking at the leather slightly beside your head, and you leaned against the leather. He stopped picking, but his hand never moved, nails scratching the fabric until it was lay flat.

You wanted to ask, to question a little further, but there was a peppy voice behind your head, and you jumped a little at the sound of your name. Turning around, Noah folded back in on himself, his hand sliding out from underneath your own and his other arm sliding back down protectively until his arms could fold over his chest, and he could turn back to stare at the desserts menu to avoid any social interaction.

“Hey, Leigh! What are you doing here?”

“Final project meetings. We decided to meet once a month to go over our experiment. We go out, we talk about microbes and things that make the servers look at us weird, you know. One of the girls heard about this place from Stiles. It's nice!” She was sweet, and you remembered Lydia telling you about how she’d met Leigh at one of her annual science conventions. She was a transfer to this university two years ago and Lydia had gushed about the girl she’d met during that science program for months to come, before they’d even started dating properly.

Next to you, Noah felt a little tense, you could practically sense the uncomfortable anxiety that was rolling off of him in waves, and you wished you could comfort him. He didn’t like being touched so much, but he’d adjusted to it slightly, and he’d made the effort to comfort you the last time that you’d overwhelmed him in a social situation. You tried to keep up with what Leigh was saying, explaining something about the study of molecules or bacteria as she explained her project, and while there was a fixed smile on your face with the occasional nod and hum, your mind was preoccupied.

“That sounds awesome, it really does. Have you told Lydia about it, yet? She goes nuts for science, she’d love to hear about it.”

“She helped me come up with the idea.” Derek slid back into the booth, brows raising a little at the women he didn’t know, offered a polite smile and setting down two new drinks on the counter, sipping his slowly. “I’ll catch up with you later, alright? Enjoy your meal.”

She was wandering away, leaving you to slump back into the seat, your head turning back to your shy new friend. He was frowning, staring down at his menu with fists clenched under the table, an expression on his face like he was internally berating himself. He was hunched over slightly, protecting himself against the environment around him, and you recognised it this time. He was getting overwhelmed, it was all too much, the emotions and the crowds, the noise as the place filled up for a Friday evening as the tables were all taken and the bar was full of weekend drinkers already, and it was louder than it had been when you’d arrived.

Stiles came back over, washed his hands smoothing them down over his jeans to get rid of any excess water and he gasped excitedly at his drink. “You guys choose what you want?”

“The orange cheesecake looks pretty good.” It was the first thing that caught your eye as you looked down, and you were sure it would be lovely, only confirmed by Stiles as he groaned loudly and approvingly at the idea. “Can you guys order it to go, for me? It’s a little loud in here. I’m getting a headache, I’m gonna’ go for a little walk.”

“Are you sure, we can just leave, if you want?” Stiles sat forwards, worry now flashing on a freshly washed face, the red of his tears being gone.

“I’m totally sure, stay here and enjoy your double-desserts.” He nodded, settling back but still seeming concerned, and you picked up your phone, turning it off and pulling it closer. “Noah, you wanna’ come with me?”

He perked up, head snapping up from scratching at the loose wood on the edge of the table, and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. That sounds nice.”

“Cool.” You smiled, standing up and brushing down any free crumbs to the floor, your legs aching a little from being sat down for so long. Noah followed, shrugging his jacket back up his arms, before taking your coat too. Holding it out for you, you tucked your arms into it backwards, letting him lift it up to sit on your shoulders. You left your bag where it was, trusting it with Stiles and Derek, just taking your phone in your pocket. “Remember to get me an orange cheesecake to go. I’ll be looking forwards to it.”

“You got it, pumpkin.” Stiles winked, shooting a finger fun, and you nodded, stepping towards the exit.

Noah followed beside you, and as soon as the pair of you had stepped out onto the quiet streets. As soon as you’d left the restaurant, he let out a slow breath, relieved by the cold and the quiet, less stuffy and overwhelming than being inside. “Which way do you want to go?”

“Uh, left?” He glanced around, that way seeming to have the least people, and you nodded, falling into step beside him as the two of you began to wander along the sidewalk. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”

“Yeah, well, I was avoiding a repeat of last time. It’s hard to apologise with pizza when you’re stuffed full already.” He snorted a gentle laugh, bumping his arm against yours, and silence fell between you both again. Peering up at him, shadows were cast over his face, the streetlights overhead making his features stand out more, the lines on his forehead from his furrowed brow were making everything appear darker and a little more shadowed. The frown on his face made it seem like he was always in a bad mood, giving him his reputation, but really, it was just fear. “Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

“Because it makes me feel like I’m crawling in my own skin when people stare at me.” He huffed, turning to look a little more at you, and you came to a stop, staring at one another in the street. “See? How do you feel now?”

“I feel fine, because I know you’re just staring at me to make a point. You’re not judging me. But I am worrying that you can see my pores now, so stop it.” You covered up your nose, and he grinned, the point made. He turned back, taking a few steps ahead of you on the walk and making you jog to catch up to his long strides. “However, you should know that I wasn’t staring to judge you.”

“Then why were you, huh? Most people don’t stare unless they’re judging something.”

“I think you’re kinda’ cute. I think you’d be cuter if you stopped frowning so much, because it makes you look sad, and you have a pretty smile. I’ve seen it now, and I like it.” His eyes narrowed, turning to look at you, and he licked over his lips. Tucking his hands into his pockets, his shoulders squared a little in discomfort as he tried to work out what to say.

“Are you, like, flirting with me? I can’t tell. Ever.”

“I’m not a subtle flirter. If I was, you’d know. But, you are cute, okay? Stop frowning so much.” The look on his face lessened, a pale pink barely present on his cheeks. You could only pick it out in the seconds that emerged from the shadows under the street lights, but he seemed a little more at ease as he stared at the cement.

“I look exactly the same as Stiles, but something about him makes people all flirty, and something about me makes people want to leave.” You were a little stunned by his confession, wandering along beside him in silence for a while and turning the corner at the end of the street, crossing over the road carefully.

“I think they just like his confidence. People like confidence because they think that then their partner will always call up to order food or talk to the doctor’s office for them to make appointments.” You joked, and he turned to look at you, a weak smile in response. “I’m serious, Noah. There’s nothing wrong with you, they just like Stiles because he’s loud and makes people laugh a lot.”

“Exactly, I can’t do that.”

“Not everyone wants that. The guys on the football team are great, but they’re so loud and busy all the time and I like going to parties as much as everyone else-”

“Except for me.” He interjected, and you bumped him back like he’d done to you, making him stumble slightly, and come back to elbow you lightly as he came back.

“Yeah, except for you.” You giggled, and you dared to lace your arm with his, sneaking your hand through the crook in his elbow, until your arms were locked together. Instead of the rejection of stiffness that you’d expected, he just tightened his arm with yours, pulling you a little closer in the cold of the night. “I just mean that being social with everyone is fun, and all, but not when I’m in downtime. I like to relax, and have some quiet. Too much of the crowds makes my head spin.”

“You know, when we’re on our own, I think you’re pretty cool.”

“Thanks. I think you’re pretty cool, too.” He smiled, a genuine smile, and you brought up your other arm, holding onto him and letting your head rest against his shoulder as you continued to walk. The evening chill was beginning to bite a little at your nose and the tips of your ears, but you didn’t mind, it was a refreshing change to the flush you’d had in the heat of the restaurant. “So, can I asking you something?” He only hummed, and you reached your free hand into your pocket, finding your phone again, and wrapping your fingers around the device, pulling it free. “Is that what you meant before? When you said about how you didn’t feel so close to Stiles anymore?”

His eyes flicked down to the phone in your hand, his shoulder’s slumping slightly. “This for the study, right?” He sounded disappointed, and you looked down to your phone, turning the recording session you’d paused back on, and you swallowed. You could only nod, staring down at the device, and his arm laced with yours squeezed a little. “It’s fine, I signed up for it.”

“Yeah, I know. But, I’m having such a nice time tonight, and I keep ruining it by bringing up the study.”

“We’re out for the whole purpose of this. It’s how you’re gonna’ graduate. It’s important.” He shrugged, your arm moving with his, and you sighed. “I feel in Stiles’ shadow a lot. But, I also feel like his shadow. Y’know?”

“Not really.” You mumbled, confused as to what he meant, and he laughed a little. The road before you ended, a ‘T’ junction ahead, and you both paused, glancing each way. Checking the time on your phone, you showed it to him, tapping the top of the screen, and turning him around, slowly walking back towards the restaurant.

“I just feel dark and moody compared to him. You and him, you’re all bright like sunshine and everyone love that, but I can’t do that. I wasn’t always like this. He started college with me on equal levels and he took off and became this, like, awesome guy, and left me behind in the dirt.” He kicked at a pebble on the floor, seeming down again. You turned off the recording on your phone, putting it in your pocket again. “I was so excited for college, I thought it was going to be great, and instead, I let myself become nothing.”

“Hey! Would you cut that shit out?” He jumped a little, eyes widening at the rise in your voice and the tone you took, and he came to a stop, your arm leaving his as he turned to look at you. Overcoming his initial shock, his eyes narrowed on you, and your brows rose, hands on your hips.

“Excuse me?” He hissed the words out, seemingly seething, and you held your ground under his anger this time.

“I said cut it out. You’re not nothing, okay?” His face softened a little, but his lips remained pursed, tightly. “You’re the twin who helped me pick up all my books when they got knocked out of my hands by a rude senior in our first couple weeks, and one of my first friends, even if you didn’t speak to me after that. You're the guy who agreed to help me with my graduate study even though it’s hard for him, and it digs up uncomfortable stuff. You’re the guy who gave me all his diamond armour on Minecraft after I fell in that lava because mobs spook me. You’re an awesome guy, don’t let anyone ever tell you any differently.”

He stared for a second, despite how much he’d protested against it, and you turned away from his gaze, your sights moving to the floor for a few seconds. Taking a step back and moving forwards back toward the restaurant, but his arm locked around your arm. Pulling you backwards, you glared at his hand, making you fall a little bit, before tattooed knuckles fell away. “You didn’t have to yell.”

“You don’t listen to me until I yell at you.” He grinned, that inked hand coming back up to sit against your waist, skin burning through under your coat and fingertips flexing against your waist, until he was pulling you closer. His hand smoothed further around your body, until it was sitting on your lower back, the other arm lacing around your shoulders, and he pulled you in. As the smell of his cologne hit your senses, his chin hooked over your shoulder, your forehead pressed to his, and he squeezed you when your arms wrapped around him in return.

He was warm, a lot warmer than you were seeing as he was only wearing a jacket, and you figured that the leather must really trap in the heat, because you weren’t sure you’d be faring so well in just your cardigan if you’d forgotten your coat. His cheek rubbed against the top of your head when he moved, tipping his head slightly, and the stiffness slipped from him as he exhaled. His heart was thudding slowly in his chest, a lot calmer than yours was as this step was taken, and you tried to steady yourself.

“This is nice.” You eventually confessed, trying to shift your arms to hold him a little tighter linking them behind his back as the smooth leather rubbed against bare skin.

“Yeah.” He mumbled, hand rubbing up and down your back a little. “I don’t get many hugs.”

“Because you don’t like people touching you!” You teased, and he pinched at your side, holding on for a second longer before pulling back, and leaving one arm over your shoulders to keep you tucked close to his side as you began your walk again.

“I actually love hugs. Touch is nice, it’s grounding. I just don’t like being touched by people who I don’t really know, or like.” You lifted your hand, patting the one of his that was sitting comfortably over your shoulder, and he rubbed a finger gently over any space he could reach in return. “Do you even know how many people gave me unwarranted hugs and handshakes and messed with my hair or patted my shoulder when my mom died? My dad is the Sheriff of a small town, everyone knew, and everyone wanted to show their sympathies, but it was suffocating. Maybe that’s where my issues with crowds began, being so overwhelmed like that when I was so vulnerable. That feeling of it all being too much after that never really went away.”

“Damn, you sure I’, the psychology student?”

“I know. You should have had your recorder out. Too bad you didn’t, now that fact is gone with the wind.” He grinned, a toothy smile as he glanced over at you when you laughed, the buzz of the long street holding your restaurant coming back into sight. You pulled out your phone to text Stiles and let him know you were back and waiting outside, before Noah was pulling your attention back to himself once again; “You know, since I’m helping you with your graduate exam, maybe you can help me with mine?”

“Sure! What d’ya need me to do? Like, hold a torch and stand over an engine for you?” He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, but the smile on his face never left.

“Let me fix your car?”

“I bought that car for, like, two hundred bucks when I accepted this college placement. I don’t even drive it home when I go to visit. It was just for getting around while I was here, and it’s lasted me almost all four years. It’s not worth fixing.” You challenged, watching as the door not too far away from you opened and closed with patrons, warm light and laughter spilling into the street, but it never disturbed you from the moment you were in. “So, how exactly would fixing up that piece of junk help you?”

“Well, it’s a non-starter. It’ll look good on my applications if I can get a car from nothing started back up. If you don’t even keep it after leaving college, sell it to another campus kid who needs a ride.” His arm slipped down from your shoulders as you got closer to the crowds, nerves beginning to creep back in, and you linked your arm with his again, trying to silently reassure him. “Look, I don’t think you should have to get weird-smelling cabs around when you’re so close to being done. Let me have it towed to my garage space, my tutor will confirm it’s totally fucked and put it on my record. I can use the parts college allows me, you can do your study and question me while I fix your car, and it won’t cost you a thing. It's a win-win.”

“You really want to fix my car for me? For free?”

“It benefits me, too.” The pair of you came to a stop, just clear of the door, and you considered it.

“You know, you put out this whole moody thing, but you’re a sweetheart deep down.”

“And even deeper down, I’m just a cold bitch.” He joked, glancing over when the bell above the door chimed again, strangers walking out. “So, what do you say? Not like it’s doing anything down there in your building's parking lot, anyway. Might as well let me play around with it and see if I can fix it.”

“Sure, if you want to.” You confirmed, and he grinned, moving to step a little closer to you, before the tingling bell sounded again, and Stiles was hopping out onto the street.

“This bag suits me way better than it suits you. Check me out, I’m cat-walk ready.” Over your shoulder was your purse, and he modelled it dramatically, strutting across the pavement towards you like a runway model, and he slipped it down to hand it back to you as he stopped. In Derek\s hands was a box, your cheesecake inside, and you made to grab for it excitedly as soon as your bag was on your shoulder. You peeked inside, taking a sniff of the citrus scent that made your stomach clench with excitement, before sealing it back up. “You need a ride home? I can take you, the Jeep is clean, I swear it.”

“I’ve learned not to trust that lie before. The hard way.” You mumbled, turning to look at the bright blue car parked only a little way down the street, and Noah’s bike was parked on this side of the road, propped up on its stand with a security buckle around one wheel. “You know, I think I’ll go on the bike, actually.” Stiles brows shot up, shock on his face, and he looked exactly like his twin as you turned to the leather-clad one. “If that’s okay with you?”

“Definitely okay. Cool with me, but, are you sure?”

“It’s new. Exciting. Probably terrifying. But, since I’m pushing you out of your limits, it wouldn't be fair unless I did the same, right?”

‘You’re really something, huh?” He beamed, taking the box of cheesecake from your hands, and Stiles was digging through his pockets for his keys.

“Okay, well, I hope you have the ride of your life,” Stiles smirked, leaning in to place a friendly kiss on your cheek as he bid you goodbye, and turning to look at his brother. “You kids have fun now. I won’t bother waiting up, Noah.” He finished his statement with a wink, being dragged away by Derek as he groaned, and Noah only rolled his eyes, before turning to you.

“Like, one hundred percent, sure?”

“One hundred and ten.” Your promise was made, and he took the key to the lock from his jacket pocket, letting you adjust your bag again to contain your phone and everything else from your pockets, putting it down. Crouching down to undo the lock, he took it carefully from through the heel, the heavy misshapen object that stopped it from moving now being liberated. Lifting the compartment on the back of his bike, he produced an extra helmet for you, leaving it open for you to put your bag and the box inside, sealing it up tightly once it was done.

He lifted the spare helmet up, placing it over your head and smoothing hair back out of your face for you, before he was taking the straps and fastening them under your chin, fingers smoothing over the skin of your neck light as he did, and your breathing hitched. Once it was done up, he gripped each side, giving your head a little shake in the helmet, making you laugh as he did. “How’s it feel?”

“Pretty good. Like my head wouldn’t be shattered to pieces if we came flying off.”

“That’s not gonna’ happen, I promise.” He turned away from you, zipping up the front of the leather jacket until it was tight up to his body, and you secured your coat a little tighter to copy him.

“Where’s your helmet?” He patted the seat, undoing the latch and lifting it to reveal a much cooler helmet than the navy blue one you wore. Sleek black with red detailing and a visor, and you couldn't help the sound you made, as you looked at it. “Ooo, I like it.”

“Thanks.” His eyebrows wiggled a little, pulling it on and fastening it, pushing the visor up so that he could see you. After double-checking the locks on the seat and the back-box, he swung his leg over it, straddling the seat and leaving ample space behind himself for you. “Swing your leg over, get comfortable, and when you’re ready, we’ll go, okay?”

You stood for a second, staring at the bike, and he braced his arms across the handlebars, crossed over as he waited. His eyes scanned along you, lips parting to speak and he took a breath, but you beat him to it; “I’m not freaking out, I promise. Just trying to work out the best way to get my leg over that bike without flashing the street. This skirt isn’t flexible, it’s denim.”

His eyes dropped to the skirt, and a loud laugh left him as he dropped his forehead to his arms, body shaking with his laughter. Lifting your leg, you figured ‘fuck it’ and you’d just go for it, swinging your leg over the bike as your skirt rode up, and once you were settled over the seat, you adjusted it back down. Shuffling slightly against it, your toes barely touched the concrete now that you were straddling the bike, and he sat back up.

“Okay. I got this. It’s fine.”

“Put your feet in the little cubbies.” He motioned down, and you peered down beside your legs, finding two little spaces for you to tuck your toes against off the floor, and it felt odd to put all your balance in the hands of another person, knees bending as you perched atop the bike. “You doin’ okay?”

“Yeah. Feels weird. Like, if you pick your feet up, we’re going to topple over.”

“You mean, like this?” He lifted his feet, putting them on the edge of the back, and a shriek left you beyond your control, the lack of momentum scaring you, and your hands dropped to his waist. Gripping tightly at the leather you thought your hands might burst right through it, your eyes screwing up as you waited to fall. It never came, only more laughter from Noah, and when you were finally brave enough to open your eyes again, you huffed, his body shaking under your hands.

“Don’t do that to me! I thought we were gonna’ fall!”

“The support is still on, we aren’t going anywhere ‘til it’s kicked up!” He was grinning again, you could see it in the reflection of the mirrors, and your heart was still racing in your chest. Leaning forwards and trying to take an inhale that wasn’t shaky, the top of your helmet-clad head rested between his shoulder blades. His hands came down, fingers curling around your wrists, and he sat up straight, forcing you back up, too. “You’re going to want to hold on a little tighter than that.”

He pulled your arms around, your body following as you slid down the seat, front pressed up to his back, and your arms sitting tightly over his stomach. The leather under your fingertips was smooth, the deep coloured material under your palms becoming handfuls of it as his fingers over your hands curled them into fists.

“There you go. Now, I’m gonna’ start the bike up, but I won’t take the brakes off or the clamp, alright?”

“Okay.” You mumbled, eyes closed as your forehead remained pressed against his back, feeling the bike rumble to life underneath you. The vibrations were similar to a car, different to what you’d expected and you shifted, thighs tightening around the bike in a fierce grip as you tried not to let the fear take over. “I feel so unprotected. There are no walls. I’m gonna’ fly right off.”

“That’s why you hold on tight, you’ll be fine. I promise I won’t read into it.”

“That’s not what I was worried about, ‘til now!” You groaned, only fuelling his entertainment, and you rapidly decided that his laugh was something you wanted to hear more often. Deep and rumbling, there was something rich about it that couldn't be faked, unlike a lot of what you had nowadays. “Okay, you know what? Just do it. No count down or nothing. Just go. Or else we’re gonna’ sit here all night.”

“You sure?” The bike rumbled a little, and he revved it, shifting a little as he stood up some more, and you didn’t bother to look.

“I am total- oh my God, Noah!” The air whipped past your face as he took off from the curbside, a lot faster than a car would, and the scenery was melting away in the only two seconds that it took for your eyes to come open in shock, and you squeezed yourself as close to him as you possibly could. “Oh, fucking hell, this is so much worse than I imagined.”

“What?” He yelled it, unsure of the words you’d said as you whispered to yourself, and he slowed down as the traffic lights at the end of the long road turned red, queuing up between two cars. Daring to lift your head you let out what you were holding onto, your fingers remaining like a death grip against his jacket.

“I said, I’m totally gonna’ die.”

“You’re not gonna’ die, I’ve got you. Now, we have to turn at the next corner. When we turn, we lean. Just lean with me, okay?” Your grips tightened involuntarily, the bike revving again as the light turned yellow, and you felt him chuckle, the sound drowned out by the engine. “Trust me. I won’t let you get hurt.”

“Okay.”

The light flashed green, and you were in motion again, flying off down the road. This time, you tried to keep your head up, to peer around a little, and taking in the scenery flying by. It was harder to focus on than in a car The wind in your eyes made them water at first, you were blinking in a dizzying array, and every lean around a corner made your head spin, fear creeping back in, but by the fourth or fifth time, you were adjusting a little better.

Your fingers released his jacket halfway home, smoothing over his stomach from fists, your grip remaining as strong but no longer threatening to puncture finger marks into the leather.

It was easier to take in when you weren’t in the busy town centre. The flurry of lights from traffic lights and the other cars, restaurants and clubs all melted away. Steady streetlights made it easier to observe the atmosphere, it wasn’t as overwhelming, and there was a kind of beauty to it. You felt free, like nothing was blocking you from connecting as the chill on your cheeks from a biting breeze ignited something deep.

Your hair was flying free behind you, it would be knotty and messy when you got home but you didn’t care, because it was somewhat like a liberation. Despite the exhilaration and pure terror it created, there was something ethereal about being able to experience nature and that hazy atmosphere it offered without the defences of the car. Cars were like a barrier between

You were almost disappointed when it came to an end, when the campus was back in sight, and he was pulling slowly into the garage of the building you lived in. Down the same ramp that you’d rolled down in a broken car hours earlier, and parking up as close to the main doors as he could, the vibrations coming to an end, and his feet hit the ground. You tried to follow suit, the soles of his boots sitting flat where only your toes touched, and he kicked on the stand to keep it steady.

He stood first, swinging his leg over it carefully as not to hit you, and taking off his helmet. His hair was flattened down, undoubtedly not for long because he’d mess with it anxiously once he got home, but it was pressed flat to his head for now. Placing it down on the top of the box, he offered you a hand, helping you up from the bike, and unclipping the helmet for you.

“So, how was that?”

“Terrifying.” It was the first word that came to mind, and his eyes scanned over your head, a grin on his lips. “But also, amazing. I kinda’ felt like I was flying, it was such a weird experience. It’s what I imagine skydiving to be like. But closer to the ground.”

“I don’t do anything unless it’s fun. I love my bike, but I was scared at first, too.”

“It was amazing. I feel kinda’ breathless, though.” You pressed a hand to your chest, your heart beating erratically under your coat, still waiting to calm down. Leaning forward, your cheek fell flat to his shoulder as you felt a little weak after it all. The experience had been draining but in the best of ways.

You hadn't felt that kind of mental and emotional exertion in a long time. Everything had felt numb and dull for a while, social settings were boring and everything you did seemed tiring, your exams looming over you, but that was different. It was enough to make your heart race in ways it hadn't for so long, and enough to make your skin grow a little damp with a clammy and nervous sweat that disappeared when you finally conquered the fear surrounding it.

“Thank you for that. It was cool. I’d love to ride with you again, sometime.”

“I'd like that. It’s nice to have company, it doesn't really happen much.” One arm was around your waist, soothing up and down, as the other began petting down the wild hairs on your head that you were sure were sticking up into his face. “You want me to walk you upstairs?”

“You don’t have to. I’m on, like, the fourth floor. There’s no elevator.”

“What if you break your leg or something?” He was grinning when he pulled back, moving to tuck his helmet back into his seat again, and to put yours away. He produced your bag, and your cake, holding onto the box for you, and letting his other hand sit on your lower back, guiding you to the staircase.

The silence sitting between you both was comfortable now, mumbles about the evening and the study taking place between the two of you. It was something more real and tangible than you had with most people. The hollow feeling you felt when faking small talk with people who were merely acquaintances never compared to the feeling of something new building, a new friendship that was laboured and made you work, instead of something that was easy and had no challenges. You liked a challenge, you liked something that made you work, that made it real and gave milestones, so you knew you weren’t falling short, and that the effort you put into the friendship was reciprocated.

“I had a good time tonight. I mean that truly. I was expecting it to suck, but you made it good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You nudged your shoulder with his, falling close enough in your walk along the halls of your floor for your arms to brush as you went, and he didn’t pull back. “I had a good time tonight too. You’re not what I was expecting, you know.”

“What’s that mean, exactly?”

“I just mean that when you loosen up, you don’t do that thing you think you do. When you just let yourself be yourself, you have confidence, and you make jokes and you laugh. You’re like Stiles, but nothing like him.” His eyes held many questions, turning to look at you, and you both came to a stop in front of your door. There was chatter and television behind it, signalling that Lydia and Allison were home, you could hear their muffled yelling and singing behind it, and if you listened hard rough, you could place it as ‘Glee’ reruns. “You have the same confidence, you don’t let your walls hold you back. He’s loud and out there and that’s awesome because he’s always the life of the party. But, you don’t want to go to the party with the person that dances on the table.”

“I don’t really get what you mean, but at the same time, I do. I think it’s a compliment.”

“It is. When you let go of those walls when nobody else is around, you’re just this awesome person. If you could show other people that, the way I’ve seen it, nobody would be mistaking you for your brother. They’d love you.” You seemed to lose him, the smile on his face fading a little, eyes dropping to the ground as he shook his head. “Thanks for walking me up.”

“I can be a gentleman, sometimes.” He glanced back, hands tucking into his pockets as a door a few spaces down opened, and a kid from the year below left, waving at you both politely and locking his door, and you wiggled your fingers back in greeting, before focusing on Noah again. “I’ll text you, about your car.”

“I hope you do. We can hang out again.” He nodded, eyes fixed on yours, but silence fell between you both again. Reaching up and letting your hand sit on his arm you rubbed gently, squeezing his bicep a little in the most comforting way that you could. “Y’know, if you ever want someone to talk to, no study or anything, I’m here for you.”

He smiled, nodding his head, and then he leaned in. Pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of your head that you barely felt, and wouldn’t have known had he not pulled back with warmed cheeks, you’d have missed it. “Goodnight, and thanks for a great evening.”

“Thanks for the ride, it was fun.” Your face flushed a little, finally picking up on the innuendo that Stiles had hidden in there, and he stepped back a moment later. For what of the walk you could, you watched him go, waving when he glanced back over his shoulder at the corner, and then he was gone.

Fishing your keys from your purse, you opened up the door, and the girls both turned to stare at you. Facemasks and sweatpants on, they had a carton of ice cream in hand each, and Lydia smirked as soon as she picked up on the smile you wore.

“So, good date?”

You took off your coat, leaving it on the hooks and turning to look at the pair for a second, wandering past the living room towards your bedroom. “Yeah, it was.”

Closing your bedroom door behind you as you heard their chatter and giggling start back up, you’d deal with that conversation in the morning. Despite having no alcohol in your system, you felt drunk, or high, like you were floating in the clouds from the adrenaline and rush from the evening's events. Dropping your bag on the bed and the box of cheesecake to follow, the takeaway fork rattled inside, tempting you in as soon as you’d changed.

With cake in one hand and a fork in the other, you sat at the head of your bed, TV on with a show you weren’t really watching, almost staring right through it, because your mind was elsewhere.

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