𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐄𝐓𝐇, stiles stilinski

𝟖

𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐓

Water splashing over the sides of the boy's shoes, the pair wandered into the woods. Much to the apprehension of Scott, who just wanted to stay at home instead of trail about the forest. "Where are we going? Cause we really shouldn't be out here. My mom is in a constant state of freak-out from what happened at the school." Scott complained, running after Stiles who held a backpack over one shoulder with a dark blue denim jacket covering his torso. It had been around three days since the ordeal at the school and none of the students there that night had gone to school for days. Aurelia hadn't left the house and had barely stayed in contact besides the odd message to Stiles or Scott, but rarely due to the fact her father had been off work for a few days. Melissa, Scott's mother, had been really strict with letting Scott out the house — but was beginning to get worried. He was becoming really quiet and closed off, so she was hoping that a night with Stiles might relax him.

"Well, your mom isn't the Sheriff, okay? Or Mr Lahey, jeez, that guy scares me. Anyway, there's no comparison, trust me." Stiles chuckled weakly, walking further into a clearing. "Look, when your best friend gets dumped—"

"I didn't get dumped. We're taking a break." Scott interpreted, being slap-bang in the middle of his denial phase.

"All right, well, when your best friend gets told by his girlfriend that they're taking a break— you get your best friend drunk." He grinned cheekily and Scott sighed and dropped his head in defeat. So. Flash forwards, one hour and that's where things started to go off the rails. Stiles was wrecked, whereas Scott was sober. Dry as a bone, listening as Stiles rambled drunk nonsense whilst he tried to help his heartbroken friend. "Dude, you know, she's just one— one girl. You know, there are so many— there are so many other girls in the sea." He phrased, messing up said phrase due to the amount of alcohol coursing through his system.

"Fish in the sea." Scott corrected.

"Fish?" Stiles asked. "Why are you talking about fish? I'm talking about girls. I love girls. I love them. I love— especially ones with blond hair, emerald green eyes, 5 foot 2—" Stiles gushed, talking about the girl he was just so clearly in love with.

"Like Lia?"

"Yeah, exactly. Hey, how did you know I was talking about— about—" The drunk boy trailed off, his head spinning as his eyes played dot-to-dot with the stars. "What was I talking about?" He quipped, looking over to Scott who sat sulking on a rock, watching the flickering flames to the right of them. "Hey, you're not happy. Take a drink."

"I don't want any more." He deadpanned.

"You're not drunk?"

"I'm not anything."

"Hey, maybe it's like— maybe it's like not needing your inhaler anymore, you know. Maybe you can't get drunk as a wolf." And even though the boy was far from buzzed, his brain still worked enough for him to figure things out. "Am I drunk?" He giggled, his eyes fazing in and out of focus.

"You're wasted."

"Yeah!" He jeered, waving his hands in the air — but abruptly dropped them to his side when the excitement wasn't reciprocated. "Come on, dude, I know it feels bad. I know it hurts. I know. Well, I don't know— but I know this. I know that as much as being broken up hurts, being alone is way worse." Stopping his inspirational speech there, he froze — what he had just said replaying in his head. "That didn't make any sense."