Distance [Derek Hale]

Chapter Two

Tightening the elastic band in her hair, she sat back in her seat a proud smile on her face. She'd done her hair up in a half-up and half-down hairstyle with it split into two pig-tails. She remembered having this hairstyle every day from when she was four up until she was sixteen and discovered new hairstyles.

Stiles was on his way to the bathroom since he had school that morning when he spotted his sister's smile in the mirror's reflection. Narrowing his eyes, he stalked back so that he was loitering in the doorway trying to figure out what was happening. Who was it who had caused such a look and why wasn't she panicking over her unwritten work like she usually was. There was so much to figure out and so little time and it didn't help that his best friend had just been turned into a werewolf.

"Hey sisterroo," he called out, and her brows furrowed at the name as she looked at him through the mirror, "where you going?"

"Out with a friend," she dismissed, pushing herself out from her seat and grabbing onto her bag. She was wearing a blue tight-fitted denim mini dress over a white t-shirt and a pair of black converse.

"Friend or friend?" He asked, crossing his arms out of suspicion. Despite being almost six years younger he acted like he was six years older at times and she couldn't help but feel giddy about the plans for the day. It was like everyone knew and yet they knew nothing at all. There was something oddly thrilling about that.

"Stiles," she warned, and he hummed slowly stepping away.

"Is it... Lola?" Lola was her ex.

"Lola is out of the picture Stiles, you know that," she reminded, "and this friend is a friend," she specified beginning her journey out of the house, "so mind your own business and go to school."

They were sat in the little corner in the library. She'd been quick enough so that she got to claim her seat and she was sat with one knee tucked to her chest and the other one crossed as if she should have completed the pose and looked like a seven-year-old who'd been told to sit on the carpet in class. Her tatty yellow notebook was resting on her knee that was sat upright and she was writing in it as she usually was.

He was leaning back against the wall with his legs stretched out and his ankles crossed and a book resting in his hands. Finally growing bored with the words that sat on his page he lifted his eyes and looked over to Margo, but she paid him no mind as she was already enslaved to her own world. "What are you writing?"

She didn't respond.

He waited for a few seconds and once she finished her last word, her mind managed to grasp those around her for just enough time to feel his scrutinising gaze on her. Lifting her head, she looked at him confused, "did you say something?"

"...yes. I was asking what you were writing," he admitted and she hummed looking back to her book trying to figure out whether she should tell him or not.

They'd indulged in a couple of conversations over the time being but they hadn't spoken enough to be on good terms. It was just the occasional hello and goodbye, a book recommendation when needed. There was something about the look in his eyes though that made it easier to speak to him. Words they shared never left the small abandoned corner of the library nor did anyone ever expect them to. Secrets jumped between them, and no-one even knew that they spoke to each other.

"Metaphor's."

"For what?"

"The sky."

"Why?"

"So one day, when I become a world-famous author I can write about the sky and have it be beautiful," she explained, and he raised his brow a flicker of amusement falling onto his face.