Teen Wolf Oneshots

The Sun - Scott McCall

FOUR WEEKS WAS all it took. Only 28 days, less than a month, for the relationship so intricately built on trust and happiness and love to crumble under the weighted pressure of another girl. She was lovely, she really was. She was sweet and kind, and you pretty certain by the way her eyes gleamed, with the same innocence resembling that of a child, that she had absolutely no idea what she was doing to the tether of love that had begun to waver.

It was the little things that nobody really noticed, the things that didn't really matter, the thing that shouldn't really matter. But they did matter, and you were unaware of how much your world turned on the axis of those little things until the axis wobbled and your world tipped drastically.

She'd taken your seat at the lunch table, the uncomfortable little red plastic situated next to the uncomfortable little red plastic of the seat that belonged to your boyfriend. They were uncomfortable, but sitting next to him for your free 50 minutes made it worth it. It was your seat, next to his seat. But, not anymore. Now, you had to sit at the end of the table next to Malia (who you absolutely adore, she's great). Although, not so great at stealing the food from your lunch tray in bits and pieces and acting discreetly about it. Not so great at all.

She'd taken the spot on the back of his motorbike, the spare helmet that once had only ever had the fit of your head within its confines now had the shape of hers too. It was green, and it was yours. Not anymore. Now, you had to walk to school every morning and walk home every afternoon - torturing yourself with the pictured prospect of her wrapping her arms around the middle of his body as he drove her home.

She'd taken your weekly slot of allocated time on Friday nights. Those hours used to be filled with movies that would be long forgotten by the time his lips touched yours and the world fell silent, the world fell into place, the world fell right. Now, you were alone on Friday nights - hoping with light in your heart that maybe he'd show up, regardless of how late it was into the night and regardless of how you knew deep down that he wasn't coming. Not anymore.

She'd taken him away from you, but it was subtle and it came in the form of:

"Sorry, (Y/N), I can't tonight. Spending time with Kira. Maybe tomorrow."
"Hey, do you mind walking to school? Kira doesn't really know the route yet so I said I'd take her on my bike."
"I promised I'd help Kira study. Maybe some other time, yeah?"
"Hey, about our date tonight - yeah, sorry, raincheck? Kira needs to talk to me about something."
Kira, she was sweet and kind and lovely, and you hated it. You hated that you couldn't hate her; she wouldn't allow it. Not with her wide eyes of innocence, her kind smiles, her friendly words. You couldn't hate her, not even when 28 days had passed and you couldn't remember the taste of his lips against yours or the feel of his arms around you or the glow of your heart that he holds in his hands.

You couldn't hate her, not even when you watched with sad eyes and an ache in your chest as she sat in your seat at the lunch table, dainty hand clutching his arm, head thrown back with laughter.

"You want me to talk to Scott?" Lydia spoke up softly, her cheeks pulled up gently with the trace of a sympathetic smile as she peered over at your dejected, deflated self.

You let out a breath, looking toward your best strawberry blonde friend with a sad frown, "Talk to him about what?"

Her head tilted to the side, her voice dripping like honey with the kind of pity that made your heart lurch and the lump in your throat render you without words. Of course, you knew what she was talking about. It didn't take a genius like Lydia Martin to figure out what was upsetting you. Nevertheless, she answered, "(Y/N), you know what. It's your three year anniversary soon. He should be spending time with you, not her."