𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐊 𝐘𝐄𝐒, 𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐓 | 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎:
𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄
𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍' 𝐌𝐄
𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇?

Rey pulls into the parking spot beside Stiles at a speed one should not be going in a parking lot, almost taking a chunk out of Roscoe in the process. But, I mean, sue her! She's excited to see Scott's gross ass animal bite.

"God, I can't believe you got your license!" Stiles yells across the parking spot at her as she climbs out of her 1997, maroon Lexus. The car was gifted to her after passing her driver's test on the third try; it was willed to Rey by her mother, a reminder of the great woman that raised her and the car she grew up in.

Abigail (the beloved car) contains cracked, tan, leather seats; peeling and peeled museum, zoo, and gold star stickers; detached fabric from the roof that falls in the middle from car rides with the windows down; a cassette of her mother's own creation stuck in the player; a closet in the backseat with clothing for any and every fashion emergency; tarot cards and crystals that are shoved in the glove box and the pockets of the seats; a polaroid of Jo Hart, Claudia Stilinski, and their children is permanently stuck, covering one of the useless parts of her dashboard; and a stick-figure drawing of Stiles and Rey done in sharpie and blue crayon decorates the back of the passenger seat. The car tells a story that only Stiles and Rey were left to interpret.

"So you went with a blazer, sweatshirt combo today, huh?" Rey says with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun as they walk towards Scott. "Did your dad take away your mirror and your common sense?"

"I knew you were gonna say something," he sighs an accusatory finger pointing in her direction as they finally reach Scott. "Alright, let's see this thing."

"Is it gross and mangled?" Rey asks, a hand reaching for the exposed bandage before Scott slaps it away. "Buzzkill."

"Yeah," Scott responds, his brown eyes giving her an exaggerated roll, "I'm a buzzkill for not wanting your dirty, little fingers in my fresh, bloody wound." Scott then picks up his backpack, a lacrosse stick poking out the top, and turns to walk into the building. "It was too dark to see much, but I'm pretty sure it was a wolf," he says causing Stiles' and Rey's eyebrows to shoot up in both concern and surprise.

"A wolf bit you?" Stiles asks as the friends walk towards the school side by side.

"Yeah."

"No," Rey chimes in, "not a chance."

"I heard a wolf howling," Scott defends as he turns to face Stiles and Rey.

"No, you didn't," the pair respond, their mouthes moving scarily in sync – think that one episode of Doctor Who with Prisoner Zero and the voices. Unfortunately for Scott, their minds and voices tend to move in sync fairly often. Even their movements fell into some sort of sync around each other – arms mirroring each other as they explain subjects that no normal human has knowledge of, twin smiles taking over their faces as they talk their way out of (or, more likely, into) trouble, the slight tilt of a head when confronted with (usually Scott's) stupidity. Scott had observed them like a nature photographer observes the endangered animals of the rainforest since the day he met them – capturing second-nature gestures and silent conversations.

"What do you mean 'no, I didn't'? How do you know what I heard?"

"Because, dude," Rey begins her explanation as she and Stiles come to a halt in front of Scott in order to get their point across. Her arms are crossed tightly in front of her, partly to not Scott-shame and partly to keep in the heat. "California hasn't had wolves in like ..." she glances to her right, making eye contact with Stiles to ensure that the fact she's about to give is correct. Finding nothing telling her differently in the depth of his brown eyes, she tacks on "sixty years."