Yours (Stiles Stilinski)

Chapter Sixty Four

I stood in my room, looking out of my window. I looked down at my hands, and they shook with exhaustion. I wiggled my fingers, tightening them into fists, trying to still them. I saw Stiles' Jeep whip into the driveway. His car was barely off when he jumped out, booking it to the door. I heard the front door open, and moments later, my door flew open.

"Y/n— Jesus, I've been calling you all day!" Stiles said from behind me.

"Been a little preoccupied," I muttered, still staring out of the window. I could feel his frustration from a mile away, and I didn't know what to do about it. This was the longest sort-of argument we'd had since he broke the binding on my favorite book when I was thirteen.

"Please, look at me," he said quietly, walking closer. I turned slowly, my hands shaking as I hid them behind my back. He shook his head, reaching his hand out towards me. His fingers brushed over my cheek, and I blinked at him slowly.

"I am, Stiles. I am," I murmured. He didn't realize it, but he was all I could ever see. This idiot. He wanted me to run away from it all, but we were smack dab in the middle of it, and I couldn't leave my family behind.

"Why— Where did you go?" He whispered, pulling me towards him. His hand caught my hand, pulling it from behind my back. I grunted with annoyance, as he inspecting my shaking fingers. He looked at me with intensity, his eyes scanning my face. He licked his lower lip, and I looked away from him, my face heating up.

"Liam— I'm sure you heard he was taken," I said. I glanced back at him from the corner of my eye. "Besides, where have you been?" I asked skeptically. He let out a chuckle.

"Trying to figure out the last part of the list," he said, his face returning to a serious expression. "I knew you would be on it," he finished. I looked down, shaking my head.

"Stiles, we're all on it," I retorted.

"You're on there as an exchange, Y/n. People could be coming to capture and kill you any second... And you aren't even paying attention. Do you even care?" He asked, his voice getting louder. I ran my hand over his face, and he pulled away. I sighed.

"Well— We'll take care of it, Stiles. We always do," I murmured. He shook his head, pulling away from me. I stood there, crossing my arms with confusion. "Stiles... It's going to be okay." Stiles wasn't seeming to hear it. I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose.

"I've got— I've got a test in the morning," Stiles said quietly. My heart dropped. So this wasn't a make up conversation.

"The PSATs... I know. I'll be there in the morning to help set it up. Lydia's Mom asked me for help," I muttered. He turned to me, and it looked like he was going to reach out again. I stepped towards him, giving him a pleading look. "Stiles, let me get you something to eat. We can talk about this," I said, reaching towards his hand. He stepped back, putting his hands up.

"Don't do that," he said. I gave him a look.

"Do what?" I retorted. He pursed his lips.

"That thing— where you look at me and tell me we're going to be okay, when you're never okay Y/n! You always end up in some messed up situation!" He shouted. I sighed, taking another step towards him.

"Stiles," I said quietly, my eyes focusing on his. He backed away from me, his hand closing on the doorknob behind him. He opened the door, as I shook my head with exasperation.

"I'll— I'll see you tomorrow," he muttered. I reached out again, grabbing his hand. My trembling hand catching a few of his fingers.

"Wait," I whispered. He turned back for a moment, gazing at me with longing. I could feel it from here. "It doesn't have to be like this," I pleaded. He pulled away from me gently, and I watched him walk down the stairs. He turned back, looking up at me, his hand holding the front door open.