Old stories from my old tumblr account

A beautiful picture - Malia Tate

Summary: Malia didn't mean to stay so late at school, but she couldn't deny that, after finding someone who might have been needing her help, she felt grateful for falling asleep.

Requested: yes.

Author's note: I didn't specify much the aspect of anxiety in this imagine because I don't feel qualified to speak about it too much, not having that problem myself. If anyone feels offended by this story or any one that I post, please, don't hesitate to tell me!

Malia probably shouldn't be at school so late, but she had been studying math all afternoon and ended up falling asleep in a secluded area of the library, only waking up when a strong scent filled her nostrils. It was somewhat familiar, but, at the same time, it wasn't like anything she had ever smelt before. It reminded her of Stiles for some reason, but she knew it wasn't him. He was miles away in Washington in his internship for FBI so why did it smell so much like him? And why did it feel so urgent?

Stretching slightly, Malia packed her books back in her bag and got up from her place, letting her senses guide her to where she was supposed to go. The werecoyote ended up leaving the library and entering the school again, following through the empty hallways of an abandoned school in a Wednesday night. She stopped in front of a door and sniffed the air again. Malia almost coughed when the smell hit her right face, but she suddenly understood why it was so familiar: it was an emotion. One that Stiles always had, almost like a constant mood of his: anxiety. And by the smell of it, it was bad.

Malia wondered if she should leave the person alone. Stiles had his moments where he just wanted to be alone and left with his thoughts, but sometimes he wanted someone to vent to. Someone to listen to him. Malia had to admit... Listening wasn't her strongest area, but she was getting better at it. Slowly, but she was. Sighing to herself, the werecoyote decided she should at least check on whoever was inside that room. Because, if anything, she should make sure they'd go home soon. It was never a good idea staying out until late in Beacon Hills.

As Malia pushed the door open, however, she gasped in surprise. Standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by pots of paint and in front of a easel, stood (Y/N) with her clothes covered in ink and a brush in her hands.

When she heard the door being opened, the girl jumped, pointing her paintbrush at Malia and sighing in relief when she recognized her friend.

"Jesus, Malia... You scared the hell out of me..." She whined, as the werecoyote lifted an eyebrow at her, taking a step forward to push the paintbrush, still pointed at her, down.

"And what did you think you were going to do to me? Paint me until I begged for mercy?"

(Y/N) blushed, running a hand through her hair.

"You caught me off guard, alright?"

"You can't be off guard in Beacon Hills." Malia protested. "Especially considering you are out here alone in the middle of the night."

At that, (Y/N) blinked surprised and looked around.

"Is it night already?" She asked, causing Malia to nod. "Oh my... I didn't even notice..."

The werecoyote watched as (Y/N) moved to wash her paintbrush and threw her bag aside to help the girl with putting away the pots of paint. (Y/N) sent her friend a small smile of gratitude, but Malia could see right through it. She could smell it, actually, the anxiety dripping off of her every pore. Trying to be as gentle as possible, Malia made small talk.

"So... What are you even doing out so late?" She asked.

"I was painting. I didn't even notice how late it was until you pointed out." (Y/N) shrugged, turning off the tap before moving to dry up the brush.

"I didn't know you painted." Malia commented.

"Oh yeah..." (Y/N) mumbled, rather uncomfortable. "It's just... I don't usually. It's just... I do that when... I mean..."

"You do that when you're anxious." The werecoyote said, tired of all the beating around the bush. "It's a coping mechanism."

"Hum..."

"It's fine, (Y/N)." Malia frowned, turning to look at her friend as the girl finally lifted her eyes to meet her own. "I mean... I still have to think about my good times with Stiles to prevent myself from killing everyone in the full moons."

"It's different." (Y/N) frowned. "You can't control your urges."

"And can you control anxiety?" Malia retorted, causing (Y/N) to sigh. "My point is... You can talk to me, (Y/N). You can talk to all of us. We're your pack. We're your family. You can trust us."

"I know, it's just... It all seems to small compared to all the things we go through. I mean... Worrying about college and leaving high school? Is there anything more cliche than that?"

"It doesn't matter if it's cliche or not. It doesn't matter if it's small or not. If it bothers you, you need to tell us. And don't you even try to tell me it wasn't bothering you..." Malia cut her off as soon as she opened her mouth to protest. "Not only did you stay at the school until 11 o'clock painting, but I could smell your anxiety from the library."

At that, (Y/N) opened a small smile.

"Are you telling me I smell?" She asked, as Malia chuckled.

"A little less now." She said, as her friend nodded. "Are you done? I can give a ride home if you want?"

(Y/N) nodded, putting her paintbrush back in the cabinet with the rest of the paints and putting the canvas she had been using in the table so it could dry out overnight. As (Y/N) and Malia picked their bags up and walked out of the room, the werecoyote smiled gently noticing just how more relaxed her friend was. She knew the anxiety hadn't gone away. Maybe, it never would. But knowing her presence had at least shooted away some of her worries made the werecoyote feel a weird sense of pride.

"By the way..." She started, causing (Y/N) to look at her and hum to let her know she was listening. "It was a beautiful picture."

"Thank you." (Y/N) smiled. "Painting pictures of the pack usually helps me calm down. I guess I could say that it's my anchor."

Malia nodded with a smile knowing how.much an anchor had to be to one's heart in order to work and feeling happy that (Y/N) found her safe space from her own mind in the image of herself and their friends together. She hummed in appreciation.

"It's a good anchor to have."