blue. [stiles stilinski]

[fourteen] bad idea

STILES STILINSKI-

She's speaking in her sleep, that must've been what had woken me.

"Mom." That's what she keeps repeating, her face contorted into a permanent expression of distress as she twitches in her sleep, crinkles forming in between the space of her eyebrows.

I lift my arm, readying myself for the awkward situation of good mornings and how I can get her out of here. But something stops me, my curiousness overpowers me and I want to listen to more.

Maybe I'd be mentioned in this dream? I am a horrible person, I know.

Her honey blonde hair is strewn across my blue pillow, very fitting for the self-proclaimed nickname I had given her. The first signs of light beaming through my window, casting almost an angelic glow upon her face.

She looks pretty, a thought that circled within my head maybe one to many times. I couldn't help but be mesmerised by the way her face rested, the way her eyelashes fan across her face, almost overshadowing her slightly sunburnt nose.

It's fine to think like this though, she is a good person; a good friend even. Nothing more.

"I'm sorry Mom." She whimpers again, breaking me from my train of thought, as I now scold myself for being so invasive. She shifts around, her face grimacing more and more with each second.

Stop being such a dick Stiles, wake her up.

Finally, I give in. "Rue?" I whisper gently, shaking her shoulder a little. However, I'm greeted with a load groan as she rolls closer to me, burying her head into the crook of my neck.

She's warm, and she smells a little like vanilla and the vodka she had consumed at the party last night. I've always hated being warm, I find it overly uncomfortable, claustrophobic even. But the feeling of her face buried next to my chest, undeniably fills me with a sort of comfort; safety.

I lie there for a second, listening to the branches of the big tree outside of my dorm, smack against the windows.

This is bad, very, bad.