Burning Slowly

Chapter 7

Stiles yawned as he shuffled pitifully out of his room. He stumbled; his bare feet got tangled in the blue and white plaid legs of his pajama pants that were a little too large. They sat low on his hips. He hadn't tied them because no one in the morning had the energy for such intricate details. He struggled to find the head and arm holes in the sleeveless blue t-shirt he was failing to put on. With his mind occupied by the Rubik's Cube of a shirt he walked straight past the stairs while unable to see and slammed boldly into the wall.

"Owie," he mumbled to himself. His head popped free of his shirt along with one arm. He was pretty sure that the shirt was on backwards. His pants may have been inside out in addition to being untied, but those were also details that were irrelevant without coffee. There were things in the world that just didn't matter until he had some warm caffeine coursing through his bloodstream.

He could smell it in the air, a sweet French vanilla aroma that called to him. It whispered sweet nothings that had him hooked like a fish, only without the unnecessary and cruel pain, because there was no pain, there was only deep longing. Longing to let the heat and aroma rise out of the mug and caress his face. He finally unraveled the enigma that was his shirt. He got his other arm out the way it was supposed to but not without missing the last step and stumbling. He slammed into a marble statue.

"Hey watch it Stilinksi!" The statue turned out to be Jackson.

"M'sorry." Stiles apologized. He rubbed at his eyes as he swayed back and forth.

"You ok man?" Jackson asked.

Jackson was giving him emotional whiplash. One moment the blonde was threatening him, the next he was trying to comfort him. Stiles wobbled unsteadily as Jackson wrapped one of his arms around his shoulders and guided him toward the kitchen. Without coffee he could not fight the good fight against the invasion of his personal space. He just accepted for the moment that everyone in the house wanted to rub on each other.

"Scott and I are getting ready to go for a morning run, you should come with." Jackson deposited him at a stool at the breakfast island. Stiles only barely grunted as his neck, which lacked the ability to support his head any longer, gave out and he face planted onto the marble counter top.

"Double owie" he lamented to the cool blue marble.

"Is that going to be ok?" Lydia asked.

Stiles had no idea what the 'that' she was referring to was. He hoped that it wasn't something that would drink all his coffee, if that happened, he'd probably cry. It'd be an ugly cry too, there'd be sobbing, wet rattling heaving and he'd need more tissues than they had in the house.

"He'll be fine; he's not a mornings kind of guy." Scott explained.

Stiles was confused. His friend must have teleported in from nowhere. That was the only explanation that Stiles could come up with. One moment there was no Scott, the next there was Scott. It was just like magic, only with puppies instead of rabbits or doves.

"I'll get him some coffee," Allison said. Just like that she became his new best friend, Scott be damned.

"Let's go McCall; I can't wait to leave you in the dust," Jackson called out.

"You wish! You make it seem like you'll even be able to see me when I'm finished," Scott called back.

"Stop flirting!" Stiles mumbled into the countertop.

"What?" the two young werewolves said in unison.

"Here you go Stiles you want any cream or milk?" Allison asked. She reached out and rubbed her hand over his short hair comfortingly.