Changing Patterns

• 27 •

"Talking" 'Thinking...
Important
_writing_
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    Stiles peered out of the upstairs window. A roar had gathered his attention from his wandering in the music room, although that happens a lot when they're training it's good to check with what's going on. As expected it was Jackson losing his shit for failing a third time in a row. The guy really has patience and anger issues. Besides the point stiles grabs an old music journal from the shelf and moved to sit on the window seat. Plopping down and pulling a curtain to cover half the window and get the right light. After flipping open the pages stiles started to read. Really, it only had simple notes on songs and a few rewrites to certain songs. Lyrics completely changed and some music changed too.

    Each change or rewrite had the journal number and title in it. Most were of the Hale family corrections. He'd only seen two on journals titled; #7, Derek or #6, Derek. Which was astonishing that there were any songs or interprets that Derek made. Though it makes more sense why they have the music room in the first place. Not all the journals had been saved, stiles figured that out when he couldn't find a few. Curiosity got the better of him when he saw corrections or reference notices to other books.

"This one!" Peter snaps quickly, snatching the leather book from a yelping Stiles's hands. The man twirled the book around after closing it. "Was my sisters. Sweet writer she was, except when it came to my things of course." Peter flipped through a few pages as stiles watched, letting his raised knees against his chest fall into a cross cross stance.

"Uh thanks, but I was reading that, so if you please." Stiles smacked his lips as he nodded and offered a hand for the book again.

Peter laid a simple smirk at stiles, watching over his facial features then looking down at the younger's hand. Peter slowly began to lower the book toward Stiles's hand before speedily flicking his hand away and tossing the book to the seat just to grip Stiles's wrist and pull him forward. The younger's breath hitched and fanned over peters grinning face. Stiles struggled against his werewolf hold for a few seconds before deflating and slumping back against the window with a huff of annoyance.

"Oohh, you give up easy." The wolf coos closely. His eyes scan Stiles's surprisingly blank face as he sits in defeated silence with the other man.

"Seriously. What do you and all your creepy, psychopathic, dead-undead, uncle-ness want?" Stiles sighs and leans back his head against the glass.

"And you know how to make someone angry. Not a good combo with Derek there stiles boy." Stiles only stared back at Peter with blunt annoyance.

"In a physical fight with a werewolf I'd lose, I'd rather keep my hand on my body- so I'm not going to fight you. And besides, like I said before, nothing. Peter." The wolf nodded and let go of Stiles's wrist to lean back and cross his arms over his chest.

"Right cause reeking of Derek isn't a sign of something. While you were out there, you amplified his scent too, or whatever." Peters smirk returned, just as conniving and god awful -and maybe more- then normal. Stiles's scoff.

"He was the closest to me. Besides Deaton warned us that I could do that." Peter nodded slowly and pursed his lips in a Lydia type way.

"Sure. Back to my point that i haven't yet made." The wolf started before stiles was moving, adjusting to face the wolf and snarkily act like a five year old ready for a big story.