Bane of My Existence

Alphas

"Celia, can we talk?" Stiles pleads.

"I don't really feel like it right now, Stiles."

His name is sharp on her tongue, he nearly flinches when it's said.

Celia breezes through the kitchen, tossing her keys onto the table, catching a glimpse of Scott and Lydia watching the video on Emile's phone for the fifth time. She retreats to her room, Stiles trailing close behind and shutting the door behind him.

"Celia, please." He exhales quietly.

Celia whips around, a finger shot at him.

"I know there's a lot going on right now and everything is fucked but do not take it out on me. Don't you ever, ever put your hands on me."

Her voice quivers as she fights emotion taking over and puts on a brave face. The truth is, she's more so hurt than angry, years of knowing him lowering her safeguards until she was brutally reminded that at his core he was still human.

"Celi, I don't know what happened earlier. That's not an excuse, really! I blacked out or something, that wasn't me. You know I'd never try to hurt you, I-"

Stiles' eyes are brimming red and wet with tears. Through the tension he extends a hand and cautiously touches the back of her arm, beckoning her into a hug. She pauses for a moment, considering if her boundary has been set firmly enough. Once she determines it has, she accepts his embrace. He smooths her hair down her back and the tension in his shoulders dissipates.

"I love you, Celi."

The words hang in the air for a while. She's loved him since they were 14, but now, hearing it back made things different. The residual tension remains, but the energy between them is much warmer now. They stand together, his broad arms engulfing her like he did at homecoming junior year. He had come to her house in the jeep, which had been in better condition then, excited to share the news of his new license when she opened the door in tears. Standing in her homecoming dress, mascara down her face, she told him her date canceled on her, claiming he forgot he had promised to take a friend's sister instead. Stiles, with his brows pinched in a scowl, grabbed her hand and asked her to go with him although he hadn't been planning on it. They quickly scavenged for a suit jacket and shirt in her father's closet to throw on top of his jeans and scuffed chucks.

Later in the night as they slow danced, he saw her former date across the dance floor, kissing who could only be the alleged sister of a friend. Instinctively, Stiles pulled Celia into a hug, angling her away from seeing. She never told him, but she had seen it. She had been moments away from commenting on it when Stiles pulled her against him. At that moment her brain went silent. She played along as though she didn't know why he was acting strangely and allowed him to be her hero for the night.

Celia glances down toward their feet. Stiles in a new pair of equally scuffed sneakers, nearly four years later, still holding her.

"I love you too."

— — —

A knock raps on Celia's bedroom door. Her eyes peel open, she didn't remember falling asleep, or Stiles leaving.

I love you, echoes in her head as she suppresses a smile.

There's another knock.

"Celia!" Lydia chirps from behind the door.

"Come in,"

The door opens before she's done responding.

Lydia rushes in, Emile's phone in her open palm.

"I found something."

—

"Wait, so who is Erica?" Celia asks, adjusting the throw pillow behind her.