The last thing James "Jay" Hale ever imagined was to begrudgingly return to Beacon Hills, find out his older sister was murdered, and then be forced to go on a wild goose chase after some fuck ass Alpha that seemed to have a particular interest in r...
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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: Mutual Pining? More Like Mutual Dumbasses (PLZ Save Scott)
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"I hate you."
"No, I hate you."
"Well, at least I'm not the guy with a Batman kink," Jay muttered vindictively, swiping the chair Stiles had literally just pulled out to sit in himself. He dropped onto the plastic and blinked innocently up at the furious boy, whose hands were now spasming at his sides like he wanted to reach out and strangle him. "You know," Jay smiled a little too sweetly up at him, and Stiles frowned a little too sharply right back down. "You're probably the type of guy who'd pull out the Batman voice in bed. Which explains why no one's ever been in your bed."
"You've literally been in my bed," Stiles shot back, jamming their shoulders in an attempt to regain ownership of his seat. "Multiple times, actually. So what exactly does that say about you?"
But when Jay put all his carefully honed werewolf abilities into being an unmovable object in the way of Stiles' happiness, it became virtually impossible to retake the seat. Stiles had no choice but to angrily stomp his way to the other side of the table and steal the chair Scott was pulling out because clearly they were all going by the rules of thievery now.
Scott huffed in frustration but didn't say anything to object. Whatever he'd say would probably be ignored anyway, so there was no point.
Also, he was too busy glaring at Jackson, who was sitting hunched on the other side of the library looking like a complete idiot trying to cower in his chair like he was the victim of it all.
And maybe Jackson was the victim, in the end, being controlled by someone else. But right now, Scott wasn't going to see reason even if he'd probably feel guilty about it later. Jackson made Allison cry. It was unforgivable. Scott—taking a page out of Jay's book of outrageous threats—was going to string Jackson up by his organs for that slight. Maybe play jump rope with his intestines and then call it a day.
Jay crossed his arms and looked evenly over at Stiles, completely ignoring the extremely pungent waves of escalating fury coming from Scott like a burning beacon. "I'm a homeless kid; I tend to take what I can get. Your bed's like any other park bench. Nothing special."
It was a bold-faced lie and they both knew it. For a second he thought Stiles was about to call him out for it and he'd lose the argument, but instead, Stiles used it as a not-so-smooth segue, which was perhaps worse.
"Speaking of homeless kids," He slapped his palms on the table, leaning forward like this was a police interrogation and Jay was getting the fifth degree. "It's actually kinda sweet, the way you and Isaac are always together." He smiled—sharp, bitter, and borderline manic. "You've both got that same scruffy, 'nobody-wanted-us-so-we-found-each-other' vibe going on. I should've seen it coming."
