How To Be A Trickster (Void Stiles)

Three.

Scott.

It was the first time that Stiles didn't speak a single word to me for a whole day. Come to think of it, I believe he pushed everyone away for the entirety of the 24 hours.

His case of anxiety wasn't serious enough to say that it could make him mute or antisocial. It was his own choice to keep his mouth closed.

But what was bothering him so much as to make him feel like he couldn't discuss the issue with me? I'm his best friend, have been since we were young. We talk about everything with each other.

Why was he keeping silent?

-

"I don't know what to do," I told my mother, holding my head in my hands.

She had just finished washing up the few dishes from dinner. She placed the damp, navy hand towel down on the bench and stood before me.

"It's been a few days. Are you sure you haven't seen any progress? Any sign that tells you he's getting better?"

"I'm completely sure, he seems the same, if not worse," I claimed. "I want to help him sort this out, but what should I do?"

"I personally believe the best way to help would be to ask him. Meet up in an empty room and just have a session. Talk about what's wrong. Address the problem at hand." My mother was always good at giving advice. She was a strong woman. I discovered this when she and my father got divorced. I never saw a tear escape her eyes. She was practically indestructible.

But maybe she kept it private. Perhaps she desired to appear as a fearless woman, but her emotions were essentially bottled up inside of her and she was just a frightened girl trapped in the body of a valiant fighter.

I thought back to how a while ago Sheriff Stilinski told me that Allison admitted to being scared, that she pretended to be strong when all she felt was weakness and timidity. I missed her. We all did.

And then I realised that Allison and my mother weren't very different at all. They had very similar personality traits. I guess that's why my mother liked her the way she did. Perhaps Allison reminded her of her young self. They were the two main women in my life, then I was left with one.

"Scott, are you right to do this?" she asked, catching me drifting into my own thoughts. She gazed directly into my eyes, reassuring me that we were having a serious discussion.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow," I said, standing up and climbing the stairs to venture to my bedroom.

Stiles.

I woke up unexpectedly. The window was open, the chilly wind swirling through my bedroom. I never open my window.

I lay in bed, staring at the unusual situation in fascination and worry. I forced myself to push my blanket off of me and walk to the window. I grasped the handles and slowly pulled the separate parts of the window closed.

As I turned around, a familiar figure captured the direction of my gaze.

I knew who it was the second I saw the bandage-wrapped head. My eyes were wide in fear. No longer half asleep, I was fully aware of his presence.

"What do you want?" I asked, though part of me already knew the answer. My voice quivered in shock and fright.

"I want you to let me in, Stiles," he said in his frightening, deep tone of voice as he walked towards me.