Rhythm

Part 3

Tapping your pencil incessantly on your open textbook, you wanted to scream. Everything was
so.... Present.

Sounds were louder, making the ticking of the clock above the teacher's desk the most annoying thing you had ever heard, the simple act of brushing your teeth made you cringe as it sounded like gravel being pushed around your mouth, lockers closing became lockers slamming, and the once just irritating bell of the school now an irritating fog horn.

Smells were stronger, smells you didn't even want to know existed accosting your nose often, smells you didn't even want to know what they were wafted by on occasion, and smells that once were subtle, pleasant aromas like your light perfume now smelled like bad air freshener.

Sensations were the hardest to get used to, everything so much more intense, it was almost too much, and it reminded you of being little and staying in the bathtub or pool too long, getting pruny fingers, resulting in everything you touched just feeling odd.

"Y/N," Stiles said softly beside you, making you jump, which was ridiculous because you had smelled him when he came in the room, but at the way you startled, he may as well have been shouting. He held up his hands whispering sorry's and taking his seat next to you as you waved him off, muttering your own apologies, returning to your pencil tapping.

His hand over your makeshift drumstick is what caused you to release the breath you didn't know you'd been holding. "Thank you," you sighed, closing your eyes in relief as you felt tension release from your body, his hand moving to rest on yours extremely comforting.

Looking at Stiles, you raised an eyebrow at his soft smile. "It's okay. I know. Well, I don't know because I'm not one of you, but, Scott went through the same thing. You'll get used to it. I swear."

You sighed. "But he is a TA," You had coined the term for Scott's pack status after the fifth time Stiles had shushed you in the hallway. "It's been two weeks! How long did it take him?"

Stiles removed his hand from yours and looked down at his desk, beginning to tap his pencil in the same fashion you had.

"Stiles?"

He kept tapping.

"Stiles."

He ignored you, flinching slightly at the low growl you let out. "Stiles!"

Immediately stopping and turning to you, his eyes went wide. "Woah, woah, put the claws away," he whispered. Looking down you noticed in your anger you had begun new etchings on the desktop. For a brief moment you wanted to smile, thinking they would surely look better than the eloquent male anatomy scratched lovingly into the wood, but Stiles' voice jerked you once again out of your head. "Are those new contacts?" he asked in regards to your flickering eyes, innocently enough to not attract the filling class room, but you heard the tension in his tone. Finally he leaned in and whispered. "Use your anchor."

"I don't have one," your voice was strained, starting to go lower than it had ever been, somewhat distorted and creepy sounding, even to your own wolfy ears. You tucked your hands into your lap, staring down at the desktop to hide your face from innocent bystanders.

Stiles was looking over his shoulder, muttering Scott's name among curses and nonsensical sounds, his foot tapping incessantly. Finally he stilled, looking right at you as you continued to stare at your desk. "Alpha, beta, omega."

Everything stopped. All the sounds that were flooding your senses, the sensations that were driving you crazy, the smells making your stomach turn in knots. The only thing that existed as you began to join with it was Stiles' voice, repeating the mantra quietly. "Alpha, beta, omega."