You and Stiles had a specific routine, one that had been occurring since the start of Junior year, and had now continued into the very beginning of Senior year. Most nights neither of you could sleep very well, and so the tradition of just going out to drive around Beacon Hills began. And, as always, you'd sit in comfortable silence, neither of you admitting that you were so completely in love with the other. Everyone noticed it, in the way that he would go out of his way to walk you to class and drive you, and in the way that you would always wait for him after school and could put a smile right on his face the moment you walked into a room.
On some level, Stiles knew that you loved him, and you knew that Stiles loved you, but pure pride and stubbornness prevented either of you from admitting it. You didn't want to be the one to say it first, in case you were misreading his subtle signals, and the same went for Stiles himself. For now, the two of you settled for enjoying the other's presence, talking quietly and unwinding in the back seat of his jeep after he parked it.
"I should take you home," he muttered, noticing your eyelids fluttering shut every now and then. You sat up straighter, shaking your head. "You're tired, you should get some rest," he went on feebly, trying to muster up a weak protest but failing, considering he didn't really want to let you go just yet.
"Nah, it's fine, Stiles." You squeezed his hand, which was slightly sweaty (which he remembered with an embarrassed wince), but you didn't mind. You never really did when it came to Stiles. "Besides, who's gonna stay with your crazy ass all night?" He laughed brightly along with you, a sound that made your stomach fill with butterflies and even bigger smile light up your face. And then, that same smile managed to make him smile, and then you were both laughing for no reason other than sleep deprivation and the pure bliss of being with the person you were in love with.
Even if that person didn't exactly know.
While these small moments with him were wonderful, and you wouldn't give them up for anything, the relationship was so slow burn, it was killing the both of you. You wanted something more to happen. But then again, you weren't sure if he wanted something to happen, which in turn made nothing at all happen because you were both too nervous to admit your obvious feelings for each other.
He leaned back in his seat after turning on the radio, soft music playing throughout the car. Outside of your little hideaway, everything was pitch black. You didn't really mind being in the dark anymore, however, and Stiles didn't either. There were far worse things lurking in the daytime. That was probably why Stiles had sought comfort with you in the first place; because you were humans, out of place in a supernatural world where the day was scarier than the night. He turned his head to the side, having not noticed that you had moved slightly closer to him beforehand, and was suddenly face-to-face with your wide eyes and partially open mouth.
He blushed, thankful that you couldn't see the red coating his cheeks in the dim, almost nonexistent lighting. He tilted his head down to stare at his shoes, and you did the same, though you didn't move away at all. He was grateful for that. He tentatively glanced back up, meeting your eyes once again but this time, he didn't shy away. He gently laced his fingers with yours, squeezing softly. You didn't pull away. Instead, you placed your head on his shoulder, your eyes closing just as an even softer, quieter melody flowed through his beaten up jeep's speakers. He sighed in content, his lips brushing against your forehead.
"G'night, Stiles...I-I...mhm," you nodded off, your head nearly slipping off his shoulder. He quickly caught you before you could fall, readjusting your body so that you were curled up in his lap instead. He wasn't quite sure if you were completely asleep or not. He played with the ends of your hair, twirling your hair around his fingers.
Not caring if you had completely fallen asleep, he traced your cheek with his finger, whispering as quiet as can be, "I love you." As if you had heard him, you snuggled farther into his chest, one arm wrapped loosely around his waist and the other still clutching his hand. He smiled to himself, finding his phone and tapping out a quick message to his father, telling him to not expect Stiles home any time soon. He would tell you in the morning that he loved you. And then, after that, he was going to tell you every single day.
