His Ink On My Skin

Chapter 2: Wolf Moon

Key for this chapter:

Stiles' Thoughts

Anyone Else's Thoughts

'Old dialogues memories, spoken out loud thoughts, the past in general...'

///Memories///

POVs

""Not an Actual Speech or Thought""

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Warning: Alternative POVs

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The second time Peter ended up with ink on his person was a week later; he was sitting in his favorite coffee shop when the normally composed waitress who worked on the floor, yelped.

Peter looked up and found her staring at the entrance he moved his gaze and found her attention with someone apparently trying to tango with the coat rack.

With an amused eyebrow raised he watched as the person stumbled out of the massive pile of coats and scarves only to walk straight into a door.

"Oh dear", the brunette waitress who'd yelped whispered, "Is he okay?" she muttered to herself and moved forward to assist, but as she moved the person turned and Peter blinked as Stiles moved and walked straight into a burly man with a fierce look on his face, expression going darker as he jostled when Stiles walked into him.

"Oh Dear, Dear, Dear..."

The waitress winced and started walking forward warily.

The muscle-headed idiot glowered at Stiles and lifted a hand as if to strike, Peter stood up suddenly furious, he put his book down and walked past her, he steadied a wobbling Stiles with an arm around his waist and brought his entire wolf sense to the forefront, he glared at the muscle-headed moron.

"He's sick", he hissed, "Can't you see that? He's wobbling all over the place. How cruel do you have to be to not steady someone?" he demanded loudly.

Stiles looked up at the volume and blinked blearily at him, "Peter?" he whispered breath hot against his throat.

Peter looked down at him, and deliberately turned his back on the muscle-headed idiot, "What the hell Stiles", he put a hand on the kid's forehead, "You're burning up?" he muttered and caught him, as Stiles swayed.

"I'm sick", he whined, "Don't have the energy to cook", he muttered, "Hungry", he paused and then coughed, "Wanted something sweet", he continued all but leaning entirely on Peter, "Sleepy", he whined, "But so hot", he grumbled then whining low in distress.

Peter sighed and walked over to his corner table, he seated Stiles beside him, on the couch, and walked back to the coat rack, he removed his scarf and walked towards the waitress;

"Could you get me some ice? Wrap it in a Ziploc bag; I'll pay for the extra ice. Also, I'm ordering for him, some soup, whatever you think works best—"

"Does he eat meat?" she asked interjecting politely.

"Yes", he nodded.

"One chicken soup. I'll get some ginger lime tea for him as well", she paused, "It will take an hour to prepare our chef hasn't yet arrived", she explained, "The coffee shop is open, and the café portion will open in thirty minutes, service will begin fifteen minutes after that", she informed him, her eyes strayed to Stiles who slumped over was breathing erratically, "Is he okay?" she asked warily.