"I like to come out here when I feel heavy with a conflict in my life"
"floating through the water like that, giving up control and letting the waves control where you go, has a way of calming you."
"It feels like you're letting th...
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I do not own Teen Wolf or any of its characters. I only own Celeste. If I did no one would die or leave the show ever. I'd make them sign a contract in blood.
Song - Insane// Flume feat. Moon Holiday
Prologue
The summer before sophomore year
Stiles Stilinksi trailed clumsily after his best friend, Scott McCall, kicking up warm, gold grains of sand in his wake. He was fully equipped for a relaxing day at the beach, sporting a pair of eccentric green-and-orange swim trunks, which contrasted his pale skin and spattering of moles quite distinctly. He carried a blue, fuzzy beach towel around his shoulders, and dragged an old lounge chair behind him, creating a shallow line that marked his path.
Distracted by a flock of seagulls that were pecking with vigor at the sand and squawking incessantly, Stiles failed to notice that his floppy-haired, brunette comrade had stopped abruptly, thus ramming into him before stumbling backwards. Scott turned around and chuckled at Stiles, who was now mumbling to himself in an annoyed tone.
"This spot seems okay," Scott said decidedly, looking to Stiles for confirmation.
The boy shrugged before nodding, unfolding his chair and plopping unceremoniously into it with a grunt. He leaned back with a satisfied sigh, a relaxed smile on his face and a stripe of sunblock covering his nose. The two males sat side by side with a small cooler in between them, chatting idly and discussing the upcoming school year.
"This year's the one, man," Scott said with a vast, hopeful grin on his face as he discussed his goals for sophomore year, "I'm finally going to get off the bench and make first line."
Stiles let out a humorous snort, before glancing at his friend's excited face, frowning when he saw that the puppy-eyed boy was genuine.
"Scott, I hate to break it to you buddy," Stiles began with an apprehensive tone, "but I don't think severe asthmatics make first line in lacrosse too often."
The two continued to bicker lightheartedly, eventually sliding into a different topic as the sun beat down on them. Stiles pushed the warm sand around with his feet and stared out at the crashing, blue-green waves in an almost meditative state.
A cool breeze wafted across the beach, dancing softly with the golden rays from the sun, forming a tranquil atmosphere.
As Stiles' honey colored irises scanned the horizon, something caught his eye. A girl wearing a large t-shirt covering her bathing suit was standing near the water's edge, letting the foamy water lick at her feet.
