Only He saw

Let In.

School was just as bad, if not worse. Before, lacrosse was bearable. Fun, even! But now Stiles didn't want to do anything. He was questioning if life was worth it, and that scared him...all the monsters of the week...the pack...werewolves! They meant nothing in the face of his jokes and sarcasm, but not now. But now all he feared was himself and his mind left alone on a dark night.

Stiles gripped his bag, willing himself to steady his shaking fingers and strode out of school, thankfully, not to come back for the next two days. As he neared the parking lot, he spotted Peter, in the corner, leaning against his car, and a flurry of whispers and giggles could be heard...

"Who is he?"

"How old is he?"

"He looks rich..."

Stiles rolled his eyes, unsurprised by the jealous, petty and appreciative remarks, and looked over to see Lydia staring at Peter, her eyes wide. She was muttering to Jackson, who glared in the direction of the older wolf. They knew he was here.

Panic gripped Stiles, who stumbled backwards as Peter spotted him, he was close now to the sports car, and Peter opened the door, ignoring Lydia's distant figure and beckoned to Stiles. He practically jumped into the car, and hastily put his seatbelt on, ducking his head and busying himself with his bag.

Peter was concerned, Stiles' pallor had turned grey, and he stunk of fear and panic.

"Stiles, are you okay?"

"Can you drive? Please?" His desperate tone spurred Peter on, who reluctantly sped out of the school, and when the two had sat in silence for a few minutes he turned back to Stiles.

"So, what happened?" He was concerned, and he was sure it could be seen on his face.

Stiles blushed, awkwardly scratched his head, and went over the past events in his head. "Well, Lydia...she saw you...and then me again and I think she'll tell the rest of the pack I'm speaking to you and-" his breath caught in his throat and suddenly big, hot tears sprang down his cheeks, dripping down his neck as he started crying, shoulders heaving, racked with sobs, Stiles reached up to angrily swipe away the tears, but they wouldn't stop. Tilting his head back, he tried to stop them by some miraculous feat of gravity, but the water rolled down his cheeks, making his skin raw and red.

Peter stared, and slowed the car before pulling into a lay-by and stopping the car. Everything was silent other than Stiles quiet crying, who was trying furiously to wipe them away, before covering his face with trembling hands. Peter looked on, shocked and realising Stiles felt so much worse than he was letting on.

"I'm really sorry..." Stiles sniffled, peeking out of his hands, looking at Peter tearily, before blushing, obviously embarrassed at the outburst. Peter silently reached into a side pocket of the car, pulling out a pack of tissues and handing it to Stiles, who took it, giving a small smile to Peter.

As he wiped his eyes, self consciously bowing his head, Peter rummaged around in the side pocket of the car again, catching Stiles attention. After a few seconds, he sat back up, emerging with an elastic band. Stiles stared, confused, he cocked his head, squinting at the older man. Peter stretched it out absently, and snapped it back, making Stiles slightly jump. He saw the older man look up, as if he had been in a dream, and look back at Stiles, making him blush beet red.

"I'm so, so sorry for crying in your car dude...won't happen again..." He chuckled nervously, waiting for Peters approval.

"Don't worry about it." To Stiles surprise Peter smiled warmly at him, he shyly offered a small smile back.

"I...saw the cut on your arm."

Stiles froze. His heart hammered, a thumping rhythm threatening to beat right out of his chest. Peter looked down, seeming to gulp before barreling on: