𝑾𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓 ➸𝑨𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝑨𝒓𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 ꟾ𝟏ꟾ

Control

[Majorly edited]—5/18/21

I

"Stiles, I hated your boa constrictor. He always stared at me like I was his next meal."

He narrows his eyes. "How could you say that, he—Scott?"

I follow his line of sight, landing on a very sullen-looking shirtless Scott as he leans against his cubby in the locker room. "Did you apologize to Allison?"

"Yeah."

His shoulders drop at the mention of her, making me frown with genuine sympathy. "She said no to a second chance, didn't she? Dude, I'm sorry I—"

"She said yes." He interjects though his gloomy expression remains the same.

"Yeah! Alright, so everything's good." Stiles moves for his locker but I grab his bicep with my hand, pulling him back.

"Then what is wrong with you?" I wonder.

"Remember the hunters?"

My brows furrow, recalling a long worded text in our group chat from the two of them. After Scott turned last night, he went into the woods in search of Derek. He found him, but he also found some werewolf hunters that were very trigger happy as they shot him in the arm with an arrow.

"Her dad is one of them." He continues, my eyes widen as I move around the open lockers.

"Her dad?" Stiles questions.

"Shot me—"

"Allison's father?"

"—with a crossbow." Scott continues.

"Allison's father—"

"Yes, her father!" Scott shouts, snapping out of his daze and going full-on panic mode."Oh my God. Oh my God."

Stiles grips Scott by the shoulders, slightly slapping him with his lacrosse glove. "Scott, snap back. He didn't recognize you, right?"

Scott shakes his head. "No, I don't think so—"

"That's good, that's great. It was night, how could he have, right?" I add, trying to calm him.

"Wait, does Allison know about him?" Stiles wonders, I almost facepalm.

Scott's eyes grow even wider before glancing between us. "I-I don't know." He then begins to panic even more than before, "What if she does? This is gonna kill me!"

A high-pitched whistle sounds from the far end of the locker room as Stiles reaches behind Scott as he continues to whine.

"Take this. Just focus on lacrosse, okay?"

I hurriedly slip on my crimson jersey—embroidered with a bold number seven—as Stiles shoves all of Scott's other equipment into his chest.

"Scott, lacrosse, game on Saturday. Your first line, remember, come on." I try to motivate him as Stiles grips his lacrosse stick from the bench.

Scott nods slowly. "Lacrosse."

Stiles smirks and slaps him on the arm with his freed glove. "Here we go!"

He leads the pack, almost tripping over a black and red helmet that lays on the linoleum. Luckily for him, he catches himself on the nearest bench as I hold Scott's lacrosse stick while he slides his jersey over his shoulder pads.

"Just focus on playing, alright? If your head's somewhere else, Coach is gonna belittle you for the next hour and it probably won't be pretty."

He sucks in a deep breath as I hand him his lacrosse stick before we exit the room and head for the field.