Rise

Chapter Ten

*I don't own Teen Wolf.*

~edited~

☾☾☾

        "Morning, Mr. Stilinski," I said.  I couldn't muster some embarrassment or any emotion, really, because I was leaping to my feet and running past him to the bathroom to toss my cookies.

        After that was all over, and it took a while, I took the liberty of using Stiles's shower.  I'd already slept in his bed, so what was the harm, right?  And as I stripped, I'd noted with a hint of panic that apparently I'd slept in one of his t-shirts and sweatpants- and nothing else.  I had to use his body wash, which was a clean soapy scent.  Nothing like the body spray he wore, but it was familiar in a strange way.

        I braided my hair into one long plait over my shoulder when I got out, and wiped the fog off the mirror to see the damage.  There were dark circles under my eyes, and I was pale, but I'd looked worse.  I swished with his mouthwash to relieve myself of the combination of vomit and morning breath, and almost felt like a new person.  A new starving person with only a slight headache.  I redressed in the clothes I'd woken up in, and headed downstairs tentatively, anticipating the awkward confrontation with the Sheriff.

        I found Stiles in the kitchen doing the most peculiar thing.  He was cooking, and it smelled heavenly.  I crept up behind him, silent in my bare feet, and saw he was flipping french toast.  I was this close to flinging my arms around him and crying that all was forgiven, as long as some of that food was mine.

        "Is your dad gone?" I asked.

        "Jesus!" he cried, jumping and nearly throwing the spatula.  "Oh my god, do I need to put a bell on you?"

        "Soooo... your dad kind of walked in on me in your bed?" I asked, watching color bloom across his cheekbones.

      "Uh, yeah my dad left a few minutes ago.  He agreed to not tell Bobby as long as it never happens again."  Stiles turned back to the french toast, maybe in an effort to hide his blush.  "That was after a whole lot of uncomfortable reassuring."

        "So, do I snore?" I asked, faking nonchalance as I hoisted myself to sit on the counter a couple feet away from him.

        "I wouldn't know, I slept on the couch," he said, not looking at me.

        "Right," I said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  Silence stretched for a few moments too long while I slowly kicked my bare feet, and the air felt thick with things unsaid.  "And how exactly did I get here?"

        I'd been reviewing the previous night while I was in the shower.  I remembered that punch, which made my stomach twist painfully.  And briefly being in the pool.  And...

        "Isaac," I said under my breath.

        "Yeah, he did his best to get you sobered up, but Drunk Rory is kind of a devious little shit, apparently."

        I snorted, bizarrely feeling a sense of pride.  "Is she?"

        "He turned his back on you to get you some water and you disappeared on him.  Flirted your way into some shots with some random guy.  By the time you were dancing with Greenberg he decided all was lost and he called me to come pick you up."

        "And?"  My cheeks were now flaming with shame.  Yikes, drunk me was a nightmare.  I had vague impressions of loud music and the feel of a boy's chest under a soft cotton t-shirt.  I winced and tried not to think about that- or the fact that I had no idea who Greenburg even was and if it was him in the memory with his body pressed close to mine.