Soooo I wrote this thing for @squishysterek and @yoonseo its based off a prompt/post but I forgot which one so I’ll probs add that in later but who knows???? I sure don’t.
Anyhoo enjoy ya bastards!!!!
Peter walked into Walgreens. His sister had sent him to pick up some photos because Talia decided she was into scrapbooking now. She wanted to document and memorialize everything the pack did, and if arts and crafts were her creative outlet, then who was Peter to judge? Although Peter had a suspicion that it would end up like most of her new projects, abandoned once it either took too long or she found out she wasn’t naturally born with said talent. Since Peter was going into town anyway, he offered to pick up the photos she had ordered at Walgreens.
He walked into the Walgreens, making his way back to the photo section. When he made it up to the counter, an early twenties guy was standing, looking bored as he played on his phone. He was on the paler side and had messy, rumpled, chocolate brown hair. Peter could see the smattering of moles on his face and arms. The man was what Peter would call beautiful in the way a fawn was. The man had an elegance to him but he never truly was standing still, since he was on his phone. He was additionally twirling a pen, occasionally tapping it.
Peter approached the desk, clearing his throat to get his attention. The man looked up, boredom and slight annoyance etched into his features.
“Hi, I had some photos printed through your website,” Peter told him.
“So…?”” The man, Stiles, as his name tag stated, drawled out.
“So get them for me,” Peter gritted out
Stiles turned back to his phone, “I’m kinda busy dude. Come back later.”
Peter looked around at the empty Walgreens and back at the young man texting and biting the end of his pen.
“You are not busy. No one is here,” Peter growled, getting more agitated.
“Fine. Name?” Stiles ground out as if Peter was causing him the inconvenience.
“Hale,” Peter gritted out between clenched teeth, finished with this conversation.
Stiles checked his phone and sent out a text before looking for Peter’s photos. He could not understand why this guy was being so unbelievably rude when he'd done nothing to warrant it.
An envelope landed in front of Peter.
“Here you go. Now can you leave,” He brushed Peter off, going back to his phone.
“What the fuck is your problem with me!” Peter demanded.
The guy behind the counter tensed, let out a watery chuckle, looking at Peter with fury.
“Listen, dude. You are about here,” he leaned down so his palm was two inches from the ground, “on my list of priorities. I wouldn’t even fucking be here if I didn’t have to. Right now my father is in surgery and he more than likely won’t make it, so I am so fucking sorry for my bad attitude.”
The younger man seethed, breathing hard. “You know what? Fuck this.”
He threw open the divider, shouting ‘I quit’ while storming out of the store.
Peter was stunned, walking out of the store, not seeing the younger man anywhere. Peter was grateful because he had some mixed emotions. He was pissed at Stiles for being so unbelievably rude when he didn’t deserve it. He could also understand where the young man was coming from, he was having a terrible day.
A few days had passed and Peter pretty much forgot about his interaction with Stiles. He was in his apartment relaxing after putting dinner in the oven when he heard someone approach his door and knock.
He opened the door and was surprised to see Stiles on the other side unable to meet his gaze, his scent guilty. Before Peter could ask why the younger man was there he started talking.
“Hey man, I came to apologize for the other day. You didn’t deserve that, no matter how shit of a day I was having,” Stiles shrugged, embarrassed.
“How do you know where I live?” was all Peter could say as a reply.
“My father is the sheriff,” Stiles replied, “So I kinda looked you up.”
Stiles shuffled, still not meeting Peter’s gaze.
“Well, I just put dinner in the oven, I guess you could be forgiven if you would join me,” Peter moved aside inviting the younger man in.
