── ★ ˙🛋️ ‧₊˚ the one⠀╱⠀stiles stilinski ᵎᵎ
SUMMARY :: out of seemingly nowhere, stiles just shut you out. he wouldn’t talk to you, he wouldn’t see you, then he broke up with you. but the space didn’t deter you, you knew something was wrong with him and you were going to find out exactly what it was.
CONTENT :: based on this request & this request, (brief) arguing, mentions of insecurities, maybe a little ooc (?), stiles’ love language is physical touch, slightly proofread
“I can’t do this anymore.”
Those were the last words you heard from Stiles.
Five words that had been ringing in your head for the past two weeks. At first, all they could bring you was overwhelming sadness. For the relationship, for the best friend you’d lost.
Your brain couldn’t let it go. How when he said it, he sounded defeated, like there was no other option. Then your brain decided to think about all the other things he’d said to you over the years.
How scared he sounded when he finally confessed how he really felt about you. How soft his voice was the first time you guys had sex.
Even the way his voice cracked all the time in middle school and he was so embarrassed by it but you just thought it was cute.
That sadness quickly turned into suspicion, then annoyance.
You knew something was wrong with Stiles. He wouldn’t just break up with you without an explanation over nothing. At least, you’d like to believe as much.
So now the mission was to figure out what his problem was. The only problem? Getting him to talk to you.
That’s where the annoyance came into play.
Stiles was one of your best friends for years before you ever brought romance into it.
He told you everything. Scott may be his best friend, but he wasn’t the first person Stiles talked to about his mom. He wasn’t the first person he went to when Lydia rejected him.
So what changed? What made him feel as if he couldn’t talk to you about something so serious that it had him throwing away his closest relationships?
When you brought it up with Scott, who was still coming around and checking on you almost every day, he said Stiles wasn’t talking to anyone.
He would show up and leave without saying more than a word.
Scott was trying to assure you it wasn’t personal, but it only made you worry about Stiles more.
That conversation was what led you to now. Standing at his front door, having an awkward conversation with his dad.
After building up the courage to knock and waiting for almost five minutes, you were ready to give up and try something else. You turned around to leave but instead came face to face with Noah Stilinski.
“Oh! Hi, sorry. I was just leaving.” You quickly babbled, nervous to see your ex-boyfriend’s father.
His eyes softened when he said, “That’s alright.”
Neither of you made a move, a long, awkward stretch of silence overcoming the porch.
“Did you need to talk to Stiles?” He asked, obvious concern in his gruff voice.
Your eyes widened, feeling completely split in half. On one hand, you really needed to see Stiles. On the other, it didn’t feel like your place to come into his house when he made his decision obvious.
You managed out a quiet, “Yeah, actually. Can I come in?”
He looked like he wanted to ask more, but all he did was give you a tense nod and unlock the door.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs you looked back and thanked him. He smiled, strained but still warm. Growing up with the Stilinskis, Noah was like a second dad to you.
You made your way upstairs, but it all felt wrong.
You weren’t rushing up, trying to beat Stiles to the top. You weren’t tip-toeing in the middle of the night, trying not to wake up his dad.
It was so familiar yet it felt like a completely new place.
Standing in front of Stiles’ bedroom door, you had to build up the courage to knock and hope for an answer for the second time that night.
You got a response this time, even if it wasn’t what you wanted. He grumbled through the door, “Go away.”
It felt almost comical, he never once acted like this in the thirteen years you’d known him.
It was always the opposite with him.
Begging you to come over, to join him and Scott in whatever they were doing, to hold him closer.
You opened the door anyway, before you could talk yourself out of it. He could’ve been changing, or jerking off, or whatever else boys do when they’re alone, but Stiles made you reckless.
He shot up in bed, looking panicked and messy.
His brown hair that you’d run your fingers through countless times was tousled and sticking up in every direction. His bed was completely unmade, his desk had crumpled up paper balls and trash thrown on it. The ‘evidence board’ you helped him make was blank, every image and string missing.
“What are you doing here?” He asked, trying to sound tough and cold but just sounding miserable.
Clearing your throat from any rough emotions, you started softly. “I needed to talk to you.”
“I’m busy.”
You made a show of looking around the room, then responded bitterly, “With what, exactly? Staring at a wall and feeling sorry for yourself?”
He didn’t even deny it, just mumbled, “The ceiling, actually.” You would’ve laughed at that if it wasn’t for everything else.
“Stiles.” His eyes finally met yours, the amber color you loved looking dull and lifeless. “Talk to me, please. As a friend, if that’s easier.”
His mouth opened like he was going to say something, but nothing came out, so you continued.
“I know something’s wrong. I know you. But if you can’t trust me enough to talk to me then I can’t fix this.” When he still didn’t respond, you came closer and sat on the corner of his bed. “I miss you.”
Without thinking he blurted, “You think I don’t?”
You shrugged, toying with the loose string on your sleeve. “I don’t know. You won’t talk to me.”
There was a long silence. Minutes passed without either of you making a move or speaking. It wasn’t comfortable like it always had been before.
The silence was charged with things unsaid, with feelings unspoken. All you could hear was a faint hum from the computer downstairs and Stiles’ slow breathing. It was completely disorienting.
“You deserve better.” He started. When you looked over at him, his watery eyes met yours. “Better than me, better than I could ever give you.”
There was another pause, just not long enough for you to get a word out.
“I know you know that. And I’m scared that one day you’ll see how I really am. You’ll see that I’m weak, that’s why the Nogitsune–.” He choked out, barely holding back a sob.
This boy. The one you grew up with, who acted like nothing scared him. Not bugs, not snakes, not werewolves or kanimas, not even his panic attacks.
“Stiles.”
He stopped, his adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“I love you.” You reminded him, scooting closer subtly like he was a wild animal. “I love you. Everything about you. I always have, and I’m absolutely certain that I always will. Even when you tell me I can’t, or I shouldn’t.”
His head shook subconsciously. “No. No, you–”
Your warm hand found his over the duvet, cutting off his starting spiel. He melted against his will, instinctually threading his fingers through yours and giving it a comforting squeeze.
“But–” He tried, only for you to give his hand another squeeze. He wasn’t the best with words, you’d learned that years ago, the best way to get to Stiles’ heart was with a touch. “Okay.”
His eyes met yours, still red but no longer teary. The color seemed to come back, while his restraint was long gone. They subtly dropped to your lips, quickly shooting back up to your eyes.
You smiled and snorted a laugh.
Leaning in ever so slightly, you whispered, “So, am I your girlfriend again yet? Or do I have to wait to give you a kiss?”
The way his eyes dipped to your lips without hesitation was confirmation enough, but you wanted him to say it.
He nodded softly, meeting your eyes again.
“Say it.” You cooed, the gap between you closing tantalizingly slow.
Your name fell from his lips in a breathy plead, “Will you be my girlfriend again?”
Nodding, your lips met his in a soft kiss. It wasn’t messy or rushed, it was gentle, reconnecting.
Pulling back, your hands found his hair. You reveled in the way his annoyingly silky hair slid through your fingers. He purred, melting at your touch.
You pulled him in for another quick peck, and another, and another. Then you moved your affections to his nose, and his cheek, and his other cheek, until he was flustered, red-cheeked, and holding your face still.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, his hand finding your leg. He absent-mindedly stroked your leg, holding eye contact. “I missed you.”
You leaned forward and snuck another kiss to his forehead, cupping his face in your hands. “Just talk to me. I promise to give you all the reassurance in the world, but you can’t shut me out.”
Nodding in your hands, he pressed his lips to your palm. “I promise to talk to you. To trust you.”
“Do you want to watch Star Wars and cuddle?”
His entire body stiffened, a puppy-like gleam in his eyes “Do I? Are you really asking me that?”
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