The once playful atmosphere between them had grown stale and u n i n v i t i n g. What did I do wrong? Contrition locks him in place, his features now a perfect portrait of ʷᵒʳʳʸ, he uses his supernatural senses and can taste ᴀɴxɪᴇᴛʏ and a pinch of fiery ᴀɴɢᴇʀ twinge the air.
The alpha balls his left hand in a tight fist , nails momentarily sinking into the padded flesh there, pain keeping him check, pain keeping him balanced ( lately pain was the only thing that seemed to be something reminiscent of an ａｎｃｈｏｒ nowadays ).
“…O-okay. I’m sorry.” Alarms вʟαяε inside his skull; something’s wrong, definitely wrong.
Why hadn’t he noticed it before?
fαтιgυє [ sharpening ] the edge’s of Stiles’ face, ｄｒｅａｄ a constant presence behind amber colored eyes hidden under dark masking lashes; PANIC surged through his veins, his ρ α я α η σ ι α the { life blood } that kept his heart beating, and there…he could see, in the corners of his best friend’s lips, in the slumped over shoulders, in his fearful stance ( as if constantly leaning over the face of some great dark abyss ), the teenager’s ᴊᴜᴍᴘʏ and נιттєяу movements…Scott k n e w Stiles was ｈｉｄｉｎｇ something from him.
Guilt was the foreign substance he’d been sensing for some time now.
“Stiles, what’s wrong?” The words spilled out before a filter was put in place, he spoke ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗˡᵉᶳᶳˡʸ , his απχιε†ψ getting the best of him. The alpha’s brows knit in concern as he looked at his best friend in a n e w light; not worried as to what Stiles was hiding, but why he as hiding it from him. They were brothers, they told each other e v e r y t h i n g. Why was he hiding something { now } ?
The question alone bore down on Stiles as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Its 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝘃𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 only turning what was left of his crumbling composure to ruins.
Ever present, the mantra of ‘if he 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜, he’ll 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚎’ drummed louder in his ears like a broken record striking ꜰᴇᴀʀ in to him without pause. He knew Scott was watching his every move at this point too closely, every part of his own body betraying him when he begged for resilience and a collected mirage. He flinched and ticked instead; every bit a 𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 to the alpha’s senses than if he were to flash fangs at the other for lack of subtlety.
Scott didn’t know- he couldn’t know.
Something was so deeply rooted in Stiles that he just ｗｒｏｎｇ, wanting nothing more than to dig blunt nails in to his own skin and ᴛᴇᴀʀ through layers until it pulled whatever sickness ailed him from the inside.
He felt 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚍 on top of it all, the need to do what’s right and come out with it to the only 𝗌𝖺𝖿𝖾𝗍𝗒 he’s ever known since he was a kid frustratingly tempting versus the 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚛 of losing that very safety; it overwhelmed him to the point that his voice wouldn’t speak up without a lie perfectly in place.
Far too shaken, too close to breaking to plead for much else. The last thing Stiles wanted to do was fall apart right in front of Scott when he just blatantly lied to his face over and over again.
Just tired today. So, so 𝕥𝕚𝕣𝕖𝕕.
Stiles was everything but.
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