It had been a couple of days since the fight with Stiles, and he had yet to say anything to me. In fact, he hadn't even shown up at school since our argument. The absence of his presence weighed heavily on me, and I found myself sighing and absentmindedly playing with my food while others around me chatted. It was evident that my sadness was palpable, and no one blamed me considering how inseparable Stiles and I usually were.
"Does anyone even know where Stiles is?" Malia asked, her mouth full of food. Her question caught my attention, and I looked up, curious about the answer. "My house a couple of times the past couple of nights. Why?" Lydia responded, nonchalantly scrolling through something on her phone. The mention of Stiles being at Lydia's house puzzled me. Why would he be there?
"What? Why would he be there?" Malia voiced the same question that had crossed my mind. Lydia simply shrugged, seemingly unfazed by the significance of the situation. Scott let out a sigh, his gaze briefly shifting towards me. Unable to bear the conversation any longer, I stood up abruptly, dumping my unfinished lunch, and walked out of the cafeteria.
As I made my way down the hallway, I shoved my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, seeking some comfort in its familiar presence. Today, I had dressed more casually, pairing the jacket with black jeans and a white cropped tank. My mind was filled with a mix of confusion, worry, and a deep longing to understand what was happening with Stiles.
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I opened my locker, grabbing my bag and closing it with a heavy sigh. I couldn't bear to stay in the school any longer, surrounded by reminders of the fight between Stiles and me. The knowledge that my best friend probably hated me was agonizing, and the fact that I couldn't do anything to fix it.
Worst part was I knew it was entirely my fault.
Lost in my thoughts, I stared down at my worn-out Converse shoes, each step feeling heavy and purposeless. "You know you're not supposed to leave in the middle of school. Kinda defeats the purpose of getting an education," a familiar voice remarked. My head turned towards the sound, and my movement halted in the middle of the bustling hallway.
Stiles...
"Stiles?" I murmured nervously, my hands instinctively slipping out of my pockets as I turned to face him. "No, Mickey Mouse, clearly," he retorted, a slight smirk playing on his lips. His hands rested casually in his pants pockets, and he was dressed in jeans and a tight three-quarter sleeve t-shirt, with a couple of buttons undone at the top. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.
"Where have you been?" I asked, my voice filled with both longing and vulnerability. Stiles approached me slowly, his posture relaxed. "Here and there. I just needed to think," he replied, sliding his hand behind his head and scratching it lightly.
His serious expression softened as he looked at me, and I could sense a shift in his demeanor. The anger that had consumed him seemed to have dissipated, replaced by a mix of emotions I couldn't quite decipher. I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope as I met his eyes, my voice barely above a whisper.
