Good Grief ✧ Stiles Stilinski

Chapter Seven: Worst Self-Preservation in The World But He's Still Alive!

CHAPTER SEVEN: Worst Self-Preservation in The World But He's Still Alive!

✧✧✧✧

The following day at school was much calmer than the previous one with the craze over the school bus murder being basically gone now as different gossip took its place in everyone's minds. But that didn't mean it went by smoothly for Jay. After exchanging numbers and befriending Allison, she'd actually decided to go forth with her word and make it a point of seeking him out throughout the day as well. Whether it be partnering up with him in their shared classes, sitting with him at lunch, or even cornering him in the hallways when he'd so clearly been ducking behind his locker trying to hide.

It wasn't that he didn't like Allison, she was completely fine. Somehow, she'd mastered the art of luring him. Somehow, she must have known through her perceptive hunter eyes, but every time she'd pop out of nowhere, she'd have a brightly dimpled smile paired with a snack in her hand ready for him to grab as they talked.

He felt like a trained dog the way his eyes would immediately zone in on her hand in anticipation while his stomach would rumble with hunger.

She also made it a point to invite him over to her place after school with Lydia, claiming she needed a boy's opinion on what outfit she should wear on her double date with Scott.

Now, a sane person with freakish werewolf tendencies would probably decline at the thought of willingly entering a hunter's home and leaving themselves completely and utterly vulnerable to whatever may happen. However, Jay, being the furthest from sane, saw it as a golden opportunity to mess with Argent, the literal only entertaining thing to do in a fuckass town like Beacon Hills.

So, there he was, sprawled out on the floor of Allison's bedroom lounging on his side with his chin resting on his propped-up arm—'paint me like one of your French girls', he suddenly wanted to say but stopped himself before he could. He was lying next to the bed Lydia was also lounging on in a similar manner, both of them watching Allison hold a sweater up to a full-length mirror.

"Pass," Lydia told her as soon as the horrid green colour met her eyes.

Allison chucked the monstrosity away and grabbed a very California-type shirt from the hanger to shake in front of them instead.

"Pasadena," Lydia repeated, unimpressed.

Allison grabbed a hideous Spanish-looking shirt. And by Spanish, it was very clearly a weird gimmick probably purchased on vacation to remember the place by.

"Kind of racist..." Jay trailed off awkwardly and immediately Allison gasped comedically loud. She turned to shoot him a glare and threw the shirt at his face. "Hey!" Jay laughed underneath the fabric, holding it up for Lydia to see who tutted in agreement. "I'm just calling it how it is!" he quipped.

"Allison." Lydia deadpanned. "My respect for your taste? Dwindling by the second." She got up from her lounging position and stepped over Jay to get to the closet. After rummaging around the hangers and scowling at literally everything inside, she yanked something black out. "This," she declared. But as soon as she shoved the article of clothing into Allison's chest, the bedroom door swung open unannounced. Through it, Argent was pulling on his Jacket, eyes on the floor rather than on the current occupants of the room.

"Dad, hello?" Allison scolded him lightly for not knocking and gestured to her guests.

"Right. Sorry, completely forgot to knock." He smiled at his daughter before turning to look past the door to where Jay and Lydia were.