chapter two {edited}

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i don't know what the fuck i'm doing, okay?
i think i've officially lost my mind

saturday, november 8
new york city, new york
third person pov

Stiles' eyes fluttered open as the warmth of the sun fanned over his face, the light causing him to squint. He blinked and rubbed at the lingering sleep in the corners of his eyes. Everything was the same as Stiles remembered; the same plush, leather couches and various fancy-looking knick knacks.

"Good morning."

Stiles jumped slightly and didn't bother looking over his shoulder as he murmured a greeting in reply. He sat next to Stiles on the couch, holding out a steaming mug for him to take. It seemed to be more marshmallows than hot chocolate, but that was also just as Stiles remembered.

Phil didn't say anything as they sat and drank hot chocolate for breakfast. It was nice, distracting almost, and Stiles was halfway through his second hot chocolate before he started talking.

"You remember Scott?"

There was a hummed affirmative and Stiles laughed bitterly, "Of course you do, I never shut up about him when I was a kid."

He took a long swallow from his Captain America mug before continuing, eyes fixed on the blanket that covered his legs.

"Basically, something happened sophomore year and then Scott got popular. I went with him, inseparable best friends that we were, but then there were our friends," swallowing, Stiles corrected himself, "his friends.

"We were stupid kids doing stupid things one day and then they were doing stupid things while I watched. It was inevitable, but they were my family and then they just...weren't."

A lump settled in his throat, but the tears burning at his eyes refused to fall, "Basically they told me as much and after they were done fucking up my life they told me, 'see you around' like it was nothing."

"Damn," Phil whispered, and Stiles nodded in silent agreement. There was a moment before Phil sighed and took the mug from Stiles, "Fuck them," he said firmly.

Stiles blinked as Phil repeated, "Fuck them. They really are stupid kids if they decided that they didn't want you in their lives."


Shaking his head firmly, Stiles' uncle looked at him and said, "No buts."

Stiles planned to protest for a moment before he sighed, "Okay," he said weakly before his voice gained volume, "Fuck them."


saturday, november 8
new york city, new york
third person pov

An hour later, Phil's phone rang and then he apologetically rushed out of the apartment, explaining that an emergency had come up at work. Stiles assured his uncle that he would be fine and then he was alone.

It was odd. His uncle had worked as a realtor for as long as Stiles could remember, and never once had he ever heard of a realty emergency. Maybe Stiles was overthinking and there really was an emergency, but something nagged at him.

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