Once home, Celia sinks into the couch, buzzing with adrenaline and grief. Corey. Poor Corey.
Desperate for a distraction she pulls out her phone, checking the comments on her last piece from over a month ago. She makes a mental note to update her twelve loyal readers, their overwhelming positivity one constant Celia craved. Stiles sits down beside her slowly, as if he's afraid he'll startle her.
"Hi." She says, turning her phone off to face him.
"Hi." His voice soft.
She looks him over, his hands trembling slightly, covered in tiny pink scars, most likely from the night of the attack.
Scott.
In all of the noise she had forgotten to check on him, see how he was doing with such a drastic adjustment. The skeptical part of her thought not to bother. None of this felt real, just a bunch of dumb, bored kids getting involved in something much bigger than themselves.
"Celia." Stiles says, looking at her intently.
He had been speaking to her this whole time.
"I'm sorry, what?"
Stiles sighs, brushing his hands over his pants.
"Are we okay? I know shit is very weird right now but, I just wanna make sure we're good."
Celia meets his gaze. Her scatterbrain connecting every element on a mental board connected by thin red string. Emie. Corey. The finals they missed and convinced professors to let them take later thanks to excuse notes from Melissa. The wolves. Sheriff Stilinski, how disappointed he was. How disappointed he is.
"Celia." Stiles says again, sternly this time.
Celia flinches from his tone.
"Where do you keep going? Can you talk to me?" He runs his palms over his legs again. His hands must be sweating, Celia thinks.
"Everything is fine, Stiles." Her face twists with distaste. Nothing was fine. Two people were dead, Celia kept fainting, their best friend was convinced he was part dog. Everything was actually rather awful.
"Now I just don't believe that." He says, now looking at his hands on his knees.
"I mean, it's not. But we're okay. You and me."
For now, she feels compelled to add but doesn't. Stiles looks back to her now and offers a sheepish smile.
"Alright."
"Mhm," Scott clears his throat from the doorway.
"Stiles, we should probably head out. Get some sleep, and maybe a shower." He finishes, sniffing his shirt.
"Yeah-" Stiles standing up quickly.
—
Friday, May 25th
"How do you think you did?" Scott asks as they leave their Herbology final.
Celia shrugs.
"Alright, I guess. I couldn't really focus..."
Scott smiles sympathetically.
"I'm sure you killed it."
He gives her shoulder a quick tousle as Stiles and Lydia meet them.
"Well, that sucked but we're officially done. Sophomore year baby!" Stiles exclaims.
Walking towards the exit, they're all seemingly aware of the plans set for them, finding out who's killing UCB students and why.
— —
The floor of Celia and Lydia's apartment is covered in a layer of post-its, sheets of notes and sketches of wolfsbane, printed photos of Corey, Emile, the Hales, those still alive and the deceased from a house fire years back that killed most of the family. On the floor too, is a copy of Celia's latest piece by Paige Massacre, sans the alias, detailing what the group knew about the case without giving away too many identifying markers.
By three a.m. the four of them are depleted of energy. Scott had stood up about an hour prior, taken his usual spot on the couch, and fell asleep almost instantly. Lydia and Celia had been engrossed in the majority of the work, their analytical brains not allowing them to stop at anything less than satisfied. When Lydia yawned again for the third time in a row, however, they opted to call it a night.
Stiles follows Celia to her bedroom, shutting the door behind the two of them. Without a word, he pulls off his flannel and pants, crawling into bed next to her. Wrapping her in both arms, his face tucks into her hair. She lets out a deep, relieved sigh he misinterprets as stress.
"You okay?"
She nods, sleep quickly latching on and pulling her under. Her eyes flutter to a permanent close as she thinks she hears him whisper something.
In Celia's dream, her subconscious basking in the feeling of safety Stiles provides takes hold, making him the star of the show. They're lying in Celia's bed, an eerie parallel even Dream Celia can recognize as creepy. Except they're not in her room, but a field, the plane lush with grass and thick trees looming over them. Stiles moves to speak when something interrupts him. A scream. Celia sits up sharply, looking in the direction of the call for help. It happens again, sending her back into the headboard. Stiles is unphased. A moment of disgust towards his indifference washes over her when she realizes, he can't hear it.
— — —
Saturday, May 26th
Celia wakes up alone. The spot where Stiles slept is cold, the covers peeled back. Suspecting he wanted an early start to his day, she starts getting dressed to join them. Once she leaves her room though, only Lydia is sitting at the kitchen table, gnawing on her thumb nail and staring intently at a photo of the middle Hale sibling. When Lydia looks up, Celia's gesture to the space in front of her says enough.
"He left." Lydia shrugs.
"He went home?"
Lydia shrugs again.
"I don't know, he came out, told Scott they had to go and they left."
"Did they say where they were going?"
Lydia's face drains of any lingering amusement.
"Did something happen?" She asks Celia.
Celia drags her big toe over the slick spot on the floor. She has no idea.
"Guys are weird." Lydia concludes casually and pats the empty spot at the table in front of her. "Come look at this."
— — —
Wednesday, May 30th
Stiles doesn't answer for days. By the fourth day and tenth call, Celia gives up.
"I just need to know you're okay." She left in a message on his voicemail.
"It's kind of fucked up he'd let you worry like that. With all that's going on I mean." Lydia adds.
Celia sighs, choking back the lump in her throat threatening to turn into a sob. She felt humiliated for letting herself enjoy his undivided attention as if he had suddenly come to realize it's been her all along. The idea of a trauma bond simmered up, all too convincing in her mind.
"Don't take it personally. Men are kind of just like that, you know? Very off and on. I guess even Stiles..." Lydia trails off, realizing part way through her constant commentary wasn't helping.
Now, lying in her room watching the sunset through her window, Celia hears the intercom buzz. Lydia answers, telling the person on the other end she'll be right back. Her rapid footsteps grow louder as she approaches Celia's room. Rapping quickly on the door, she lets her know that Stiles is here and he's asking for her. A moment of bitter pettiness takes hold of Celia, rendering her immobile. Then, she remembers his touch. The warmth of his hands on her lingering, how much she's missed it. His lips on her cheek as he, for days, held her until they both fell asleep. The little routine he fell into in the morning, waking up first, placing a kiss on her head, adjusting the blanket over her.
"Hello?" Celia utters into the receiver.
Stiles sounds weathered. "Let's go for a drive."
— — —
For the forty-five minute drive Celia silently stares out of the car window at the blur of storefronts and parking lots. Eventually, the buildings turn to coastline. Stiles pulls into park along the beach just as the last of the sunset paints the water orange.
"Remember this place?" He says, his hands trembling slightly as he fidgets with his keys.
Celia says nothing, watching each wave retreat on the shore.
"Celi I-"
"Where were you?" Celia asks harsher than she had intended.
"I called you for days, I was so worried! I thought you..." She doesn't finish her thought, remembering her mother's caution about putting things into the universe angrily.
"El mal siempre encuentra una manera de manifestar mijita."
"I know. I just... I haven't been feeling great..." Stiles says. He can't meet her gaze, her eyes welling up with tears.
He exhales sharply.
"I've seen how Scott is with you now. I got jealous and I admit I didn't handle it well. I thought with everything going on and how scary it all is... and then the other night when I told you I love you-"
Celia's breath catches. She hadn't imagined it. He'd actually said it, for the first time outside of the context of the group.
In high school, Celia had read an article about how teenagers were less vocal about their love for anyone outside of immediate family and its link to rising depression rates. She made it a point to tell each of them she loved them when they would hang up a call or part ways for the day until eventually it caught on and they all began to do it. It had become such a normalized point she nearly learned to ignore it, which in turn, wrapped back around to its initial purpose.
"You didn't say it back." Stiles says finally. "So I just assumed maybe it didn't matter."
Celia's impulse is to shout "No! You've got it all wrong!" To admit she's been in love with him since their first real conversation when they were 14. Stiles told her about his mom, what it had been like in the years since she'd passed, the pressure he feels to do right by his dad. Celia had told him about her parents, the pressure she felt to make something of herself to make their sacrifices for her worth it. How every grade below an A sent her into a spiral that she was letting them down. She told him about her writing, how she had never shared it with anyone. He suggested she publish it online, under a fake name. "Something kickass so every time you log in you're ready to do the damn thing," he'd said. She went home that night and started her blog Paige Massacre. She thought it was so clever back then.
"Stiles."
It's all she can manage to say. He presses his lips together, nods once, and gets out.
— — —
The two of them sit on the cool beach as the salty breeze whips through their hair. Slightly underdressed for the weather, Celia pulls her thin sweater tighter around her.
"You know I don't want to be with Scott right?" She states, drawing circles in the sand beside her.
Stiles inhales deeply still staring ahead toward the vast horizon.
"I know. I mean, I had hoped."
Celia laughs. Not because it's funny, but because she could feel the energy getting lighter between them.
"I just want us to be okay." He says. "All of us. I don't know how, but I want to keep you safe."
She throws her arms around him, catching him by surprise, but he returns the embrace.
They don't pull apart until the wind's biting becomes unbearable.
— — —