A content sigh had just flown past your lips as you further snuggled into the soft blanket swaddled around you. Right as the movie was about to commence on your television, an almost desperate knock resonated through the room. You groaned, plucking the covers from your body and sluggishly removing yourself from the couch. Trudging to your door, you felt the cold brass doorknob on your fingertips as you opened it. Evident surprise spilled onto your features as you took in the sight of your uninvited visitor.
"Stiles?" Was all you were able to say, taking in his soaking wet form. You had not even realized the heavy drops of rain pouring from the sky until now. Looking into Stiles's eyes, you knew it was best to not ask him of his troubles. You knew Stiles. You knew everything about him. Dating somebody for almost three years can do that to you. Despite the fact that you had since broken up, you were still there when the other needed it, and this no exception. Breaking from your reverie, you quickly ushered the seemingly devastated boy into your home. "We don't need you getting sick, now do we? Follow me upstairs and I can get you a towel and some new clothes, okay? You're more than welcome to grab a quick shower if you want."
Breathing still heavy and haphazard, he simply nodded. You sent him a sympathetic smile, softly taking his cold hand into your warm one and doing as you said you would.
After you got him into your bathroom with a fresh towel, you went into your bedroom in search of some clothes for Stiles to wear. After completing that duty, you sat on your bed and waited as the sound of running water filled your ears. This opportunity offered you time to think. What the hell exactly happened to Stiles that had him running to you for comfort? As aforementioned, nothing could break the loyalty the two of you dedicated to one another, but it's not like you had been set up on a daily speaking basis with him since your break-up. You just assumed that he would have gone to Scott or Lydia before you. Maybe he had gotten into an argument with one of them that prohibited him from finding solace in them? Nonetheless, you were still glad that he was comfortable enough to choose you for a situation like this.
"Hey," His voice, still weak and frail, caused you to perk up. You felt your face grow warm upon viewing his naked torso, seeing as he only had a towel wrapped around his waist as he stood in your doorway. It was plain to see his uncomfortableness as well, his ears and cheeks transitioning to a pinkish hue. You cleared your throat and averted your gaze, quickly shuffling over and handing him some of his clothes that he had given to you while you were together. He sent a small thanks your way before presumably returning to the bathroom to get changed.
By the time he was finished and back in your bedroom, both of your faces had returned to their normal color. Quietly, you led him back downstairs and took a seat on the couch.
"What happened?" You asked gently. You reached out to stroke his right shoulder in a comforting manner, only for him to wince in pain and scoot away from you in fear. "Stiles?"
Tears sprung to his eyes again as he looked at you, massaging the spot where you had barely grazed with your fingers. "Y/N."
"Come here." You commanded compassionately, pulling the distraught boy into your arms as he moved closer to you. His dug his face in your neck, soft cries spilling from his body. Your shirt grew wet with his tears, but you couldn't bring it in you to care. Carding your fingers through his damp hair, he clung to you like a vice. Like you were the only thing anchoring him to his sanity. "It's okay. It's okay, just breathe. You're safe."
"I'm s—s—sorry." He whimpered, taking in shaky breaths.
"Sorry? Don't be sorry, Sti." You cooed, rocking his weakened form. "Why are you sorry? Talk to me."
"I—I—"
"Okay, deep breaths, right? Just breathe." You urged, pulling his face from the comfort of your shoulder. Running a hand through his hair—remembering that it was something that always calmed him down—you took deep breaths and encouraged him to do the same. Eventually, his breathing pattern became somewhat stable. "Tell me what happened."
"I can't." He shook his head frantically. You stroked his cheek before he could get worked up again. "You'll never look at me the same. I'm a monster."
"Hey," His red eyes found yours. More tears slid down his cheeks, but you wiped them away. "Stiles Stilinski is not a monster, okay? You're a good person, Stiles. Don't ever think that you're not, got it?"
"I killed someone." He dropped the bomb, your face falling with it. The boy turned away from you, tugging himself from your hold. He hunched over, burying his wet face in his hands.
Shaking off the initial shock, you left your seat to kneel in front of your friend. You pried his hands from his face softly, staring into those same amber eyes that always brought you back to life. "You're obviously not a monster if you're so torn up about this, Stiles. Tell me what happened, start to finish."
And he did. He explained how he had stayed at school late, and, when he went to start the jeep, it failed. As he was trying to work the engine back to life, Donovan—one of the chimeras—had attacked him. His hand contained a mouth with shark-like teeth, and he used that to give Stiles the wound on his shoulder. Stiles used the wrench—intended for the fixing of his car—as a weapon of defense against Donovan.
As the chimera was momentarily dazed, Stiles took the chance to run back into the school. He wound up finding the library and hid behind one of the shelves. There, Donovan threatened the lives of his dad, you, and Stiles himself. Distracted by the thought of something happening to the people he loved, he was pulled through one of the bookcases. He would have died, had he not clambered up one of the shelves and yanked on this pin to drop a dozen poles on the boy attacking him. What he didn't plan to happen, however, was for one of the poles to impale Donovan, ending his life.
"I didn't mean to kill him, Y/N." He whimpered, tightening his grip on your hands. You stroked his fingers comfortingly as you listened to his story. "I just wanted to—to knock him out, or something. I only meant to throw him off my heels so I could leave. But he threatened to kill my dad. He threatened to kill you."
"It was only self defense, Stiles." You encouraged, his gaze moving to you again. He took a shaky breath, seemingly out of tears to dispose. "He was attacking you; you had no other choice but to defend yourself. You didn't mean to hurt him like you did, but you're safe. Your dad is safe. I am safe. If you wouldn't have done what you did, you could be dead right now, Stiles. And I'm so thankful that you're not—"
Caught up in your speech, you hardly noticed Stiles leaning into to press his lips to yours. He kissed you desperately, love and need on his tongue. You had no hesitation in reciprocating with passion. He slowly started to lean back, tugging you onto his lap as you stood from your seat on the floor. You straddled him, moans leaving both of you as you ground your hips against his. He pulled you closer, your chests pressed against one another as he lifted a hand to tangle his fingers through your hair. Your hands danced in his hair, pulling on his wet locks.
Being in such an intimate position with the boy made your body yearn for the past, when it was normal for his hands to be all over you. His touch sparked something deep within you, and you never wanted to stop the contact you had with the boy. As he left your lips to press wet kisses to the column of your throat, you knew that he was the one for you. Nobody could possibly make you feel the way he did.
"God, I missed you." He whispered against your throat, hands gripping your waist so tightly that you knew bruises would appear in the morning.
"Me, too, baby." You sighed, hands running along his chest.
He looked at you, and you felt the pit in your stomach dissipate. His eyes twinkled as you rest your forehead against his. You smiled at each other breathlessly, and it was like nothing ever changed.
"You're not a monster." You shook your head, nose rubbing against his as you did so. Caressing his mole-speckled cheeks, you gazed deeply into his beautiful eyes. "You, Stiles Stilinski, are a goddamn superhero."
"I love you, so much." He said, cupping your cheek and looking at you with nothing but love. Your heart fluttered with adoration, finally feeling full for the first time in months.
"I love you."
"Can I stay the night?" Stiles asked, suddenly timid in your presence.
"Come on." You ignored the chill that passed over as you climbed off his heated body. Grabbing his hand, he stayed at a short distance as you lead him back upstairs and into your room.
Releasing his hand, you pulled back the covers and plopped yourself onto your soft mattress. Patting the empty space beside you, a small grin pressed against his lips as he joined you under the blankets. You propped yourself up on your elbow and looked at the boy beside you thoughtfully. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Hold me?"
Your heart warmed, nodding softly. Sliding closer to you, he wound his lean but muscular arms around your waist. His head rest against your chest. You held each other tightly, never intending to let go again.
"Thank you, Y/N." Stiles said tiredly.
Pressing a kiss to his head, you said, "Anything for you."
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