Stiles Stilisnki *

The woods outside Beacon Hills had stopped feeling normal a long time ago — but this? This was new even for Stiles.

A missing persons case from ten years ago wasn’t supposed to turn into this. No body. No evidence. Just a girl who vanished one night and never came home… until Stiles followed the trail a little too far into the preserve and found her watching him from between the trees like a frightened animal (she kinda was) deciding whether he was safe.

Now she sat cross-legged on his bed, wearing one of his spare hoodies, staring down at a math worksheet like it had personally offended her existence.

Stiles leaned back against the headboard, pencil in hand, trying very hard to be patient — and failing only a little.

“Okay, no, see, you can’t just circle random numbers and hope algebra respects your confidence,” He said gently, sliding the paper back toward her.

“Math is cruel. Math demands sacrifice.”

She blinked at him. Blank. Completely lost.

He sighed, softer this time, rubbing the back of his neck. God, she looked overwhelmed. Ten years living on instinct, survival, running — and now lockers, homework, people. Normal life hitting her all at once.

And for some reason… she kept staying close to him.

Following him through hallways. Sitting beside him at lunch. Watching him like he was the only familiar thing in a world moving too fast.

Scott was usually the one people gravitated toward. The leader. The anchor. But her eyes always searched for Stiles first.

He cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting.

“Hey,” He said, softer now, nudging the worksheet again. “We’ll go slow. No rushing. You survived the supernatural for a decade — pretty sure we can survive algebra together.”

He offered a small, reassuring smile.

“So… wanna try again?”