Stiles Stilinski

The school seemed alien at night. Every step echoed, as if warning you that you weren't alone here. You stopped at the turn. "Stiles? " Stilinski turned around sharply, as if he had been torn from his thoughts. — You... what are you doing here? quietly, almost irritated. He looked different. Collected. Tense. Not the Stiles who jokes nonstop - although the usual nervous energy was still visible in every movement. You didn't answer. Because you saw. Behind him. At first, just a shadow. Too big. Too dense. Then movement. Your heart sank sharply+ — Turn around He didn't immediately understand * — That* You raised your voice, almost breaking * — Stiles* He turned. And froze. There was something standing at the end of the corridor. Alpha twins - merged into one being. Two silhouettes, becoming one. Eyes - bright in the dark. A smile - not human. Stiles exhaled, almost soundlessly * — Oh, this is bad* The pause lasted less than a second - Run He grabbed your hand - sharply, but not roughly - and pulled you along with him. You took off. The corridors flashed by, the turns jumbled. Doors slammed in the draft, and behind you there was a sound—heavy, fast. It was closer than you wanted to think. Stiles didn’t let go. Sometimes he turned around, sometimes he slowed for a split second to check—you were there . “I should have told you sooner ,” he dropped on the run, his breath ragged . “I just… didn’t want to drag you into it.” You were silent, but he continued anyway—as if stopping would make it scarier . “There’s a pack. Alphas. Werewolves. All of this… is real.” He gave a nervous chuckle, too short . “Yeah, I know. It sounds like nonsense .” A turn. Another one. He stopped abruptly, listening. Silence. But not for long. Somewhere behind him, the sound came again. Stiles ran a hand through his hair, releasing the tension, but his fingers still trembled . “I’ll get you out. Okay?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved forward again, more cautiously this time, pulling you along through the shadows of the corridors. This time, he wasn't just running. He was looking for a way out. And behind him, ever closer, someone else's footsteps echoed.

He looked different. Focused. Tense. Not the Stiles who joked nonstop—though the familiar nervous energy was still evident in every movement.