Stiles Stilinski

Mia sat on the curb at the very edge of the parking lot, huddled in a ball with her face buried in her knees. Her mascara was running, her throat was constricted by a dry, bitter pain, and the cruel words of her now ex-boyfriend still rang in her ears. He had simply abandoned her here, in the middle of a party, in front of all her friends and classmates.
Mia felt absolutely broken until the sound of footsteps made her look away.
“Hey...” a soft, all too familiar voice cut through the silence of the night.
Mia raised her tear-stained face. Stiles stood before her. In his signature shirt, his hair tousled, the keys to his old Jeep clutched in his shaking fingers.
Stiles. The boy she'd easily ignored for as long as she could remember. He'd been chasing her since elementary school, always showing up at the wrong time with awkward jokes, strange theories, and desperate hope in his eyes. Mia always passed him by, perceiving him as a noisy but harmless element of the school landscape. But now there was no usual fuss in his gaze—only a deep, naked tenderness.
"Go away, Stilinski," she breathed, wiping away her tears with a trembling palm. "Please, just go."
Instead, Stiles slowly sank down onto the damp curb next to her. He didn't try to hug her or offer any platitudes, but simply pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket and gently placed it in her fingers.
“I know I’m the last person you want to see,” he said quietly, looking up at the sky. “And I know that to you, I’ve always been just a guy who talks too much and is always underfoot. I saw him leave. And I hate him for making you cry. But I hate myself even more for being a coward all these years. Since first grade, I’ve listened to hundreds of tracks on the stereo, looking for songs that could explain what it’s like to look at you every day. I thought musicians knew everything about love.”
"But they don't understand a damn thing, Mia. I fell in love with you more than in the song."