It had been there his whole life. The scent of Stiles Stilinksi. A scent so unique, so powerful, he could pick it out of a crowd of thousands faster than he could find Allison or his mother.
Scott McCall had become familiar with that scent long before he had become a werewolf. It's said that the sense of smell is the strongest, in regards to memory. Scott believed it. Every memory, every important moment of Scott's life had a hint of Stiles.
The scent itself was made of so many things, all of which Scott held dear.
Bubblegum: It was the first day of first grade and Scott wasn't allowed outside to recess because of his asthma. He had forgotten his inhaler amid the excitement of his first of school at Beacon Hills Elementary. Forced to watch through the window of a glass door, Scott watched as his classmates interacted, slowly forming friendships. He had never felt so alone.
The feeling did pass however, the second a fidgety boy took a seat next to Scott. Things were awkward at first, even for a couple of six year olds. That changed as Scott explained why he wasn't allowed outside. The kid, who introduced himself as Genim, but preferred Stiles because it didn't sound like an alien, explained that he wasn't allowed outside because he couldn't listen to his teacher.
Neither boy had said anything after that, until Stiles offered Scott a piece of bubblegum. From that moment on they were best friends.
It was long after the group had defeated Peter Hale and Derek had become the alpha of their rag-tag little pack that Scott was introduced to the idea that the scent of Stiles wouldn't always be around.
The pack had grown to include Jackson, Lydia and Danny as other Betas; Allison and Stiles were the only humans left, although Allison was more adept at fighting than Stiles.
As Derek had explained, the pack needed to stick together, which severely impaired the group's choices as far as colleges went. Derek explained that as long as they stayed as close to Beacon Hills as possible, they were in the clear.
Scott had been operating under the assumption that everyone in the pack would be held to this rule, and that everyone would either settle on the same college or keep it within a reasonable distnace.
It was at lunch in the cafeteria, an arrangement that heralded stares and which also included all seven pack members, wolf and human, that Scott's delusion was shattered.
Over the past year it was not unknown that Scott and Stiles had somewhat drifted apart. They still had their moments and rituals, but Scott had focused his attention into Allison and Stiles had filled the void with a budding friendship with Lydia (emphasis on the friendship).
Everyone had been seated when Allison had noticed that Stiles had been absent. She questioned the group as to where he was.
"He has a meeting with an admissions rep from Northwestern," Lydia said without taking her eyes from her Calculus text.
No one but Scott picked up on the comment, unsure of where in California Northwestern was, and also wondered how far that was from where everyone was going. "Is that near UCLA or Cal Tech?" Scott asked, referring to the schools which Scott, Allison and Jackson and Danny and Lydia were going to, respectively.
Jackson and Danny looked up from their trays and stared at Scott with uncertain gazes, trying to gauge whether he was joking or not. It was Lydia who pointed out his faux pas.
"Northwestern is in Chicago, or near it at least," Lydia said, her voice filled with a condescending air that only she could accomplish.
Scott was dumbfounded for a moment. "But that's not in California," he said slowly.
"No shit Sherlock," Jackson said, always one to take Scott down a peg.
"I thought we all had to stay in California. We're a pack. We're supposed to be together," Scott said, dread filling his stomach.
"The wolves have to stay in California sweetie," Allison said, patting her boyfriend's back. "Stiles and I have the option of going anywhere, as long as we keep in contact."
"Who said that," Scott asked desperately.
"Our almighty alpha decreed this a long time ago buddy," Lydia said, her tone growing frosty. "Maybe if you talked to Stiles more often you would be aware of this."
Scott had no response. He meekly looked down and pushed his tray away, appetite long gone. No one seemed to notice his recent sullenness, except for Danny.
Peppermint: It wasn't the first Christmas that the McCalls and the Stilinksis had spent together, drawn by their children's incessant need to be around one another. It was, however, the first Christmas since Mrs. Stilinski had been diagnosed with cancer and it was also the first Christmas that Mr. and Mrs. McCall didn't smile at one another all night.
The boys were ten and oblivious to the problems enshrouding their parents. Or so the parents would have thought. Only Scott could see the bags under Stiles's eyes. And only Stiles could see the tense look on Scott's face whenever one of his parents said something too quick or too loud.
Scott had managed to walk in on one of his parents fights while the Stilinksi's were in the living room. They had stopped the second they had realized that Scott was in the room, but it was too late. For the rest of the night Scott was withdrawn and his parents acted as if nothing had happened.
After everyone had gone to bed and Scott and Stiles were once again hunched in Scott's small single did Stiles attempt to cheer his friend up. When nothing worked, he pulled out two candy canes. Scott knew the rule, no candy before or after bed. It didn't stop them though. Nor did the rule stop them from laughing or giggling until dawn as they talked. That was the day Scott came to the conclusion everything would be alright. As long as had Stiles . . . and the Power Rangers. But Stiles was more important.
To this day, Scott still sees Stile's smile every time he catches a whiff of peppermint.
The second the end-of-day bell rang Scott was out of his seat and racing for the door. Finding Allison, he explained he would be unable to study at her house after school and headed for Stiles's jeep, hoping to catch him before he left.
Bolting into the parking lot, he managed to slide smoothly into the passenger seat of the jeep as his friend started the car. Stiles jumped at the appearance of his friend. "Um dude, taking a page out of Derek's book: so not cool."
"You're going to Chicago," Scott asked, his eyes itching with the power beneath.
Startled once again, Stiles faced cooled and he took squared his shoulders, facing the person he used to care about most. "No, I'm not going to Chicago," Stiles said. Scott relaxed for a moment, only to become tense at Stiles's next words. "I'm going to Evanston, just north of Chicago."
Scott faltered for a second, unused to being treated so coldly by Stiles. "But dude, that's so far away."
Stiles let out an uncharacteristic laugh: icy and loud. "Far away? Maybe not far enough Scott. Now you decide that you wanna be let in on my collegiate plans. Is Allison busy or something?"
Scott could feel his eyes flash, unsure of whether it was caused by the mention of his girlfriend or the hurt bubbling in his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Stiles just looked at Scott before finally expelling a loud sigh. "Seriously, just get out of my car. Please. I just want to go home and share the good news with my dad."
Again, Scott felt as if he had been slapped. This was the most important person in his life. Had things really gotten that bad? "What good news?"
"I got a full-ride to Northwestern," Stiles said, his voice less icy.
It was suddenly hard to swallow. Scott had managed to work himself into a frenzy through out the day, thinking he would be able to talk Stiles out of this plan. He was supposed to stay there, in California. "That's um. . .great. Seriously, good for you," Scott choked out. Jumping out of the car, he turned and waived before taking off.
Stiles stared after him, unsure of how to take the sudden appearance and disappearance. "So typical," Stiles muttered as he pulled out of the parking lot.
Fresh-cut grass. Such a potent scent, it overpowers just about everything else . . . except when it comes Stiles. It always managed to compliment everything else, like it was meant to be a part of the attention-challenged teenager.
It had been a part of Stile's scent since the day he had put his mother to rest. The occasion had been gloomy, although the weather didn't seem to reflect the theme. The sky was a beautiful blue, the sun shined and the grass at the graveyard had been freshly mowed. Almost all of Beacon Hills had turned out for the funeral of the sheriff's wife. Scott remembered the man looking as if he was broken, unsure of where to go and nervous amongst the crowd of mourners.
But Stiles looked numb. His face had been blank and instead of the spastic movements that Scott had come to expect, he was faced with an eerie stillness. Scott had wanted to stand by his best friend, but his mother had kept her arm wrapped around his, reminding him that today he could be there for his friend, but that didn't mean he could be by him. The grave-side service had wrapped up and everyone had headed into the hall attached next to the church, which happened to be by the graveyard. Everyone had left, except Stiles.
Even at 11, Scott knew things would never the same for his friend, and, by extension, himself. Letting go of his mother's hand, he had motioned that he was going to Stiles. Smiling softly, she let her son do just that. Stiles had moved to sit by a tree facing his mother's grave. Saying nothing, Scott took a seat by his best friend. No words passed between them for the rest of the day. They sat by one another, then laid next to each other, laying under the sun, the smell of grass overpowering.
Eventually Stiles reached over and grabbed Scott's hand and squeezed. And Scott squeezed back. From that day on, they were just a little bit closer.
Scott raced up the steps of the recently restored Hale house. Not bothering to knock, he burst through the door. Before he could take a step farther into the house, he was grabbed and pushed against the nearest wall, glowing red eyes glaring at him mercilessly. Struggling, Scott pulled at Derek's hands until the elder man let him go.
Derek watched as Scott dropped to the floor. "It's rude to enter someone's house without asking to be invited in," he said, glare still present. Scott choked as he tried to get words to come out, but the stress of the Stiles's situation and Derek's manhandling left him speechless. Derek questioned the young wolf further. "What are you doing here?"
"Stiles," Scott managed to choke out. Derek nodded his head, waiting for him to continue. "Stiles is leaving. He is leaving me…I mean us. He is leaving us."
Derek smirked at the slip up, knowing this would come up at some point. "And why does that concern you?"
"He's part of the pack. He's my best friend. Why doesn't this bother you? You decreed that we all had to say here. Why not Stiles?" Scott said, desperate.
"He's human. I don't have to worry about him tearing someone's throat out," Derek responded.
Scott tried to find the right words, but nothing came to him. Seeing this, Derek sighed and led Scott to his living room, beckoning the young wolf to take a seat. "It's his decision Scott. I'm not going to interfere with his decision. He's done a lot for this pack," he said.
Scott bowed his head. "I know. I just…I don't know…never thought that he would leave here."
"Why does it bother you so much, the thought of him leaving? And I know he grew up with you and he's been your best friend, but is there anything else to that?"
Scott looked taken aback for a moment, confused at where the conversation was heading. "We're just close. I thought we were a pack, that we wouldn't split up. He's been there most of my life, I just didn't know that things were going to be like this…"
Rain. It carries a distinctive smell, both as it's falling and after its wreaked its havoc. Stiles was the perfect mixture of both. It was by far the most comforting part of his scent, one that Scott clung to in his darkest times.
It had been raining the night Scott's dad had left. He could hear the smashing of glass from his room. He was only twelve, caught between the awkward stages of being a boy and becoming a man. He knew his father had thrown something in anger, or his mother had thrown something at his father because she was angry. In all honesty, Scott had been waiting for this day, the day where everything finally boiled over. Despite his youth, he knew things weren't perfect in his family.
The sound of feet on the stairs and louder screams jostled the young boy. He knew his parents were know in their room. He listened as words were slung, some he had never heard before, while others had ingrained into his head as off-limits. Suddenly the yelling stopped, footsteps came down the hall, pausing outside his door, before once again resuming. The only sounds after that were the muffled sobs from his mom's room and the sound of a car door slamming.
Tears had gathered in his eyes, understanding leaking throughout his body about what had just happened. Reaching over to the nightstand, he dialed the number that he memorized six years ago. True to form, Stiles had answered on the first ring, and had talked with him until he had fallen asleep.
Scott had awakened once, when Stiles was climbing through his window. Like the funeral, no words were exchanged. Stiles slid into Scott's bed and hugged his friend, the scent of rain clinging to his skin. After that night, Stiles was the only person Scott cried in front of.
"That's part of life," Derek said. Sending him a knowing look, Derek understood exactly what was happening. "You just found out today Scott. Why do you think you're having such a strong reaction?"
"I've already told you why I'm upset. He's my best friend. I didn't know where else to go," Scott said, frustrated.
Derek sat back and gave Scott a leveled look. "That's bullshit Scott." Scott's head shot to his, anger at his alpha's words clouding his features. "I like Allison, I do. And I really don't want to piss of a hunter, but you need to step back and ask yourself why this bothers you so much"
Scott went to respond, but Derek held his hand up. He told Scott to think about it and not to do anything drastic. Still upset, Scott tried to talk to Derek more but the alpha sagely said to sleep on it. Leaving Derek's house, Scott headed home and climbed into bed.
Sleep alluded the young wolf and after an hour he rose from bed. Walking around his room he caught a whiff of his best friend's scent. Opening his closet, he found an old sweatshirt that Stiles had left months ago at their last sleepover. Grabbing it, Scott crawled back into bed, letting bubblegum, peppermint, grass and rain wash over him, lulling him into a deep sleep.
Scott enjoyed spending time with Allison. He loved her: her laugh, her smile, her bravery … Scott loved her. At least, that's what he kept telling himself.
With graduation and college looming over his head, it felt like the world was slowly tipping upside down, and Scott wasn't ready to let go of the way things were. His whole life was spread out in front of him, and it scared him to death.
Given Scott's upbringing, he wasn't used to stability, and for the last few years that was what had slowly developed between him and the pack and Allison. He had grown close with people that he never thought would take notice of him; he couldn't imagine his life without Jackson or Lydia in it.
And he had fallen in love. Allison was an amazing girl, and made his heart beat faster and his palms sweaty. She was his first everything, and he treasured their time together. No matter what they were doing, he would always laugh.
Like now, when they would just hang out at the Argent home and swim. Allison was beautiful in clothes, like she had stepped off a runway, but the sight of her in a bikini was astounding to Scott.
But was that all their relationship was? An infatuation?
It would hurt to lose Allison, to be separated from her and at different colleges. But he knew he could survive it. It would suck, it would really suck. But he would survive.
He wouldn't be able to survive without Stiles. They had been the center of each other's world since they were little, forging a bond that was unbreakable…at least that was what he had thought until recently. It seemed like they were drifting apart.
Or like that had already happened. Scott knew he had been a shitty friend, but it never hit how much his inattentiveness may have cost him.
It would kill him if Stiles jumped shipped and headed to Chicago. It would destroy him. He would miss Stiles's humor and support and smell.
Allison smelled like flowers. It was nice, sweet even, but it did little to arouse any feeling at all in the young wolf. But Stiles's smelled like every good of his life.
"Are you okay," Allison asked, leaning over him as he laid in the sun, looking concerned.
Scott nodded and pulled her down next to him, doing his best to ignore the scent of flowers and chlorine that wafted from her skin. Closing his eyes, Scott laid under the sun. When sunlight hit water, there was always this delectable smell that relaxed him. He had remembered smelling it long before he had become a wolf, but since he had transitioned, he could smell it much more prominently.
It gave a sense of security and Scott knew exactly why.
When they had been ten, long before Scott's dad had become a complete jerk, he would take his son, who would go nowhere without his best friend, of course, and Stiles to a lake a couple towns away.
Scott loved the water. He always had to be careful not to over exert himself, considering the asthma, but the moments where he could lay on his back and stare up at the bright blue sky, feeling like he was completely weightless, were some of his fondest memories.
Stiles, on the other hand, had been deathly afraid of the water. Going near it would practically send the boy into a panic attack. His greatest fear, at that age, had been drowning. The suggestion of even just dipping his toes in the water would send the little boy into a full-blow freak out, ranting about the dangers of unsupervised children and varying sizes of bodies of water.
As usual, on the trip Scott did what he had always done when faced with a Stiles rant: he ignored it. Scott's dad had gone into town to meet with a potential client that he had met at a restaurant last night (at least that's how his father referred to the flirtatious woman who had waited on them). At ten, Scott had been confused about how business was properly conducted, but even at a young age he was sure his mother wouldn't be happy about his dad's "potential client" biting his ear while he thought both children were occupied at one of the establishment's arcade games.
The exchange that he had witnessed had greatly bothered him, and he had quickly become sullen. Stiles had noticed his friend's emotion and done his best to cheer him up, going so far as to win a candy cane from a machine for him. The smell of peppermint had soothed the young McCall somewhat, but even his favorite candy couldn't undo the anger and hurt he felt when his father left the boys at the lake house for a few hours.
This anger is what led Scott to deciding that he was going to swim to the raft fifty feet out into the lake. He had been determined, and ignored Stiles's begging him not to or the stats of child drowning cases that he spouted off. Mr. McCall had said under no circumstances were they to go in the water by themselves, but that did little to deter Scott from his decision.
Scott promised Stiles that he would be fine, and the was going to get to the raft and do the best dive anyone had ever seen. Scott had been too cocky, sure that he could reach the raft and could perform the best dive, because Stiles always deserved the best. He was thirty feet out when he could feel his lungs start to seize up in the familiar burn that heralded an attack. He stopped doggy-paddling, the only way he really knew how to swim, and started flailing.
He could hear Stiles's screams from the shore and clung desperately too that voice, pushing his limbs to work harder, wanting nothing more than to make his way back to that voice. He was dropping below the water, starting to choke, his young body unable to regain control of the situation.
Then he felt someone grab him and begin pulling him to the raft. His heart, like his lungs, stuttered, afraid his dad had come back early and had discovered his son drowning. He could imagine the fury that would stain his father's face and closed his eyes, not opening them until he felt himself being pulled onto the raft.
Opening his eyes, he was met with the gibberish and wide-eyed gaze of his best friend. Without hesitating, Scotts clung to Stiles desperately, both embarrassed and afraid. He knew he should have never gone out that far, but he was beyond thankful for his friend.
Stiles had brushed off his heroic rescue, acting like it was nothing, something so typical of Stiles. He acted like jumping into the water was nothing, like his fear didn't matter, even though Stiles eyes remained wide-open, looking around the raft, knowing they were trapped until Scott's father got home.
"I'll always be there to save you Scott," Stiles had promised, sticking his pinky out, as they lay on the raft looking up at the sky.
Scott smiled and linked his pinky with his best friend's pinky. "I promise to always be there for you too."
From that day on whenever he smelled the telltale scent attached to lakes and the sun on water, he would think of Stiles and remember how they laid their for hours, not having to talk because that was them: they just worked, even at such a young age.
When Scott's dad returned, Scott didn't care that his father yelled at them for an hour, or that he had to swim out and drag both boys back, and pretended not to notice the red lipstick stain on his father's neck (because his mom was a hundred miles away and couldn't have put that there). Instead he clung to Stiles's hand, and breathed in his newfound favorite smell.
The smell of the lake and sun on the water.
In his four years at Beacon Hills High School, Scott had been in the library a total of ten times, all of which coincided with class trips. But he had limited time to fix his relationship with Stiles and he was willing to walk into the place that wreaked of despair and stress.
He moved through the stacks, aimlessly scanning the room, exhaling in relief when his eyes landed on Stiles. He moved slower as he approached the teen, unsure of how to approach him or even what to say when he was faced with him.
Stiles had become a stranger with the face of someone that Scott had once been friends with. Where the Stiles that Scott knew was overly skittish, often jumping from one place to another, exuding vast amounts of energy, this Stiles had his head in his school books, only occasionally picking his head up to look around the library.
Sitting down across from Stiles, Scott waited until the ADHD-riddled teenager looked up at him. It stung a little, for his friend to so openly ignore him, but he forged on.
"Hey," Scott said, attempting to break the ice.
Stiles just nodded his head, disinterest evident. Scott looked at the books sprawled across the desk and was ashamed to admit that he was unaware that his friend was even taking some of the classes to which the books belonged.
"How have you been?" Scott asked, trying to break the silence.
Stiles shrugged, let his gesture act as his answer. Scott had seen this side of Stiles a handful of times; the only commonality between those times was that Stiles didn't want to talk to those people.
Scott tilted his head, acknowledging that he understood both the gesture and the subtext behind it. "So Northwestern, huh?" he said, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.
"Yep, Northwestern," Stiles said, his usually expressive face completely blank.
"That's far way from Beacon Hills, isn't it?" Scott asked, trying to make conversation.
Stiles sat back in his seat, regarding Scott coolly. "One of its more attractive qualities," Stiles said, suddenly letting out a chuckle, which unnerved Scott. "What are you even doing here," Stiles asked.
Scott shrunk back in his seat, slightly hurt at the brash tone of his oldest friend. "I just wanted to talk … maybe see if you wanted to hang out sometime soon or something," Scott replied.
"The last time you sat and had a conversation with just me, or even asked me to do anything, was in October. We're in January now. See the problem?" Stiles asked, his tone condescending.
Scott stuttered, unable to formulate a reply. Stiles scoffed and began packing his things up, determined to leave the room as quickly as possible. Before he could leave Scott latched onto his wrist.
"I don't know what to do here man," Scott ventured, hoping his eyes reflected his desire to mend the rift between the two.
Stiles wrenched his arm from Scott's grasp and looked him dead in the eye. "You continue the way we've been operating for the last couple months. I do my thing, you do your thing. You stay in California, I leave for Illinois. You continue to keep your head firmly stuck up Allison's ass and I look for a new best friend," he said, patting Scott's back and walking away from the teen.
When Jackson ran into Scott on his way out of the library, he said he had poked his eye, not wanting to admit that a part of him had been broken and the evidence was slowly leaking down his face.
The next day found Scott wrapped around Allison in the lunchroom. Jackson sat across from them, Danny to his right. Despite the attention he was receiving from his girlfriend, Scott couldn't help but keep his eyes glued to the seat where Stiles would usually sit. He couldn't help but wonder how many times had Stiles been absent from their lunch table and how many times he had failed to notice it.
"Where is Stiles," he asked, confused by the way Allison's shoulders tensed and Danny's eyes darkened.
"Guess he had other plans," Danny said, his eyes blazing.
Scott ignored the look and turned towards Allison, pushing back the turmoil he felt when he thought of his best friend. She offered him a smile before she turned to bag, pulling out a bag of Hershey kisses.
Chocolate. The scent assaulted his lupine senses, causing his stomach to drop the floor. The smell of the chocolate caused dozens of memories to flash through his head and before he knew it, he had jumped from his seat, ignoring the startled faces of his friends. Muttering excuses, he left the lunch room and began a search for his best friend.
As an eighth grader, it had become expected that every boy was supposed to have a crush. If you didn't have a crush, then you were just weird.
Stiles and Scott were tired of being weird. Which is why they both had pledged at the beginning of the year that they would do everything within their power to shed their label of weird.
For Stiles, to pretend to have a crush would be impossible, as he already had one. The boy had it bad for Lydia Martin and had been crushing on her since she had pushed Stiles down in the sandbox because his sox didn't match in kindergarten.
Scott, however, couldn't find himself actually interested in any of the girls in or outside of his grade, nor could he imagine telling people that liked any one. To be honest, girls could barely hold his interest. Why would they? He had Stiles, and Stiles always managed to brighten his day.
Valentine's Day presented a dilemma though. Weird boys acted like they had no desire in girls; normal boys shoved cards and candies into normal girl's lockers. Scott could not see the merit in this. Why did he have to subject himself to giving cards and candies to girls when he didn't want to.
In all honesty, the issue at hand was the fact that there was not a single girl in all of Beacon Hills that Scott wanted to even pretend to like, let alone make a declarative gesture to in front of all of his fellow classmates.
Clarissa Clark was not beautiful nor was she ugly. She was like many thirteen old girls: plain and hardly memorable, which translated to the perfect person for Scott to deliver a valentine to.
So on Valentine's Day, Scott and Stiles entered Beacon Hills Middle School, armed with bright red cards with bright red hearts and mini boxes of chocolate. The idea had been to go up to their targets, drop the, gifts off and head out, playing it of cool that they didn't care whether the girls preened over the goodies.
The plan did not go as expected. Both boys put off giving their gifts until the end of the day neither finding the courage to embark on the socially-expected adventure. Scott had gone one way, towards Clarissa's locker, while Stiles had gone the other, towards Lydia's.
Clarissa refused to accept Scott's candy, referring to bible quotes and what her pastor had said about the evils of teenage love. Scott just wanted to drop the candy and run. Dodging Clarissa's attempts at recruiting Scott to her church, he took off towards the bus, waiting for Stiles to join him.
He was not disappointed, for his attention-challenged joined him a minute later, and shrugged off Scott's questions about how his Valentine's Day attempt had gone. It wasn't until the boys were in Scott's room, propped against the foot of his bead, videos games on for nothing but distraction, did Stiles tell Scott that Lydia had simply took the card and candy and dropped it in a bag filled with similar confections.
Giving Stiles a smile, Scott had pulled out his box of chocolate and offered them to his downtrodden friend. Smiling, Stiles accepted and goaded Scott into a rematch. Hours later, both boys had fallen asleep, the scent of chocolate lingering in the air.
Scott fled for the first that he could think of where Stiles might be. Bursting through the doors of the school's library, he ignored the withering glare he received from the librarian and frantically scanned the library's foyer. When he was met with no results for his search, he drove himself deeper into the library, searching between the stacks, his eyes raking over the study tables and cubbies.
When he reached the back of the library, he found Lydia Martin sitting on a table, a nail file in hand, acting as if she had been waiting for him. Given the girl's freakish intelligence, Scott wouldn't be surprised if that were the case. She gave him a scrutinizing look, almost as if she were daring to speak first.
"You looking for someone," Lydia asked, an eyebrow raised.
Scott shook his head, attempting to discreetly look around. Stiles was nowhere in sight. Sighing, Scott's shoulders slumped in defeat.
"He isn't here, in case you're wondering," Lydia said, venom lacing her voice.
Scott glared at her before responding. "How do you know I'm looking for Stiles," he asked.
"I can smell it on you from a mile away. You reek of desperation. It's a scent you've come to emit when thinking about or dealing with Stiles," Lydia responded, casting her speculative gaze on her nails.
"You don't know what the hell you're talking about," Scott spat back, body tensing.
Lydia scoffed, her eyes flashing dangerously. "Please. I know more about anything than anyone in this moronic town," she said slowly as if she was talking to a child.
"You know, Stiles is different than anyone else in this piece of shit town. You need to wake up and smell the fruit loops Scotty boy," Lydia said from her perch on the table, inspecting the nails she had just filed.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean Lydia," Scott asked, his mind struggling to comprehend what she was saying.
"It's quite simple," she said, rising from her seat. "You've been walking around like a zombie since you found out Stiles is leaving, an opportunity for which he has worked very hard. Add in the fact that maybe, just maybe, you have realized what a colossal ass you have been … I think you're starting to realize something about yourself."
Scott stared at her dumbfounded, perplexed as to what she was trying to say. Lydia stared at him for a moment, disgust painting her features. She scoffed and headed towards the exit of the library, turning towards the lacrosse player before she disappeared from his view.
"You're going to realize too late," Lydia said. "He is going to be gone, and I doubt that he is ever going to come back."
Scott let loose a frustrated sigh. "Will you just tell me what you're trying to say," Scott plead.
Lydia stared at him for a moment longer, shaking her head. "I don't get what he sees in you. I really don't," she said, giving one more disappointed shake if her head.
With that, she left the library and Scott, who stood there, feeling like he was standing on the pieces of giant puzzle that he had no idea how to put together.