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Three times Peter and Stiles met without knowing, and the one time they were introduced

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The first time Peter meets Stiles, neither of them know or remember it. Stiles is seated in the shopping cart, playing with a bag of pasta, accidentally ripping it. The hard pieces of dry pasta fly around the aisle. The young boy looks at the now empty bag for a moment, before starting to cry.

“Hey…calm down…”  Peter shushes. He’s eighteen, and while he has younger relatives, he’s still not use to crying infants. Thankfully the young boy immediately shuts up. Large brown eyes, in the most stunning amber colour Peter has ever seen stare up at him. The eyes practically take up all the space in the kid’s face, and they’re intense for what Peter guesses to be a two or three year old.

“That’s better.” He actually starts to fear for his life when the kid starts to bounce in his seat, reaching out to Peter to be picked up.

“Oh I’m sorry.” A young woman comes rushing towards the two of them, some vedgetables in her hand.  She calls the young boy something unrepeatable for Peter, and then with a last smile goes to find a store employee to help with the mess the boy had made in the aisle. The last thing Peter sees is the child waving enthusiastically at him as they round a corner.

 


 

The second time they’re introduced more physically to one another. Peter is coming to Derek’s school to pick him up. He had practice in the afternoon, and apparently Peter was to be the designated driver for the moody teen.  He’d just gotten out of his car, heading for the school, when a small body slams into him, nearly sending him headfirst into the pavement.

“Watch where you’re going!” The last thing Peter can afford right now is an injury. He has an important match coming up, and he’s not going to have it ruined by being bowled over by a kid. Two large amber eyes peer up at him, and for a moment he feels like he should remember them from somewhere.

“Sorry!” While the boy does stop to look at him, the apology doesn't seem even close to sincere. The child, probably around seven years old, seems to vibrate on the spot, and the moment another short kid joins him, they’re off again.

“Stiles, stop…I can’t breathe..” The other boy pants, and Peter raises an eyebrow. What the hell of a name is Stiles? He’s soon distracted by his surly nephew though, and the large amber eyes are quickly forgotten in favour of scolding Derek for making him wait.

 


 

The third time is really more of a near miss, and Peter isn’t conscious, so he wouldn’t be able to tell you about it even if he wanted to. It happens outside of his room. There is the sound of a young boy crying, and the doctors giving him the usual empty speeches about how it’s better this way. How his mother will finally have some peace. If Peter had been awake, he would have probably scoffed at the uselessness of those words.

He wouldn’t know what to tell Stiles though, as the child silently sobs outside his room. There is no loud wailing or screaming for his mother. He just asks as calmly as an adult would have, if someone had already been in contact with his father. The tone of his voice older than it should be for a boy of Stiles’ age. As it is, Stiles cries on the bench outside of Peter’s room, and he’s none the wiser.


 

The fourth time is the one they are properly introduced. Peter has his eyes trained on the ring, watching the new kids try out for a spot on his team. Suddenly there is a yelp, and everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at a guy who clearly isn’t dressed for a work-out. He’s standing next to another guy, who is looking both worried and embarrassed in equal measure by his friend’s behaviour.

“What’s going on here.” He asks, while Derek has already arrived to save the day. It’s almost pathetic how the guy is trying to look tough while having just nearly broken his wrist trying to punch against a sandbag.

“Hi…I’m Scott…I’m here for the try-outs.”  The friend looks awkward, and ready to bolt. As if Peter is going to kick him out on the basis of the other guy’s stupidity. He just might do so.

“And I’m Stiles, and this is totally my fault you know…completely me…nothing my friend Scottie here did.” The guy looks far too energetic to be normal, and Peter is certain that if Derek wasn’t still holding the guy’s hand, Stiles would be flailing right about now.

“Good. It would be such a waste if your friend here doesn’t get to try-out because of your stupidity.” With that said, and Derek’s confirmation nothing is broken or in need of medical assistance in any other way, Peter returns to his spot near the ring.

Later that afternoon, when he has given the good, or bad, news to the people who made it through the first selection round, he watches as Derek hands his phone number to the guy, who flushes a nice shade of crimson. He’s certain nothing will come of it. Derek isn’t a talker, and Stiles has been chatting nonstop during the time he spent in the gym. He gave it three dates at most, and then Stiles probably would only be an annoying figure coming in with Scott every once in a while.