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Stiles avoided leaving his house for three weeks before he got cabin fever. He’d been pretty stocked up on groceries before transforming himself into a hermit, but three weeks was kind of pushing it.

Leaving the house was something he had been both reluctant to do and excited for. He was reluctant because he had the very rational fear of running into his douchebag of a soulmate. Greasy food, of course, was the reason for his excitement. He really hoped the diner in town still had those curly fries he’d loved when he was younger.

Alas, it didn’t matter if he wanted to get out of the house or not—his fridge was nearly empty, and he couldn’t live off of chips and salsa for the rest of his life.

Out the door he goes, the earlier hours of the morning making his feet drag across the gravel of his driveway. He yawns all the way to the store, cursing his body’s needs.

To Stiles discontent, he’s not even the store for five minutes when his quiet morning is rudely interrupted by an over-enthusiastic voice.

“Hey!” a voice calls from Stiles’ left.

Stiles tenses, panicking. It was barely six in the morning and someone he knew was here, too? No. That was ridiculous. Nobody knew him here, how would—

“Hey, Stiles!” the voice booms, making Stiles’ head throb.

Closing his eyes, Stiles suppresses an irritated groan and spins around to look at whoever was calling after him. Why did these things happen to Stiles?

A bright face appears in Stiles’ line of vision. The voice, it seems, belongs to the man now standing in front of Stiles. The man, probably around the same age as Stiles, has a blinding smile plastered on his face. Stiles is convinced that stupid smile is what’s lighting up the store.

“Hey,” the voice says, again.

“Yes, you’ve already said that,” Stiles grouches. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The blinding smile slips off the man’s face and Stiles almost regrets being rude.

“Ah,” the man says, now awkward, “I’m Scott!”

Scott. Hmm. Why did that sound so familiar? Why did the name set off warning bells in Stiles’ head? It was a common name, Stiles decides. It was likely that he’s bumped into many Scotts throughout his lifetime. He was just being paranoid.

“Hello, Scott,” Stiles says, taking a deep breath. “Can I help you with anything? Do I know you?”

“Actually,” Scott starts, scratching the back of his head, “I’m a part of the local pack.”

“The one that kidnapped me, right,” Stiles says, starting to turn away. “Yeah, bye.”

“Wait!” Scott practically whines. “I wanted to apologize! I know Allison already talked to you, but I’m actually… I’m the one who knocked you out and brought you to the pack house.”

Stiles stares at Scott, face blank, “If I accept your apology, will you leave me alone?”

“If that’s what you want. I just,” Scott fumbles with the basket he’s holding, “I just wanted you to know that that’s not how we usually do things. I panicked that day. We’ve had a lot of problems, with hunters. We haven’t had many good experiences with them, with Allison and her dad as the exception.”

“It’s fine,” Stiles waves off the explanation. “I get it. The tension between hunters and your kind is high.”

“Can I give you my number?” Scott asks, shifting from foot to foot. “Someday I’ll bring you leftovers from dinner. My girlfriend, Kira, always makes too much.”

“That’s not necessary,” Stiles tries to decline, frowning.

“Please,” Scott begs. “Let me, as an apology.”



For the next few weeks, Stiles couldn’t get away from Scott no matter how hard he tried. He’d be more worried if it weren’t for the fact that Scott was the epitome of innocence and self-righteousness.

The werewolf constantly stopped by Stiles’ house, bringing food, books, and even some games. Stiles didn’t really mind it, but it was strange to him that Scott would want to interact with him.

One day, Stiles questions it.

“Why are you always coming around?” he asks, standing on his porch.

Scott had just arrived, a take-out box of curly fries in his hands and a stupidly happy look on his face. He had texted Stiles that he was coming over, but that was only about five minutes before he’d arrived. Stiles usually had no time to prepare for his frequent guest, because Scott tended to give a half-assed warning before popping up.

“Do you not want me to?” Scott asks, frowning in confusing.

“I didn’t say that,” Stiles grumbles, crossing his arms. “I was just wondering. I used to be a hunter, you’re a werewolf. You barely know me. I don’t get it.”

“I’m trying to get to know you,” Scott answers enthusiastically. “Allison said that you and your brother followed the code, so I know you’re not bad.”

“How do you know Allison?” Stiles asks. The topic had never really came up and now he was curious.

“We dated in high school.”

“Dude, seriously?”

Scott laughs, “I know, right? A werewolf dating a hunter? It was wild. Laura wasn’t really happy about it, either, especially with what’s happened in the past.”

“Now you’re dating that Kira girl, though, right? I think you said something about her when you saw me at the grocery store,” Stiles says, now leading Scott into the house.

Scott sits on the couch, setting the curly fries on the coffee table, “Yeah, my relationship with Allison didn’t work out.”

“She found her soulmate, didn’t she?” Stiles asks, not really caring if it was a little intrusive of him to ask. Scott had been pretty intrusive since Stiles had met him, it was only fair.

“Ah,” Scott sighs, “yeah. We don’t really talk about him, though.”

“I’m guessing he’s…” Stiles trails off.

“Dead, yeah.”

Poor Allison, Stiles thinks, At least my soulmate is just an asshole.

Losing a soulmate was, according to Stiles’ father, the worst pain anyone could feel. Claudia Stilinski had been killed by a feral werewolf when Stiles was in his early teens. His father had died not long after, too consumed in his grief to do his job properly.

“What about you?” Scott asks, breaking Stiles out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” Stiles asks, not understanding the question.

“Have you found your soulmate?” Scott asks, tilting his head. “I don’t have a soulmate, or that’s what I assume, since I wasn’t born with a soulmark. Kira has one, but she doesn’t really talk about it.”

“I don’t really talk about it, either,” Stiles responds, tense.

“Why not?” Scott asks, oblivious.

Stiles huffs, “I found him, but I haven’t spoken to him. I don’t know what to say, if I’m being honest. His words to me weren’t the kindest, but that doesn’t bother me as much as it used to. It was a complicated situation—a misunderstanding. I can’t really hold it against him, not anymore.”

“Why not just say the first thing that pops up in your head?”

Stiles barks out an ugly laugh, “I don’t want his soulmark to be as intense as mine. I’m sure it will be, but I don’t want his to be as,” Stiles thinks for a moment, “intense.”

“Dude,” Scott says, putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “I’m sure that whatever you say, or do, you two will work it out. Nobody is perfect. Communication is one of the most important aspects of a relationship, which is probably why people have soulmarks in the first place. If you two talk, you’ll be able to figure it out.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, making sure to take a good look at Scott for a long moment. The werewolf’s eyes are earnest, his face more intense than Stiles had ever seen it.

It is during that long, quiet moment, that Stiles realizes he is not alone in his struggles.

Stiles doesn’t know how Scott convinces him to go to the pack house for dinner, but he does. It’s not a big deal, Scott had told him. The pack knew that Scott had been communicating with Stiles since the first time Scott had showed up at Stiles house.

Stiles doesn’t bring anything to the dinner, not caring if it was rude of him or not. He knew how to cook but was reluctant to get out of bed to make anything. Most of his time was spent in bed, curled up in the covers his brother had given him for their birthday the year before.

The pack alpha was out of town, thank God. Scott had needed to get her permission to ask Stiles over, of course, but she’d given it, most likely because of guilt.

When Stiles arrive, Scott’s outside of the house, standing with Allison and a gorgeous girl with strawberry-blonde hair.

“Stiles!” Scott calls out to Stiles when Stiles gets out of the car. “I almost didn’t think you were going to show up.”

“Me, too,” Stiles says, eying the girl standing next to Allison. “And who might this lovely lady be?”

“Taken,” the girl deadpans, eyes narrowing.

“You wound me,” Stiles chuckles. “I was simply asking for a name.”

“Mm,” the girl hums, flipping her hair behind her shoulder with her hand.

Allison rolls her eyes, “Stiles, this is Lydia Martin. I’m sure you two will get along just fine.”

“I sure hope so,” Stiles replies, winking at Lydia.

“Dude, you have a soulmate,” Scott harrumphs, hitting Stiles in the shoulder. “Come on, let’s go inside. Erica and Boyd couldn’t make it, but everyone else is here. Well, except Peter. He’s on a business trip.”

“Business trip?” Stiles asks, glad he was in the clear for today. He follows Scott into the house, looking back to where Allison and Lydia stood. They stay outside, making no attempt at entering the house, Lydia murmuring something into Allison’s ear.

Scott doesn’t have the chance to answer, their conversation interrupted by someone calling from the kitchen that dinner is ready.

Dinner goes by fast, all of them surrounding a long table in the dining room. Stiles is introduced to everyone in the room. A handful of them are younger than him, but the rest are either older or pretty close to his age. It’s awkward, at first, but Scott easily ends up getting a conversation going.

Stiles stays quiet through most of the meal, watching everyone interact with each other as he eats the food put on his plate. It isn’t until Lydia brings up a man named Deaton and a debate she’s been having with him that Stiles jumps into the conversation.

After dinner, everyone heads to the living room. Stiles is conned into staying for a little bit longer, completely enraptured by the idea of finishing the debate on magical properties with Lydia.

He doesn’t realize an hour or two has passed until Peter steps into the living room, eyes flickering over the room until they land on Stiles.

“Ah, Stiles,” Peter says, eyes gleaming. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

The people still in the living room stop talking, everyone either turning to see Stiles’ reaction or awkwardly shifting their eyes to look somewhere else.

Stiles just snorts, rolling his eyes. He keeps his body turned towards Lydia, silently praying Peter would just leave him alone for now. So much for being in the clear.

The rest of the time spent at the pack house is uneventful—Lydia leaves, so Stiles ends up talking with Scott and Allison while also ignoring everything Peter says. He doesn’t think he’s being obvious; his first meeting with Peter had been less than amicable, so it wasn’t odd for him to be a little snobby towards the older man.

When Stiles starts to leave, halfway out the door, he can’t help but look back to where the werewolf is standing. To Stiles’ dismay, Peter had been watching him, and their eyes meet for a brief moment before Stiles turns and walks out the door.