Of course, Stiles has to be in the library when his phone goes off, blaring "Call Me Maybe" at an obnoxious volume. (Thanks for changing my ringtone behind my back, Scott. Very funny.) He half-jumps out of his chair, scrambling to stop the noise before Uber-Grumpy Librarian Guy shows up again. The last thing he needs right now is to be kicked out of the library the day before his huge WWII history paper is due. His hand swipes over the table as he flails, and his phone, notes, and coffee go flying to the floor. Somehow, his coffee doesn't fry his phone, which is busy blasting, “Hot night, wind was blowing / Where do you think you're going, baby—”
Stiles finally grabs it and darts into the bathroom across the hall. His hands are shaking from caffeine but he manages to hit “Accept Call.” Before he has time to say anything, an unfamiliar male voice says—well, more like growls—“I guess you think you can blow me off, but you're wrong. This isn't going to go away just 'cause you're ignoring it. There are things you need to know before your first full moon.”
Stiles holds the phone away from his ear and frowns, checking the caller I.D. for the first time. He was expecting it to be Scott, because they were supposed to meet here an hour ago and Scott's probably ditched him again to make out with Allison, but this is definitely not his best friend since second grade. It's an unknown number with a local area code. He leans back against the sink and holds the phone to his ear again in time to hear the mystery caller demanding, “Hello? Are you there?”
Stiles settles on a bewildered “Mm-hmm?”
Mystery Caller huffs. “Fine, you don’t want to talk to me, I get it. I don’t want to talk to you either, but we are going to have this conversation. You’d better be here for coffee in half an hour or I'm breaking into your dorm again. I don't care how many weird looks you get from your roommate.”
“Coffee’s good. I like coffee,” Stiles says cautiously. Obviously it's a wrong number, but this is an interesting conversation.
There’s a long pause, and then: “You’re not Erica.”
Stiles can’t help it. He snorts. “Yeah, no, dude, that’d be pretty difficult since I’m a guy.”
“Right. Uh. Sorry, wrong number—” Mystery Caller starts to say, sounding gruffly embarrassed, but Stiles is distracted by the fact that a redhead in dangerously high heels has just burst into the bathroom, head down as she digs through her purse.
Stiles straightens, gaping, and the movement apparently catches her eye. Her head snaps up, and she gasps a startled “Oh!” followed by an indignant, “The hell are you doing in here?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? And what do you mean, what am I doing? What are you doing—” Stiles starts to say.
She gestures expansively. “This is the ladies’ room!”
Apparently Mystery Caller can hear her through the line, because he makes a noise in Stiles’ ear that’s somewhere between a cough and a laugh. Stiles is too busy apologizing and blushing and fleeing to pay much attention. He tumbles out into the hall again and is so focused on making sure no one saw him coming out of the girls’ bathroom that he forgets for a few seconds that he’s still holding the phone to his ear.
“Are you still there?” he pants at last, clutching at his chest. His heart is rabbit-like under his fist.
Mystery Caller chuckles. “For some reason, yes.”
“Right. Well. Sorry I’m not this Erica person, or actually, I’m not really sorry since you sound hella creepy and you're obviously pissed at her, but anyway, I guess, uh, bye.” He flips his phone shut and slumps against the nearest shelf, taking deep breaths. Then he remembers the coffee he just spilled and curses under his breath. He still has to write an abstract and a conclusion for his paper, and now, on top of that, he’ll have to mop up his espresso-stained notes and go get more coffee. There’s no way he’s functioning without coffee after pulling an all-nighter.
It’s only when he steps into the bathroom—the men’s room this time, he triple-checks—to get a handful of paper towels that he sees his reflection in the mirror. Shit. There’s coffee splattered all across the front of his mostly white t-shirt. He really should start carrying around a change of clothes, he thinks moodily, considering how often he spills stuff on himself. Now he's going to have to walk all the way across campus to his dorm to change.
His phone rings in his pocket as he’s on his hands and knees under the library table, pressing a wad of paper towels into the patch of carpet he stained. He jerks up, bonking his head on the underside of the table, but he still manages to whip his phone out with close to ninja speed. Assuming once again that it's Scott, he says immediately, “Hey, so I’ve just broken some kind of personal record for clumsiness, I just spilled coffee all over the library floor. Again. But anyway, what’s up?”
“This just really isn’t your day, is it?”
He swears his heart stops beating. That’s not Scott. That’s—
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’m still not Erica,” Stiles says, grinning even though he knows Mystery Caller can’t see.
"You hung up on me," Mystery Caller says.
Stiles frowns, confused. "Um, yes? Wrong number, remember? I didn't think there was anything more to say."
"I'm not creepy," he grumbles.
Stiles laughs. "Non sequitur much?"
"I just wanted to clear that up. I'm not creepy. You said I was. But I wasn't really breaking into Erica's room. We went out for a while, and I've still got a key."
"Ah. Good for you." Stiles decides that's as good as the carpet's going to look. At least it's a dark grey. The new brown stain is hardly noticeable if you're not looking for it.
"And that bit about the full moon," Mystery Caller goes on, "Erica's just really into astronomy. We've got to meet for coffee to talk about astronomy."
"Sure. Enjoy your coffee date." Stiles hangs up again. What a weirdo. A weirdo with a sexy-as-hell voice, but still. Stiles clears his throat. He has bigger fish to fry. Time for that coffee run.