“You think you’re going to stay benched after /that/ game?” Summer is surprised — what kind of coach would bench a player with that kind of potential? She also isn’t sure she /believes/ him. It doesn’t really sound like he’s okay with just being the information pipeline; it sounds more like it’s been that way for so long he doesn’t believe it will change, so he tells himself he’s okay with it.
“Maybe you just need to practise for a while before the new season starts, and show him how good you really are.” She nods toward his arms, with their clear, streamlined musculature. “You’re already built for it, obviously.”
Stiles shrugs, his shoulders on different levels given how he’s mostly pinning the melty ice towel to his leg. His jeans leg is starting to get soggy. ”Yeah, I guarantee to you what Coach remembers from that game isn’t that I scored a couple of goals, especially since I wasn’t supposed to even be on the field except basically half our team had been taken off for injury.”
There’s something incredulous in his expression when Summer mentions his build, and Stiles looks down at his arms as if he’s going to argue her on the matter. He’s wearing a t-shirt, though, and his arms are clearly visible, so instead what he actually ends up doing is sort of staring at his own left bicep like he can’t figure out how it got to be the shape it is, and maybe it betrayed him in the process.
She can’t help it — he’s looking at his arm like it doesn’t belong to him somehow, and she just loses it so hard Helios is offended on Stiles’ behalf and bounds for the bedroom. “Oh my god, your face, you should have seen your face, did you forget you had muscles?”