Summer practically pounces on him. “You came, I didn’t think you were going to come, oh my god!” She grabs his arm and tows him over to the desk. “There’s just a couple of my other friends here.” While they wait for the guy manning the desk to get back from wherever he’s wandered off to, she pulls Stiles around so she can stare unabashedly at his shirt, smoothing out wrinkles and peering at the tiny writing.
“That,” she says at last, “is a good shirt. I need to finish the Lego Falcon some day.” The guy /still/ hasn’t come back yet, and she turns to point to the lane at the far end of the alley. “We’re down there. That’s Beth, she’s an artist, and Zenobia.”
“And I’m Jesse.” The deep voice comes from behind them, and Summer spins around with a muffled shriek. “What are you doing here? With a guy? Suckering someone else into your little web, witch?”
“Oh, oh—hey, okay yes, I’m here, I can…” Stiles starts, stammery at best, a little surprised at how quickly he’s claimed and drug off towards the desk. He’s been bowling enough to know the drill, so as they wait for the attendant he starts to bend over like he’s going to take his Converse off pre-emptively. At least, that was Stiles’ intention, but of course he’s distracted by that when she starts manhandling his chest through his shirt. “—yeah, you’d be surprised what you can find at Target.”
Stiles is leaning heavily against the counter when the heavy voice booms behind them. His eyes narrow, and slowly he turns around, maintaining contact with the counter at all times, until he’s leaning backwards against it with his elbows. “Oh, oh. Is that your opening line? Of all the things you could have chosen to say, and that’s what you go with? Are you sure you don’t want a do-over, man, ‘cause that was perilously close to 80s John Hughes Film Villain?”
Summer is just shoving herself flat against the counter behind Stiles because of all the possible things to go wrong this hadn’t occurred to her at all; Jesse hasn’t actually spoken to her in weeks, not since that final disastrous meeting when he took her heart and stomped it into the mud. Andnow he’s here, he’s right here, saying the same ugly things /in front of someone else/.
Jesse and Stiles are actually kind of similar in appearance, she notices idly, both tall and lithe and dark-eyed, but Jesse wears his hair long and curly and wild like the raver he is and Stiles seems more clean-cut, more straight-up geek than outright rebel. The smile he’s wearing looks more like a slash across his face.
Jesse looks Stiles up and down, obviously taking note of the Star Wars shirt and Converse. Summer cuts in before he can say anything, though. “I can be here if I want to. You — you left, you don’t get to have any say about my friends.”
The smile gets more cruel, and he leans over her petite figure. “I’m just doing my Godly duty, protecting people from /you/. It didn’t work on me because I don’t believe in it, but this guy obviously isn’t so lucky.”
All she can do is protest, “It doesn’t work that way.”