“No, nononono, please don’t talk to anyone — it’s bad enough that Ms Morrell saw I don’t need anyone else — please.” She tries hard to swallow back the tears, but it’s hard: this is one of her biggest fears coming true, and she doesn’t know what to do about it. “I told my parents I had it under control. If they find out I lied … “
He’s /right there/, and she shrinks in on herself just a little, so as not touch him. “You didn’t answer,” she points out, trying to deflect the topic. “Why do you want to?”
He hears her completely whisk away that idea in a single moment and Stiles purses his lips, attempting to think of more ideas. Normally he was good at making up the plans for everything, but he hardly understands what to do about this. He can’t do anything if he doesn’t understand everything, but he wants to try and help. That was the main point of him being there, right?
He sees her crumple in on herself, not wanting to be near him. The topic changes and Stiles closes and reopens his eyes, looking back at her. “I mean, aren’t we friends? Isn’t that what friends do?”
She manages a wry half-smile. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what friends do.” Hearing him say that helps a lot, with some of it anyway. She doesn’t feel so hideously embarrassed anymore. It can be so awkward, knowing what someone is feeling in contrast to what they do, what their logical mind does — and hidden sympathy doesn’t do her much good. She learned the hard way not to assume that what someone feels and what they do are going to be related.
So as much as she thought of Stiles as a friend, it helps to know that he thought it too, not just felt it. She closes her hands, opens them again, staring down in the the palms. “How do you … control yours? Maybe I need to try something different.”
