Stiles slammed his laptop shut as he walked over to the widow, cracking it so he could speak to Summer. “H-hey… Uh… Whatcha doing?”
Summer rubbed at the back of her head and stared at him, wide-eyed. “But — you — how did — Stiles, what the hell is going on?” Pulling her hand down, she looked at it, then back up to him. “How could you possibly have felt anything other than,” she flushed darkly, “what’s already there?”
Stiles stared at Summer’s hand, trying to figure out what he was supposed to be doing. Answering her. Right. “I hang out with… interesting people. It’s… I didn’t feel… something other than the other stuff. Just… You’re acting weird.”
“/I’m/ acting weird? /Me/? You won’t even look at me properly! You — what is going on? How are you not just on the ground — I have never in my life felt anybody be so overwhelmed by an emotion they weren’t actually expressing!” She swallowed hard, groping at her throat for her necklace. He was feeling so strongly she could hardly keep it out, and only years of stern control kept her shields up.