“I don’t want you to go either,” she mumbles, almost inaudibly. She flops back on the bed, spread-eagled, and stares up at the fan on the ceiling, idly poking at him with her power. Something’s going on in that skull of his, and she wants to know what it is.
It’s just so awkward. She hadn’t seen him much in the last month before school, despite her birthday, and so she hadn’t really thought about if their friendship would fall back into the same lines when they went back to school. It seems like it hasn’t — but she isn’t sure if that’s him trying to be better friends, best friends even, or her stupid crush on him that she’s trying to hide.
“Oh?” he repeats, looking at her with interested eyes. He can’t exactly help himself, it’s just something that happened before he even realized it. She flops back on the bed next to him, something that he finds that he doesn’t mind all that much. He brings up a dorky grin on his face, licking his lips every once in a while.
This might’ve been awkward to her, but it’s something that doesn’t come awkward to him. He’s the person who doesn’t let things get to him, something that hardly bothers him in every circumstance. That’s just the way he is, the way he’s always been, and he finds that they’ve been friends for so long that nothing is different. They’d always been this way.
“Wh—?”
Crap. She’d said that out loud, hadn’t she. And he’s right /there/. Being tempting.
And now she can’t move away from him without being incredibly obvious. “Stiles,” she starts, and doesn’t know how to go on. She’s always been honest about her feelings; this is the first time she’s lied about them. She realises she doesn’t know how to /stop/ lying about it.
