“Mhm.” It’s a bit dismissive. Then again, she’s instantly persuaded herself that this was the stupidest idea she’s ever had — she should have just thanked him for helping and tried to think of something else to do with their time. Go to the arcade or something.
“Just pretend I didn’t say that, okay. We can — we can — we can play card games. I got a new Ascension set for my birthday.”
The noise she makes is dismissive and it doesn’t exactly hurt him, but it does make him remotely sad in the end. He dismisses the thought, trying to ignore the fact that there’s something different in the air now. He doesn’t want her to see the expression that could come on his face anyway. He looks at her in the eyes and nods, forcing a grin once again.
“That sounds totally cool. We could do that. Let’s just hope I don’t control you into picking the worst card~,” he says in this teasing tone that he’s practically forcing out of his mouth.
/That/ she can hear, but he’s trying so hard, like her, to pretend nothing’s changed. She forces a little laugh and picks the box off the shelf. “You would have to do that the whole game to make it worthwhile. This game is pretty forgiving of mistakes.” She hasn’t even taken the plastic off the box.
She isn’t sure what kind of response she expected. Maybe none of the possible responses would have been good. She rolls off the bed to her feet, unconsciously clutching her arms close to herself, and goes back to the window. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I guess I shouldn’t’ve told you. I just … I’m sorry.” She’s running away from him now, and she knows it, but what else is she supposed to do?
There are so many responses that he could’ve given, and yet he gave that one. It wasn’t all that good, honestly, and he could’ve been better, but…he was unsure about everything. He didn’t feel distaste towards her words and he didn’t agree with them either. She moves away from him, something that he doesn’t exactly want either. He leans in her direction, eyes watching her with that same look he always gives in situations like this.
“Hey, hey, hey, I was just shocked, y’know?”
“Mhm.” It’s a bit dismissive. Then again, she’s instantly persuaded herself that this was the stupidest idea she’s ever had — she should have just thanked him for helping and tried to think of something else to do with their time. Go to the arcade or something.
“Just pretend I didn’t say that, okay. We can — we can — we can play card games. I got a new Ascension set for my birthday.”
She doesn’t need to look at him to know the expression on his face, but she does it anyway. “I don’t want you to go,” she repeats, a little louder. “I, um, I … like you. A lot? I, I know you probably don’t … think about me like that. I haven’t looked,” she adds abruptly.
At first she tells him that she doesn’t want him to go and, frankly, Stiles isn’t surprised by that. Then she starts talking again and his eyes widen in surprise, not expecting her to say something like that. Maybe Stiles was dense or something, but he’d never noticed her lasting feelings towards him as she practically claimed.
He reached his hand into his hair, scratching his hair, “I….never really thought about it. I didn’t really deny it either.”
She isn’t sure what kind of response she expected. Maybe none of the possible responses would have been good. She rolls off the bed to her feet, unconsciously clutching her arms close to herself, and goes back to the window. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “I guess I shouldn’t’ve told you. I just … I’m sorry.” She’s running away from him now, and she knows it, but what else is she supposed to do?
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.
She starts to speak, but now he’s confused. He raises his eyebrows in her direction, curious about just what she had started to say to him.
“What?” he asks, that look still on his face as he watches her with rather interested eyes. There’s something about her in that moment that bothering him and, frankly, he could use mind control on her, but it isn’t anything like mind reading. He couldn’t figure out anything, not that he would do that to her anyway.
She doesn’t need to look at him to know the expression on his face, but she does it anyway. “I don’t want you to go,” she repeats, a little louder. “I, um, I … like you. A lot? I, I know you probably don’t … think about me like that. I haven’t looked,” she adds abruptly.
“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.
She twines a strand of hair around her fingers, sitting back up. “I asked you if there was anything else you wanted to do, and you didn’t answer,” she points out. “And you aren’t annoying and bratty.”
His eyes watch her as she messes around with the hair, speaking to him in such a prominent manner. He hardly minds, honestly. “I didn’t answer because I didn’t have a plan. Didn’t exactly want to leave yet,” he admits to her, waiting for her response with curious eyes.
“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.
She huffs out a breath, and looks back at him. “I, um, I should really do my homework now.” She leans over and hugs him half-upsidedown, her hair spilling over her shoulder into his face. “Thanks for hanging around and helping me out with the backlash,” she mutters.
“You want me to go?” he asked in question, wondering why she’s changed the subject so badly. It’s obvious he wants to linger, especially on account of the fact that he’s questioning her wanting him to leave. Her hair falls into his face, but not enough for it to bother him. He actually doesn’t mind.
“Hey, don’t worry about it. That’s what friends do, right? Even an annoying bratty one like me,” he says in response to her words, grinning at her with that goofy grin of his.
She twines a strand of hair around her fingers, sitting back up. “I asked you if there was anything else you wanted to do, and you didn’t answer,” she points out. “And you aren’t annoying and bratty.”
She nudges him with a foot. “Don’t do that! You know what I meant. And the minute before that?” She’s looking at him upsidedown, matching his smile, until something twists in her middle and she looks away, out the window.
“I’m always thinking about stuff. Maybe I just don’t remember,” he says, accepting the slap against his body with her foot. It doesn’t hurt, but he definitely doesn’t plan on having it happen. Her eyes glance out the window and Stiles just stares in curiosity, wondering what’s occurring.
She huffs out a breath, and looks back at him. “I, um, I should really do my homework now.” She leans over and hugs him half-upsidedown, her hair spilling over her shoulder into his face. “Thanks for hanging around and helping me out with the backlash,” she mutters.
This is a familiar conversation. Stiles’ inability to pay attention is legendary. “What are you thinking about this minute?” she specifies. Whatever it is, it’s a little more serious than when his mind usually wanders off. She perches on the end of the bed, beside his head, and looks down at him on the floor.
Stiles isn’t surprised that he can’t pay attention, it’s practically common at this point in time. “Thinking about this conversation we’re having,” he says in reply, smiling a little bit as he lays in his position, watching her from where he is in that given moment.
She nudges him with a foot. “Don’t do that! You know what I meant. And the minute before that?” She’s looking at him upsidedown, matching his smile, until something twists in her middle and she looks away, out the window.
She swings a foot at him. “You weren’t even paying attention! Aaaagh. What even are you thinking about?”
“It’s because I don’t watch it!” he retorts, raising his voice, but not because he was angry. “What am I thinking about? My mind has no bounds, it goes everywhere.”
This is a familiar conversation. Stiles’ inability to pay attention is legendary. “What are you thinking about this minute?” she specifies. Whatever it is, it’s a little more serious than when his mind usually wanders off. She perches on the end of the bed, beside his head, and looks down at him on the floor.
