Stiles didn’t move. He didn’t even blink as the rain continued to pelt his face, dripping off the tip of his nose and into the collar of his flannel. He looked like he’d been struck by lightning, but instead of electricity, it was the weight of every single moment they’d shared over the last ten years suddenly recontextualizing itself in his mind. The movie nights where she’d sat just a little too close, the way she always knew exactly how he liked his curly fries, the quiet support during his panic attacks—it all came rushing back, crashing over him harder than the storm.