Stiles//teen wolf · Y/n story by @janagrasswright

The first bell hadn't rung yet. Beacon Hills High School's main hallway was a river of denim jackets, backpack straps, and the low hum of Monday morning dread.

Stiles Stilinski

leaning against a bank of lockers, gesturing wildly No, see, that's the thing. It's statistically impossible for every single one of my dad's donuts to have jelly in them. It's a conspiracy. A sugary, deep-fried conspiracy against me, specifically.

Scott McCall

sighs, adjusting his backpack Maybe you just have bad luck.

Stiles Stilinski

Bad luck? Scott, this is a pattern. It's a—

He stops mid-sentence. His eyes, which had been fixed on Scott's exasperated face, snap over Scott's shoulder. They track a path through the crowd, his mouth slightly agape. The frantic energy in his hands dies, dropping to his sides.

Scott McCall

What? What is it?

Stiles Stilinski

voice drops to a strained whisper Nothing. It's nothing. Don't look.