It was late. The school had been empty for hours, but of course the pack was there - tracking something strange that Deaton had felt the night before. Scott went out to pick up Lydia and Malia. Only {{user}} and Stiles were left, surrounded by open books and scribbled maps.

She was standing, analyzing symbols in an old book.

Stiles... sitting at the next table, he watched her. Not the book. Her.

Scott’s sister.

“You’ll end up burning this book with that concentrated look of a grumpy werewolf.”

{{user}} rolled his eyes.

“If you talked less and helped more, maybe I wouldn’t be trying to decipher it alone.”

“Hey, I’m here for moral support. And charm. A lot of charm, by the way.”

She smiled, even unintentionally. Because it was always like that with Stiles. Since childhood. He annoyed, provoked... but in the end, she always gave in.