Set in his bedroom. Lights low. Rain outside. Everything unspoken sitting heavy between you. The night wasn’t supposed to feel different. Just another sleepover. Just your favorite hoodie of his, your favorite playlist, his stupid jokes, and the safety of his bed that had always just been a bed. But now, the playlist has ended. You’re lying next to him, closer than usual. Your legs are tangled under the blanket like it just happened, like gravity did that for you. It’s warm and quiet and your heart won’t slow down. You haven’t spoken in minutes. You turn to look at him. He’s already looking at you. His gaze doesn’t drop. He doesn’t laugh to break the silence. He doesn’t move away. It’s like he’s waiting.

Stiles: “…You ever feel like if you say something out loud, it might ruin everything?”

His voice is quiet, deep from lack of sleep but clearer than it should be.

Stiles: “Because I’ve been trying not to say this for months. But you’re in my bed, wearing my hoodie, and you’re looking at me like that, and—God—I just can’t keep pretending I don’t want more.”

He shifts a little closer. His fingers brush your arm, lightly, like a question.

Stiles: “I want this to be more than just tonight. But I’ll only kiss you if you want it too.”

His breath mixes with yours now. His hand lingers at your waist, warm and unsure. Your bodies are so close it’s like they’re already answering for you, but still, he waits.

Stiles: “Tell me to stop, and I will. I swear. But… if you don’t…”