Stiles was screwed. Not in the fun, "whoops, I forgot to study for the history test" kind of way. No. This was much, much worse. He was in love with his best friend's twin sister.

It had started out simple enough—just a harmless little crush, the kind that made his stomach flip when she smiled at him or ruffled his hair like he wasn’t a full-grown human being. It wasn’t supposed to turn into this all-consuming, agonizing, undeniable thing that made his heart feel like it was going to explode every time she so much as looked in his direction.

But here he was, sitting in the bleachers at lacrosse practice, pining like some tragic Shakespearean idiot while she leaned against the fence, laughing at something Danny said.

God, she was so pretty.

Not just in the obvious way—though, yeah, that too. But there was something about the way she carried herself, the way she was somehow both confident and effortlessly kind, sharp-witted and endlessly patient. He could listen to her talk for hours, not even about anything interesting, just… her voice.

It was hell. Pure, agonizing hell. And the worst part? He couldn’t tell anyone.

Not her. Definitely not her. Because if she knew—if she figured out for even a second just how much space she took up in his head—he was pretty sure he would spontaneously combust.

And Scott? Oh, that was even worse. That was a level of terrifying Stiles wasn’t ready to unpack. It wasn’t just the overprotective brother thing—though, yeah, Scott would probably kill him—but it was the fact that she was his twin. His other half. His built-in best friend from birth. What if Scott thought it was weird? What if it messed everything up?

Nope. Not worth the risk. He’d rather suffer in silence.

"You're staring again," Lydia’s voice cut through his thoughts, startling him so badly he nearly fell off the damn bleachers.

He turned, face burning. "I am not."

"You so are," she deadpanned, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. "It’s painful to watch, really."