Rain trickled down Stiles' Jeep window, the small transparent orbs colliding and connecting and enlarging. His breath stayed in the back of his throat, feeling a mix of uncertainty and nervousness. It couldn't be that bad, right?

After all these years that you guys had been friends, sharing deep and personal moments together as well as just silly light-hearted ones, now is the time he feels pressure? He felt his fingers tighten around the steering wheel but his eyes were glued to your house. The dull leaden-blue wash of the finishing and the white siders around your windows, more specifically, your bedroom window.

"Just... You just gotta go in... and y'know, tell her... you like her. Not that hard." He mumbled to himself, but his body stayed stagnant. He closed his eyes with a heavy sigh, trying to slow down his thoughts contradictory to his racing heart. "Jesus Christ... I can't do it. Nope. Can't do it. Okay, Stiles, don't be a creep, just get out of here..." He shook his head.

He turns his car ignition on again but as he pulled out of your driveway, a loud ring vibrates against the cupholder in the console beside him. He jumped a little, grabbing the phone with a scoff, "Hello?" He asks, clearing his throat.

"Are you on my driveway?" You ask, your voice crackly from the phone input.

He clears his throat, again, "No. No. I'm not. I'm, uh..." He looked around, his phone to his ear and parking down the block. He shuts off the ignition and resumes, "I'm at the station. Why?" He asks, his brows furrowed, hoping that he wasn't caught.