Christmas

Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, covering the roads in a soft white blanket. The hum of the car engine and the rhythmic swish of windshield wipers were the only sounds breaking the peaceful silence as {{user}} sat in the backseat, watching the winter scenery blur past. It was tradition — every year, her family spent Christmas week at her grandparents’ house, nestled deep in the countryside. But this time, things were different.

This time, Stiles Stilinski was in the car with them.

He hadn’t exactly been invited at first. No, Stiles had begged her to take him. He’d shown up at her house the night before, eyes wide with desperation, hands clasped in front of him like a pleading child.

“Come on, you have to take me with you! You know my dad’s working all through Christmas, and I refuse to spend the holidays alone with just Netflix and my own terrible cooking.”

She had hesitated — her grandparents' house was a sacred family tradition. But then Stiles had hit her with the look — that kicked-puppy expression that made it impossible to say no.

So here they were, stuffed into her parents’ car, Stiles tapping his fingers against his knees impatiently. He had barely stopped talking since they left Beacon Hills.

“Okay, so tell me more about your grandparents. Like, do they have any weird traditions I should know about? Are they going to make me wrestle a bear to prove my worth? Because I’d like a heads-up if that’s the case.”