The Jeep rattled into the Preserve parking lot, engine ticking as it cooled. Crickets hummed in the trees, the air thick with pine and late-night quiet. Stiles Stilinski sat hunched in the driver’s seat, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel.
Scott leaned back against the hood, arms folded, watching his best friend spiral.
“I’m serious, Scott,” Stiles muttered, pushing his hair back. “She’s always tired around me. Like—exhausted. We’ll be watching a movie and five minutes in she’s curled up against me, barely keeping her eyes open. Or we’re studying and she’s yawning like I’m reading her the dictionary. What if I’m just… boring?”
Scott blinked at him.
“You?” he deadpanned. “The human caffeine overdose?”
Stiles shot him a look. “This is my crisis, man.”
A slow, knowing smile tugged at Scott’s mouth. “Stiles, a sleepy woman in your presence isn’t bored, dude.”
Stiles frowned. “Then what is she?”
“She feels safe.”
The word seemed to knock the air out of him.
Scott straightened, tone softening. “You know how her home life is. She’s always on edge. Always listening for the next argument. The next door slam. The next thing that’s gonna go wrong. Her nervous system doesn’t ever get a break.”
Stiles swallowed, jaw tightening. He knew. He’d seen the way her shoulders locked up at sudden noises. The way she apologized for things that weren’t her fault.
Scott continued, “But around you? She finally relaxes. You regulate her entire nervous system, man. That’s not boredom. That’s trust.”
The words sank in slow and heavy.
Images replayed in Stiles’ mind—her curled against his side in his bedroom, cheek pressed to his chest while some terrible action movie played in the background. The way her breathing evened out. The tiny sigh she let out right before sleep claimed her. How her hand always tightened in his shirt like she was anchoring herself.
“She falls asleep fast,” Stiles said quietly.
“Exactly.”
He thought about how she never slept that deeply anywhere else. How she jolted awake at her own house if someone walked down the hall—but with him, she barely stirred when he shifted.
A breeze rustled through the trees. Stiles stared at the forest like it held the answer to everything.
“So you’re saying,” he began slowly, “that me being… me… makes her feel calm enough to shut her brain off?”
Scott shrugged lightly. “You make her feel protected. That’s not small, Stiles.”
For once, he didn’t have a sarcastic comeback.
Because suddenly, the memory of her half-asleep voice whispering, “I sleep better with you,” didn’t feel like politeness. It felt like something sacred.
Stiles let out a shaky breath, something in his chest easing. “I thought she was drifting away.”
Scott clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s leaning in.”
Silence stretched between them, softer now.
Stiles glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he was realizing their strength for the first time. He wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t have claws or glowing eyes. But maybe he had something else.
Maybe being steady mattered more.
A small, determined smile crept onto his face. “Okay,” he muttered. “Okay. I can do safe. I can do steady. I’m excellent at being aggressively comforting.”
Scott laughed. “Yeah, that’s… exactly what she needs.”
And somewhere across town, she was probably already half-asleep—waiting for the familiar rumble of his Jeep, for the boy who made the world quiet enough for her to finally rest.