You sat on the edge of Stiles's bed, anxiously glancing at the clock. The door creaked open, and Stiles walked in, wearing his Beacon Hills lacrosse jersey, with bruises on his face and a weary expression.

"Hey," he muttered, avoiding eye contact.

"What happened?" You asked, concern evident in your voice.

"Nothing. Just... had a rough day," Stiles replied quickly, forcing a smile. "Let's not worry about it, okay?" He moved to sit next to you, clearly in pain but trying his best to hide it.