You suffered from seasonal allergies—a fact that everyone in the pack was well aware of. It wasn’t exactly subtle. You rubbed your eyes like you were trying to erase them from your face, and you went through tissues like they were going out of style. There wasn’t much anyone could really do about it; you took meds, but it’s not like they could change the season.

So you just endured it—grudgingly—every year. One or two miserable months of sniffling, watery eyes, and sounding like a congested kazoo.

Stiles knew you usually handled it fine, if not glamorously. You still showed up to school, cracked jokes through sneezes, and pretended you weren’t dying inside. But he also knew there were days when your allergies got bad—like bad bad. Bad enough that you couldn't get out of bed.

Today was one of those days.

You didn’t show up to any of your classes. By fourth period, Stiles was already spiraling into worst-case scenarios. So, during lunch, he called you—except it wasn’t you who picked up. It was your mom, and she confirmed what he’d been panicking about: you were home, curled up in bed, looking like you’d woken from the dead

So naturally, Stiles being Stiles, decided to show up after school with a poorly thought-out plan to “help.”

Before heading to your place, he stopped by the pharmacy and panic-bought eyedrops and Advil. He had no clue what actually worked for allergies, but it felt wrong to show up empty-handed. Honestly, he nearly bought a humidifier before he realized that would be weird.

He parked his Jeep in front of your house, got let in by your mom, and made his way up to your room with the sort of familiarity that comes from years of being your friend—and a slightly less-than-casual crush he refuses to deal with.

At your door, he knocked, then peeked his head in like someone expecting to see a chronically ill patient. You were half-buried in blankets, looking like a human tissue burrito. He winced sympathetically.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside and holding up a crinkly pharmacy bag. “I brought medical supplies. By which I mean, I Googled ‘what helps allergies,’ panicked, and grabbed the first things I saw. So, basically, I come bearing offerings of probably useless over-the-counter drugs and my sparkling personality.”

He smiled awkwardly and added, “Also, notes. I mean, my version of notes. Which may include a doodle of Mr. Yukimura riding a dragon. But still—educational.”