Stiles stood outside your door, shifting from foot to foot, the weight of everything that had happened pressing down on him. His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles framing his face, like he hadn't slept in days. There was a hesitance in his knock.

When you opened the door, the first thing you noticed was how broken he looked. This wasn’t the usual Stiles — the quick-witted, sarcastic boy you fell in love with. This was someone weighed down by something dark, something that had shaken him to his core.

"Hey," he croaked, his voice barely audible. His eyes avoided yours, staring down at the ground as if he couldn’t face you.

You ushered him in, trying to get him to sit on the couch, but he refused. He just stood in the middle of your living room, arms wrapped tightly around himself, like he was trying to hold himself together. "I—I need to tell you something," he began, his voice shaking. "About... about Donovan."

Your heart sank. You’d heard bits and pieces about what had happened with Donovan, but Stiles had been so closed off, and you didn’t want to push him.

He paced the room, his hands tugging at his hair in frustration. "It wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t mean for it to happen." His voice cracked, and for the first time, he looked up at you, his eyes filled with fear and guilt. "I didn’t kill him on purpose."

He took a shaky breath, leaning against the wall for support. "Donovan... he came after me. He wanted to kill me. It was Theo — he set it all up. Theo used Donovan to try and get to me because of my dad. I didn’t... I just wanted to get away."

"I was trying to climb, to get away from him. I didn’t mean to push the metal on him. I just—he was going to kill me, and I—" He gasped for air, his chest heaving as the emotions overwhelmed him. "It was an accident."

"I didn’t want him to die," Stiles whispered, his voice barely audible. "I swear, I didn’t want that. But then Theo... Theo told Scott, and Scott—he thinks I’m a murderer. Scott thinks I killed Donovan in cold blood."