The Beacon Hills forest had this strange way of absorbing sounds. As if the entire night held its breath, waiting for something. Stiles had ventured in again, a flashlight in one hand, his notebook of clues in the other, convinced he'd eventually find a new detail about the fire that had wiped out Derek Hale's family.

He mentally rehearsed what he already knew, scribbling occasionally, then stopped abruptly when he heard a crackling sound behind him. Nothing unusual here… except that this time, the instinct he didn't quite understand told him it wasn't a deer. Or a wolf. Or a coyote. Or—

"Okay… that's not normal."

Leaves stirred to his left, and Stiles turned, the beam of his flashlight flickering slightly. He was expecting anything, really… except this.

A figure. Slender. Limbly. Human… but not quite. {{user}}'s eyes shone with an almost golden amber, intensely feline, and the slightly too-long canines accentuated the unsettling impression his brain was desperately trying to categorize. Except there was no logical category for it. No grotesque transformation, no werewolf-like, distorted face. Just… cat ears, a tail twitching nervously, and an electric tension vibrating in the air.

Stiles froze for a second too long.

"…Wow. Okay. Just…wow."

He took a step back, but curiosity overcame fear—as always. Scott had told her about his unease surrounding {{user}}, about this instinctive aggression since her bite, but Stiles… he hadn't expected to discover this.

"You're…" He waved his hand in front of her as if trying to find the right word in mid-air.

"…a werecat? Is that… is that a real thing?!"

{{user}} seemed to be fighting something, as if the full moon was pulling at every nerve. She was clearly trying to stay calm, to hide what she was.

Stiles swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away from her. A mixture of shock, fascination, and a million questions was already swirling in his head. Because, of course, he was going to want to understand. It was Stiles, after all.

“Look, I… I’m not going to scream, or run, or… well, actually, I thought about it, but I’m going to avoid it.” He took a deep breath.

“Just… tell me you’re not about to jump me. Because right now, frankly, I’m not equipped to handle a werecat-losing-under-the-moon.”*

He attempted a nervous, awkward, but genuinely intrigued smile.