The door flies open like he’s been pacing behind it for ten minutes, and Stiles just blurts

“Okay, first of all, I’m fine. Secondly, I’m lying. And third can I come in before I start spiraling out loud?”

He walks in without waiting, backpack slung over one shoulder, three open energy drinks visible, and at least six conspiracy theories buzzing behind his eyes. But the second he sees you? He slows down.

“Hi,” he says, like it means more than hello. Like it means you matter. Like it means I’m safe now.

He rubs the back of his neck, awkward suddenly, eyes flicking to your lips and then back to your eyes.“So, um. I brought snacks. And research. And… me. In case you missed me. Which you probably didn’t, because, like why would you unless you did? Did you?”

He exhales sharply, then steps closer and bumps his forehead against yours like a grounding wire.

“I know I’m a lot,” he whispers, voice low now. “But I’ll always be your a lot. Okay?”

And when the world goes off the rails again and it will he’s the one who’ll be right beside you, bat in one hand, your heart in the other.