“But, you don’t run,” Derek pointed out, confused.
“People can get new hobbies,” Stiles snapped. “Geez, if I’d known it was going to be this big of a deal, I’d have called you first. Want me to give you my workout schedule? That way you can coordinate your nose accordingly?”
In which Stiles' summer starts off so badly he starts running, gets pelted by paint balls, and decides he is, in fact, going crazy if he willingly wants to hang out with Derek Hale.
Pulling open his apartment door, he let out an involuntary shout when something was quite literally thrust into his chest hard enough to have him almost tip backwards. He managed to right himself while keeping hold of what had been shoved at him and looked up in time to see his neighbour striding back towards his apartment.
“You’re going to fucking kill yourself.”
His door slammed.
Stiles blinked at the other man’s door, utterly confused, and looked down at what he was holding.
It was a plastic bag, full of what felt like tupperware, which made no sense to Stiles because when had his neighbour broken into his house to steal his tupperware?
When Stiles Stilinski's phone gets switched at the gym, he really just wants it back. The last thing he's expecting is to fall hopelessly in lust with the guy who's got his phone.
“Stop calling me an asshole,” the man on the other end snapped aggressively.
Stiles could understand. He’d be pretty aggressive too if he’d murdered someone and texted a wrong number to ask for help burying the body. This guy obviously failed How To Be a Serial Killer 101.
“What kind of idiot thinks I murdered someone?”
“The kind of idiot who got your text messages, you fucking dumbass!” he retorted hotly. “Maybe double check your contacts before sending a random stranger details on your nefarious plans to dispose of a freshly cut up body!”
“What?!” the guy on the other end demanded, crossed between horrendously confused and livid.