Stiles turned around abruptly, unsurprisingly ending up almost nose to nose with Beacon Hill's resident zombie-werewolf (and flailing for just the briefest of moments not to lose his balance).
This was important and he needed to be taken seriously, but he quickly took a step back as he realized he could feel Peter's breath on his skin because, nope, sorry, but no matter how often that had happened these last few days, he would never get used to it and didn't even want to.

"You've gotta stop this."

The older Hale had been following him for almost three weeks and Stiles definitely had enough. He had started noticing it at Derek's loft first and then it quickly spread out to his own home, the school, the hospital, the Sheriff's station and now apparently the supermarket, as well.
He really needed to put a stop to it soon because he was already getting paranoid and started hallucinating on those rare exceptions where the wolf was actually not around. And he sure as hell didn't want his father to become aware of that, or the pack for that matter.

"What?" Peter was looking at him confused, frowning and tilting his head like a puppy, and Stiles groaned because he was absolutely pissed off and this was just ridiculous.

How dare that man act as if nothing was happening?
The man that was cause for most of his problems, by the way, with his breathing and closeness and body heat and those lingering glances and all the casual touches that were anything but casual.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear his thoughts. "Please, don't play dumb. You know exactly what I'm talking about, creeper." Annoyed, he glared at his opposite, "Why are you even doing it?"

The older one simply raised an eyebrow, a mild smile playing on his lips, "And what, pray tell, am I doing right now?"

"You keep talking to me, you are constantly watching me and why the hell are you following me around?", Stiles hissed through gritted teeth, getting louder with every word he spoke. He refused to acknowledge that they were in public, it didn't matter right now.

"Well, to be fair, you started this conversation, so it would be rude not to answer. And it would also be a waste not to look at you", the pedo-wolf remained unfazed, his face still an innocent mask.

"Oh my god." Stiles threw his hands in the air and turned to leave, more frustrated than before, if that was even possible. This just wasn't worth it.

Yet he was stopped by a hand on his wrist and Peter's suddenly rather low voice, "But I've said it before and I'll say it again until you believe me. I like you, Stiles."

And, okay, he hadn't expected to ever hear those words again, especially not in this particular situation. Nor did he expect those words to sound this sincere out of the man's mouth or to see the honesty in his eyes.
He couldn't really think of any better explanation for the werewolf's behavior though, some kind of villainous motive that explained all that craziness he was subjected to.

Stiles wearily ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, laughing awkwardly, "No one has a heart of stone, they say."


And thus it came that he didn't complain when Peter started following him through the aisles, commenting on what he was throwing in the cart or suggesting recipes every now and then. He even ignored the glances sent their way.
It wasn't as if it really hurt to have him around. This way, at least, he could keep an eye on him, or so Stiles told himself.