Hello and welcome! I hope you'll ignore any typos or grammar mistakes, I wrote this during a quick spurt of inspiration at one in the morning. I'm not sure if I'll expand this into a full fic or just leave it as a one shot. If I get inspired I'll write more, if not I think it stands pretty well as just a short little one-shot. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Of course I am not MTV of Jeff Davis, I do not own anything related to Teen Wolf. (Or Sex in the City because yes, Carrie is heavily based off of the lovely Carrie Bradshaw!)
Four years, two months, thirteen days, and six hours. That was how long it had been since Stiles had been in Beacon Hills. After a high school career chalk full of werewolves, alphas, and hunters Stiles got as far away as he could for college. New York University. Of course it was painfully difficult to leave his dad behind, especially after what happened with the Darach, but the Sheriff knew that leaving was best for his son. Once he got over the initial nerves of moving to a whole new city all alone, Stiles began to settle in. He had classes every weekday, ranging from the required math and history classes, to miscellaneous classes Stiles had thrown on his schedule, hoping one of them would click. One of them did. Before his first semester was over he had declared his major in education.
Life was different in New York then it had been back home. Stiles hadn't bothered bringing his Jeep across the country and once he saw the daily traffic in New York, he wasn't interested in getting a new car. As a result, Stiles was forced to walk everywhere. Apart for running from werewolves or sitting on the bench during lacrosse games he had never been particularly athletic. After a month and a half of missing his jeep and cursing his aching feet, he grew to enjoy walking, then running; eventually he figured he might as well get a gym membership.
It was three months into his first semester when Stiles realized he had grown so distracted with his classes, workouts, and generally enjoying the city, he had let his hair grow out of its usual buzz cut; and so his New York make-over began.
"Stiles seriously, it's tradition. Everyone who moves to New York goes through some form of change. Usually it's physical; sometimes people opt for a mental breakdown instead. Embrace the new, New York Stiles!"
Stiles laughed at his roommate's girlfriend. "Carrie, I don't need a make-over."
Carrie's eyebrows rose up to the blonde curls swooping across her forehead. "You're living in New York and I've never seen you in anything other than jeans, a tee shirt, and a hoodie; don't need a make-over my ass. This is the fashion capital of America and I am taking you shopping." Stiles gave up. There was no point in arguing, Carrie always got what she wanted. "And you are not shaving your hair!"
A painful four hours later Stiles returned to his rooms, arms heavy with bags full of clothes Carrie had refused to let him pay for himself. "Dude, where have you been?" Stiles dumped the floor and flopped onto his bed, only acknowledging his roommate's inquiry with a grunt. "The movie starts in an hour, get your ass up and get ready to go. You look like shit."
"Your girlfriend kidnapped me."
Jason chuckled, "New York make-over?" Stiles nodded. "Yeah, she did the same to me the week after I asked her out." Stiles made another undecipherable noise of exhaustion into his pillow. He felt something hit his back, Jason's pillow.
"Did you just…?" Jason whistled innocently. Stiles sat up, grabbed the pillow and chucked it back at Jason.
"Oh well now it's war." Stiles grinned and grabbed his own pillow, ready for the impending battle of pillows and roommates that would indubitably end in them missing their movie.
It had been years since that make-over, mere months before Stiles realized that the headaches he was getting in class were not a sign of his brain absorbing information, but rather a result of his eyes straining to be able to see anything. A pair of reading glasses were purchased, followed by an insistence from Carrie that he not get contacts on account of the glasses making him look smarter. In those years Stiles had grown, his regular workouts paid off, matured, he finally got used to wearing the blazers and cardigans Carrie had purchased him in place of his ratty old hoodies, and had recently earned his bachelor's degree in education. Now, after four years, two months, thirteen days, and six hours, Stiles was stepping off his plane from New York, onto California soil, ready to come home.