Stiles never understood people. Specifically, he never understood their tedious obsession when it comes to love. Consumed by it, their lives revolve around the search for "The One". Their "savior". The missing half of their soul.
He always thought it was ludicrous how people thought of themselves as incomplete unless they were spoken for. Their existence holding basically no meaning up to the moment a total stranger decides to show up and grants them with a reason to live for. What a collective amount of figurative bird poop. And as with literal bird poop, Stiles isn't fond of it. It reeks of disappointment, lost causes and waste product.
While he stands firmly by his belief, that doesn't mean he hates on people who disagree. Like his friend Scott.
He's what people would call a hopeless romantic, or as Stiles prefers to put it, hopeless. He's always on the lookout for her fairytale princess while still maintaining a mediocre GPA and even worse extracurriculars. A classic overachiever. And yet, Stiles does feel the occasional, insane and, thankfully, temporary pang of jealousy from time to time. Scott is easy-going when it comes to, well, most matters. Even more admirable, he is optimistic and not easily discouraged. That is something that Stiles has extremely limited amounts of, although he does masks that with a plethora of sarcastic remarks, eye-rolls and colorful expressions of disdain. Unlikely to be admitted, ever, his best friend is something that keeps him positive about life in general. If people like Scott exist, people who put up with people like Stiles, then how bad can the world be?
For the longest of times, that question was answered with a straight-forward, black and white sort of way in the case of Stiles. It was hell.
Death is not something people prepare you for. It's too macabre and unpleasant. His premature experience with loss had had put a toll on him, on his outlook on life. From a spastic, carefree child, he transformed into a moody, troubled person. A darkness always seemed to creep around in the back of his mind, pushing him back when other people seemed to move forward. He was left behind somehow, his life suddenly gravitating around the pain he felt and the gloom that had yet to clear. And to this day, he blamed himself.
Scott was always there for him, all the way through it. He was there for Stiles when he couldn't sleep at night, he was there for him when he wouldn't eat for days as a result of the constant crying. He always tried to make him feel better, to give him a reason to smile and, as time passed, he succeeded.
Stiles decided it was time to accept what had happened, it was now an essential part of who he was. He decided that he would not only survive but that he would live, he would enjoy life as much as he could and he would be grateful for everything he had and he would do that to honor the people who weren't able to do so anymore. And suddenly the world became just a little more clear for him.
Ten o'clock rolled around and Stiles started to close the register when a man walked in the now deserted bakery.
"I'm sorry but we are just closing," said Stiles politely.
"Which means you're not closed yet," muttered the man, spitefully.
Stiles wasn't a virgin when it came to obnoxious customers, he worked at a coffee shop previously and learned early on that un-caffeinated people in the morning have more in common with killer wasps than with the human race, so he wasn't taken aback.
"Certainly, that is why I just said, just with different wording," Stiles responded, challenging his new-found nemesis, "So what can I do for you?."
The brooding man didn't look pleased. He seemed like the kind of man others steered away from, much less talk back to.
With a stare that could stop a train, the man spoke irritatedly at Stiles, "Carl told me he left my keys with an employee."
At the mention of that name, Stiles froze. Stiles' boss was an intimidating guy. He was bulky cheap and unforgiving, terrorizing anyone he thought was weaker than him, which basically translated to Stiles. But Stiles had to pay the bills so he didn't have a choice but to put up with it.
"Y-yes sure, wait just a sec," Stiles sprinted to the back where he kept a package Carl indistinctly muttered someone would come pick up. While he was leaving, he swore he saw the strange man chuckle under his breath.
"Here you go," said Stiles, breathless as he handed him the package, without looking at him.
"Thanks," he replied, looking intensely at Stiles before turning away and leaving.
Stiles felt a little uneasy. The stranger didn't leave the best first impression, not to mention he looked ready to rip his head off, but that last look conveyed something he didn't know how to process. He was intrigued yet at the same time scared, which was a first for him. He felt confused, that passive-aggressive behavior creating some question marks. Not only about the reason behind the bizarre behavior of the stranger but about the reaction it managed to develop.
That was the alarming part. When you live with a monotone, all-or-nothing mentality for so long, you don't question many things, if any at all. You don't rock the boat. When you finally start to see some cracks forming, how do you explain that? How do you explain it when you don't like this internal turmoil but feel like you need it? Was your world all that stable to begin with or was that just another illusion your mind formed to create some safe constant? Maybe once something's broken, you can only pretend to fix it but you're bound to notice the cracks at some point.
Suddenly, there were so many unanswered questions for Stiles to deal with.
Ultimately, he did something Scott had taught him over the years.
He let it go.