"Dammit Stiles, again?!"

Stiles slammed the fridge door shut, pretending he couldn't hear the yelling from the other room, and calmly opened the glass bottle he had taken from the fridge. He dragged himself to the living room where he slumped on the couch and watched how his best friend Scott stormed all over the apartment with two bags in his hands; the other one full of dirty clothes and the other one full of empty cans and bottles.

"You promised me, Stiles," Scott said and threw a disappointed glance at Stiles, but Stiles simply continued to act like he couldn't hear a thing. "You promised to stop." Scott threw both of the bags to the corner of the room that was closest to the doorway and turned to look at Stiles with his arms crossed. "You were supposed to call me if something was wrong," Scott said, and after that, Stiles finally got up from the couch.

This wasn't the first time for something like this to happen, oh no, they had found themselves in situations almost identical to this way too many times before, and still, Scott was acting like this. Stiles had told his friend many times to not yell at him, to not act like he had done something wrong, but to speak in a peaceful, calming manner because that was the only way to get Stiles to actually listen to him. Screaming and accusing him of everything only made him see red.

" If something was wrong?" Stiles repeated Scott's words with a trembling voice before emptying half of his bottle with just a few gulps. "Something's always wrong, Scott! But do you care?" He gulped down the other half of the bottle. "No! Because why would you, huh? Why would you care about your stupid, mentally unstable friend, when you can just run off all the way to fucking Japan with your beautiful wife and forget about your stupid friend's stupid problems?!"

"We tried to help you, Stiles," Scott's voice was almost desperate now, and Stiles knew it was only a matter of time before Scott would once again run away and leave him dealing with his problems by himself. "Malia, Liam, Kira… everyone did."

Unwanted, embarrassing tears rolled down Stiles' cheeks as he listened to his best friend talk. Well, he wasn't sure if it was still appropriate to talk about a best friend since they barely saw each other these days, and when they did, it went down like it did now. There had been much better times, not even so long ago, and there was nothing Stiles wouldn't have been ready to do to get back to how it had been.

Stiles had married the woman of his life, Lydia. It hadn't been the easiest relationship, but it had been an amazing one, and there hadn't been a day when Stiles hadn't felt like the luckiest man in the entire universe. After Lydia had graduated, they had moved back to Beacon Hills to live close to their parents, and even though Stiles could've worked in the FBI like he had dreamed, he had been happy to work under his father as a deputy. Scott had also moved back to Beacon Hills after graduating to work at the animal clinic and to keep everything involving anything supernatural in order, so Stiles had been able to keep his best friend by his side even after all the time they had spent away from each other.

Everything had been picture perfect, which alone should've warned Stiles; nothing could ever stay that way for too long. It was something Deaton had taught them when they had still been in high school; life can't ever be all bad or good, and eventually, things have to go back to the middle. And Stiles' life had been way too good for a long time already.

Unfortunately for him, things didn't just go back to the middle, but straight to as bad as they could. Suddenly his father had been dying of an aggressive brain cancer, and right before the funeral Scott and Kira had flown off to Japan. It had been a punch in the face for Stiles, and for a reason he didn't even quite understand himself, he had felt like Scott had done it on purpose, even though he knew it wasn't the case. They had booked the flight almost six months before the funeral; there was no way they could have known something like that would happen right before they'd leave. And still, Stiles had felt like Scott had left him alone on purpose, like Scott hadn't cared about him.

Pretty soon after the funeral, Stiles had stopped going to work. He couldn't concentrate, he couldn't talk, he almost never ate and barely slept. His mind had been a dark, scary place, and all the anxiousness and self-hate he had faced after his mother had died had come back twice as bad. Lydia had tried to help him, she really had, and Stiles hadn't even tried to show any gratitude. It had been a complete waste of her time; it wasn't possible for her to heal him when all he did was fight back, and pretty soon she had realized it, packed her bags and left.

It had been the last nail in the coffin. Stiles had fallen, and he had fallen hard. Where he had found himself was the absolute rock bottom for him, and he was still there; unable to get up and move on. His mind was stuck in a phase where all he could do was think about every little thing he had ever done or said wrong, and all he could come up with to ease his pain was alcohol and sleep.

Stiles knew he was wrong when he said Scott didn't care about him or his problems. Scott had done so much, too much even, but for some reason, Stiles' mind constantly told him it was nothing compared to the things Scott could have done.

"I trusted you, Stiles, and once again you showed me why I shouldn't have," Scott said, his voice dripping disappointment and his words hitting Stiles like a million knives. "You need to leave."

It was like Stiles' heart stopped for a short moment. "What?" He couldn't believe what he had just heard. "Y- you can't throw me out. Just give me a chance, Scott, one chance and I promise I'll change," he begged, quickly walking closer to his friend. "Scott, please, I can change."

Scott was clearly avoiding Stiles' gaze and crossed his arms as he took a few steps back as Stiles got closer. "I gave you a chance, Stiles," he said quietly. "I gave you so many chances to change, and I really believed you would, but you won't, Stiles. I've started to think you don't even try to."

Stiles' already shattered heart was in millions and millions of new pieces, all of them hurting him so badly he thought he'd die because of the pain.

"So, what? You're just gonna kick me out and leave me on the streets?" he asked, his voice as cold as it possibly could be. "You know what," he soon said as he took a few slow steps back and raised his hands in the air. "I don't care. Have a happy life."

Stiles slammed the door as hard as he could after storming out of the house. He didn't need Scott, he didn't need anyone. He was perfectly fine on his own.

"Stiles!" Scott called after him, but he ignored it. If Scott wanted him gone so badly, he had no problems leaving. Still, deep inside, he wished Scott would've come after him to persuade him to come back. But when Scott didn't, Stiles didn't stop. He kept walking without looking back, because there was nothing for him to go back to anymore.