This is based after Season 3 and, seeming as I (sadly or not, I am yet to decide) haven't been informed about what Season 3 will hold, there are some obvious ambiguities and creative licence. The title comes from the Andrew Stockdale song of the same name.

Stydia does play a part in this story, yes. I'm just not telling you how yet.

Enjoy!

"Remind me why we're at this party again?" Allison laughed, her arms wrapped tightly around Scott's waist, Stiles striding in front of them.

"Something about Stiles picking up his game..." Scott shrugged, smiling down at her. He pressed his forehead against hers, his breath hot on her face. "I wasn't really listening, you kind of took all of my attention..."

"Hey!" Stiles yelled, clapping in their faces before they could kiss. "Could you cut the magical reunion honeymoon short, or at least just – pause it for a second? Scott is my wingman! I'm trying to get over Lydia! You, especially Allison, should be supporting this!"

"I thought you were already over her?" Allison giggled, covering her mouth with her hand, Scott fighting his laughter too beside her.

"I am." Stiles emphasized. "But when you spend almost your entire high school career going crazy after this one girl, there are stages to the – getting over, okay? Just the way you and Scott had to go through this whole we're not together but want to kiss in closets stage to get back together!"

"Uhh..." Scott's eyes widened as Allison turned to him with raised eyebrows. How did Stiles know about that?

"Oh, yeah, I know everything, I'm still the best friend, thank you very much." Stiles told her, one hand on his hip and the other waving around Allison's face for emphasis. "Now could you both please refrain from the face sucking at least until we're inside?!" Stiles yelled, before turning on his heel and walking into the house, currently booming with music.

After the whole druid/Alpha pack/general crappy debacle that had been their lives recently, Stiles and Lydia had become somewhat friends. He knew it would kill Lydia to admit, because her pride was unparalleled exempt to that of Derek Hale's, but they were there for one another. Or rather, at the beginning anyway, Stiles had been there for her and she'd stopped curling her upper lip in distaste so much.

And, you know, friendship was fine. Stiles had now come to terms with the idea that Lydia may not like him back, at least not now. But they were in a better place than they'd been in before and that... That was an improvement.

But then Stiles had realized how, even after he'd supposedly gotten to grips with Lydia forever friend-zoning him and him being surprisingly content (for now, at least? He wasn't completely sure of that one)with that... His love – or as Scott called it, "obsession" – with Lydia had completely dominated his private life.

Aside from werewolves and giant killing lizards and mythological juju, that is.

Which is how this party had come about. Alright, Stiles was a little sceptical since the last party he'd been to in regards to "being over" Lydia had ended with one of his childhood friends being a human sacrifice, but sometimes you just had to take a leap of faith that the vast majority of Earth weren't supernatural. The more time Stiles spent in Beacon Hills, the more he doubted that, but in this case, the guy who had come up with ignorance is bliss was Stiles' boy.

The party was a little further out than they'd all usually be. It was close enough for people from Beacon Hills to be in attendance, but the vast majority of the party were from the other neighbourhoods or out-of-towners looking for one last blast before summer was over and, Stiles' life in particular, was dominated by high school, full moons and his best friend constantly playing tonsil tennis with Allison in his presence.

Stiles sighed as they entered the house, people already drinking – how could he have imagined it any other way? – from red cups and laughing garishly with one another, some couples making out.

"Hey guys, so what-" Stiles turned, only to find Scott and Allison already disappearing into the crowd, holding hands and giggling as any a couple would do. "Great, just fantastic." Stiles muttered to himself, rolling back his shoulders. "Okay, Stiles. You're on your own on this one. Go get 'em."

. . .

I was bored.

Michelle had tried bitching at me to join in the giant orgy at least three times already and, hate as I did to admit it, her constant nagging was working in getting me to drink more.

A lot more.

What I didn't get, was why she kept feeling the need to introduce me to people. I didn't care, honestly. The only reason I was here was because of some sick, twisted sense of gratitude I felt for my cousin's weird version of care.

"You all suck." I heard someone mutter and I turned because, honestly, that was exactly what I was thinking, even through my happy alcoholic buzz.

"Excuse me?"

I raised my eyebrows, staring as the guy next to me – the one who had spoken – turned to me in surprise, apparently not having noticed me before.

That was promising.

"Oh, uh, sorry, I didn't mean- I didn't even see you, I-" I waited patiently as the guy in front of me attempted to stutter his way through a sentence. "I, uh... Sorry, I just..." He sighed, overlooking the hall below. We were both standing at the balcony over the stairs, watching everybody else party hard or whatever the expression was. "This isn't exactly the night I'd been hoping for."

"Well, what kind of night were you hoping for?" Usually, I wasn't this nosy. In fact, I was less talkative and much more grumpy, but... Well, the mix of vodka and Red Bull (mostly vodka) had me feeling all warm and fuzzy, which naturally turned me into my version of a socialite. Damned Michelle.

The guy gave me a sideways glance, before shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks and thinking for a second.

"Get over a girl." He admitted, sighing. "Maybe meet another one, get talking, I don't know-"

"You mean you were hoping for a hook-up?" I interrupted, trying to hide my amused expression. Because that was what this kind of socially awkward stranger was describing. A hook-up.

"Well, not necessarily a hook-up, I mean, that'd be kind of high expectations considering my-" I listened patiently, the guy giving in halfway. "Yeah, okay, in an ideal situation, hooking up with some girl – whose name I'd totally remember and who I would totally call tomorrow, by the way – would have been kind of nice."

I shrugged, swirling my drink in my cup. Okay, so that was making me dizzy.

"You want a drink?" I offered, thrusting the red cup towards the strangely handsome stranger. Was handsome too strong of a word? He was cute, sure, but I felt like that was too contrived of an answer. Cute, maybe, if you were into the whole socially awkward thing, but... No, it was too within a mould. This guy wasn't cute enough to be cute, even if he was cute. That made sense, didn't it? "It's vodka and soda."

The Stranger – that's what I was calling him until further notice – suspiciously took the cup and sniffed it, watching me as he took a sip.

He shuddered and scrunched up his face.

"Mostly vodka?" He managed to say hoarsely, handing it back. I nodded, watching him splutter. "Strong stuff."

"Michelle's attempts to get me hammered." I shrugged, taking a casual sip. There was a small silence – well, between me and Stranger, that is. The rest of the house was in full party flow. "Do you think I'm attractive?"

Stranger seemed startled by the question. Again, it wasn't usually my type of question and I'd only really stuck to the one cup of vodka and soda, so I wasn't totally out of my mind – but Michelle had made sure the same cup had been refilled so many times, it was a miracle I wasn't passed out somewhere.

As it happened, I was the quiet, giggling-to-herself-evilly in the corner drunk. But then again, I hadn't exactly been this drunk enough times to use this one party as a template.

"Is that a trick question?" Stranger asked slowly.

"Do you want it to be a trick question?" I asked back, wondering where he was going with this.

But apparently my reply was a sufficient answer, because then he started tripping over himself trying to answer the question.

"Yes - yeah, sure, definitely, I mean, I guess-" I turned to Stranger, my eyebrows raised again, only this time a little indignant. He guessed? He didn't know? "I mean, yes, definitively yes, you're really attractive, in fact, I-" Stranger coughed, his eyes suddenly widening. "I, uh, the more I look at you, the more I realize you're way out of my depth for me to talk to, so I'm just going to g-"

"I think you're attractive, too. Definitively." I told him, making him stop and widen his eyes. I wasn't lying. He was attractive, even if I was mocking him a little.

I mean, he was tall, taller than me, anyway. His skin was kind of pale which made me hone in on this kind of underlying geeky vibe he was giving off, but it wasn't totally repellent. He had beauty moles dotted all over his cheeks and neck. Messy, dark brown hair, big, dark brown eyes. A good, straight nose, defined jaw, killer cheekbones. He was in slacks, sneakers and a sweatshirt, which was nice in comparison to the jerks posing in Polo Ralph Laurens around here – he wasn't so much Melissa's crowd.

"Well, uh, thanks." Stranger grinned dorkily, nodding to himself proudly as I turned away again. Did guys forget that girls had peripheral vision or something? "I'm uh, I'm St-"

"No names." I cut him off, downing the remainder of the stupid red cup. Aha! There it was. The sweet, sweet bottom. "But... I do have a business proposition for you. Listening?"

Stranger looked intrigued now. He thought for a moment, before nodding slowly, looking confused. I wasn't confused. Why was he confused?

"Sure."

"I'm assuming you're a virgin, right?" Stranger instantly opened his mouth to speak, his cheeks tinging red. Wasn't that just adorable? Still not quite enough for him to label him as just cute, but we were getting there. "And so am I. Now, I'm not usually like this, but Michelle wants me to participate in the general grinding of bodies at this party and I'm generously tipsy but sober enough to know what I'm doing, and also be aware of the fact I kind of want a body to grind against, even though I'm as virginal as yourself." I told Stranger, ignoring the alarm bells going off in my head. Honestly, could I do worse after dating Frankie? No. No, I couldn't. "So, I'm proposing we help one another out. You give me a body to grind against, you get your hook-up, I don't want to remember your name tomorrow which saves us both drama and we'll probably never see each other again, but have done one another the brilliant gift of going to school no longer being virgins, in an atypical teenage way."

Stranger had kind of frozen and was staring at me, with a mix of awe and incredulity. I didn't know what to take from that.

"Are you sure you're sober enough to be making those kind of propositions?" Stranger asked me uneasily, though I didn't miss the way he glanced me up and down in a kind of daze. "Could you, like, try and walk in a straight line or something?"

I hadn't actually made that much of an effort for Michelle's party. I was in black, skinny leather pants, a plain black baggy T-shirt with a round neck and loose arms, and a pair of black boots. My hair was its usual black mess. I was barely wearing any make-up, save some red lipstick to shut up Michelle.

But anyway, I could feel Stranger watching me as I managed a fairly straight line. Save me tripping on my own two feet and stumbling into his arms at the end.

"Can you walk in a straight line and keep eye contact?" I challenged, using his shoulders to steady myself. "Because I just did."

Although Stranger nodded emphatically, even though he almost tripped up around several times.

"Good enough." I muttered, taking his hand – it was soft – and leading him into the maze that was Michelle's upstairs. "Have you got something?" I asked over my shoulder.

"Uh, yeah, I should have-" Stranger mumbled, fumbling in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. I sighed to myself. How cliché. Then again, wasn't that one of the selling points of this escapade? "Wait – are you sure about this?" I allowed Stranger to pull me to a stop and stand in front of me. "Like, really sure?"

"If you're having doubts, I'll just find-"

"No!" Stranger almost yelled, pulling me gently back by the shoulders before I walked too far away. I stood there patiently. "It's just... I mean, the last time I tried this thing with a girl-"

"Your junk didn't work?"

Stranger's jaw clenched a little.

"No, actually, my junk worked fine." He muttered, flushing again. "I just... She... Well, we kind of never got that... Far?" It seemed like he was more unsure of what he was talking about than I was. Which was a lot.

"Did she stand you up?" I demanded.

Stranger seemed so struggle for words.

"It was a..." He looked away, apparently sad. Wow, so this one was an emotional one. "It was a little more complicated than that."

"Well, I'm still here, so..." I didn't mention that I'd added for now in my head. This was taking way too long and this conversation was too sobering for my liking. "Are we doing this, or...?"

"Why am I even still talking?" Stranger muttered to himself, before grasping my hand again and allowing me to lead him down the hall. "Yes, yes, of course we're still doing this!"

"Awesome." I said, pulling Stranger into a dark room, pushing him against the door to keep it closed and pulled his head down so I could kiss him.

So... There's that!

I'm still toying with the idea of actually writing this. I already have a lot of projects, on ehre and other sites, but I feel like I'm too obsessed with Teen Wolf not to write something.

Let me know what you think. Happy readers = more chapters, after all.

- henbee