Stiles took his head out of his hands, staring at the phone book. It was open to the Ms, and his pen lay at one name: Caitlin Matthews. He picked up his phone.
"Hi, Caitlin?" He asked once she picked up.
"Yeah, who is this?"
"Stiles Stilinski." Silence. A thought flitted across his mind, something that hadn't occurred to him when he decided to call Caitlin. "We, uh, met at the blacklight party. You were pretty drunk, you might not remember-"
She cut him off. "You're the one who kissed me, pulled out a glowing key, and ran off." Stiles imagined she was smiling, maybe looking off to the side.
"Yeah. Yeah, that's me. Look-" He flopped back onto his bed, trying to filter his thoughts into coherent sentences. "I wanted to thank you. For what you said. And for kissing me-that was pretty awesome, but mostly the stuff about liking girls and boys."
"You didn't answer me," Caitlin recalled. "I'm guessing you've figured it out?"
Brief moments from the past few years came to mind: their trip to Jungle, Danny's joking offer to have sex with him, and way too many shirtless werewolves. In retrospect, he probably should've realized sooner. "Yes. The answer is yes. And I probably would've gotten it eventually, but without that push you gave me there might've been years of worrying, and questioning, and you just saved me all that trouble. So thanks, again."
Stiles sat in silence for a moment, before Caitlin laughed. "Glad to help. Call me if you ever want to talk, or here-let me give you my cell-" They exchanged numbers and said goodbye.
With that load off his chest, Stiles grabbed his computer and pulled up the research he had been doing while Caitlin's words had played on repeat in his head.
"Japanese spirit… trickster…" He muttered to himself. "Masks… shadow dance… I need to tell Dad!"