I am back, people. To start things off, I wanna apologize for not being able to publish these past two months. My laptop was basically useless and I needed to get a new one and finally after so long, I finally got one! Stories will be published as usual, but I will have to put Medical Love on hold. I will focus on Tessellate and this new one which is a whole new adventure, a Sterek fanfic. I was so gravitated by Sterek that I just had to give it a try. I will publish a new chapter for Tessellate once I get the writer's block out of the head. It has become extremely difficult to pick up from where I left off considering that I had basically abandoned my writings for two months. Thus, Tessellate will be on temporary hiatus. When I finally publish a new chapter of it, that would mark the end of my writer's block. So, without further ado, here's the first chapter of Return.


0.1

The train sped. That was what it all did. Move. Leaving the passengers no chance to witness and grasp the beauty that has been laid outside. Stiles had his ears plugged, with his eyes fixated at the window, not minding of the images whizzing. His indifference was only mere and the last he could think was the conversation he and his dad had while he was waiting for the said train's arrival. Bittersweet, yes but to live in Beacon Hills after acquiring his degree for the remaining of his life was a big no-no for the Sheriff. Losing his mother was harsh in reality and his grief was all focused through one medium, his studies. His dad, despite lacking a woman figure in the family, he did not need to search far as Stiles had taken the mantle that his mother had untimely abandoned due to her illness and eventual death. That was all the sheriff needed to know that Beacon Hills is where his son was going to spend his life in. He never said it, though it wasn't necessary, but he had always envisioned his son that he would achieve and surpass himself as a sheriff. Sure, Stiles would pass of as a sheriff no doubt, but the world- in his eyes- had bigger plans for the 21 year old. Stiles always wanted a sense of adventure and that was not an issue as Stiles was intelligent, second top in his class, just a few points shy of Lydia Martin, his former high school crush that had enrolled herself in MIT with a course in Mathematics. Stiles had always known it was a fruitless attempt to even get a crack on Lydia, not because she was mean or heartless, but she had little to settle for someone as hyperactive and annoying (as they call it) as Stilinski, and Stiles couldn't blame her. ADHD had its ups and down.

"Dad, I'll be fine. I mean, it's New York. And it's Stiles Stilinski you're looking at," said Stiles with a bravado that was endearing.

"OH, you don't have to tell me that. I know you'll survive there. Just remember to call me once in a while," said Sheriff Stilinski.

"Jeez, dad I will, alright? I haven't boarded the train, heck the train hasn't even arrived and you're already missing me. You sure you wanna let me go to the city?" asked Stiles in a teasing tone.

"It can't hurt to try as a father, right?" retorted his father.

The railroad was still vacant and Beacon Hills never really was a prosperous area, unlike New York and few have really gone to New York for the purpose of settling in. Most would go to the Big Apple for the purpose of visiting or shopping for a commodity that could only be procured in the said city. Stiles and his father stood in a comfortable silence and the sound of the train's arrival was imminent as the serene ambiance was suddenly replaced with chiming of the bell, signalling the train's arrival. Stiles stared at his father, and his father with the same expression as his son. Sheriff Stilinski could not more proud of his son's endeavours.

Without a second thought as a father, he hugged his son tightly, knowing that it would be a while that he would see his son once more and whispered, "Your mom would be so proud of you,". The stinging of tears that crept to Stiles' eyes were unmistakable and all Stiles could do was mentally nod at the statement. He hugged his dad fervently, hoping that homesickness was just like any other sickness, a temporary one. "Make sure you visit for Christmas and Thanksgiving, and call me when you have arrived safely, got it?"

"Yeah, and make sure you lay off the bacons and stick to greens." replied Stiles. The sheriff rolled his eyes but smiled at this son's ability to love and care despite the obstacles that had hurdled in their lives. "I love you, dad."

"Love you too, kiddo."

The train arrived and it's doors opened, and as Stiles grabbed his luggages to board the train, he could not help but savour one more, if not, last hug from his beloved dad. This was the farthest that they had been apart and it was going to be hard notwithstanding. He finally board the train and found a vacant seat. The train did hold some passengers but the amount of people in the train was almost little to none. He placed his luggages carefully, and with a cursor perusal, settled down in a seat closest to the window where he could see his father one his apparent last time. He waved at his dad and he could see his eyes water. He knew that it wasn't final but it was just a rare moment to see his dad cry, not since his mother's death. He waved back with a smile that was almost marred with sadness and longing. The train whistled, indicating it's imminent departure. The train moved and his dad stood rooted from where he stood, and all Stiles could do was wave incessantly at his dad, redolent to the movie Titanic where most relatives would stay tight-knitted. It was remittable, as the saying goes, blood is thicker than water. The image of his father soon escaped his vision and Stiles settled back into his seat, with his heart commixed with nervousness, plaintiveness and excitement.

Stiles settled in his seat, but not without exploring the interior of the cargo he had baorded. Nothing really captured his attention, and he returned to his seat with his legs in a cross legged manner, trying to make himself at home, even though he wished he was. He had his ears plugged with earphones, hoping to make entertainment a constant during his ride to the Big Apple. The music, along with the peace that had filled the atmosphere, made his eyelids weigh heavier than cinderblocks and eventual he fell asleep.

The halt of the train and the loud, high pitched whistle of the train woke Stiles up. For a moment, he could not remember his surroundings and soon rubbed his eyes, hoping to minimize the effect of the bright light that assailed his eyes. He took a moment to recover and gain his bearings before standing up, stretching, hoping to remove any discomfort from his makeshift siesta spot. He removed his earphones and coiled it carefully before tucking it in his pockets along with his phone. He collected his luggages and then alighted the train. The place was crowded but surely it was for a different purpose. They were ostensibly more people returning to their homes from New York rather than going to the said state.

Moving out of the place, he had fished his phone out of his pockets, hoping to call Scott McCall, who seemingly had prepared an apartment for him. It had been a while since he had met his best friend. He had left New York a year after high school graduation to study as an intern for veterinary. His love for animals was obvious and when he had been offered the chance to test the waters, he knew it was chance not to be missed. When Stiles had conferred of his intentions of staying in New York to start his life to Scott, he squealed in excitement and had proceeded to find a spot for him to stay. The rent wasn't a hassle, and Stiles was more than ready to leave and settle before finding a job.

He scrolled through his contacts with a huge flick of the thumb, and tapped Scott's name, immediately dialling his number. He waited for a few rings and soon heard the connection being made.

"Stiles! Have you arrived?" asked Scott.

"No, the train is experiencing problems and we're stuck here in the middle of nowhere. Of course I have arrived, you doofus," deadpanned Stiles.

Scott laughed at the remark. Oh, how he had missed the sarcasm that flowed out his Stiles' mouth easily. "I bet. Sorry I couldn't be there though, Stiles. I had been called to handle some stuff at the veterinary,"reasoned his best friend.

"Nahhh," scoffed Stiles, "So where do I go from the train station?"

"Your apartment," replied Scott.

"Really? I had no idea. Jeez, for a minute there, I thought I was already standing at my apartment. The concrete floor is just oh so comfortable. You should try it sometime," replied Stiles sarcastically. Scott laughed at the reply before advising him to take a taxi, but not without texting him the address of his new place. He hung the phone up with words from Scott that he will meet Stiles in the evening, where his shift ended. He soon boarded a taxi, which was almost indispensable, as New York was flooded with taxis. With the coordinates he received, arriving at the destination all within good time. He paid the taxi driver and proceeded to retrieve his belongings from the boot of the car, with the help of the driver. He gave a smile and nod in appreciation after laying the luggages on the concrete pavement. He soon entered the building, enquiring the landlord-who was not the nicest of the bunch- of his apartment. Settling with his rent and garnering the keys-who could care less to tell him of the keys' purposes- Stiles, with his belongings, headed to the elevator, and soon pressed the button that led him to his newfound space.

After a few tries of finding which key was the one to open the door, he slid the key, his breath quivering in nervousness and excitement as he turned the lock. He opened the door and was met with a lunge by a figure that Stiles did not have time to discern the figure's appearance. The luggages tumbled and Stiles was writhing, struggling to be out of the body that was hovering over him.

"What the hell?" exclaimed Stiles.

"Surprise!" said the figure. With his vision returning, he saw the unmistakable black wavy hair, and smile that could even charm the ladies in a high school. Scott.

"Dude," started Stiles, "I like to feel my feet on the ground, if you don't mind," said Stiles with a smile plastered on his face.

"Oh, right!" said Scott sheepishly before standing up and assisting his best friend to be on his feet. He soon shifted his luggages and then placed the said possessions on the couch. The space was big, enough to fit four people. The room was adorned with decorations that could match a loft and the walls were decorated with paintings, acrylic ones at that, and place was furnished with other facilities that most people settling in New York would dream to have. Stiles was extremely fortunate, as his mind could advise. "C'mon, I'll give you a tour around the place,"

The place was furnished with an assortment of facilities and the bathroom was not so shabby as well. It was small, but it was enough for him. Besides, it was only meant for him. And me, only. The place was already prepared with the necessary toiletries and the bed was all the more satisfying. It was a queen size and the sheets were fluffy, and Stiles could not wait to bask in its softness. Scott assisted with Stiles in placing the belongings and clothes neatly inside the wardrobe. After settling and chatting whilst arranging, Stiles opted to explore around the place, and with all rooms explored, there was only one room that wasn't scrutinized. He turned the knob and realized the door would not budge. It was locked.

"This room's locked," said Stiles.

"Don't look at me," said Scott while shrugging his shoulders, "Maybe one of the keys can unlock it?" suggested Scott. With a nod of agreement, Stiles left to retrieve the keys that was still lodged in its' keyhole. After few tries, none of the keys would unlock the door, further confusing the pair. "Did the landlord tell you anything?"

"Nope," said Stiles with a pop of the 'p'.

"Oh well, not that it matters, right?" reasoned Scott. Stiles gave an imperceptible nod, ignoring momentarily the mysterious door for the moment but it had certainly piqued his interest. He'd be sure to examine it once more. The two settled for a while, with incessant chattering filling the void. They soon discussed of Scott's internship, with him happily explaining and weaving tales of his activities. Stiles listened attentively, and was grinning ear to ear to hear of his relationship with his friend and partner, Isaac Lahey. They were both in the same faculty, and they hit right off, with Scott being appreciative of his companionship during the two years he had been performing his internship. Dr. Deaton, who was his mentor, had taught Scott and Isaac exhaustively of the procedure that ought to be discharged. Dr. Deaton, as Scott outlined, was quite the laid back individual. His cool demeanour was admired in the faculty, and Scott wished to see him crack in stress but in the course of his internship, he always had a complaisant and chill look about work.

Stiles couldn't wait to begin his life in the city, with Scott mirroring his excitement. After saying words of goodbye to Scott, and assurance that he will contact and visit his best friend as frequent as possible, Stiles sat down on the couch and lounged, processing the simplicity of his apartment. His apartment. He was giddy about the place and after having a moment of ecstasy, he fished his phone out of his pockets, unlocking his phone and went to contact his dad, whom he had forgotten to call upon his arrival.

The dial soon connected after the second ring, "Hello?" The conversation was a non-stop process. Stiles babbling about his arrival was all the things his father need to hear. Safe and sound. He explained about his arrival, along with his tour given by Scott in his new apartment. His father was used to the jabbering. All he cared and wanted from his family is Stiles' safety guaranteed. Ever since his relapse with alcohol after his wife's death, he knew that Stiles needed a parental figure, even though Stiles had actually grew to become independent and self-reliant during his adolescence. He felt a sense of accomplishment towards having a wife who was able to impact something meaningful and deep towards his son in spite of her death. Either that, or it was his ADHD that had kicked in.

The call then ended with Stiles basically advising – or as the Sheriff put it, harassing – him to adhere to the diet regime that Stiles had importunately gave him. "Love you, dad. Don't miss me too much,"

"You wish, son," said the Sheriff with an impassive tone, "Love you, too," before hanging up the line. Stiles placed the phone down on his lap, and gave a sigh and took a moment to process the entire day with. It was overwhelming, to say the least, but gratifying and eye-opening regardless. His mind starting pacing, like cogs in a machine, about his schedule for the next day.

He got up from the sofa that he had lounged for a companionable amount of time and headed to the shower, but not without grabbing a fresh towel from the wardrobe that he had neatly arranged with Scott. Once he had arrived in the bathroom, he stripped his clothing and dumped the used garments into the bin that was readied in the bathroom. Stepping into the cubicle, he turned the knob and the spray was extremely soothing. The warm water that cascaded off his lean body relieved every hidden tension and Stiles could control the sough of appreciation escaping his lips. Ensuring that he had cleansed his body of impurities, he grabbed the towel and dried himself meticulously and went over to brush his teeth. It was a little over 8 in the evening, but the train ride that he had utilized most of his day's time sleeping did not really provide much comfortability. He just felt like it was time to hit the hay.

Grabbing the clothes that were unpacked, he donned only a white wife beater and a pair of black boxers, and basically leapt into the softness of the bed provided. He was jubilant. For the first time, he was free, and the bed was an extreme soft landing (pun intended) from the turbulence he had gone through his life. He stared at the ceiling, and soon his eyes were lulled into the darkness.

~RETURN~

He returned home with a key slid in its keyhole. He was exhausted. Working almost 9 to 5 in a place where one of your co-workers practically pester you can be extremely taxing. He never intended to work at a place like it was. He closed the door, locking it with the deadbolt etched onto its wall, and moved off to his room. He slid the key into his bedroom, and then closed the door behind him. He sighed in contentment as he saw the bed eagerly waiting to be reclaimed by his owner. Although excited, he could not bear to be laying in bed with the outdoor stench that had permeated on not only his clothes, but his body as well. Giving a huff of irritation, he grabbed his towel, left his room and then finally proceeding his footsteps to the bathroom.

Giving the light switch a flick with his finger, he went inside and unclothed his odoured clothes before settling it in the basket haphazardly, giving a rat's ass whether it entered the basket or not. He entered the cubicle, and turned the knob and welcomed the patter of the warm shower. He gave a sigh of relief and bliss when he felt the tension of his body dissipating, as if he was in a spa, which he would not mind going to one day anyways. Grabbing a loofah, he was exhaustively cleaning his body, targeting every nook and cranny of his Adonis like body. He stood there for a moment, letting the shower land and drip of his body. He soon turned the knob of the shower off, not wanting the water to grow cold and give an unsettling feeling to his body when he hits the hay.

Drying himself scrutinizingly, he tied the towel around his chiseled waist, before brushing his teeth, and leaving the bathroom with the lights turned off withal. Walking back to his bedroom with a fairly exhausted addled mind, he rummaged through his wardrobe and then donned a pair of sweatpants, going commando. With a wife beater worn and documenting his body, he laid on top of the bed, and could feel himself relax at the contact between the fabric and the skin of his body. Staring at the ceiling above him, he let the blank canvas of a wall hypnotize him to his deep sleep.

~RETURN~

The sunlight was shining radiantly, bringing cognition to Stiles' senses to a wake. His eyelids fluttered at the onslaught of rays and his hand involuntarily covered his eyes, hoping to obviate the rays from blinding him. He groaned, with his inflection indicating his reluctance to leave his new bed. The softness of the bed was reminiscent of a devil, attempting to entice Stiles' mind to sleep once again. He gave a quick a glance towards the digital clock, with the object flashing the time in red. It was thirteen minutes past nine. I slept that late, he thought to himself. Figures if the exhaustion was patent. The excitement and nervousness must have tired him as a whole from yesterday.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, before getting himself of the devilish bed. He paced around his room and grabbed his towel. He could feel, no, he knows that his hear was in a frazzled mess. He left the room and headed to the kitchen. He decided to prepare breakfast, albeit, he wasn't sure that the refrigerator was filled with anything anyway. He had not looked into it upon his arrival yesterday. Opening it, his eyes bulged at the sight. The interior of the fridge was filled with a miscellany of foods, ranging from dairy products to the greens that were kept in a section of the refrigerator.

He withdrew some eggs, bacon and milk that was placed in the fridge, with his leg kicking the fridge door, closing it. He laid the ingredients on the kitchen counter, and strode around the kitchen, perusing the cabinets and quickly took the skillet. Excitedly, he turned the stove on, and poured in a meagre amount of butter and watched it melt, sizzling in the process. He grabbed the eggs, washing it, then cracking it into a bowl and battered it to a yellow concoction and poured the contents into the skillet. For the first time, he had never know how independence and cooking would work so cohesively together.

~RETURN~

He woke up, with his eyelids opening, like a blind being rolled upwards, and stared. The sleep was what he needed and looking over the clock, he sat up, only to find his senses waking to a halt. Sniffing the air, the smell of fried bacon was the first and most distinct and he could not help but feel befuddled. Throughout his time living in this apartment, he had always known that no other scents could suffuse through the air unless it comes from the kitchen. Moving out of his bed, he grabbed the nearest item that he could apply for self-defence, a bat. Opening the door minutely, he peeked out of the tiny space, his mind expectantly hoping some burglar would wait and ready himself to attack, but could only see the vase that was laid on top of a table. With the confidence coursing through his mind, although not much, he opened the door but gripped the bat loyally.

He slowly walked to the ensure that the perimeter was clear, only to find that his ear had collected the sounds of humming and sizzling of a skillet and his eyes were gripped on to the figure that was standing in front of the stove. White tee, with boxers donned, the lean body standing straight, giving him a clear view of his well defined legs. Who is he, he thought. His grip on the bat was loosened slightly, and could sense the hostility was mitigating.

He cleared his throat, eliciting a gruff, gravelly tone. If he had such imagination, he figured the unknown man's reaction could hit his head onto the ceiling. He screamed, and the spatula he had held was out of his hand, landing onto the floor haphazardly.