Stiles liked to think he knew a fair amount about the world around him.
He knew that werewolves are real, That the sky was blue, and that 99 comes before 100.
Stiles knew that he was awkward and gangly and he tripped over things a lot more often than other people. He knew that he had no brain to mouth filter, that if you gave him sugar, or red dye, or a combination of the two you would never get him to go to sleep.
He knew that most people found him annoying, that he wasn't exactly attractive and that he was probably the worst player on the beacon hills lacrosse team. He knew that Scott was his best friend, His dad hated veggie lasagna and above all else, he knew that Derek Hale found him insufferable.
Which is why he was sitting in his bedroom, back pressed against the wall that Derek had pressed him against what seemed like hours ago but was really minutes, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened.
Out of all the people in the world, well up until about five minutes ago. Stiles would have sworn up and down that Derek hale hated him the most. (Jackson might have a close second)
After all there was overwhelming evidence to support that theory, given all the times he had been slammed against walls, or steering wheels, or cars, or well any given surface for that matter. Stiles would have been willing to bet his life that Derek hale hated his guts.
And now, he was sitting on his floor, fingers pressed tentatively to his tingling lips, thoroughly re-evaluating everything he knew about the world.