Stiles sat with his legs dangling off the edge of the old Foundry Bridge, his eyes staring down at the dark churning water below. Headlights cut through the darkness, casting light over his shoulder. He hears the choke and rattle of an old engine, that he's come to know so well by ear. He doesn't even have to look up to know it was her. He's not sure why she'd still bother looking for him, not after how they'd left things.
He closes his eyes, and listens to the staccato of her boots, as she navigates her way across the warped old bridge in the dark. He hears her still for a moment, and feels her eyes on him. She takes a deep breath before she swings her leg over the railing and carefully sets herself down beside him.
She's so close. Her thigh is pressed right up against his, and he can feel the warmth of her presence bleed right through his clothes. He's been sitting up here for hours, and he's cold—so cold he's almost numb. And here she is beside him giving off a plethora of warmth. He wants to pull her closer and soak it up. But he stops himself from reaching for her, he doesn't want to confuse her more than he already has. Its better this way, if he stays aloof, then maybe he won't draw her any further into this mess.
It's no accident that she's sitting so close. He can feel the tension in her body, he can sense her discomfort and fear. She hates heights. She's only up here right now for him. And even after everything he's done she still at the most basic level associates him with safety. A hot spike of pride shoots through him at the realization. He presses it down.
"What are you doing here, Malia?" he breathes out.
"Making sure your clumsy ass doesn't fall off this bridge." she grumbles under her breath.
Stiles blows out a breath, "My 'clumsy ass' is just fine, thank you." he says as he keeps his eyes trained on the dark river.
Malia shakes her head, and her soft hair brushes against the cool skin of his neck. Stiles can't help but shudder at the way it tingles across his numb skin. "If you were fine, then you wouldn't be up here punishing yourself."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "I'm not punishing myself."
"Then what are you doing?"
Stiles shrugs, "I'm just…thinking."
She's so close, it's distracting. With every breath she takes, her arm brushes up against his. And it grates against his nerves. It's like the heat of her body is taunting him. He doesn't want her here. Not now. Not when he feels this raw and volatile. No good can come from talking with him right now. He just wants to be left alone.
Malia makes a small dismissive sound. "No, you're not."
Stiles turns to look at her for the first time, his eyes glinting with anger. "It's rude to pick up on people's chemo signals without their permission." He snaps.
She flinches at his tone of voice. But doesn't drop her eyes.
"I didn't have to." she whispers. "I know you. And you can't keep still when you're thinking."
Stiles drops his head and winces. He's an asshole.
"What do you want from me, Malia?" he pleads, tiredly. Hasn't he already hurt her enough? He broke up with her at the sheriff's station this morning. So, why is she still here? The longer she sits here with him the more he's going to say stupid things to push her away. And he doesn't want to hurt her. He's never wanted to hurt her.
"I heard about what happened with you and Scott and I just…I needed to make sure you were, OK."
His throat clenches, and he lifts his head his eyes searching hers.
Then the wind picks up, and the rickety old bridge shudders and groans beneath them. Malia hisses, dropping her eyes to curl her fingers tightly around the rusted metal ledge. Stiles can feel her trembling against him. And he hates that she's putting herself in this position for him. Stiles reaches out and braces her, barring her from the edge. "Malia, you should go." he coaxes in her ear, "You're no good with heights. And you shouldn't be up here worrying about me."