Stiles just leans back against the sink and rubs a hand across his face. What are you doing, Stilinski? What did you think? That you'd flash her those big brown eyes and she'd jump back into your arms? C'mon man she deserves better from you. He chastises himself. The rain is coming down harder now, pounding against the tin roof. Tree branches thrash in the howling wind and knock against the sides of the house. Lightning flares across the bathroom window, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Stiles looks up noticing for the first time how rough the storm has grown.
Down the hall he can hear the mechanical groan of the dryer starting up. He listens to the patter of his wet clothes tumbling in the dryer for a moment before he pushes off the sink and turns. He snags the folded plaid shirt from the corner of the sink and tugs it on. The soft well-worn fabric settles comfortingly over his skin.
As he adjusts the collar slightly, he's caught up in the scent that clings to the fabric. It's a pairing he knows well, the clean, woodsy scent of her laundry detergent, paired with the sweet, tang of her pineapple shampoo. His shoulders droop, as a flash of memories flit across the back of his eyes—Malia cuddled into his side, with her head tucked under his chin at the beacon hills drive-in—her head on his shoulder during a slow dance at junior prom—Her sitting on the bleachers waiting for him after practice with a smile—That first time she had cast a fugitive glance down the hall before grabbing him and stealing a kiss before class—
These last few weeks have been pure agony but this, having to wear her scent on his clothes was a whole new level of self-torture.
Lightning streaked across the sky, glancing across the window and thunder clashed so loud that Stiles could feel it in the floorboards of the old farmhouse. The lightbulbs in the bathroom and the hall buzzed with electricity, instantly glowing brighter, before they started to flicker and the whole house was plunged into darkness.
Stiles turns his head from side to side squinting in the darkness and sighs, "...and the hits just keep on coming." Lighting flickers in the window and he's able to just make out the silhouette of the doorframe. Shuffling carefully, he feels his way along the wall and makes his way down the hall.
"Mal?" He calls, as he stumbles slightly over something in the dark. A flashlight cuts through the darkness and glances over him. Stiles raises his hand to cover his eyes from the glare of the light. Malia readjusts her grip and illuminates the stairs for him.
"Power's out in the whole house." She tells him as he climbs down the stairs. "The storm's pretty rough it'll probably be a couple hours before it comes back on." Stiles nods as he reaches the foot of the stairs. The wind whistles and the rain beats against the house. He tries to suppress a shiver, but the farmhouse is old and drafty and with the power out he can already feel the heat starting to leach off his body.
At his feet he hears shuffling and looks down to see Beau. There is another crash of thunder and the big Rottweiler cowers, whining pitifully. Malia reaches between them and strokes the big dog's head.
"Hey, it's O.K—you're O.K." She soothes in a soft, gentle voice. Stiles hunkers down by Beau and ruffles his neck.
"What's the matter with you, tough guy?" He asks and the Rottweiler shifts closer to him and laps at his cheek. Stiles guffaws and brushes his face with the back of his hand.
"Beau's scared of thunder," Malia explains. "Dad found him on the side of the road in a storm when he was, like, four months old."
Stiles swallows hard, "Aww, poor guy," he says, softly as he ruffles the dog's big velvet ears. Beau lets out another whine and then yawns, licking his lips.
"He's stressed." Malia says as she crouches down, reaching out in the dark for something, "Here, can you keep him distracted with this?" She asks as she hands him Beau's favourite dog toy.
"Yeah, sure." He says as he squeaks the floppy-eared rabbit toy. Beau's eyes light up and he nudges Stiles' hand.
Malia rises up from her haunches, "The temperature is gonna start dropping in here pretty quick, I'm gonna go light a fire." She strides off into the dark house leaving him the flashlight. Stiles sits down on the floor and shakes the dog toy, and Beau follows it with his eyes. Stiles tosses it in his hand and Beau grabs onto one of the floppy rabbit's feet and tugs it away from him.
Stiles laughs, "Hey, gimme that rabbit." He says playfully. Beau covers the toy with his paws and whines like a two-pound puppy rather than the hundred-and-ten pound dog that he is, when when Stiles teasingly swipes at the toy. Stiles shakes his head at the big dog, "You're real vicious, huh?" Beau just licks Stiles' hand in response.
When he'd first started coming over to help Malia with her homework, he'd been about as terrified of this big dog as he had been of her father. But he'd learned pretty quickly that the dog was just a big softy. He remembers how Malia had taken his hand in hers and held it out to the dog. "He's just scared. Don't rush him. Just let him come to you." She'd explained. It didn't take long for the dog to warm up to him and pretty soon Beau started siting on Stiles' foot whenever the pair of them were studying at the kitchen table. When he'd been confused as to why Malia just laughed and said, "He likes you. He's just asking you to stay."
A wisp of smoke tickles his nose and as he looks up he sees a flicker of light on the floorboards. Stiles rises up, "C'mon, buddy." He says ruffling Beau's neck as he follows the flicker of light and steps around the couch and further into the Tate's living room. As he gets closer he sees Malia's face in the firelight and he forgets how to breathe for a second. She's leaning down holding back her hair as she blows on the embers, coaxing the small fire to catch. The flames rise and start lapping at the wood and the whole room brightens in a soft orange glow. Malia rises up from the fire, brushing her hands off on the knees of her sweatpants.
As she turns she catches sight of him, her eyes dart away and runs a hand through her hair, "You should come warm up." Beau trots over to her wagging his tail, but Stiles lingers by the stairs.
Stiles scratches at the back of his neck, "Nah, I'm good. But you should—"
"Stiles," she sighs, tiredly, "Don't be an idiot."
Stiles chews on his lip, "Right." He mutters as he moves further into the room and sits down on the edge of the couch, his back ramrod straight. Malia just smirks at him from her seat on the hearth. She stands up and reaches for the opened sleeping bag thats hanging off the edge of the couch and unceremoniously dumps it over top of him. Stiles flails his arms in surprise and manages to reach up and tug the sleeping bag down off his head. He shakes his head, his eyes darting to her and arches an eyebrow at her.
Malia just grins and lifts her shoulder in response, "Quit being weird." She chides.
His lips twist in good humour, "Pfft—Me? Weird? Never." He fluffs out the sleeping bag draping it over himself, tucking his arms beneath it. The heat from the fire starts to seep into room, warming the sleeping bag. Stiles sighs as he sinks back into the couch, finally starting to feel warm again. After a minute his eyes flick back to Malia at the fire, she's scratching Beau behind the ears. Stiles shifts beneath the blanket restlessly, and the rustling catches her attention.
"What?" She asks, bluntly.
"It just, uh, wha—what about you?" Malia folds her hands and watches him, her eyes carefully trying to work something out. Then after a moment she stands and moves over to the far end of the couch. Flopping down, she draws her legs up to her chest and tucks her feet beneath the corner of the sleeping bag.
"Feel better?" She asks, as she folds her arms, settling her back against the arm of the couch. Even though she's as far away as humanly possible on a couch this size, he's satisfied that now at least her feet will be warm. He's about to tell her as much when Beau leaps onto the couch, his paw jabbing Stiles hard in the stomach.
"Ooof!" Stiles grunts as the dog shifts his weight off his stomach and starts scratching at the empty length of sleeping bag lying between Stiles and Malia with his paws. Then with an exaggerated stretch Beau settles down on the couch, with his big head resting on Stiles' chest. Malia laughs at Stiles' expression, she moves a little closer on the couch and reaches out to scratch the dog's head.
"I told you he likes you."
"Lucky me," Stiles snickers as he pats Beau's velvety head. Malia's fingers accidentally brushes back and forth along his hand and her touch tingles across his skin.
"Sorry," she blurts out pulling back.
"Here, c'mere." He says shifting over as much as he can manage with a full grown dog half on top of him and holds up the edge of the sleeping bag, offering her more of it. Malia hesitates. "C'mon, Mal, you're hands are freezing." He coaxes. She bites her lip for a second before giving in and sliding closer. Stiles flips the sleeping bag down over her, and with his free arm he tugs it up, until it rests around her shoulders. She settles back against the couch, her left shoulder brushing up against his, with the warm weight of Beau stretched out on top of them.
And for the first time in weeks, the gnawing guilt and constant ache in his chest hurts just a little bit less.