His warm, steady hands fall away as he takes a step back from her, cursing at himself under his breath, "Sorry." He says, gruffly as he rakes a hand through his messy hair, unable to meet her eyes. "I know I just…I can't." His shoulders sag as he shakes his head. He looks so lost and boyish all of a sudden. Which is a quick turn around from how he'd been just a few seconds ago, when he'd been crowded up against her, kissing her with all that heat.

She tentatively reaches out and curls her fingers in the cuff of his sleeve. Her soft skin just barely grazes his knuckles, but if it were possible, he'd melt into a puddle right at her feet from that alone.

"…you can't what?" She asks tugging gently on his shirt sleeve. Stiles swallows down the lump in his throat before lifting his head, meeting her eyes.

"Stay away from you," he breathes out, his eyes finally meeting hers. He reaches out and brushes his thumb down her cheek. "It's hard enough trying to as it is," he whispers, his big whiskey brown eyes shimmering with tears, as he shrugs his shoulders, "But when you say stuff like that to me I just…can't."

His voice is so raw, his eyes so vulnerable, and the way he's looking at her it makes her weak…before she can help herself she nuzzles into the warmth of his hand.

Then she shakes her head, dropping her hand from his sleeve and stepping out of his reach. Anger claws it's way up her throat from somewhere deep in her chest. She wraps her arms tightly around herself, her jaw tensing.

"Why were you trying to?" She snaps, her eyes flashing with fire. "You just left me there, Stiles!" He doesn't shrink back from her anger, he just stands there silent. She shakes her head at him, as tears bead in the corner of her eyes, she looks down, the anger bleeding out of her voice. "We always talk things out. You always help me understand. But you just walked away. You left me sitting there," her voice breaks, "You just left me sitting there wondering what I did wrong."

"Mal…" he whispers, his eyes swimming with guilt. He shakes his head stepping into her space, bracing her shoulders in his hands. "Mal, baby, look at me." He insists with a sudden fire in his low, raspy voice. He gives her shoulders a gentle squeeze, Malia lifts her head. "You didn't do anything wrong, Okay?" He rubs his hands up and down her arms, trying to soothe her, "I'm the one that messed up. It's not your fault, I just…I wanted to feel worse…I needed to feel worse."

Malia tries to swallow down her tears, "You hurt me."

His shoulders sink as he steps closer into her space, bowing his head. "I know," he whispers, thickly. "I'm so sorry, Mal." He looks so broken, so dejected. She hates how hopeless he looks. So she steps into him, wrapping her arms fiercely around him and pressing her forehead to his. Stiles inhales sharply at the contact. Malia reaches up to cup the nape of his neck, as she holds him to her, "I know," she whispers. Stiles winds his arms around her and hanging onto her just as fiercely. They stay like that for a long time, hanging onto each other, sharing the same breath.

"…still love me?" He asks in a small, watery voice.

Malia doesn't lift her forehead from his, she just reaches up to frame his face in her hands. Her nose brushes along his tenderly as she nods, "A couple of weeks of you being a jerk isn't going to change that, Stiles."

He lets out a shuddery sob, and grips her tighter. Malia soothes her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and tips his chin down to kiss him.