A/N: So I've had a few people ask about one of my other stories, Bliss (sequel to Desire), and whether or not I'll be continuing it. The answer, at this point in time, is no. I don't intend to update it now or in the future, but I still have drafts and edits and all sorts of things from back when I was writing it, so who knows? Maybe one day I'll be inspired to pick it back up and finish it. I would take it down, but it was my first ever story on this site, so it holds a lot of sentimental value to me, and I also see that people still enjoy reading it, and don't want to take it away yet. I wouldn't recommend reading it if you haven't yet, as it's my weakest story on the site, and really just there for nostalgia sake.

As always, thank you to everyone who reads my work. I adore each and every one of you, you're the reason I do this (though, I'll admit, it's a little because I just like to live vicariously through my characters).

Let me know your thoughts!


Oh, my blood, once was my own

But in one touch you made it yours

Yeah I know I went and left you all alone

Please don't think that I let you go

I never let go

'Cause I could touch a hundred thousand souls

But none of them would ever feel like home

And no matter how far and wide I roam

You're the only one that I'll ever know

Anyone Else – PVRIS


"You're out of milk."

I looked up from the fire, its crackling warmth hot against my chilled face. Leaning back so I could see through the doorway, I caught sight of Stiles standing at the fridge, peering into it with a frown, a bowl of dry cereal filling a bowl on the counter beside him.

"We can go on a grocery run after school," I suggested.

"But what am I supposed to have for breakfast?" he asked, and though I couldn't see his face, I could hear the pout in his voice.

"Just eat the cereal dry," I replied smoothly, turning back to the slowly dying fire. "Surely the milk can't be that important."

"You really know nothing about human cuisine," he called back.

"Two hundred years in," I said wryly, "I'm coping."

He gave a snorting sort of a laugh that made me smirk, and I dropped the poker, standing up and padding into the kitchen with bare feet. Stiles had abandoned the cereal, instead shoving slices of bread into my old toaster, fiddling with the buttons to make it work.

He paid no attention as I moved to the fridge, plucking out a bag of O-Negative and heading for the microwave. We stood in companionable silence for a few moments, Stiles waiting for his toast while I watched my blood warm up.

"Things have been quiet," Stiles spoke abruptly, and I turned from staring at my rotating bag of blood to cock an eyebrow at him curiously.

"Yes?" I replied, not knowing what else to say.

"Well," he faltered, and I watched as he shuffled closer, hands twisting in front of him idly, "don't you think that, maybe, it's been too quiet? Suspiciously quiet?"

I chewed on this for a moment, stepping closer and catching his fiddling hands in my own, holding them still. "The calm before the storm?" I supplied gently, and he met my eyes, a worried glint to his that made me melt.

"It's been over a week," he said, as though I wasn't aware. "Nothing's happened."

"Well, the dead pool's been killed, so we're safe," I said decisively.

He shot me a look that told me exactly what he thought of my reply. "We both know that isn't true," he told me flatly.

Sighing, I shifted closer and pressed my forehead to his collarbone, nuzzling into his warm skin. "I know," I muttered reluctantly. "You can't exist in this world of mine and stay safe, it just doesn't work that way. There'll always be threats." His hands broke from mine to come around my back, holding me close and soothingly dragging his thumbs over the material of the old T-shirt of his I'd stolen. "Are you scared?" I asked into his chest.

He didn't reply for a long time, one hand sliding up to card through my hair, the drag of his fingertips on my scalp relaxing and affectionate. Eventually, the microwave beeped in almost the same moment as the toaster came to life, the toast popping into view.

"I'm hungry," he finally answered me, and I pulled back to catch sight of a cheeky little grin before he moved away to begin buttering the toast. Smiling to myself, I fished the packet from the microwave and tore off the lid with my teeth, expertly spitting it into the open bin before hopping up onto the counter and watching as Stiles continued to make his food.

He yawned as he worked, and I smiled again, glancing at the clock and noting how early it was. It was easy to forget the time when you never went to sleep in the first place.

"Tired?" I asked sympathetically.

"It's six o'clock in the morning," he replied dryly, then said nothing else, and I snickered into my blood bag. "Do we really need to practise?" he eventually asked, shoving the jam back into the fridge and leaning against the counter opposite me, taking a healthy bite of his breakfast. "Either we're going to win or we're not," he continued with a mouth full of toast. "Practising at this stage is pointless."

"You're only saying that because of the time of day," I grinned around my bloodstained straw, and he gave a grimace of reluctant agreement.

Before he could respond, the front door banged open. I froze, body going rigid as I hurriedly prepared for a fight, should the newcomer be an enemy. But not a second later a familiar voice started complaining aloud, "why does math even exist? It's useless in real life! And the fact that my results on this test determine whether or not I'm going to be a senior with you guys next year is the worst. Why should my future rest on whether or not I know the quadratic formula? All school is is memorising a bunch of pointless facts so you can pass a stupid test, none of which even matter in the real world. When am I ever going to need to know the square root of pi? Huh?"

Malia burst into the room like a walking hurricane, making a beeline for my fridge.

"She's been spending way too much time with you," Stiles muttered under his breath, and I met his eyes as we shared an amused smirk. The were-coyote rummaged around in my fridge, carefully avoiding the piles of bagged blood and finally pulling out a small packet of shaved ham that had probably been in there awhile. She didn't seem to care, peeling it open and stuffing the slices into her mouth, chewing through an angry scowl.

"Go back and do high school ten times, then we can talk," I said dryly, and her scowl only deepened.

"Why would you subject yourself to that?" she asked around her mouth full of ham.

"After the first century, things tend to get rather dull when you're undead and alone," I replied honestly, legs swinging beneath the counter under me. "Would you at least check the expiry date on that packet?" I asked with a frown. "God knows how long it's been in there."

"It tastes fine," she shrugged uncaringly, and I gave up, turning to roll my eyes at Stiles before sucking down another mouthful of heated blood. She tossed back what remained of the ham, threw the empty packet in the garbage and began heading towards the door again. "Come on," she prompted us moodily. "This test might suck, but I've still gotta study for it."

Stiles put his plate in the sink, picking up his keys with a metallic jingle. "Ready?" he asked, reaching out instinctively to take my hand, and my fingers slotted through his like they were made as a pair.

"For school, or another day pretending like absolutely nothing's wrong?" I asked sardonically.

Stiles sighed, keeping out hands linked even as I turned to lock my front door behind me. "Both, I guess," he muttered, and I looked back at him with a wry little smile.

"Let's do this."


The day seemed to drag on. I remained in class like a good little pretend-human, keeping close to Stiles' side. The monotony of school was only broken towards the very end of the day, when Scott found me at the beginning of my free period. I was draped casually over Stiles, my head in his lap where we lay sprawled in the hallway, uncaring of the odd looks we received from the student body.

"Can I ask a favour?" the wolf opened with, standing over us with a frown on his face.

"Name it," Stiles said immediately.

"I was talking to Jules," Scott corrected him stiltedly, and Stiles gave an offended sort of scoff before turning back to his phone, free hand carding through my hair absentmindedly. "It's Liam," he continued once I signalled that he had my attention. "Something's wrong with him."

"It's his hair," I replied flippantly. "I'm sure Lydia can recommend a good stylist."

"Jules, I'm serious."

Pausing, I looked up from the book I was reading, Stiles' hand stilling in my hair. "Okay," I agreed, sitting up properly and shifting around so I was facing him. "What do you need?"

"Something's bothering him," he said quietly, crouching down to my level so we could talk in low tones without it looking weird. "I think it's probably the other week, with the Berserker at the hospital, but I don't know for sure. I think it's still haunting him – he's never gone against something so dangerous before, he could have died, and I think he's only just beginning to realise that."

"And you want me to, what? Sing his troubles away?"

Scott sent me a stare that quite clearly told me how very unamused he was by my wit. "You have a degree in psychology, right?"

My eyebrows lifted to my hairline. "You want me to play guidance councillor?" I asked, incredulous.

"I want you to just go be you," he told me.

Confused, I frowned at him like he were the biggest moron on the planet. "I thought you wanted to help the kid, not send him to Eichen?"

"Jules, whenever something traumatic happens, believe it or not, you're the one I wanna see," he said dryly, seeming a tad impatient that I didn't already know this.

"My sarcastic comments and general self-loathing are really that much of a pick-me-up?" I asked doubtfully.

"You may not be too gentle about it, but you always tell us what we need to hear. And I think that's what Liam needs right now."

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, wary. He wanted me to go give a rousing, inspirational speech? I barely knew how to keep myself alive, let alone how to pick a werewolf out of the funk of his realised mortality.

"If I tell you what to say, it won't be genuine," Scott shook his head. "You need to do what you do best, and make sure he's okay."

"Scott, you're not making a lick of sense," I told him sternly, growing agitated with the conversation. "I'm the chick who insults people on a good day and kills them on a bad one."

"Maybe so," he allowed carefully. "But the people you care about, you wouldn't let anything happen to them, not even emotionally."

"One problem," I argued stubbornly. "I don't care about Liam."

"Scottdoes," Stiles spoke up from behind me. "And you care about him. So you'll do it."

Eyebrow cocked, I ran my tongue over my pointed teeth in contemplation as I turned around to stare at my human boyfriend, who suddenly looked mighty proud of himself. "When did you get so manipulative?" I asked grouchily; we both knew he had me already.

He grinned, the expression all-too innocent. "It's not manipulation," he argued with a laugh.

"Sure feels like it," I pouted, reluctantly climbing to my feet. "I still don't know what you want me to say," I muttered to Scott, who stood up with me, a grateful smile on his face. "'Liam, you didn't die, so nut up and quit being such a little bitch about the whole thing'?" I proposed through a frown.

"Maybe you could tone down the tough love just a little," Stiles suggested, and I grimaced at him unhappily. "Pretend you're talking to me."

"You want me to picture him naked?"

Stiles flushed that wonderful blotchy red and Scott gave a cross between a laugh and a cough. "Are you saying you picture me naked whenever you talk to me?" Stiles asked, the pitch too high.

I decided not to bother answering, turning back to a smirking Scott with a petulant scowl. "Just hear him out, be yourself – you're nicer than you think you are," he assured me, and I scrunched my face back grumpily.

"Fine," I relented with a huff, swiping my bag from the floor and threading it over my shoulder. "I'll talk the pup off the proverbial ledge; but you owe me."

"I'm not asking you to magically fix everything," Scott told me. "Just talk to him. You're wise. He respects you."

"Bullshit," I muttered back pettily, pushing up onto my toes to brush my lips against Stiles' cheek before pulling back and slipping past Scott.

"Don't you need me to tell you where he is?!" the alpha called after me.

"I'll just follow the scent of little bitch!" I yelled back heedlessly, and a passing freshmen stared at me in abject horror. Stiles' laugh followed me down the hallway, and I found myself less grumpy than I felt a moment ago.

I was lying about the whole 'little bitch' thing, but the scent part wasn't bullshit. The pup had a particular smell, and it was relatively easy to track him through the school, finding him in the locker room, fresh out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Are you sure you're a freshmen?" I asked curiously, eyes trailing down over his exposed muscles with interest.

He hadn't noticed I was there, silent as I was, and he flinched violently, whirling around with fists, rearing to fight. Some kid was walking behind him, a thinner black guy with kind eyes. He bumped into him and grunted confusedly.

Liam calmed down once he saw it was just me and not a Berserker, though his pulse continued to race from the fright. "This is the boy's locker room!" he hissed at me as though I'd somehow made a mistake, arms crossed self-consciously over his chest like a girl without a bra.

"I know," I replied dryly. "I can read."

"Well?" he prompted me anxiously, eyeing the way I leaned casually up against the wall, looking for all the world like I belonged there. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," I said simply, and he seemed to pale. "I'm not gonna bite you," I reassured him with an exasperated roll of my eyes, and his friend's eyes went round, looking between us in absolute confusion. Irritated, I met his gaze, and his expression went wonderfully blank. "Leave," I ordered him, and instantly he obeyed, turning and marching towards the doors, still dripping with water from his shower.

"You can't just mind control my friend-"

"It'll wear off," I assured Liam, uncaring and wanting desperately to just get to the bloody point already. "What's wrong with you?" I asked flatly.

"Me?" Liam squeaked incredulously. "You're the one who burst in here like some kind of ancient pervert!" Horror trickled over his expression, and he went even more pale. "Would you just leave before Stiles finds out you're here and skins me alive?" he begged, trying to cover his bare chest more desperately, and I stifled a snort.

"If anyone's doing the skinning, it's gonna be me," I argued before breaking off with a huff, running a hand down my face. "Not why I'm here – listen, Scott's worried about you."

"So he sent you?"

"I'm just as shocked as you are."

He was beginning to grow awfully uncomfortable by his lack of clothes, and with an exasperated sigh I turned to face the wall.

"Hurry up and put some pants on," I ordered him as I stared at the small graffiti etched onto the wall. Greenberg sucks, it read in chicken scratch letters – meaning it was probably coach's doing. I heard Liam scramble to get clothes on from behind me, and I gave him a full minute before I turned back around to see him already staring at me, arms crossed over a plain white T-shirt, a scowl on his face. "So, you're here to what? Feed me some kind of cliché motivational speech that'll stop me from jumping at every loud noise I hear?"

That was information he'd volunteered all on his own, so I got the feeling he wasn't as opposed to my help as he seemed to be. "I'm here to remind you that you're a werewolf now," I said, the words slow and condescending, like I was speaking to a small, stupid child.

"Yes," he said in the same voice, "I know."

Scowling at him, I just barely kept my eyes from turning red with irritation. "My point is, you weren't just given super-senses," I told him icily. Maybe tough-love wasn't such a bad route, it was what got me through the shitty situations of life. "You were given a place in the supernatural community. Do you know what that means?" He shook his head slowly. "It means you have a responsibility."

"Keep the secret," he said readily. "I know."

"Yes, but not what I'm talking about." He seemed confused, and I stepped closer, standing at my full height, which brought us to about even. "When you can do the things you can do, and you don't use them for good, the bad guys get away with bad guy stuff because of you."

"Where'd you learn that? The 1800s?" he asked dryly.

"No, actually," I replied, perfectly calm. "I learnt it from Scott."

He was surprised by this answer, but did a good job of hiding it, looking away as he considered it.

"Being what we are, it has risks," I said, voice careful and controlled. "Sometimes we get hurt. Sometimes we nearly die. But that's why we have the ability to heal; so we can stand back up and live to fight another day."

"You sound awfully righteous for a confessed serial killer," he told me snidely.

"It is what it is," I told him evenly, "I am what I am. Doesn't mean what I'm saying isn't true." He looked away again, brow furrowed in thought. "If you're scared, that's not a bad thing."

"How is it not a bad thing?" he asked, turning back to frown at me.

"Because fear is an emotion," I reminded him plainly. "It's when you stop feeling the emotions, that's when you should really be scared."

Liam digested this for a minute. "Is that what happened to you?" he finally asked, a genuine curiosity to his eyes.

"Yes," I admitted unflinchingly. "Except I never got to the scared part of being emotionless. Which is the much, much worse alternative. The fear's what keeps you human."

"But we're not," he snapped in a bark, and I calmly cocked an eyebrow at him, listening to his pulse race and watching as he struggled to get control of it. "We're not human," he eventually said, forcefully calm.

"Maybe not," I said, voice soft. He looked up with big puppy-dog eyes that matched Scott's perfectly. "But we were once." Liam only looked more confused. "We're all different people, all through our lives, constantly changing and evolving, but who we used to be never really leaves us. We were human once, so it stands to reason that there remains a shred of that humanity within us."

"Even you?"

I smiled ruefully. "When things get really bad, I lose myself in the hazy memories of my human life, remembering what it was like to be living. And there's nothing wrong with keeping that sliver of ourselves alive."

Liam frowned, turning away to process his thoughts before turning back with an even deeper frown. "This is great and all, but it still doesn't help the fact that I'm seeing Berserkers around ever other corner, and I can't sleep without the light on in my room!"

I was quiet, considering this for a long moment. "Time heals all wounds," I eventually said, and his face dropped into an annoyed scowl. "Cliché, I know," I allowed easily, "but true all the same." He still didn't look pleased with my answer. "Scott wants me to give you my advice," I said, voice dry and thin, the whole thing beginning to grow rather dull. "So here it is: face your demons head on. Running from them doesn't do you any good. Walk into battle with your head held high, and rip into those sons of bitches until they're begging for mercy."

"That's your advice?" he asked incredulously. "Put myself in more danger?"

"Sometimes the solution lies within the problem itself."

"You sound like a fortune cookie."

"But I'm right."

He didn't have an answer. From above us, the school bell rang, and I perked up, readjusting my bag strap and smiling at the kid wryly.

"Now, nut up and quit being such a little bitch about the whole thing," I said cheekily, just to stick it to Scott, because I was old and bitter and incredibly petty.

"Thanks," Liam scoffed, but there was a hint of laughter behind his eyes, and I felt a flare of proud triumph. I nodded at him, deciding nothing more needed to be said, turning and striding from the locker room, off to find my very human boyfriend.

He was standing by the doors to the school with Malia, who had her head in a physics book and a pencil sticking haphazardly out of her hair. Stiles was leaning against the wall, typing something out on his phone, and he jumped when I appeared to materialise beside him, casually leant up against the wall.

"God," he hissed, pressing a hand over his racing heart, and I grinned back impishly. He took a moment to roll his eyes at me before throwing an arm over my shoulders and gently guiding me towards the parking lot. "C'mon Malia," he called over his shoulder, and the coyote gave a grunt of acknowledgement before following. "How'd it go with Liam?"

"The pup's got spunk, I'll give him that," I muttered as I climbed into the Jeep, tossing my bag on the floor at my feet and turning in my seat to look at Stiles, who started the engine with a deep rumble.

"Please don't say 'spunk' ever again," Malia said from the backseat, not even bothering to look up from her textbook.

Rolling my eyes, I turned back to Stiles, who was reversing from the spot with careful but sure movements. "I dunno, maybe I got through to him; maybe I didn't," I told him, propping my elbow on the back of the seat behind me and resting my temple against my fist. "But I did what Scott asked, though God knows why he did," I added with a huff.

"You really don't see it, do you?"

"You'll have to be more specific," I deadpanned.

Stiles smiled exasperatedly, shaking his head before pulling out onto the main road and simply saying, "never mind," before he turned up the volume of the radio, and we continued on in companionable silence.

Malia only wanted to study when we got back to Stiles' place, and she plopped herself directly on the bed, pulling out a myriad of pens and notebooks, spreading them all out around her and diving back in without so much as a word.

"What's with the newfound bookishness?" I asked, dropping my bag by his closet and taking a seat beside the bed on the ground, back pressed up near Malia's head.

"She wants to do well in school," Stiles said, sitting down at his desk. "So do I, believe it or not," he added as he opened his Economics textbook.

"I'm surrounded by nerds," I muttered with a roll of my eyes, reaching over and picking up the old, worn novel I'd left laying beside his bed.

"You're one to talk," he replied smartly, glancing pointedly at my first-edition Gone With the Wind.

"Screw you," I said back without heat, and he grinned, happiness glittering in his eyes before we all turned back to our reading material in comfortable silence.

We read quietly for over an hour, Malia only occasionally speaking up to ask a question about science that neither Stiles nor I could answer without using the internet as help. Finally, the monotony was broken when someone appeared in the doorway.

"Drop what you're doing, I'm taking you both out to dinner! Whatever you want!"

I looked up from the book I was now only halfheartedly scanning, cocking an eyebrow at John, who was smiling at the pair of us, only a little awkwardly.

Stiles glanced down at me before carefully saying, "Dad, I don't think a man with your debt should be treating anyone, to anything."

"Well, there is one debt we no longer have to worry about," the Sheriff told his son, and I could hear his pulse pick up from within his chest in his excitement.

"What's that?" Stiles asked, confused.

"A letter of apology from Eichen House. Apparently they've decided to forgive our debt due to, uh," he trailed off, eyes shifting warily to me before continuing, "you and Lydia almost getting murdered," he finished, still awkward.

"They can do that?!" Malia exclaimed from the bed. John hadn't seemed to realise she was there, startling before looking down at her with a smile.

"They can," he said happily, "and they did."

"I have never been so happy to have been almost murdered!" Stiles beamed widely, standing up in his glee. I climbed to my feet, stepping over to him and tangling our hands together, squeezing in support.

"Well, we're not out of it yet," John reminded his son gently, but then smile, "but we're gonna be okay."

Stiles grinned, glancing down at me with a buoyant gleam to his eyes. I smiled back, just happy to see him happy.

"And at least for the moment, I can afford to take my son, his girlfriend and their...Malia...out for dinner," he said, still kind of awkward about the whole thing. I supposed it was as good of a description as any for Malia. "I was going to ask your favourite food, but I feel like Malia will be the safer choice," he added to me kind of slyly, and despite it all, we shared a smile. "Malia?" the coyote looked up from where she'd been putting away her books. "What's your favourite food?"

"Deer," Malia said emphatically.

There was an awkward beat where I could do nothing but smirk broadly. Apparently neither of us was a safe answer, and I was strangely proud of the fact.

"Pizza," Stiles finally said slowly, shooting the pair of us a smirk of wry, fond amusement. "They both like pizza."

"Pizza it is," John agreed readily, glad to have an option other than human blood or roadkill. He shot me a smile, the expression a little awkward, but it gave me the strangest feeling in my gut, the sort of feeling that told me, despite everything, we were going to be okay.


"Stiles?" I sang impishly, hovering over my slumbering boyfriend, gaze tracing over his sharp cheekbones with reverence. He groaned, blinking back at me owlishly, still too tired to form a proper thought.

He grunted in reply, trying to stubbornly burrow back under his warm covers. "Can't we just spend another hour in bed...go into class late...?" he murmured sluggishly, eyes drooping shut once again as sleep overtook him.

Huffing, I shook at his shoulder. He'd been asleep for hours, but I hadn't been tired enough to sleep, so I was awake all night, and I'd grown impatient, wanting my human awake with me. There were only so many times you could read Lord of the Flies in one night, but the only other reading material in the room were Stiles' textbooks sitting in a pile by his desk.

"Come on," I whined, leaning down to brush my lips across the junction of his neck and shoulder. He groaned mutedly into his pillow but otherwise didn't react. "We can go in to school later, if you want," I conceded as I laid the full length of my curvy body over him, pressing him down into the mattress. "But at least wake up now...I'll even make you breakfast."

"Jules, I love you, so please don't take this the wrong way – but I'd genuinely rather starve," he muttered in reply, and with a semi-offended huff I sat rolled off of him, pouting up at the ceiling. My sudden silence went on long enough that he eventually popped his head back up, peering at me blearily. "Did I hurt your feelings?" he asked in a sleep-addled voice, sounding bemused by the thought.

"No," I rolled my eyes at him in exasperation.

"It's seriously not a big deal that you don't know how to fry an egg, Jules," he assured me patiently, suddenly a lot more awake than before, referring to something that had become something of a running gag between the pair of us – though I didn't particularly find it that hilarious.

Huffing at him grumpily, I scowled at the ceiling above me. "It's about not the egg thing," I replied with another petulant huff, "although I really do wish you would stop bringing that up."

"Then what?" he asked confusedly, giving another yawn as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, reluctantly sitting back up.

"I'm bored."

He blinked at me for a long moment. "You're pouting because you're bored?" he confirmed with a cocked eyebrow that I found sinfully attractive.

"Vampire boredom isn't like regular boredom," I informed him in a grumble. "It's much worse."

"I thought you were really patient by nature?" he questioned.

"I'm a walking contradiction, so sue me," I muttered back, turning around so I was facing the other way. I was hungry too, but I didn't want to bring blood into it – just another reminder how very inhuman I was.

Stiles said nothing, seeming comfortable to stare at the back of my head while I pouted. Finally his arm slid around my middle, pulling me towards him until my back was flush up against his front. Muscles relaxing under his touch, I sank into him, humming my pleasure at the warmth he forever seemed to emanate.

This time he was the one to kiss my neck, trailing his lips over the pale expanse of skin that his ratty old hoodie revealed. I wanted not to react, but it was him, so of course I did, giving a soft sigh as I melted against him.

From his bedside table, his alarm began to blare, and he pulled away with a disappointed groan. "We really should go to school," he muttered reluctantly, a far cry from his earlier protests. I turned, raising my eyebrows at his sudden change of heart. "If I don't leave bed right now, I don't think it's gonna happen at all," he admitted.

"Sounds good to me," I purred, a wicked sort of a smirk spreading across my face.

Groaning again, he turned and forced himself to his feet, his shirt creased from slumber. "Not to mention, I have that quiz in English that you've been helping me get ready for. If I miss it, all the studying will have been for nothing," he told me, yanking open his drawers and fishing out some clothes before trudging his way from the room.

"Fine," I allowed, untangling myself from his covers and standing upright, arms crossed as I sulked, "but I'm gonna complain the whole time."

"Wouldn't be you if you didn't," he said, smiling back before disappearing out into the hallway. I considered joining him in the shower, but knew he was right, we really did need to get to school. Pulling open the drawer he'd emptied specially for me, I dug around until I produced a pair of shredded jeans and a simple shirt, pulling them on before moving over to his wardrobe.

A row of Stiles' faded flannels hung on hangers, and I tugged off a comfy looking red one, threading my arms into the sleeves before breathing in his scent and moving over to brush my hair.

Stiles returned only a few minutes later, hair damp and breath smelling of mint, dressed in his clothes for the day. Moving closer, I caught him by his collar and tugged him closer to me, indulging in a long, slow kiss that made his heart race from within his chest. His soft, pillowy lips moved against mine with an intoxicating drag, and my fingers curled tighter around his collar, the fabric threatening to tear under my supernaturally strong grip.

Finally I forced myself to pull back, reluctantly opening my eyes and peering at him with a smile. His eyes were still shut, lips pursed like they were searching for my own. I pried my fingers from his collar to card gently through the hair at the base of his skull, and he blinked his eyes open, staring back at me owlishly.

"What was that for?" he asked, sounding dazed, and I tried not to preen with satisfaction.

"Just 'cause," I told him, ducking back in for another quick peck before flitting out of his reach and disappearing down the stairs, the sound of his racing pulse following me down. I knew, had I had a working heart, it would race at the thought of him too.

John had already gone to work, his car missing from out front, so I happily turned on the radio, habitually switching to my favourite jazz station and humming along to an old favourite as I set about making Stiles some cereal.

"You made cereal?" he asked when he appeared, backpack slung haphazardly over his shoulder.

"The one thing I can't possibly screw up," I replied dryly, and he gave an amused smile before slipping into place at the counter and digging in.

"You wanna stop by your place and grab something too?" he asked around a mouthful of sugared flakes. John may have accepted me back into his life, but storing human blood in his fridge wasn't something I felt he'd be comfortable with at this stage.

"I can run," I offered, knowing school was in the opposite direction.

"Don't be stupid," he said with a roll of his eyes. "I'll just finish this then we'll go," he told me as he began to shovel the cereal into his mouth at breakneck speeds.

"Please don't choke," I begged him from the sink, where I was washing up the bowls from last night's dinner. "I won't be able to handle it if you die from inhaling cereal. Don't do that to me. At least go out nobly."

"I really feel the love," he muttered, and even though I wasn't looking at him, I could tell he was smiling.

The Jeep was cold inside, judging by the way Stiles shivered. He quickly turned on the heat, then the radio, switching to some kind of soft rock that wasn't totally unpleasant. The drive to my house was completed in relative silence, apart from a brief rant from Stiles about something called 'Skrillex'.

Nobody was in the street, so I used my speed to rush into the house and grab a packet of blood. I paused by the microwave, checking the time and deciding I could spare a minute to heat it up. By the time I rejoined my human in the car, I was sipping heated blood out of a thermos, my mood greatly improved.

"I have a question," Stiles began as we pulled away from the curb, heading towards the school.

"Hit me," I muttered, licking my lips free of blood.

"Well, I know that it's impossible to microwave blood and give back to a human-"

"So how can I drink microwaved blood and not die?" I finished with a small, fond smile. He was always so quick; I loved that about him. "Radiation can't kill a vampire. We're made of stronger stuff than that," I answered like it was obvious, lifting my shoulders in a shrug, and he peeked over at me when we paused at a stop sign.

"Right, only tree branches and sunlight," he drawled, and I grunted back, unimpressed. "And fire – can't forget fire. Oh, and decapitation!"

"Fuck you," I replied, but the insult lacked bite, and he grinned back like I'd merely muttered a term of endearment.

"Love you too, honey," he said, cheesy smile in place. I lifted the thermos to my lips in an attempt to hide the mirrored smile on my face, letting the sound of the smooth jazz playing from the radio fill the car, and allowed myself to feel happy – because who knew how long it might last?


A/N: I realise it's been awhile since the last update. Things have been hectic, and I've been working on several very demanding projects. Future updates may continue to be a bit slow, but they'll get there. I hope you guys are still with me, this chapter was a bit of a fluffy filler, but I quite like it.

Anyway, let me know your thoughts with reviews, even if it's just to reassure me that you don't hate me for not updating sooner. Much love!