Disclaimer: I don't own Teenwolf. Or The Internship.

A day passed, now they were preparing for their next challenge. A… Quidditch match? Though Stiles found this to be strange, he decided not to question it, being a 'Noogler' (he still found the term ridiculous.) and not wanting to deter his chances at the internship, he thought it only safe that he kept quiet. Plus, strange or not, this was freakin' cool! What other chance would Stiles get to watch a live Quidditch game? Graham however, felt the need to constantly speak of how above this "trivial" activity. Stiles wished he hadn't noticed, but for some unexplainable reason the voice kept him on high alett, seemed to captivate his attention like a planet in orbit. Fighting the urge to turn and look to the face that voice belonged to, he chimed himself into his team's speech right as it was ending. Quite touching he was sure, but he had long since stopped listening to the charisma and enthusiasm people exuded, it's only given him loss in life.

Finally hearing the two bumbling men shout some sort of touching ending, he knew it was time to get ready. Strapping up in knee pads and getting his broom in place (Really? Stiles couldn't tell if he was impressed or not.) he turned to face the enemy. If he could handle a pack of angry wolves, he could handle a pack of populars playing Quidditch.

Then with the blow of a whistle, the game was started. They all rushed into action (Where Stiles decided in favor to text Lydia when he saw how terrible the team already was.) and they ran back and forth, getting the ball into the goal almost never, easily being triumphed. Stiles snorted and turned back to his screen, dissapointed in the quality of the game.

L:So, how was your day?

Well he couldn't just tell her "Well, I'm playing Qudditch and texting you during the game." He knew that would give him only one thing: the infamous Lydia text sassing, one of which he hopefully never would receive. Past crush or not, the woman was the goddess of text, able to easily strike fear and awe into all and any. Deciding to filter out a little information, he typed up a quick response.

S:Okay. Better now that you're here ;) It never hurt to flatter a little. Atleast, not with Lydia.

L:Thanks. Well that was a surprisingly short response for her. Normally she would soak comments that up. As usual they went on like that, talking even as his team failed miserably. But her comments seemed sweeter, missing their usual bite.

L:Uhmm, Stiles?

S:Yeah?

L:I haven't actually been talking to you today. Someone else has been on my phone. Stiles felt his his stomach drop, and he almost let go of the phone in his shock.

S:Well if it hasn't been you talking, who has been talking to me?

L:Scott. Scott's been talking to you.

And that was the moment Stiles' world went black.

~StilesxGraham~

Waking up in strange places was something he was used to, but waking up to a british voice? Was he in England? Pulling up his pale lids, he was surprised by what he saw. There was Graham standing above him, barking out orders to get nurses and doctors, which was the moment he realized he was still on the Quidditch field. Standing up dazedly, (Not before picking up his phone, thank god it was safe.) he stumbled right into the arms of Nick.

"Dude, are you, like, okay?" Ignoring the concerned face he pushed out of the light grip.

"I'm fine. Let's get back to the game." he snapped out shortly, and was turning to the field again when a strong grip had him by the upper arm.

"You will be going to the infirmary now, as you most certainly are not fine." the aristocratic boy tugged just as Stiles did the same, causing him to become completely disoriented and land directly into the smug boys arms.

"Fine?" He inquired arrogantly, and all Stiles could muster was a hollow glare of defeat. Trying to extract himself from the tan arms (to no avail.) he replied exasperatredly,

"Let's just go." If Stiles had been looking, he knew he would've seen the boy grin in triumph.

~StilesxGraham~

The nurse cleared him off with a 'just fine' condition, and just as he was about to sit up off the infirmary bed, a hand at his chest stopped him. A hand that had led him here in the first place. Oh just great. With an accusatory glance, the handsy boy started his interrogation.

"What just happened back there?" His crisp voice cut through the sound of other activities atound the building. Deflect, deflect, deflect.

"The nurse gave me a clean bill of health Einstien, don't you remember?" Stiles then let out a mock gasp, "Unless… you have amnesia!" This only seemed to result in the other boy's increasing anger. Anger that was all to familiar to Stiles… No, don't think about that! The moled boy internally chided, snapping out of his head back into the matter at hand. Graham was now pacing back and forth around the bed.

"There's something about you… something you're hiding." Fear and anxiousness flickered across his face before he could ever stop it, and just as quick he pulled back into his mask of indifference, but it didn't go unnoticed. Keep it smooth Stilinski

"What are you talking about? I'm an open book!" He snarked, spreading his arms to the sides of himself. The dark haired boy now gave his trademark smirk.

"I will find out what you're hiding, like it or not." And with that he left, the last sign of him being the feeling of the boys hand that lingered on Stiles body, intentionally grazing arms and legs even as he walked away. And Stiles just sat there now, wondering what to do next.

Author's Note: Well I really don't have much to say, so have a rockin' day!

-Sinner

Question Of The Day: Do you want them to finish the match? OR, I make up a new activity as a make up for quidditch!