Sunlight poured in through the cheap blinds, creating blinding stripes across their bed. Scott groaned, and pressed himself against Allison's back, hugging her around the middle. He blinked, and stared blearily at the alarm clock on their nightstand. It read 10:46.

Scott wasn't used to sleeping in like he did this morning. He'd usually get up early to get ready to go to work or for a morning run with Allison on his days off. He was up even earlier during the school semester. Scott frowned at the lack of noise coming from the kitchen; Stiles would usually be up at this point on a Sunday morning, singing out of tune while making breakfast. It took Scott's mind a moment to catch up: Stiles wasn't home.

A wave of panic rolled through Scott before he uncharacteristically settled down; Stiles had expressly told him that he had vacated the apartment for the night in order to give Scott and Allison privacy. He just hoped that his best friend didn't stay over at that creep Peter's place.

He felt Allison stir against him before hearing her yawn. Scott loosened his hold on her so she could roll over to face him. He smiled at the ring on her finger; he still had butterflies from when she said "Yes!" before even letting him finish the question.

"Morning, Sleepyhead," Allison murmured happily, kissing Scott's cheek. She was glowing, all smiles and giddiness. Scott felt like he was in a dream, and he never wanted to wake from it. The dinner went better than he expected. He had wanted to propose to Allison in private, he really did, but Scott had a terrible poker face and Allison was able to tell that something was on his mind. She'd gently prodded him until he decided to throw his carefully-laid plans to the wind and got down on one knee. Nearby couples and the mingling staff at the restaurant oohed and awed at the right times. Scott had been so anxious that he forgot most of the speech that he'd been prepared to say to Allison. She didn't seem to mind; her smiling face said it all.

"Morning," Scott said back. He pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. Allison's hands found her way into Scott's hair, entangling her fingers in as she deepened the kiss. She rolled on top of him as Scott's hands slid up and down her waist. Their bodies fit so well together, like pieces of a jigsaw. They were still naked from last night's "celebration" and had been too exhausted to change into their pyjamas afterwards. Allison was all soft and warm; Scott smiled against her lips as he rolled her onto her back and began to press kisses down her chest and stomach.

Making love to Allison was like witnessing the entirety of the universe aligning into a perfect formation. Everything always felt right with her, as if her very presence could smooth away the ugly splotches of his past. He knew that she was the one the moment he laid eyes on her.

Laughter bubbled up from Allison's mouth, which soon turned into small gasps and tender moans as Scott entered her. He kissed her neck as her nails scrabbled for purchase on his back.

"I love you so much," Scott panted, smiling against Allison's neck.

"I love you too," Allison whispered back, and Scott felt the warmth of her love wash over him in a gentle wave.

It was ten minutes to twelve when Allison's phone buzzed on the countertop. She and Scott were eating crepes in their tiny kitchen, the former lathering hers with a copious amount of Stiles' coveted whipped cream. (She would buy him some more, no big deal.) Allison grabbed her phone, sliding her thumb across the screen to read the message: 'I got kicked out. Need a ride. Can you come pick me up?' Underneath was an address that Allison knew in passing.

"What's up?" Scott asked when he saw her tiny frown. Allison held up her phone: it was a text from Stiles.

"Kicked out?" Scott repeated. "He said he was staying at a hotel last night." Scott's brow creased in worry before his face morphed into frustration. "He stayed at that guy's place, didn't he?"

"Sounds like it," Allison said, staring at her phone. "Don't be so alarmed, it's no big deal," she added gently when she saw the look Scott was giving her. "He's an adult, but he's allowed to make these mistakes too."

"He wanted us to have the place to ourselves," Scott said. "I just wished he went… somewhere else."

"Hey, you don't know Peter personally," Allison said. "For all we know, he's the perfect gentleman that Stiles described him as. Scott made a face. Allison leaned over the table to give him a quick peck on the mouth.

"Then why would he 'kick him out'?" Scott argued wearily.

"That's just a blunt statement," Allison said. "Maybe Peter had to go to work and so Stiles had to leave?"

"Well, it's still rude of him to not give Stiles a ride home," Scott grumbled. He sighed heavily, rubbing his faced with his hands. "I hope he's OK."

"I'm sure he is," Allison replied, but she suddenly felt apprehension. Well, it was more like a bad feeling. She turned to Scott, trying to shake off the anxiousness that had suddenly possessed her.

"Scott," she began slowly. "Where's your phone?"

Scott gave her a confused look before understanding dawned on him. He jumped out of his seat, rushing to their bedroom. A minute later he came back with his phone, his body tense and on the verge of panic.

"I got nothing from him," he said, showing her the screen. The last text he'd received from Stiles was from yesterday morning, reminding Scott to buy toilet paper.

Something was wrong, because the one rule that kept Stiles safe and Scott's mind at ease had been broken. Why was Stiles able to text her but not replicate the message and send it to Scott?

"I'm going to give him a call," Allison announced, tapping the button to dial him up. Scott watched her anxiously, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Each ring felt like an eternity, and nearly a minute passed before she heard Stiles' phone message.

"Hey, I can't come to the phone right now, but feel free to leave me your name and number!"

After the beep, Allison quickly said, "Stiles, it's Allison. We're just worried about you. Call us back, OK?" She hung up, looking over at Scott.

"Maybe he just forgot to text you too?" Allison suggested, but Scott vigorously shook his head.

"He doesn't forget, he never forgets," Scott whispered. He was shaking, and he bit his lip. Allison stood up and walked over to him, circling her arms around his shoulders. Scott hugged her back, squeezing her middle tightly as he hid her head on her shoulder. After a moment they broke apart. Scott was breathing heavily, but at least he was breathing. He hadn't been prompted into an asthma attack, which was a good sign.

Allison looked down at her phone, and suddenly got an idea. "I'll phone Erica," she said.

She and Erica had exchanged numbers years ago on a whim. It had been during one of her rare visits to their apartment, and Allison had been explaining the texting system the trio had. "I should get your number, just for the worst case scenario," Allison had said.

The number was still in her phone; Allison prayed that Erica hadn't changed it over the years. Her phone went through four rings before a distracted "Hello?" came from the other end.

Allison sighed in relief. Maybe Erica had seen Stiles?

It had been about twenty days since she and Stiles had had sex—not that Erica was counting or anything. But she's been feeling nauseous lately, and there were few things that got Erica terrified. She was crouched next to the toilet, willing for the sickly feeling to pass. Lydia was heading to the pharmacy and would be over soon.

Erica's phone buzzed from its perch by the sink. Erica groaned, looking over at it. She didn't want to get up from the floor; it was too much effort at this point. But the ringing persisted, using the generic ringtone she used for people on her contact list that weren't close friends, her boss, or… Stiles.

Who knows, it might be important.

Erica gingerly got to her feet, grabbing her phone before collapsing to her feet. The bathroom tiles were so cool, perfect for soothing her heat-drenched skin. She was wearing nothing but her panties and her silky bathrobe; her breasts felt too tender to be wearing a bra.

"Hello?"

A huge sigh of relief came from the other end of the line. "Hello, Erica? This is Allison Argent. You may not remember me but I'm Stiles' roommate."

Allison Argent? Erica frowned, but not from confusion. Stiles had brought her up enough in conversations to know about her. Her voice was shaky, as if she was about to cry. Erica sat up straighter.

"What's wrong?" Erica asked sternly.

"I don't know, we might be overreacting," Allison began, trying to keep her voice even. "But we haven't heard from Stiles. Well, we got a text from his phone but we're not sure if he's the one that sent it."

"Why would you think that?" Erica asked.

Allison hesitated, murmuring something to someone else. Probably her boyfriend, Scott, whom Erica was positive that Stiles was in love with by the way he would talk about him.

"We have a system," Allison explained. "I'm pretty sure I told you about it a long time ago, but whenever Stiles is out, he usually texts both of us. I'm the only one that heard from him. I would say that it's no big deal, that he probably forgot, but—"

"Who was he with last?" Erica asked urgently, pulling herself to her feet. Her nausea was gone all at once, as if her body was pushing the symptoms aside for this situation. "Was he with Peter?"

"You knew?" Allison asked, sounding surprised.

Erica smirked in spite of herself. "Stiles tells me everything; he was hoping to snag that hot piece of ass for a while now. It sounds like that's the sort of trouble he's in now."

On the other end Scott could be heard groaning.

"Yes he was," Allison quickly answered. "Stiles didn't want to be the third wheel or something ridiculous last night, so he went out with Peter. I'm not sure where they went, but I was sent an address."

"Give it to me," Erica ordered. "I'll check it out for you. Sounds like our boy is in a heap of trouble." She hung up, and a few seconds later her phone buzzed with a text from Allison. Erica huffed; the address led to a sketchy street on the west side of town. Whoever had stolen the phone didn't have a flare for subtlety.

It wasn't hard for Erica to put two-and-two together. Stiles went off with Peter—a man he barely knew—probably got thoroughly ravished by him, and was now caught up in some trap. Yes, it was an insane and improbable leap of logic, but Erica was raised on movies and books that based themselves solely around these types of clichéd plots. Peter was trying to lure Allison out from safety, but why? Was Stiles a victim for ransom? The Argent family's wealth wasn't a well-kept secret; maybe Peter heard about it and knew about Stiles' connection to its heiress.

The problem was that Erica didn't know a lick about Peter, not even his surname. She had no idea what he looked like or what he drove, so it'd be impossible to give a description to the police. Should she get the police get involved?

Erica could've sworn that Stiles must have met him somewhere public. Then it hit her; the night that they ate sushi and fucked each other's brains out. It was the night that Stiles went to her for "relationship advice", and he had mentioned that Peter bought him drinks. Erica strained her mind, trying to recollect that conversation. A bar; Stiles had mentioned a bar.

The problem was which bar? Stiles frequented quite a few clubs and bars over the years, so the answer was in the dozens. She could try the closest one she knew; Vernon's.

Erica had introduced Stiles to Vernon's a couple years back. She knew the owner, Vernon Boyd IV, because it was a Boyd family business with the current Vernon being the fourth one to own it. Her father was in charge of the bar's insurance.

Erica quickly got dressed, wearing her softest sweatpants and an old tank top; there was no need to be fancy today. Erica loved to be the spectacle, the centre of attention whenever she was outdoors, but today was different. She didn't want to draw attention in case the wrong sort of people got suspicious of what she was up to. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and grabbed her keys on the way out.

The sign said it was closed, so Erica rapt her knuckles on the front door, patiently waiting for an answer. A minute later Vernon was walking toward the door, and through the glass she could see him with his mouth open, prepared to say that they were closed until the afternoon. He opened the door, and closed his mouth. Erica gave him a small smile.

"Hey, Erica," Vernon said, and his stiff shoulders relaxed. Erica flashed her teeth in a grin.

"Hey, hon," she replied lightly, stepping into the building. Vernon moved aside to let her in before locking the door behind her. Erica waltzed into the bar, sitting down on one of the stools. Vernon sat down next to her, giving her an inquisitive look.

"I know it's been a long time," Erica began, but Vernon held up a hand to stop her word flow. He didn't seem mad, just curious.

"I've been busy with this place, and you have your own life," Vernon said. "I understand that. Is something wrong? You have this anxious vibe coming off of you."

Erica bit her lip and nodded. There was no point in hiding behind a cheerful façade. "I'm worried about… a friend," she replied slowly.

"A friend." Vernon raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, he's five-foot-ten, brown eyes, kind of a spaz."

Erica nodded. "Yeah, it's Stiles. How did you guess?"

"Because you always light up when you mention him," Vernon said. "Every other 'friend' never got that response out of you. It's the same for him. He was downright miserable the last time I saw him, and I knew it was about you." Vernon straightened up on his stool, and crossed his arms, the muscles bulging underneath his taut T-shirt. The bar's logo was stretched across his chest, and Erica remembered how she once ogled the breadth of his body, fantasizing about it. Vernon had shot that fantasy down pretty early on, long before she met Stiles.

"What kind of trouble is he in?" Vernon asked, breaking into Erica's thoughts.

"His friends are worried about him," Erica said. "Last night he did a test drive with his new fuck buddy and didn't come home this morning."

"It sounds like they're overreacting," Vernon replied quietly, but his face was saying something else.

"They have this system," Erica insisted. "Stiles has to text both of them whenever he's out, but he only texted Allison with this skeevy address." She showed him the address that Allison had sent her.

Vernon frowned. "It's suspicious, I'll give you that."

"I came here because Stiles met the guy in a bar, and I was wondering if you had any idea of who he really is."

"I get a lot of patrons," said Vernon, shrugging. "Do you have a description of him?"

"No," Erica replied. "But I have a name. Well, his first name. Have you ever heard of a man named Peter?"

Vernon stilled, looking at Erica with such intensity that made even her feel uncomfortable. "I know who you're talking about," he finally said, and Erica sagged in relief.

"Thank God," she said. "This is going to make this so much easier."

"You shouldn't go off on your own looking for this guy," Vernon warned. "He's dangerous."

"Well, yeah," Erica agreed, rolling her eyes. "He's done something to my Stiles, and I'm not the tolerant type."

"I mean it," Vernon said seriously. "I don't have concrete proof, but he's always given off this bad vibe that spelled trouble. I got suspicious of him when he asked after Stiles the first night he met him. I tried to veer him off course, but when Stiles came back last week Peter had suddenly shown up as well. Now you're telling me that he's done something with him."

"I'll be careful," Erica said.

"You don't even know where he lives or where Stiles even is," Vernon pointed out. "Even if you did, I'm not letting you go alone."

"Then you have no choice but to come along with me," Erica grinned, and Vernon sighed. He glanced around the bar, and must've deemed it spotless enough for opening when he said, "I just have to make a call and get Danny to start his shift earlier. We'll take my car."

"Thank you," Erica said, kissing him on the cheek. Five minutes later they were in Vernon's black SUV, cruising down onto the main street.

"Before you ask, yes, I know where he lives," Vernon said as they stopped at a red light. "I insisted on checking his ID the last time he was in, even though he looks like he's well past thirty."

"And he didn't get suspicious?" Erica said, raising an eyebrow.

"I do random checks with all of my patrons, even with my regulars," he replied calmly. "He looked annoyed, but I've done it to him before."

"What if it's a fake address on his ID?" Erica asked.

"It'd be hard for him to pull off living on the Heights if he didn't already act the part," said Vernon. "The Aubrey Building has one of the highest security systems money can buy. A secretive man like Peter would value that."

"Yeesh, you sure know a ton about Peter," Erica said.

Vernon was quiet as they drove down a couple blocks before he turned onto the road leading to the Heights. Erica didn't bother to question him about it since another wave of nausea was threatening to overcome her.

"Want me to pull over?" he asked, seeing Erica double over, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"No," Erica said. "It'll pass. Besides, I have to find him."