See how fast they fall apart
“So this is what you do when you aren’t setting people on fire.”
Okay. Creepily familiar voice in his bedroom.
God. He was too tired for this shit.
“Good to know,” Peter continued, finished with his inspection of a teenage-boy’s bedroom, then he focused on Stiles. Stiles hoped the expression on his face was the creepy discomfort of being in what amounted to a kid’s bedroom and not something stupid, like pity. He didn’t think he could handle pity right now.
In counterpoint to his wishes, Peter’s gaze travelled from his face, to his neck and landed on his torso with an intensity that suggested he could see beneath his shirt and he didn’t like what he found. “You’re hurt.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he bit out, squeezing his eyes closed because fuck, even that hurt. “Thanks for that, I had no idea. What are you? Sherlock?”