They kind of ended things without saying anything and he regrets every part of it. He should have turned back around, should have told her that it was okay, should have let her know he wasn’t mad. So much was going on that they never got a chance to talk about anything and over the summer he found out from Lydia that she might not be doing senior year with them at BHHS.
He had so many things he wanted to say to her. One of the first things being that he loved her. It never came up when they were together and he’s barely spoken to her since their break up. He wants to apologize, maybe ask her if they could start over or something. He wants to call her, but the thought of awkward pauses—or worse, arguing—scares him right out of it.
So what does he do now? Well, he tries to get over her, but of course, that doesn’t work. By the time the first day of school rolls around, he’s pushed her far enough to the back of his mind that he doesn’t think about her every half hour, just every hour or so.
He sees Scott and Lydia at their favorite lunch table and his best friend flashes a smile at him and waves him over.
"Dude," Scott greets with a clap on the back, "How was your summer?"
He sits down on the opposite side of the table from Scott and Lydia and doesn’t miss how close they’re sitting next to each other.
"It was okay, I didn’t really do anything," he said. He tried to fake a smile, finding it best not to let them know he was actually moping around all summer. The fewer questions he needs to answer about his feelings, the better.
"Well I got to take a tour of the Stanford campus this summer and I’m pretty sure they’re gonna offer me a scholarship."
"My mom and I went to check out UC Davis, and turns out it’s the perfect school for people who want to be vets."
Stiles felt bad for zoning out of the conversation, but right now was about the time when soft brown eyes and cropped dark hair crept into his mind. He remembers when they sat at the table and had mini food fights with grapes and when she kissed him on the lacrosse field after they won the game.
He closed his eyes for a second to clear his mind to focus back and Scott and Lydia but found them quiet. Smiles formed on both their faces and Stiles hadn’t even turned around fully before his heart was hammering away in his chest.
"Hey," she greeted. She was trying so hard not to be awkward he could smell it.
"H-hi," he forced out.
He felt like his throat was closing, or flooding, or collapsing, or something he doesn’t know, all he knows is that he can’t breathe. She grew her hair out a little and it was lighter at the ends. It framed her face perfectly and is it possible for someone’s eyes to get more brown? She was wearing cute overalls with a striped shirt underneath, and her legs—god her legs—seemed to have gotten longer or prettier or—how long has it been since either of them said something?
She was staring at him doe-eyed and still so, so beautiful.
"I thought you weren’t coming back this year," Lydia’s voice spoke from the table.
The eye contact they had been holding broke and she turned to look at Lydia, "Yeah, I, uh, decided that I would rather finish up high school with my best friends than somewhere else."
"Yay!" Scott exclaimed.
He barely saw her for the rest of the day. Apparently, they had no classes together, which pissed Stiles off because all he wanted was a moment alone with her to talk. She was in his English class though, his last class of the day, but she sat on the opposite side of the room. He often snuck glances at her, marking up her textbook with colors the cute way she always does.
There was a moment when she caught his gaze, but he quickly looked away. When he looked back up, she had done the same, but he knows she’d been staring at him too.
He smiles at the thought. She was staring at him. Does that mean she wants to talk? Or that she misses him? Or maybe she just wanted closure, to officially shut the chapter that was them, because she found somebody else.
He tries desperately to ignore the jealousy that creeps up his throat at the thought.
He comes home to a note on the fridge saying his Dad’s not coming home until late at night and he marches up the stairs. His feet feel heavy like he’s been carrying weights on his ankles all day. He opens his door and tosses his backpack onto his bed.
He barely gets the chance to relax into his desk chair before he’s being shoved against a wall and there’s a small hand pressing into his chest. He does his best to glare into the brown eyes staring back at him.
"I don’t like this," she says—almost growls.
He squints, "Don’t like what?"
She’s gotten closer to him as if that was even possible because he can already feel her breasts pushing against his chest like he’s felt many times before.
"Us not speaking to each other. Me looking at you when you’re not looking at me and you looking at me when I’m not looking at you. It’s annoying and confusing."
"So what do you want to do about it?" he says quietly.
"I don’t know," she mumbles.
She looks away from him for a moment, in deep thought probably. Then she looks back at him, a soft smile forming on her lips, "I still like you."
Stiles lets out a breath he had no idea he’d been holding, "I still like you, too."
"So, what now?" she says.
Stiles wets his lips, "We can start over?"
She steps back a little and Stiles steps away from the wall behind them. Malia bites at her bottom lip and nods.
He stretches out his hand, "Hi, I’m Stiles."
She shakes it, "Malia."