Post by Peter Hale on Jul 1, 2015 14:38:57 GMT
A light sigh escaped Peter’s lips as he looked around his old home, built to the exact specifications as the last one except there was a way to get out of every location known to only him. He wanted to take precautions after what had happened last time, not that anyone would have cared if he had been burnt to a crisp by hunters, but he digressed. The Hale House was exactly the same inside and out, save for the fact that the furniture and other such decorative items were purely his and his alone, moved in from his apartment that he used to have Downtown. It hurt him to be in this house again, to see it different since the last time he had been in it, but he knew that this was going to be part of the process. The best thing for him to have done would have been to move out and been done with it, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let go of the grief and he couldn’t be done with it.
The man’s ears perked up when he heard what sounded like the engine of Stiles Stilinski’s falling apart Jeep. He paused, wondering why the lanky, walking ball of anxiety would be coming to see him, but he figured he knew why. It wasn’t hard to figure out given who had returned to Beacon Hills not too long ago. But, Peter had been surprised to feel and sense and smell the anger and hostility that came off of Stiles in waves as he came up the front porch to his door, knocking on it. Peter approached, trying to focus on something other than the anger that Stiles was feeling. He opened the door and nearly fell over at the fury that assaulted his senses. “Stiles, do leave the overflow of pure malice at my doorway will you? I’m about to pass out from it all,” he reasoned.
Tag; Stiles Stilinski
Words; 326
Notes; PETER/STILES TIME