Chapter Text
It was the staring, Stiles thinks.
Yes, that was it. The way they looked at him as if he might break and lash out at them at any moment, like a ticking time bomb.
Or, maybe, it was how he and Scott joked and laughed together for short minutes before breaking into uncomfortable silence.
He changes his stance, shifts his weight a little and drops the luggages to rest onto the floor while he stretches and yawns. It's still five in the morning, he knows he's quite early, too, yet he didn't want to allow himself the time to back down from his decision. The weather is chilly and it almost reminds him of the previous year, when at this very moment he was lying down in a puddle of water, with Klaus on top of him.
Stiles wonders if he was already under his thrall by then, and then shakes his head a little, it's a habit of his to think too much in the morning.
He exhales and sees the white fog rise in-front of him, he's glad it isn't raining, it would have made everything way harder. Stiles runs his hand through his grown hair - which spiked in different directions and made him look, as Lydia once concluded; steamy - and then looks down and arranges his black coat, makes sure it is tight around him to provide some more warmth.
He didn't leave them out of resentment or hatred, he left them because he knew it was the best thing to do, he knew they were aware of this too; that he, didn't belong with them anymore. After everything that happened with Klaus he hoped everything would return to normal again, but he was once again too positive. Derek was great, he was perfect, maybe a little too overprotective and territorial, but hey, when you have Derek as your boyfriend or rather, mate, you really find that those two small things are only insignificant issues. It was just that he couldn't stand being around them without the glancing and the fake jokes everyone forcefully laughed at and smiles and the trying way too hard - he went from one relationship - or whatever it was - to another too quickly, he didn't have time to just adapt and organise things and fix himself and breathe. That's what he wrote in the letter anyway.
Stiles wanted to breathe, breathing was good. Excellent.
He looks down and smiles at the irony, finally understanding why Jackson had left after they saved him from being the Kanima, why he had wanted to get away.
Almost an hour later he's on the plane; three seats short of the first, looking out of the window and down to Beacon Hills as it slowly faded away beneath heavy grey clouds, trees and mountains.