Stilinski-Personal Narrative Analysis

You’ve learned to simply go with the flow when it came to Stiles Stilinski. There’s no other way about it, other than embracing the dorky-ness and spontaneity that came with him with open arms. After all, you haven’t stuck by his side for nearly the whole of your life for nothing.

Your mothers met when they were university and kept in touch, so naturally when your family migrated from London to Beacon Hills, the two of you became friends. Together, along with Scott McCall, the three of you stuck it through crazy elementary and awkward middle school. When Stiles’ mother was diagnosed with frontotemporal dementia (FTD) you — naturally — was there for him. Whether it was because he needed a moment or when Sheriff Stilinski was working overtime,

And there he is, standing in front of your house with a stupid, contagious smile of his and… carrying a present?

Thankfully, no one’s home at the moment; god knows what’s running through your mother’s mind if she’s here. She’s at the hospital working the night shift alongside Melissa and your father isn’t due back from his business trip for another few days. You pause for a moment, suddenly if feels a little daunting having Stiles in your house, in the middle of the night… frowning, you wonder why you suddenly feel this way. This is practically Stiles’ second home, when he was younger he would sleep in her room — now the spare bedroom contains some of his clothes, books, he even has Star Wars posters up on the wall. You’ve been alone with Stiles before, many times. Why does it feel different now?

Pushing aside your weird feelings for a moment, you head downstairs, wrapping a cable-knit cardigan around you — since you’re just wearing one of Stiles’ shirts and shorts. Through the glass pane above the door, he gives you a goofy smile. You can’t help but smile back at him; shaking your head you unlock the door and swing it open.

“Why are you carrying a present?” you stare at the box in his arms. He simply

You follow him; he turns around and frowns. “Is that my shirt?”

A small yelp cuts through the silence. “What’s in the box Stiles?”

Ignoring your question, Stiles pulls you to sit on the couch, sitting down beside you; his eyes twinkling with mirth and something unrecognizable. He pushes the box towards you. You can hear soft whimpering… yipping? Is something yipping? Eyes wide open; you tentatively lift the lid up.

“Oh my—” disbelief rams into you, “no way…” reaching in, you carefully take the bundle of adorableness out. The little gray husky melt into your arms, resting its head on the crook of your neck.

“You called me out at three in the morning to surprise me with a puppy?” your voice barely above a whisper, cuddling the puppy close to your chest.

Stiles flush, he scratches the back of his neck, “Why don’t you take a look at the tag?” you can hear the slight tremor in his voice; he plays with the hem of his sleeves.

Careful not to disturb the little one from his position, you fish for the parcel label tied to the navy bow around his neck. “Mummy, will you go on a date with my