Picture This
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Jackson crosses his arms, but doesn’t look at him. “She told me she wants to break up after high school.”
“Ouch,” Stiles coughs. Great, now he feels bad. “Um. Her loss?”
The sun is going down, painting the horizon orange and pink, plenty of blue sky still stretching above them, and when Jackson looks at him his eyes seem to glow in the fading light.
“Why?”
“Hm?” Stiles licks his lips, tracing cheekbones outlined in gold with his eyes, gaze dipping down to the way the sun highlights Jackson’s throat, collarbones peeking out from the top of his dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. “Like, what’s good about you?”
“Sure.” Jackson reaches past him, putting a hand on Stiles’ door. He smells like cut grass and wet stone and expensive cologne and oranges. “What’s good about me, Stilinski?”
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- Part 1 of Picture This