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Mr. Yukimura was standing at the front of the class, lecturing about something. It could have been about Shakespeare, the endocrine system, conjugating AR verbs in the preterite. Wait, wasn't he a history teacher? It hardly mattered, it was all just background noise. The soundtrack of Stiles' attempts at solving crime.
He didn't like to think of himself as a superhero or anything. No he was definitely above outside underwear and capes. He liked to think of it more as a detective extraordinaire. Sherlock Holmes or something to that effect. Yes, that was definitely it.
Okay, fine. He was more like some punk kid who stuck his nose where it didn't belong and ran with werewolves, a banshee, and a kitsune. Occasionally a mystery or 2 got solved in the process. They're like the Scooby Gang. He should rename his jeep "The Mystery Machine!" No! No! That's not the point.
The point is, he's much too invested in reading the case files he definitely did not steal from the Sheriff to be listening to a lesson about the Industrial Revolution. Oh was that what they were talking about?
He flipped past a gruesome picture of an "animal attack" victim to study the Medical Examiner's report. There was a note at the bottom scrawled in his father's handwriting that stated "needs second opinion." Interesting that his father didn't trust what the ME had to say about it all. That was a recurring pattern Stiles was noticing with some of the older files he snooped around.
He shuffled the files to find the report made by the officer who was first on the scene when the door opened, causing a gust of air to blow the papers off his desk. He cursed loudly before launching out of his seat to grab them. Fortunately, when the door swung shut, they stopped dusting about the room and he was able to gather them quickly, only stepping on a few toes as he went.
"Stiles," Mr. Yukimura scolded from his podium. "Get back to your seat."
"Just a second Mr. Y." Stiles thought he had all of his papers, but he flipped through them all to double check. He was missing the second page of the ME's notes. He scanned the floor for it and saw it near the door, one corner beneath a pair of dirty red chucks. He scrambled to it on all fours with his knees off the ground. Just as he was about to snatch it up, a set of fingers reached down and peeled it off the floor first. He followed their path upward until Stiles found himself looking at a headless body. The paper was blocking the view of the mystery person's face from his position on the ground. He hopped up quickly, and in the same fluid movement, ripped the paper out of mystery person's hands. He looked down at it to make sure it was the right page, and it was.
"That's some pretty dark reading material, you got there," mystery person said with a laugh clear in his voice. Stiles jerked his head up to insist he mind his business, but as soon as soon as he caught sight of the boy in front of him, the words caught in his throat and he nearly screamed.
He was gorgeous!
He had big, kind, brown eyes, hooded beneath a pair of full eyebrows, a hook shaped nose, and a pair of full pink lips. Damn those lips! They looked soft and delicious and Stiles desperately wanted to know what they would look like worried red and swollen. They were tugged into a devious little grin that made his heartbeat stutter.
Wait! Shit! What?
Why was he so flustered like this? It was just a guy! He never really noticed these kind of things on guys before. Well not usually. Except on Derek, but come on. That fucker was a magnificent work of art. No one could dispute that. And Danny. But he was a majestic Hawaiian Prince, how does one not gawk at that? And Jackson. Asshole that he was, he also was a sight to behold. Then there was Isaac. That jerk looked like a fucking Greek God when he cleaned himself up, and anyone who disputed was either blind or lying between their teeth. Stiles couldn't help it. He was surrounded by gorgeous men all the time. How was he supposed to handle it?
"Uh..." was all he managed to get out. Mystery guy's smirk turned into a full on grin at his gaping mouth and flustered expression.
"I'm Andy," he introduced himself, reaching out a hand.
Stiles just stared at it, unsure why this Andy person wanted to hold his hand. Not that he objected. As he stared, he found himself picturing the thin fingers twisted through his own. His hands looked soft. Stiles bet they were soft. He wondered what they would feel like caressing his cheek. Or brushing over his stomach. Clamping down in a crushing grip over his hips as-wait!
The fingers fell limp before Andy dropped his hand back to his side, seeing that Stiles wasn't going to shake it. Oh. A handshake. That... was what... that gesture meant... Oh. Why did Stiles find himself so disappointed by that realization?
"Stiles!" Mr. Yukimura called to him again impatiently. "Get back to your seat, I said."
"Uh, right." Stiles nodded, then span around on his heel. He threw one last look at Andy over his shoulder before tripping over his own feet, catching himself on Scott's desk before he fell. He ignored the Scott's curious expression and Kira's stifled laughter from the back of the room. Instead he silently returned to his desk where he drifted off into space as he began to question his existence and his place in the world.