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Stiles was roused from his sleep by an alarm. In itself that was nothing unusual, but unusual was that the alarm, blaring in his ears and giving him a headache as early as - he blinked through the dark and narrowed his eyes at the red numbers next to him - 2:35 in the morning, didn’t stop as he whacked his alarm clock in the uncoordinated way of a person freshly awoken.
Just to be sure, Stiles grabbed it from its position on his makeshift-nightstand and frustratedly smashed it against the wall opposite his bed, then craned his neck only to see the broken pieces lying innocently on the floor while the alarm continued. He blinked, startled, before his mind grasped what was happening at last, suddenly realizing it wasn’t his alarm clock, but instead the fire alarm causing all the noise that had ripped him from the brief slumber he had allowed himself during a short study break.
Immediately after comprehension had dawned upon him, Stiles fought to free himself from his blanket and jumped out of the bed, ready to flee his apartment and the building. He was halfway through the front door, now able to catch a whiff of smoke in the corridor and hear the other inhabitants of the house stumbling down the stairs, rushing to get to safety, when something made him stop.
Stiles hesitated for a brief second, the inner voice sounding like his father already berating him for the total disregard for his own safety he was once again on the verge of showing, then turned back around, cursing under his breath. Fortunately, he quickly found his little treasure, the family album with almost all the photos of his mother - and after this he would definitely make the time to finally scan and digitize them, to save them in a cloud or two for backup - in one of the cabinets in the living room.
As he stepped back again, Stiles saw his laptop on the couch out of the corners of his eyes and was harshly reminded of his whole learning material for the last year and a half on it - for which he actually did have a backup, after watching an acquaintance’s work be ruined by spilled coffee, but it was only a simple external memory storage just as likely to be destroyed in the fire. He swore his head off, but snatched the laptop up as well, before he finally sprinted out of the apartment.
Carefully tucking both laptop and photo album under one arm, Stiles clamped his free hand over his mouth and nose, attempting to breathe shallowly to avoid inhaling too much of the smoke whose scent he could smell wafting through the air. He hastened through the hallway, then made his way down the stairs, taking the steps two at a time, almost sure he was the last one to get out.
Reaching the ground floor, at last, Stiles noticed he wasn’t hearing only the fire alarm anymore, but also the sirens of fire services. He heaved a sigh of relief and caught sight of the trucks coming to an abrupt halt in front of the building just as he was shouldering his way through the street door into freedom, greedily taking in a deep breath of fresh air.
After that it was a rush with firefighters swarming out everywhere, herding him and the other inhabitants of the house further away into safety, counting heads, asking if someone was missing and running into the building anyway. Stiles didn’t know how long he stood there, watching the organized chaos and the flames he could now see flickering behind a couple of windows two floors above his own apartment, slowly coming down from his adrenaline high.
“Say, do you have any self-preservation instincts?” He was pulled from his daze by a voice from his left, struggling to keep the smooth surface of the laptop from slipping out of his sweaty hands. “And if so, why ignore them? Because I clearly remember to have been taught to drop and leave everything behind in case of a fire or similar emergency situations.”
With a retort on his lips for them to mind their own business, Stiles shifted to face the man that had obviously addressed him and was surprised to see the guy from the floor beneath his own. The damned attractive guy, with whom he hadn’t exchanged a single word yet, only the occasional nod in greeting; the one that he had started to ignore the elevator and instead use the stairs for, just to be able to watch his broad shoulders and fine ass whenever he and the guy happened to arrive or leave at the same time.
Stiles cleared his throat and hoped his now surely red cheeks would be accounted for by the heat of the fire or rather the mad dash escaping it. “Well, maybe I received a different education than you, Mister …?”
“Hale, Peter Hale. Apartment 3. And you are?”
“Stiles. Stilinski.” The man’s name sounded familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. “I live in Apartment 5, if the fire spares it, that is.”
A small smirk joined the raised eyebrow that remained on the handsome face. “Tell me, Stiles, what’s so important on it to rescue the laptop, but not save your dignity?”
He followed the man’s pointed stare down his own body and became acutely aware of two things. One: he wore nothing but his boxer shorts and a single sock; two: he wore a sock with a hole in it and the white boxer shorts with the pink unicorn on the front - which came in a set of three with a purple dragon and an orange phoenix one.
Stiles felt the blush spreading down his neck starkly and tried to hide it by pressing laptop and photo album against his chest, but he raised his chin defiantly and met Peter’s weirdly intense gaze nonetheless. “Now, I don’t think it’s any of your business what’s on this laptop, Mr. Hale, but if you need to know, then rest assured it’s not porn,” at least not only, so it wasn’t exactly a lie - but why did he even suggest that as an example, geez - he was too exhausted, too tired, too sleep-addled for this, if his brain-to-mouth filter had that huge holes, “if that’s what you assumed. Also, I don’t see a reason to be ashamed of a supernat- I mean, a fantastically magical creature as awesome as a unicorn.”
This time, he was convinced he didn’t just imagine the short flashing of the man’s eyes at his slip of the tongue and, honestly, it was a little embarrassing how long it had taken Stiles to catch on. He blamed it on the strange glow of both the emergency lights and the flames in the dark night and the fact that the fire was distracting his spark because of its affinity to elemental magic in general and the fire element in particular.
Stiles had been certain for some time already that he wasn’t the only supernatural being in the building, his spark sensing another aura every so often, but evidently he had been too focused on … other attributes of the man to not notice the signs that screamed it was the hot guy and he was a Were. At least he didn’t seem to be a threat to anything but his pride.
“Whatever made you believe I have been talking about porn? My, that must be a dirty little mind you have, to jump to such a conclusion this quickly.” Clearly someone was enjoying themself, because the smirk on Peter’s face only grew. “I was thinking more along the lines of highly classified information that you had to keep secret and not let become potential evidence,” came the blatant lie, innocently delivered.
And Stiles? He had not the slightest idea what possessed him, but “Like your phone number? Because that I don’t have yet.” was out of his mouth before he had any chance of stopping it and he refused to take it back.
“My number is hardly classified information.” Peter let his eyes wander down his body once more and Stiles fought against the shiver caused by the heat in his eyes. “If you wanted that, you could’ve just asked.”
“What if I’m asking now?” Stiles licked his lips, still dry from the hot smoke in the hallway, and observed with amusement how electric blue eyes instantaneously focused in on that simple movement.
Naturally, before he could get his answer, a loud call from one of the firemen demanded their attention. Turning around, he noticed that the flames had apparently already been extinguished, only a broken window on the top floor and thin wisps of smoke lingering in the air proof of the fire.
He and Peter joined the other inhabitants of the building in the small circle around two firefighters and a paramedic offering to check everyone over and soon they were all informed that the fire had been caused by a candle on the coffee table in Apartment 10 that had been knocked over in the man’s sleep. Noone had been harmed, everyone came out unhurt, and the only victims of the flames were the mentioned coffee table, the rug beneath as well as the couch and curtains close to it.
The walls, floors and ceiling hadn’t really been damaged since the firefighters were able to nip the fire in the bud, so the structure of the building was still intact and the inhabitants of the floors one and two could return to their apartments, whereas the ones from three to five would have to wait a day or two at most until all the smoke had cleared in the hallways and such. Stiles sighed at that, glad for all the good news, but wondering who he could call and ask for a temporary place to stay, when someone cleared their throat next to him.
“Seems like the flames did spare your apartment, just the smoke didn’t. Mine’s available, you know, should you need a couch to crash on,” Peter surreptitiously glanced at him, “or a bed.”