The morning after the message, Stiles doesn't sleep.
The words replay over and over in his head like a haunting text:
"You should've stayed away. Some stories aren't meant to end happy."
He'd stared at the screen until the sun came up, wondering if Carter was just trying to intimidate him or if this was something deeper.
Now, sitting in the student café, a cup of coffee on his table, Stiles watches students pass by in slow motion. He knows paranoia when it starts creeping in.
"You look like you haven't blinked since sunrise," Ethan says, sliding into the seat across from him.
"I got a message last night," Stiles mutters.
"What message, From who?"
"I think Carter."
"You think?" Ethan leans forward.
"It wasn't his number, but… it sounded like him."
Ethan quiets down
"Man, if Carter's starting some petty scare game, report it."
"And say what?
Ethan shrugs.
"Fair point."
"Besides," Stiles says quietly, "if I bring it up, Alisson will think I'm causing drama again."
Ethan studies him for a moment, then sighs.
"Just… be careful. People get weird when they lose control."
A few days later, preparations for the LanVille Winter Art Showcase reaches. The entire campus buzzes with anticipation, final rehearsals, lighting tests, and setups.
Alisson is in the studio from dawn till dusk. Her project, "Between Stillness and Storm," a large mixed-media piece dominates the room.
Kaitlyn's there too, helping arrange frames and gather materials. She hums as she works, cheerful as always, but something feels… off.
"You've been quiet lately," Kaitlyn says suddenly.
"Just tired," Alisson replies, setting a paintbrush down.
"You sure it's not about Stiles?"
"We talked," Alisson admits. "We're… trying again."
Kaitlyn pauses, a faint shadow crossing her face.
"You're really sure about that?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because people don't change overnight," she says softly.
Alisson frowns.
"Kaitlyn...."
"I just don't want you getting hurt again, okay?" Kaitlyn says quickly. "You don't see what I see sometimes. He's intense. He's...."
"He's human," Alisson interrupts gently. "We both made mistakes. That's how people grow."
Kaitlyn forces a smile, nodding, but her grip tightens on the edge of a frame.
"If you say so."
Later that evening, Stiles walks through the nearly empty hallways of the art building, carrying a stack of notes. He's been helping Professor Hale organize submissions for the literature art crossover exhibit.
He doesn't mean to end up outside Alisson's studio, but somehow he does as he hears faint music inside.
He pushes the door open slightly. Alisson is painting, her movements steady again, her confidence slowly returning. Kaitlyn sits nearby, scrolling through her phone, smiling softly at something on the screen.
For a moment, it's peaceful, almost beautiful.
Until Kaitlyn looks up and sees him.
"Oh. It's you," she says.
"Just dropping something off," Stiles says, holding up the papers. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"It's fine," Alisson says, smiling gently.
"You can stay."
Kaitlyn exhales quietly, returning to her phone but her countenance was different.
Stiles lingers near the window, helping Alisson set up reference materials for her presentation. Their small talk is warm, a slow rebuilding of trust.
At one point, Alisson brushes his hand accidentally. Kaitlyn notices. Her expression hardens, though she hides it behind her screen.
After a while, Alisson leaves to grab supplies from the main storage room, leaving Stiles and Kaitlyn alone in the studio.
The silence that follows isn't comfortable.
"You really think you're good for her?" Kaitlyn says suddenly.
"Excuse me?"
"She was doing fine before you showed up."
"You mean painting alone at 2 a.m. and pretending not to feel anything?" Stiles replies quietly.
Kaitlyn tightens her eyebrows.
"You don't know her like I do."
"Maybe not," he admits. "But I'm trying to."
For a second, no conversations. Then Alisson's voice echoes from the hallway:
"Kaitlyn! Can you grab my phone charger?"
Kaitlyn sighs and sets her phone down on the table before walking out.
The room goes quiet.
Stiles leans against the table, waiting. His eyes wander to the paintings, the brushes, the notes and finally, to the phone.
A faint vibration buzzes across the table. The screen lights turn on.
The message preview catches his eye.
A thread of texts from an unsaved number.
His unsaved number.
At first, his mind didn't notice and then he sees it.
The exact message. The same words.
"You should've stayed away. Some stories aren't meant to end happy."
His heart skips. The sender ID at the top reads simply: Stiles M.
The phone in front of him was Kaitlyn's.
He stares at it in disbelief. His pulse pounds in his ears, he tries to put everything together and thinks of reasons that she could give.
No… it can't be.
The door opens. Alisson and Kaitlyn return, carrying supplies. Stiles tries to make his expression neutral, though his heartbeat hammers in his chest.
"Everything okay?" Alisson asks.
"Yeah," he says quickly. "Fine."
But Kaitlyn's eyes wonders, as if she can sense something off.
Hours later, Stiles waits outside the art building, snow starting to fall softly. When Kaitlyn exits, pulling her scarf tight, he steps from the shadows.
"We need to talk."
She's slightly startled.
"Stiles? What are you doing here?"
"Don't play dumb. I saw your phone."
Her face freezes.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"The message," he says coldly. "The one you sent me pretending to be someone else."
Kaitlyn exhales.
"You weren't supposed to see that."
"Then why send it?"
She hesitates, eyes flickering. When she finally speaks, her voice trembles.
"Because you were ruining her."
"Ruining her?"
"Alisson was finally getting her focus back. Then you came in, all this chaos, all this… drama. I wanted you gone so she could breathe again."
"So hou tried to scare me off?"
"I was protecting her!" Kaitlyn snaps. "You don't see it, but she's fragile. Every time she falls for someone, she loses herself, she falls really hard. I wasn't going to watch that happen again."
Stiles stares at her partly furious, part disbelief.
"You don't get to decide who she loves."
"Someone has to look out for her," Kaitlyn whispers.
The silence that follows is suffocating. Snowflakes swirl between them, dissolving as they hit the pavement.
"If you tell her," she says quietly, "you'll just prove me right."
He steps closer, voice low but steady.
"Don't test me."
Later that night, Stiles walks alone past the frozen fountain outside the library. The snow has thickened.
He pulls out his phone, re-reading the old message. Then, slowly, he opens a new one, starts typing Alisson's name, hesitating over the words.
Before he can send anything, another text comes through.
From an unknown number.
Different one this time.
"You think you know who's pulling the strings, but you're wrong."
Stiles stops walking, filled with unamounted anger and rage. His fist clenched as the phone buzzes again.
"Check your inbox tomorrow. The real story's just beginning."
The message disappears, erased before he can screenshot it.
The snow falls harder, swallowing the light from the lampposts.
Somewhere behind him, in the distance, footsteps echo once… then fade.
He turns, but no one's there.