Chapter Text
Stiles looks around at his cement studio apartment, it was cold, one room cramped kitchen and bathroom more like a stall with a locker-room shower. His bedroom is his living room and barely either. His bed is on the floor and the most he has as possessions is a wobbly desk he collected before the trash man could and some old pictures and figures he got from his mother. Who's now gone along with his father and he's alone.
He has a fan because its the beginning of summer and he can't move a finger without sweating in the heat box he calls home. It's still better than his old apartment that he barely got to see he worked so much just for rent. This place is cheap and he can just barely pay for it, groceries, and necessities on the profit he makes selling arrows to the Argent family. They even provide him with material and tools so he doesn't run off with his business. That's why he was here living on the edge of a small town named beacon hills. The town was depressing to say the least to anyone else it looked like a beautiful quaint town with humble locals but all Stiles saw was misery radiating from all of them. It made his skin crawl made it feel like something is trying to break out of his skin burst forward and cure them all.
Where stiles used to live in Compton people used to try to taunt him, beat him, seduce him and it all felt better than now being looked down on and felt sorry for by other miserable people. He feels trapped in his own skin, being suffocated, constricted, constrained, confined, stuck. Sometimes he scratches at himself until he bleeds trying to find the thing just under his skin. Ever since he moved here its been amplified almost risen to unbearable levels. He feels like he's going crazy.
He feels like he's going to die.
It's a familiar sensation he remembers having it when he was younger, after his mom died every time he was around his father he felt this unbearable sadness and loneliness radiating from him, it made Stiles want to tear his flesh away and let whatever it was free. Every time he wanted to jump off a building and just free himself though he didn't want to die he just wanted to fly. His mom used to say the same thing, she worked around lonely people she felt what he feels. She wanted to claw out of her skin, she wanted to fly.
She flew.
But she left him and his dad, and Stiles can't blame her. He now knows what she went through, he wants to soar.