peterstiles au → Stiles is a ghost and Peter is the only one who can see and hear him, and he’s (kind of) being held hostage in Peter’s condo while they try and figure out how the hell he died in the first place.
This wasn’t what Stiles was used to. He was used to noise – the soft and steady buzzing of old appliances, the hum of a television in the background, the rhythmic, gentle tapping of his foot or a pen or his fingertips. Just noise. Any kind of noise. Because he’d never really enjoyed the quiet. It was deafening, heavy, and full of deep thoughts and innermost fears and it made him feel entirely alone. Noise kept him company. It made him feel safe.
“Could you read it out loud?”
The question seemed to catch Peter off guard, as he set the book down and turned to look up at him, his face full of a soft but gentle confusion, “What?”
“The book – or, the play, rather. Could you read it out loud?”
There was another sigh and Peter tried to seem annoyed but Stiles could see the ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “I’m not going to start from the beginning; I’m already half-way through.”
Stiles just shrugged, pushing himself off of the counter and sitting down on top of the table, his legs dangling over the edge so dangerously close to Peter’s own, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Peter would be able to feel him, too, “That’s fine. I’ve read it before. Plus, I’ve seen the Lion King and Strange Brew like, a hundred times.” (x)