darling, I know you’ve been feeling down lately, so I wrote this really quick for you. I’m not sure what you had in mind, but I went to a 100 % unicorns place, so I hope this makes you smile a little.
A shadow falls across Stiles’ worksheet and he looks up to see Lydia, mouth pursed, staring down at him. She says, “What do you know about unicorns?”
“About as much as the average eleven year old boy,” he says, which is: not much. Horse-like, pointy horn, something to do with virgins.
Of course, he goes home and finds out everything he can about them immediately. Both because Lydia asked, and because now he can’t stop thinking about it.
Lydia has forgotten all about their conversation by the time he’s ready to dazzle her with his knowledge, so alas, his mad unicorn skillz lie dormant for years, until all the shit with the werewolves.
Stiles is cat-napping in a spill of sun when all his warmth is blocked—he makes an irritated sound and opens his eyes to find Derek looming over him, frowning. Stiles kicks out a foot and rolls over onto his side in the grass.
Derek says, “What do you know about unicorns?”
Stiles yawns and says, “A surprising amount for a teenage boy.”