[If someone asks later, he probably won't be able to say what it was that draws him to the door. Maybe he smells the jack. Maybe he smells Stiles. But something makes him pause as he starts to tug off his shirt, turning to stare at his door like he's expecting it to open.
But the seconds stretch, and it stays closed, and he stays alone.
Smoothing his shirt back down, Scott crosses the space in one step, pulling open his door and stepping out into the hall.]
Stiles?
[That's not a sight he's used to seeing: Stiles walking away from him. His eyes dart to the bottle in his hand, and he knows he should have checked on his friend earlier.]
[Spam]
But the seconds stretch, and it stays closed, and he stays alone.
Smoothing his shirt back down, Scott crosses the space in one step, pulling open his door and stepping out into the hall.]
Stiles?
[That's not a sight he's used to seeing: Stiles walking away from him. His eyes dart to the bottle in his hand, and he knows he should have checked on his friend earlier.]
Where are you going?