Diego's POV
Stiles needs water and I go to my fridge, grabbing a cold bottle and tossing it to him. He catches it with shaking hands and drinks the whole thing in one go, water spilling down his chin and mixing with the blood still smeared on his skin. When he's done, he wraps the towel I gave him tighter around his waist and bends his head low, his shoulders hunched like he's carrying the weight of the world.
"I still can't process what happened out there," he says quietly, his voice rough and broken.
"Then f*****g explain it to me," I snap, my patience wearing thin. "Because right now all I know is that you showed up at my door half dead and covered in blood. So start talking."
He takes a shaky breath and looks up at me. There's something in his eyes I've never seen before. It's a re
