It wasn’t like he didn’t see it coming. The hugs and casual touches from not only Scott but his father were significantly less, the phone calls to hang out when not in dire straits and in need of information had trickled down to almost nothing, the stopping of conversations when he was in the vicinity increased.
As an experiment Stiles stopped reaching out just to see if anyone would notice.
Needless to say, they didn’t. Fucking Nogistune.
With so much time on his hands he did what he did best, research. He was going to make his own bestiary for his own edification, collect manuscripts and old books that looked to be authentic (thank God for his paper writing business or he wouldn’t be able to afford jack). He stepped up his game in school, not caring if he surpassed the amazing Lydia Martin, as she had made it abundantly clear that he only mattered if he was useful. Honestly, though, once the stars in his eyes had faded — once he had really gotten to know her — he was annoyed that she was still keeping up this idiot façade to attract boys. Maybe he would sign up for some of those summer exchange programs, see the world a bit while getting an education.
His father barely spoke to him anymore, just asked if there was anything he needed to be aware of and then went back to the station where he spent most of his time. Stiles continued cooking him meals, dropping them off, but he no longer lectured and he no longer stayed to eat with him. It was a lonely existence. He just had to tough it out until he could get into college. Then he would leave all this bullshit behind.