"When you said casual, I thought you meant something else." Stiles’ hands are like birds, flapping through the air, and he inwardly cringes at how his voice is pitching higher with each word.
"Stiles, what else could casual possibly mean? What did you expect to happen?" Peter breathes evenly, maintaining his usual composed mask.
"I didn’t know what would happen, Peter. I didn’t think-"
"Exactly, Stiles. You didn’t think. You never think. You just blaze ahead, what I say, what we AGREED upon going in one ear and out the other, and this is what happens.”
"But I only wanted-"
"Don’t finish that sentence, Stiles."
He watches Stiles sag, deflated, against the desk. Raking a hand through his hair, Stiles’ teeth worry his lower lip before trying to meet Peter’s eyes one last time.
Peter only shakes his head, looks towards the door.