[Sasuke’s voice, low with quiet urgency, drags brown eyes sideways to regard the shinobi. There’s something not quite natural in the unblinking stillness with which Stiles considers the other boy, like millennia of evolution have been systematically unseamed from his hindbrain until only animalistic instinct remains. But then he’s himself again, face rippling beneath the crater impacts of too many emotions all at once. Looking away, he finishes tending to his neck and then closes the first-aid kit.]

No.

[The answer is reluctant—not in a manner that suggests Stiles is lying, however. For a moment, he takes time to put everything away under the bed again. The guitar is then moved from the bed to the free corner of the room, where it is carefully propped up. There’s now more room for them to sit.]

…Okay, you’re really not gonna like what I’m about to tell you. And I can’t stress how important it is that other people—[a pause]—people you don’t trust… They can’t find out about this.

[Stiles shoves papers away and seats himself. The words don’t immediately come. Then, as if thinking of something, he leans back and searches the wall for his monthly calendar, which he yanks off and shows to Sasuke. It’s still on February. The American teen flips to March, double checks the date of his conversation with Carmilla, and then points at an early date.]

This is the last day I remember. I'll explain more, but... You still with me?