His smile is warm, kind as ever, and try to return it best I can, though it comes out a little uncertain, weighted down with a tinge of worry. And curiosity too, if I'm honest. My gut is telling me it's about Stiles, a memory that used to be sweet, but hurts now that he's gone. It makes sense, of course, and my heart aches for him.

But I'm not sure where concern ends and nosiness begins so I hesitate for a moment before reaching over to lightly squeeze his arm. "Well. If you wanna talk about it, I hope you know you can," I tell him, staring down at the fabric of his shirt under my thumb before looking, making sure he can see that I mean it. "And if you don't want to that's fine, too. But anything you've got weighing on your mind or your heart, I'm always happy to help bear if you ever need it."