[ The cloak is accepted with a heavy sigh of relief, Stiles murmuring his thanks while hurriedly drawing it over his shoulders. Fortunately, there’s just enough room through the cloak’s neck for the two topmost limbs to emerge from. The remaining limbs tuck tight against his body, helpfully holding the edges of the cloak closed. As the fabric settles, it occurs to Stiles how no lingering warmth clings to the cloak; brow furrowed in concern, he tries to inconspicuously evaluate Sasuke’s current state. With how much heat the older brother emanates, it’s become that much more alarming how little Sasuke does. ]

The locals were trying to rope him into some matchmaking Bond bullshit, [ he adds, eyes sliding from one Uchiha to the other and back again.

Even with the reassurance that there’s nothing to fear from this man, Stiles remains dubious. After all, if he trusted everyone his friends insisted he trust, he’d be dead. He’ll come to his own conclusions, with time. For now, he takes the cue from Sasuke and stops regarding Itachi as if the older man were about to materialize a chainsaw from thin air. For now. Instead – ]

Got a name? You can call me Stiles, obviously.

[ – said while holding a hand (the human kind) up to the nape of Sasuke’s neck, knowing better than to actually touch. His frown deepens, the two visible spider limbs chittering disapprovingly. ]

And you need to feed. You're like ice.