Stiles doesn't need a master, and he tells himself this every morning when he wakes up a little colder and a little hungrier. He's been doing fine on his own without a gross human pretending to look after him when all they wanted was... well, there was no secret about what people wanted to keep pets for. His old owner had been that way, disciplining Stiles under the guise of training when really it was more about being a sadistic bastard. It hadn't worked on him, though, just turning him more wild until he'd run away one night. Living on the streets was hard, but he was convinced that it was better than living as a pet.

But the desire for a master was built into his very existence, and he couldn't deny its pull at times. He'd watch people on the streets and wonder if any of them were kind to their pets, or maybe disagreed with the institution altogether. Stiles was always careful not to be seen in case someone reported him, or worse tried to catch him. But sometimes he'd risk it to catch a glimpse of one man who would always walk past him, a human with a kind face and a smile naturally curving his lips up at the corners. Stiles doesn't need a master, but sometimes he catches himself thinking about having one anyway.