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"Isaac's living with you?" Stiles looks as if someone's told him Avengers 2 is never going to happen.
Scott pulls up one shoulder and flops down on Stiles’ bed. “It’s just temporary.”
“Sure.” And there’s a hop-skip in Stiles’ heartbeat that Scott doesn’t know how to interpret.
“How is this dude worse than Harris?” Stiles groans and flails back against his locker.
“At least his hatred is targeted at teenagers in general rather than you specifically,” Scott points out. Which totally counts as improvement.
Stiles sniffs, closing his eyes and refusing to concede how right Scott is. Which is just rude because it’s not like it happens often. “I bet this is the beginning,” Stiles says ominously and Scott stares at him. “Every teacher we get now will be our Biweekly Baddie.” He lowers his voice and says conspiratorially, “I suspect this one is the praying mantis.”
Scott raises an eyebrow. “Doesn't that need to be a chick?”
“He's been infected with the soul of a hyena then,” Stiles says, undeterred. He opens an eye to glare at Scott. “Study back at mine for this Ultra Mega Beast ‘assessment of our chemistry skills’?” He snorts. “Like that’s even a thing.”
Scott grins and shakes his head. “Can’t. Isaac and I are tracking the twins tonight.”
Stiles huffs and Scott thinks he looks slightly hurt for all of a moment. His voice goes a little mean. “Oh right, I forgot about Operation ‘Worst Plan in the History of Ever.’ Dude, Napoleon’s invasion of Russia had greater chances of success than this.” Scott frowns at him and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Or, put in terms you can understand, this is comparable to Miles Warren’s batshit plan with the genetically-engineered bed bugs.”
“Wow, dude, the Jackal?” Stiles grins at him, clearly proud his relentless comic book lessons have taken hold. “I have better plans than him,” Scott insists.
Stiles doesn’t look impressed. “I expect you to start cloning yourself any day now.” He looks down the hall and adds, trying for off-hand, “I could come?”
Scott smiles and tries to put Stiles off without sounding like a dick. “I think it’s going to be all wolf-speed all the time, dude.”
“Right,” Stiles mutters, his shoulders slumping.
Scott doesn’t think he accomplished the ‘not a dick’ bit he was going for. “Maybe studying tomorrow?” he tries apologetically.
Stiles stares at him for a long moment. “Sure,” he says and that odd note is back in the stutter of his heartbeat.
Scott doesn’t know why, but it makes something in his stomach twinge. The feeling of unease follows him out of bed the next morning.
Scott doesn’t mean to keep blowing Stiles off and, really, he wants to hang out with him but he and Isaac are trying to find something to undercut those twin terrors. He’s not spending much time with anyone outside of Isaac and Deaton so it’s not like he’s flaking out on him to spend time with someone else. Besides, there will be time to make it up to Stiles later. Scott’s sure of it.
Living with Isaac is proving to be pretty okay too. He‘s no Stiles with his clever and sometimes truly dark wit but he’s loyal and he has Scott’s back no matter what and that's no small thing.
The days of having a pile of missed calls from Stiles, joking with him over lunch and traipsing through the woods looking for dead bodies – because Stiles can and has talked him into anything – are behind Scott now but Scott figures that’s all for the best. Aidan and Ethan are nasty little fucks and they’ve gone so far as to threaten Scott’s mom. So keeping his distance from Stiles is strategic at this point.
It doesn’t mean Scott has to like it.
Isaac doesn’t understand why he’s in such a foul mood all the time and Scott doesn’t have it in him to say it out loud.
Shit goes down, like, big time towards the end of November and Scott tries to call Stiles to tell him to stay the fuck away from the school. Like, at least a one mile radius in every direction. The call doesn’t go through.
We're sorry; you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.
What. The. Fuck? Scott tries to call six more times and gets the same message. His heart lodges itself in his throat and, as soon as the fighting is over, he runs as fast as he can over to Stiles’. It’s been weeks since he’s even seen Stiles. Someone would know if something had happened, wouldn’t they?
Fuck.
Scott’s pretty sure the ‘someone’ is him and Stiles could’ve been lying dead in a ditch for weeks with his throat ripped out and no one would know because he’s the worst friend in the history of bad friends. He puts on a burst of speed, his eyesight starting to blur.
Stiles is pulling on his jacket and closing the door behind him. Scott skids to a stop in front of his house. It’s after one in the morning so where the fuck is Stiles going?
A glance at the empty driveway says the Sheriff isn’t home.
“Hey,” Scott says hoarsely, catching his breath.
Stiles blinks wide eyes at him. He looks completely baffled by Scott’s sudden appearance. “Hey,” he answers cautiously, like he suspects a trap of some sort. He nods at the bloodied, tattered mess of Scott’s shirt, ripped from where claws have torn through it. “Heard shit went down tonight.”
Scott stares at the claw marks that are still healing in his side. He’d forgotten all about them, even with the wind stinging against the cuts every step of the way. He realizes he probably looks like a slasher movie victim and his face heats in embarrassment. He could’ve at least changed his shirt before he ran here. How would he have explained this to Stiles’ dad if he had been here? “Yeah.” Scott rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, I tried to call you.”
Stiles is tense and uncomfortable standing on his stoop and the awkwardness between them is like an arrow to the fucking heart. When had it gotten this bad? “Oh right, um.” Stiles tries to smile and it comes off as more of a grimace. “Had to change my number, you know, when I got a new phone.”
“What happened to Narco?” Scott says, remembering the phone that had plagued Stiles since he was sixteen with fondness. Stiles had named it such since it was in the habit of dying randomly. Plus it was a subtle reminder of how not weird things were between them once upon a time. He feels kind of clever for the tact.
Stiles shrugs and tugs on the string of his hoodie. “Deucalion put the final nail in his coffin. Smashed it to bits. I was little pissed, you know? Remember the epic plans I had for its destruction when my contract renewed? All moot now.”
The epic plans they’d had. And, yeah, Scott did remember. They were going to tie it to a firework. Because they came up with brilliant plans. Scott’s more concerned with the fact that Stiles was apparently approached by the Alphas’ Alpha and he knew nothing about it. “Deucalion? When was this, what happened?” Anger swamps his worry and his voice is shaking when he says, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me Deucalion came after you?”
“Because I told Derek,” Stiles says harshly. His nostrils flare and he forcibly calms himself. “Don’t worry about it, dude, it was over a month ago.”
“You’d rather talk to Derek than me?” Scott tries, and fails, to keep the hurt out of his voice.
The chorus to Werewolf Bar Mitzvah plays from Stiles’ pocket and Scott misses him so much it makes him stagger. Stiles pulls out his phone – the one Scott doesn’t have the number to – and glances at the screen. “Listen, man, I gotta go, okay?” The words are said like he's sorry about it but the expression on his face says he’s relieved.
And Scott wants to ask where to and why Stiles has stopped talking to him about anything but he knows that fault lies at his doorstep. “Stiles,” he says when Stiles walks past him. Stiles turns around, looking wary, and Scott swallows. “That’s it?”
Stiles’ lips part and he says, “What do you want me to say, man?” And Scott knows Stiles is genuinely asking him. Only Scott has no idea what the answer is. Stiles waits a moment longer before he says, conciliatory, “I’m sure I’ll see you around, dude.”
When he gets home, Isaac isn’t there but his mom is. She meets him at the door and pulls him in for a fierce hug, her hand on the back of his neck. “Isaac told me what happened,” she says, and there’s strain in her voice, stretching it thin, and Scott hates himself for putting it there. “Are you all right? He had no idea where you were.”
Scott pats her back and pulls away from her. “I went over to Stiles’.” His voice doesn’t sound much better.
His mom pins him with a serious, slightly accusing look. “Was he there tonight?”
Scott shakes his head quickly. “No, he—I was worried about him.” He starts his trudge up the stairs and he’s not surprised when his mom follows him into his room.
They both sit down on the edge of Scott’s bed and she pokes a finger through the tatters of his shirt with a frown. The claw marks have healed at least. “I’m glad you two are still,” she laughs slightly, “you know, Scott and Stiles.” She squeezes Scott’s shoulder. “I did wonder when I didn’t see him around.”
Scott’s eyes start to well up and suddenly he’s blinking away tears. “I don’t think we’re friends anymore, Mom.” The words taste like ash in his mouth.
He gratefully buries his face in his mom’s neck when she pulls him in for a hug with a soft, “Oh, sweetheart.”
Scott is in the library, looking for a book to do his English assignment on when he hears Stiles’ laugh from across the room. Scott only halfheartedly tries to resist the temptation to go poking around. He peeks over a shelf and finds Stiles sitting on the floor in a corner with Boyd.
Stiles is laughing, saying unapologetically, “You could’ve stopped me if you really wanted to.”
Boyd kicks the sole of Stiles’ shoe with the toe of his sneaker and he’s almost smiling. It’s weird. “I probably would’ve had to break one of your wimpy human bones.”
Stiles snorts. “Like you’d have any problem with that?”
Boyd looks over at him slyly and says with feigned nonchalance, “I think Peter would challenge me to a duel, damaging the goods.”
Stiles pulls a face. “Ugh, don’t be gross.”
It winds Scott watching their easy camaraderie and some stupid voice in Scott’s head says Stiles has replaced him. He’s still standing behind his bookshelf five minutes later when Boyd’s eyes flash over to him while Stiles is distracted. They pin him there, yellow shining at him through the low light.
Scott starts at getting caught and nearly drops everything in his hands in his haste to leave.
So Scott sucks at being a best friend, which isn’t new except for the magnitude he’s at now. He adds Stiles to his list of resolutions, which include being a better son and sticking to his word of the day updates, and maybe moves him up to the top too because this not talking thing? It’s really starting to bum him the fuck out.
He knocks on Stiles’ door, determined.
Stiles yanks it open, grinning. His whole expression changes when he notices it’s Scott. He frowns and seems to be restraining himself from looking around Scott for someone else. “Scott?” he says curiously. “Okay, wow, not who I was expecting.”
Scott stares down at his shoes and shrugs his shoulders. “Boyd, right?”
“Uh, yeah,” Stiles says uneasily, pulling up his overshirt where its slipped off his shoulder. “What are you—” Stiles’ face morphs in concern. “Wait, he’s okay, right?”
Scott scowls, realizes how fucking petty that is and forces out a reassuring, “Yeah, he’s fine. I mean, I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “I—that’s not why I’m here.”
“Okay,” Stiles says carefully. “So... why are you here?” he tacks on when Scott doesn’t say more.
Scott has no idea how to say this and not sound whiny or girly or something equally as embarrassing. His shoulders pull in and he says in a small voice, “I feel like I don’t even know you anymore, man.” He stares down at the concrete of Stiles’ steps. There’s not even a mercifully interesting crack or a lone ant to distract him from the blank look of shock on Stiles’ face that he can still see from his periphery. “I don’t even have your number now,” he tacks on because that still really fucking hurts. “I miss you, dude.” He looks away. “Avengers 2 is coming up this weekend. Epic midnight plans are still a go on my end.”
Stiles sighs and steps outside, easing the door closed behind him. He waits until Scott looks up at him again to say, “You do this thing, Scott, when someone new shows up in your life. You devote yourself to them and it’s this selfless, awesome thing you do but it doesn’t leave room for anyone else.” Stiles drags a hand through his hair and its shorter than it was at the start of this year. “I never noticed because it was just you and me forever but then it was Allison and Isaac and you’re cycling back to me, which is nice, because it’s kind of heady, you know, having your complete focus but it’s, uh,” Stiles gives a breathy sort of laugh and says, “it’s ephemeral.”
Scott doesn’t want to think about how many words have been between then and now. That can’t be the last one he shared with Stiles, can it? Scott swallows. He thinks it might be. “It’s not—I’m not cycling back, Stiles. I’m learning to have more than one person.” At least he hopes that’s what this is. All he knows is he doesn’t ever want to do this with Stiles again.
Stiles stares at him for a long moment, likely gauging his earnestness, before he says, “It’s cool if Boyd comes with, right?”
And Scott is just so grateful that Stiles is willing to give him a chance that he agrees readily. “Yeah.”
Boyd and Stiles have inside jokes and they spend the wait outside the theater talking about leaked spoilers and some girl Boyd’s been not not-flirting with and Scott doesn’t know about any of it because he doesn’t talk to Boyd about anything and Stiles is his source for all things Marvel.
He and Stiles used to be the ones that alienated everyone, carrying on full conversations without words and giggling over nothing. It had led to Allison giving him the cold shoulder more than once. It looks like that’s over and done with now though. It makes Scott more than miserable.
Stiles waits until after he’s dropped off Boyd to look over at him and say, “You okay, man?”
Scott doesn’t say anything and he feels stupid and uncomfortable when he realizes how absolutely backwards this all is. Stiles is the only person he’s never felt the need to censor himself around. He turns in his seat while they’re stopped at a red light and says seriously what he’s been thinking most the night – hell, most every night, “I want to go back to us and I have no idea how.”
Stiles frowns. He’s quiet for a long moment. He turns down the wrong street to get to Scott’s and pulls into the school parking lot. He fishes the lacrosse sticks they haven’t used since the season ended out of his trunk.
Scott squints out at the mist blanketing the field. “3 a.m. lacrosse?”
Stiles shoves a stick at him and says with a slight smile, “You gotta stay sharp, dude. You can’t lean on those wolf powers forever.”
And Scott thinks they might be all right.
Scott shows up a few minutes late to Stiles’ house because he couldn’t figure out what shirt to wear. Which. What even is that? He’s never cared about how he looks to Stiles before. It ended up tacking an extra fifteen minutes onto his ‘getting ready’ routine. He thinks maybe this will take longer than he thought - getting back to them - if he’s afraid Stiles is going to judge him on his clothing choices.
He doesn’t bother to knock since Stiles is expecting him and that’s a step in the right direction. When he reaches Stiles’ room, he’s surprised to find Boyd lounging in his desk chair.
“Uh, hey,” Scott tries awkwardly.
Stiles walks in from his bathroom. “Dude, Seven, it’s happening.” He doesn’t even glance at what Scott’s wearing and Scott is totally mystified as to why that bums him out. Stiles grins at him and he buoys a bit. “I’ve had ‘What’s in the box?’ stuck in my head all damn day.”
Stiles and Scott immediately, and in unison, pull out an exaggerated, “What’s in the boooox?” They’re no Brad Pitt but it’s pretty fucking great regardless.
Stiles shares a shit-eating grin with Scott and jabs his elbow in Boyd’s direction. “Plus, Boyd’s never seen it.” He looks over at Boyd like he has some sort of fatal disease and stage whispers to Scott, “I’m teaching him, one quintessential pop culture reference at a time. He’s horribly lacking in all formal education.”
Boyd throws a cheeto at his head and Stiles ducks back into the bathroom to avoid it.
Scott tells Boyd conspiratorially, “It’s a lifelong course, but Stiles is a dedicated teacher.”
“You’re welcome!” Stiles calls back into the room.
Stiles sits between Scott and Boyd for the whole of the movie and they pull silly faces and talk about how fucking creepy Kevin Spacey is and point out which scenes gave them nightmares when they watched this for the first time at ten-years-old. Scott realizes two things then: he’s missed Stiles more than he would have thought possible and Boyd is way better at sharing Stiles than Scott is ever going to be.
They’re at Mamie’s diner when Scott gets this sick feeling in his stomach and he starts to have serious doubts that this possessiveness he has over Stiles is all coming from a friendly and platonic place.
Boyd is wolfing down - har har - his second burger and Stiles is angrily sucking at his straw to get to the milkshake that is not coming and they’re arguing about Boyd asking out the waitress when Boyd rolls his eyes and says, “It would be pointless. She’s more interested in your general lankiness than all this muscle.” He gestures to himself. “I’m telling you, I can smell it all over her. McCall, back me up.”
And, yes, Scott could smell it and the very last thing he ever wanted to do was tell Stiles there was a girl that was interested in him standing less than two feet away. Thanks a lot, Boyd. Scott scowls down at his fries and says grudgingly, “Uh, yeah, she’s sending definite, uh, scent signals.”
Stiles gapes, then chuckles. “‘Scent-signals?’” He snorts. “Werewolves, man.”
Scott stabs his fry into the blob of ketchup on his plate. He doesn’t look up at Stiles when he asks with false cheeriness, “Gonna ask her out then?”
Stiles looks offended by the very idea. “I’m sitting here with Hottie McHotterson and his better-looking friend and she’s after me?” And Scott wishes he had been paying attention. Who had he said was hotter? “Clearly she’s got brain damage.”
Boyd nudges him with his shoulder since he’s sitting on the same side as Stiles. Scott hadn’t been quick enough. “Right? Who would go after you?” he says mordantly. He squints back at Stiles and adds, “I’m pretty sure your face isn’t even symmetrical anymore, hasn't been since Kali hit you with that branch.”
Scott’s stomach drops as Boyd brings up another major event in Stiles’ life that he wasn’t a part of. Stiles’ face is still symmetrical as far as Scott’s concerned. He’s all kinds of perfect, unlike Scott with his uneven jawline.
Stiles just laughs and says, “Thanks for always keeping me grounded, Vernon.”
Boyd shoves a handful of fries in his mouth and doesn’t bother to get through chewing before he says, “What else are friends for?” He seems to get great enjoyment out of saying ‘friends’ and meaning it and, for one brief moment, Scott isn’t a possessive asshole and he’s genuinely glad Boyd has Stiles.
Scott gets the seat by Stiles on the couch at the next pack meeting at Derek’s loft, which probably wasn’t the greatest plan looking back on it. He’s trying to pay attention. Really. But Stiles is drumming on his knee and biting his nails and generally just being super distracting because his hands are. There isn’t a word for what Stiles’ hands are. There are words but not word. Large, strong, mesmerizing, pornographic and this is the loop Scott’s mind is caught in.
So, yeah, he’s trying to pay attention.
Isaac pulls him aside when the pizza comes and hisses, “Rein it in, Scott.” He looks a bit ill and drags a hand through his hair. “Holy hell.”
Scott glances around the room uneasily. “What?”
“You’re stinking up the whole damn apartment with that.” Isaac gives a pointed look at his dick and adds, annoyed, “By the way, if you’re trying to get your scent all over Stiles, it’s working.”
Scott grimaces. “Is it that obvious?”
Isaac nods slowly, trying to impress the point. “To everyone but Stiles.”
Scott casts his eyes over towards Stiles but he’s busy sniping with Peter the way they do. “Do you think he still hates me?” he asks, guts roiling.
Isaac rolls his eyes. “He never hated you, Scott. You’re his best friend. You’ll always be important to him.”
Scott bites his lip, leans in and confides, “What if I want more than that?”
“I think you’re talking to the wrong person about making that happen,” Isaac says. He puts a hand on Scott’s arm and frowns, looking grave. “Stiles fired me as his decision-making executive last week.”
Scott punches him in the shoulder.
Scott agrees to go out to a club with Boyd and Isaac and Stiles. Because of reasons. He certainly isn’t planning to keep Stiles away from anything that smiles at him a little too wide.
It’s an odd dynamic because Isaac is the same amount of close to Boyd that Scott is, which is to say: not at all and Scott’s suspected right along, and still does, that Stiles doesn’t like Isaac. He’s always used that condescending, just-this-side-of-prickish tone with him that is nowhere near as subtle as he seems to think it is.
Scott’s pretty sure Stiles invited Isaac for him, which means Stiles wasn’t planning to spend much time with him. Scott doesn’t even feel bad that that’s one plan he intends to ruin.
He sticks to Stiles’ side while he gets sloppy drunk and tips his head in Boyd’s direction where he’s showing off the white of his teeth to some attractive girl who’s hanging on his every word. “Boyd’s surprisingly sociable,” Scott says.
Stiles follows Scott’s gaze and snorts. “Only when he knows he’s never going to speak to whoever – whomever? – again. He clams up when he actually has to spend time with people.” Stiles drops back a shot of something that smells like death and wipes the back of his hand over his mouth, pulling a face. “He’s all kinds of fucked up,” he says, voice raw and far too open. “And the Erica thing did not help. We’re working on it.”
Scott swallows. “Sounds like you know him pretty well.”
“Getting there,” Stiles agrees. Scott’s phone whistles and Stiles stares at his pocket and says, “Gotta boogie?”
Scott reads the text message from Allison that tells him Chris has no idea if barrier spells are effective against giant snake-like creatures (which is all they have to go on right now). Scott pockets his phone again after giving a dry: OK in response. He looks back up to find Stiles watching him and shrugs. “No, it’s just Allison. I asked her to talk to her dad about some stuff. Just reporting back.”
Stiles scoffs a bit cruelly.
“What?”
Stiles snorts and says, exaggerated, “Allison.”
Scott stares at him, waiting for more, but Stiles has apparently said all he means to say so Scott prods, “What about Allison?”
Stiles gives him a long look and says as though Scott is slow, “She’s a bad person, dude.”
And that was not what Scott was expecting at all. “What, no she isn’t,” is his knee-jerk response.
“So she didn’t go all psycho-bitch at the slightest provocation or break up with you because you were being you and protecting everyone at the school?” Stiles says coldly, staring at Scott and daring him to refute it. And Stiles is at the point in his drunken shenanigans where he’s completely lost all brain-to-mouth filter and he proves what a dick he actually is. “She’s massively selfish about you and she only ever takes her own feelings into account, like with her mom and when she ended things with you last year.” And Stiles had no fucking right to bring up Allison’s mom. He knows better than anyone the way that fucks with people. “I kind of hate her guts,” Stiles says, popping his mouth on the words. “Boyd and I have plotted her death a few times.”
Scott sours and says tightly, “Wow, don’t hold back, dude.”
Stiles doesn’t even look slightly put off. His next words prove he isn’t. “I seriously think the girl has psychopathic tendencies. She seems to enjoy putting arrows in living things a little too much, even when she’s doing it for the right reasons.” Scott’s afraid he might start wolfing out when Stiles says, “The worst thing about her though is that she doesn’t even get you.” He sounds sad and wistful and Scott is not letting him drink anymore.
“Yes, she does,” Scott says automatically.
Stiles grins but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He nudges Scott’s arm. “Still happy living in your little land of delusion then?” He shrugs and there’s something dead behind his smile that makes Scott feel uneasy. “It’s cool. What I expected at least.”
Boyd drives Stiles’ Jeep back to his place since Stiles is in no shape and he crashes there at the end of the night while Scott opts to walk home. He tells himself Stiles was drunk and talking nonsense. Only the more Scott thinks about it, the more he can see the glimmers of truth behind what he said about Allison.
Stiles opens the door with a smile that’s totally meant for him. It doesn't falter or dim any, only gets wider. “Dude,” he says indulgently, “you’re...” he clicks his tongue, pantomiming checking a watch, “sixteen hours early. It’s cool, telling time isn’t a science.”
Scott swallows and stares at him dumbly for a second. “I love you. I mean, you know, the in love kind of love you. I love you.” He meant to say ‘I’m in love with you’ that time but his tongue is tripping over itself and his palms are sweating and he can’t think let alone speak.
Stiles opens his mouth to speak a half dozen times but all he manages is a broken, “I...”
Scott’s mouth twitches up even as his heart plummets. “I’ve made Stiles Stilinski speechless. The universe might implode. Or maybe Beacon Hills will just sink in on itself, pull a Sunnydale.”
Stiles huffs out a laugh that has no real sound behind it. “And I’ve made you ramble. I think that’s enough Freaky Friday-ness for one day.” His hand tightens on the door. “I don’t know what to say. Processing those words is surprisingly difficult.”
Scott can certainly understand that. “It’s pretty much all I want to say too. I’m hoping once you actually acknowledge it the urge will go away.” Stiles just continues to stand there and blink at him like he’s trying to blend in with a forest of mannequins. “Seriously, dude, you have to say something or I’m just going to keep awkwardly telling you I love you every time your face so much as twitches.”
Stiles kick-starts into words and they’re not... great. “Uh. W-when the hell did this happen?”
“I don’t know,” Scott says, exasperated. “Will a time frame help? I know I only figured it out pretty recently.” Stiles can’t seem to figure out any more words to throw at this and Scott’s getting increasingly uncomfortable after puking up his heart at Stiles’ feet. “Stiles, what are you thinking?” Stiles blinks. “Okay, forget I just told you... what I told you.” He’s not going to say it again. He’s not. “I’m Scott, the five-year-old who liberated your hands from duct-taped on oven mitts so you could scratch the shit out of your chicken pox. Talk to me, not the awkward dude who blurts out huge, life-altering emotions on your doorstep.”
Stiles’ swallow looks painful and he says, “Okay. Okay, yeah. I can do that. You’re Scott,” he says and looks at Scott as though he expects he might deny it. “You’re still Scott.”
Scott nods. “Exactly.”
Stiles walks past him and sits down on his front step. “I’m freaking out, man,” he says, squinting against the sun. “I’ve been in love with... this guy since I was thirteen,” and Scott falters sitting down next to him, feeling like his muscles have been turned to goo, “but then he met this girl, got all stupid over her and kind of crushed me. Unwittingly, of course, but it still happened.” Stiles heaves out a heavy sigh. “They broke up, like I knew they would, and I was still throwing epic celebrations in the streets when he found something – someone – else to throw me over for only a few weeks later. So,” Stiles shrugs and picks at the lace on his sneakers. “Even if I did still love him, I don’t really trust him.”
Scott feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He stares at the rip in the knee of his jeans. “That’s fair. He sounds like a complete fuck-up.”
Stiles nudges Scott’s shoulder with his own. “His heart’s in the right place.”
Scott swallows and it hurts. “We build up to it then,” he says hoarsely.
Stiles looks over at him and Scott can’t meet his eyes. “We build up to it,” he agrees.
Scott shuffles closer, noses into Stiles’ cheek and catches his mouth in a soft kiss and it’s nothing really, a sucking press of their mouths but it feels a lot like a promise.