Cherish It For Now
I’m a selfish person.
Because I don’t want to let you go.
Promise you won’t leave me behind.
“The bus isn’t going to catch itself,” the Sheriff mutters into his coffee mug, slinging a jacket on, eyes pointed at his son in the kitchen who is stuffing his face full of pancakes. Syrup dribbles down Stiles’ chin as he gulps the last drop of milk in his glass and snatches his backpack up from the floor.
“Mmf, see you later, Daddy-o~” Stiles calls, racing out the door. He skids to a stop on the front steps and looks back with raised eyebrows. “Hold on. Were you joking just now? About the bus?”
“Yes, go,” his dad sighs, tossing a set of car keys out that have been hidden in his palm. He squints slightly when Stiles catches them. “But you barely passed your driving test so if I see one scratch-”
“Dad, she’s in safe hands. Remember when I took you to get a burger yesterday? I’ll die before I let this baby get messed up.”
“If you can call what I ate a burger, sure.”
“Just following doctor's protocol! Catch some bad guys and tell me all about it later, bye!”
The Sheriff was about to protest because Stiles sounded dead serious when he said I’ll die before I let this baby get messed up but before he can, his son hops into his new ride and zooms out of the driveway.
Even though it’s not his first time driving the beautiful blue jeep, Stiles inhales the new car smell deeply and smacks the steering wheel with vigor. This jeep is literally his new baby and he will take care of it until his last breath. And there's nothing wrong with being extreme.
He somehow makes it to school on time and rides up to a nice, close spot in the parking lot. Before he can pull up, he’s cut off by a shiny Porsche that swoops in, stealing the spot.
“Yo, asshole! Are you blind?!” Stiles yells, rolling his window down. His mouth shuts abruptly when Jackson Whittemore hops out of the lavish vehicle, air haughty around him.
Jackson pushes the sunglasses off his nose just long enough to check Stiles’ face and then rolls his eyes, like Stiles isn’t even worth an argument. Then he heads off into the school, unaware of how hard Stiles’ heart is hammering.
Because he wants Jackson to be angry and yell back.
He wants to get into a fight.
Most of all, he wants to be acknowledged.
“This is nothing like summer camp,” Scott grumbles to Stiles after first period in the hallway.
“Dude, that’s because high school is literally prison. Nobody likes anybody and it’s dog eat dog around here. Screw up once and you’re dead. Actually, maybe it’s worse than prison. I went to one with my dad once and it wasn’t too bad.”
“You like that kind of stuff way too much,” Scott says gravely. “Why did you want to go see a prison?”
“Because I wanted to check it out. See where the guys my dad catches end up - and I don’t know, I just did!”
They turn a corner and Scott stops for some water at the drinking fountain, wiping his mouth on his sleeve when he's done.
“I guess at least we have next period together. That way nobody else has to put up with your prison fetish.”
“Hey, look at you, lookin’ at the bright side!”
They enter their next class and take seats in the back by the window.
Despite his words - Scott asks more questions about what the prison was like, the guards, if it was as gritty as the movies made it out to be, things like that. Stiles answers each with as much excitement as he can, trying to keep Scott interested.
Just look at me.
Pay attention to me.
Acknowledge me.
It’s a selfish thought but Stiles can’t help it. When Scott is watching him with those lit up brown eyes, all curious and anticipated, it’s the best feeling. He wants Scott’s attention so much it’s almost a sickness. Hell, maybe he should get it classified.
Because in all the time the two have been friends, Stiles hasn’t let anyone else get close to Scott. He watches over him, stays by his side, accidently - and kind of on purpose - prevents other people from interfering in what they have. Isn’t it okay to do that?
So far, Scott seems just as reluctant to walk away from their friendship, so he’s not the only one to blame here. Okay, maybe they’re a little codependent but whatever, that’s what best friends do - stick with each other. It’s fine this way.
“Is this seat taken?”
Stiles and Scott break conversation and look up. A pretty girl with dark brown hair curling over her shoulders and a glowing smile across her face has her hand on the desk in front of Scott. She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, waiting for a reply.
That’s when Stiles notices the dazed look cross over Scott’s features and all the attention he was receiving earlier is now directly focused at this girl.
“Uh - It’s all yours,” Scott stammers, gesturing shyly.
“Thanks,” she replies, taking the offer and dumping her bag under the desk. She turns around and sports another smile to Scott. “I’m Allison.”
“Scott,” he says sweetly, “Scott McCall.”
“Welp, I’m Stiles,” Stiles points out, “If anyone, you know, cares.”
Neither of them look his way and class starts.
Stiles stares at Scott but he doesn’t look his way the entire class. He’s too busy studying Allison’s hair.
Just like that, Stiles can feel Scott is being tugged away from him. Like the time in elementary school when Theo asked to be friends. Like the time Lydia complimented Scott. Like at summer camp when Erica said. . .
Stiles shuts it all away and pretends it doesn’t bother him as much as it does.
It’s unhealthy, his attachment to Scott.
“Stiles, are you okay?”
Scott’s genuine concern tugs at Stiles’ heartstrings the second they make eye contact. They’re eating outside, on the grass, by the track bleachers, in the heat of the high noon sun. There aren’t a lot of people outside so it’s peaceful at least.
“Yeah, what do ya mean?” Stiles questions lazily, practically inhaling the rest of his grilled cheese. Scott looks thoughtfully up into the clouds and stretches his legs out.
“You’ve been quiet since Economics. Did what Finstock say get to you?”
“What? Hell no.”
It was the second week of school and their Economics teacher, Bobby Finstock, had been riding their asses since the first day. Scott got called out for texting in class all the time - usually texts to Allison even though she sits right in front of him - and Stiles got the usual teacher disappointment - what’s been shoved in his face since the daycare days.
You’re a brilliant kid but this assignment is garbage. What the hell is this, Stilinski? Turn another paper in by tomorrow if you want to pass my class.
They sit in silence for a few minutes and then Scott looks at him.
“Hey, Stiles, I think I like Allison, like a lot.”
Stiles is quiet, murdering the rest of his food. It’s not too hard to stall at first until the silence is uncomfortable and he coughs down the last bite, strangling out his next words.
“Oh, huh.”
Scott sits up, skeptical.
“Did you say, ‘huh’? I said, I like Allison, dude! You could be a little more - I don’t know - act like you care!”
“What do you want from me?” Stiles shrugs, “If you like Allison then tell her, not me.”
Scott glares then and stands up.
“Okay, fine, whatever.”
“What? Why are you mad? Do you want me to do a flip or something? She’s just a girl, Scott.”
“I’ll talk to you later,” Scott mumbles, grabbing his trash and turning around. Stiles snaps out of it and stands up, palms starting to sweat.
“Wait, no, Scotty, that’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” Scott retorts, "You can go on for hours about Lydia but the second I like a girl, it’s nothing.”
“That’s-” Stiles hesitates because he really can’t figure out how to explain to Scott that isn’t why he’s upset. How can he?
“I’m just mad that,” he struggles for the right lie, “I’ve spent all these years on Lydia and you got Allison’s number in like an hour,” he admits reluctantly, the only excuse he can think of in the present.
Scott stares, baffled. It doesn't take long for his brown eyes to completely believe the lie.
“Sorry, I didn't think about that. I know it’s tough pining after her. Hey, I found out that Allison is actually close friends with Lydia-”
“What?!”
“So,” Scott coughs, “Allison invited me to a party tonight. Lydia’s party, actually. I was going to tell you about it before but now seems good. We should go.”
“Only a week and we’re gonna lose our party virginity once and for all? Count me in.”
“Oh my god, Stiles.”
Stiles laughs but as soon as Scott pulls his phone out to text Allison, the laughter dies off.
Stiles loves Lydia. He’s in love with Lydia.
He’ll get her attention tonight because he loves her.
That’s how it’s always been.
Lydia's house is out of this world.
It looks like something off one of those celebrity crib shows - or whatever - and Stiles can't get over it. He knows if it weren't for all the teenagers grinding up on each other, this place would be heavenly for a romantic night on the couch. Or upstairs. Or the backyard - even the roof would be beautiful enough.
The party music rolls Stiles’ nerves up into a ball until they shrivel. If there’s one thing that calms him, it’s bobbing his head and shaking his body around. Because you can’t really call what he does dancing. According to Scott.
Scott had vanished not too long after they arrived, leaving Stiles to wander by himself. After all, they agreed they were on their own missions. Scott was there for Allison and Stiles was there to win Lydia over. Simple plan to follow. Easy.
Stiles tried not to let it get to him, being alone in this place, with all these strangers. He really did.
But it’s all he can think about.
At first it was okay, the anxiety and nerves and sickness in his stomach at being engulfed in a crowd. The unknown surrounding him. It wasn’t too bad. Scott was with him so he was going to be just fine.
But as soon as Scott vanished to find Allison, the world did a 180° on him. Not so long ago, Stiles would love to be at a party, hanging out with the cool kids - or that's how he imagined it going. Add on the fact he’s at the love of his life’s house, he should be ecstatic.
Except he’s not at all because anxiety is a bitch.
He’s busying himself in the kitchen, tasting the alcohol that’s out, gagging from it but swallowing it nonetheless. It isn’t fiery like the alcohol that his dad keeps in the cabinet. This stuff is much weaker and it’s flavorless. As long as he can drink it though, that’s all that counts.
He gains confidence after a few bears and ends up entertaining some senior girls who either giggle because they can’t understand him or because they actually find him funny. He doubts the latter. He then stumbles his way room after room, sort of grooving to the poppy tunes bouncing through the house. The buzz nurses some of the anxiety so he's calmed down a lot. Maybe this party isn’t so bad and he’ll survive.
Going into the living room, by the stairs, he sees Lydia.
She’s dressed in a magenta color, beautiful against her pale skin, and her face is made up in soft pinks and reds. She’s sipping out of a crystal glass and leaning into the presence of a tall, broad shouldered guy.
It’s Jackson.
Of course it is.
Stiles knew they were a thing but it’s even more confirmed when the athlete puts a protective arm around her tight waist, daring anyone to intrude on his girl. The two of them look pretty happy together. Pretty drunk - but also pretty in love.
Stiles goes numb.
Lydia doesn't spare him a glance.
He manages to bump his way through enough people to get out of the house - out onto the front lawn, onto the cold street, and into a place where nobody is waiting for him.
A light from the ground catches his eye and he bends over, using all his strength not to fall, to pick it up. It’s his phone. Must’ve fallen out of his pocket without him even noticing.
Stiles, where are you?
A text from Scott, the only contact he has besides his dad. He types something back quickly but as soon as it sends, he feels an anger bubble back up. The phone dings.
You’re leaving? Why? Are you outside?
Stiles types kind of incoherently back but gets caught off guard when Scott is actually running across the yard, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead.
“Hey, I’ve been trying to find you,” he breathes out heavily, his asthma showing it’s colors.
“Leaving,” Stiles mutters grumpily, “Don’t worry bout it.”
“You’re not having fun? You wanted to come, didn’t you? Did you run into Lydia?”
Scott looks so caring, so torn up, so honest. It’s that honesty that gets him in trouble. And it’s that honesty that breaks Stiles down. Every single time.
“Fine,” Stiles sighs, rubbing the heat on his neck, “Saw her with Jack-ass-son and got kinda, you know.”
“Sorry,” Scott sighs, like he forgot about Jackson too, and is at a loss of what to say next.
“S’okay.”
Scott tilts his head - gets closer, observing Stiles.
“You’re drunk.”
“Uh-huh, you should - detective work with my dad.”
“And still a complete smart ass.”
“You’re getting better and better, I’m rooting for you,” Stiles snorts, lightheaded. “I’m good though. Just gotta sleep it off.”
“You can’t drive like that. Come inside, lay down or something.”
“No can do. Not going back in there.”
“Please, Stiles? You shouldn’t have drank this much- not while taking adderall - you know that. Come on, you look pretty sick-”
“Sick hearted, a disease not even you can cure,” Stiles laughs, spinning around, throwing his arms out to steady himself, “And for the record, I’m an amazing driver so I’ll be good.”
“Yeah, so good until your dad pulls you over and you’ve not only got a DUI but no license and no jeep anymore. Or even worse, you could get in a crash. I’m not letting you do that.”
"You've been watching too many after school specials."
"What are you say- Ugh, let's go back inside. I can't deal with drunk Stiles."
Stiles ignores him and heads down the street, towards where he thinks he parked, but he isn’t 100% where that is. Scott races up after him and grabs him by the elbow, brows creased.
“Come on, Stiles, don’t be dumb.”
“Go back to Allison, I’m good. Don’t need you.”
“You’ve been kind of an ass lately,” Scott glares, “What’s up with you?”
The noise of the party gets farther away and all they can hear now is the humming of cars passing by on a nearby street. Stiles looks up into a streetlamp, squints, and then stares back at Scott dizzily.
“Hm. I don’t know, Scotty. I don’t know what’s wrong,” he answers truthfully, warming up where Scott’s hand is nestled on the crease of his sleeve. Scott is quiet and releases his arm but doesn’t walk away.
“Where’d you park? We can sit in your car until you feel a little better. Then I can drive you home.”
“No, don't, don't do that. Allison-” Stiles interjects, guilt pooling over.
He can’t let Scott miss out on his life because of him. He can’t do that. No, it’s not right. He has to stop being so selfish, so needy, so greedy.
Scott doesn’t belong to him.
“I’ll text her, tell her something came up. She’ll understand," Scott assures easily but it's not hard to hear the disappointment.
Stiles downcasts his eyes, watching the way the ground seems to move beneath them.
"No, I understand too. I can understand. Go back - I'll sleep in my car until I'm good."
"I'm not leaving you behind," Scott declares gently. He then crosses his arms and a sly smile peeks on his face. "Besides, you can't really handle getting sick. You're all over dramatic and whiny and-"
"What?" Stiles blurts, voice going higher, "That's not true!"
"Mmhmm, and you're also annoying as hell when you get drunk. You're whining right now actually."
"I'm not whin-" he pauses and his face gets hot, "That's a coincidence!"
Scott laughs because they both know Stiles is too drunk to be coherent, much less witty. Stiles drops his head and groans as Scott speaks again.
"Okay, so a big blue jeep can't be too hard to spot."
Stiles is about to apologize but Scott's arm is around his shoulders in a flash and he doesn’t seem phased by their sudden closeness the way that Stiles is. Since when was it the other way around?
“Hey, I shouldn’t have left you behind before, at the party," Scott decides, "Forgive me?”
Stiles leans into the warmth on impulse, into Scott. He can walk easier, much easier now. His anger and anxiety and heartbreak have settled and quieted. It’s selfish but he can’t deny what he’s thinking and feeling.
"Don't I always?" Stiles tries to joke but it comes out a little broken. He knows it's the other way around.
Scott smiles warmly and leads the way down the dark road, caring for Stiles, looking at him, staying with him.
One day, Stiles will try to give up on this clinginess. He will.
For now, he’ll cherish it while he can.