Forever. Anytime. Always.
Scott wakes up, alarmed.
There’s someone stumbling through his window and his first instinct is to get his bat - until his eyes adjust to the dark and he catches on that it’s just Stiles.
“Seriously?” Scott grumbles, sinking back into his bed for solace. The not yet working part of his brain decides it can not deal with this right now.
“Nope, no you don’t,” Stiles snaps, coming to Scott’s side after dumping something on the floor. “It is Christmas morning and like hell you’re sleeping through it.”
“Do you have to do this every year?” Scott groans, pulling the covers over his head in an attempt to erase his best friend from existence. All he needs is some good ‘ol sleep, Christmas can wait.
As if reading his mind, Stiles jerks the covers off his face and shakes him.
“Merry Christmas, Scotty! Santa Stilinski brought some presents!”
“Santa is being a dick,” Scott disagrees under breath, irritated - ready to find that bat again.
“Dude, you know I’m going to win this. Hurry up. Rise and shine!”
Even though Scott has turned away and buried himself back into his oh so wonderful pillow - he can feel Stiles rolling his eyes.
The breath is knocked straight out of Scott’s lungs as Stiles pulls him nearly out of the bed, bringing him into reality as if he splashed cold water on his bare chest.
“Stiles!”
In a matter of seconds, they’re tangled up on the floor because Stiles doesn’t know when to stop playing around and in the translucent blue light from the window, Scott can see that Stiles has a Santa hat on.
“Oops?” Stiles grins, not actually sorry at all and looking pleased with himself if anything.
Scott climbs off of Stiles and shuffles over to his wardrobe to put on some jeans and a thick hoodie because the cool air of the house is prickling over his skin even more than his annoyance at being forced awake.
“You won’t hate me in about two minutes,” Stiles decides, knowing that Scott’s grumpiness disappears eventually. “And to prove it, I’ll make you breakfast. I’m gonna go put these under the tree - don’t take too long!”
He scrambles off the floor, picks up a plastic bag and is out of the room before Scott has the chance to grumble anything else. Tugging the hoodie on, Scott feels a warmth spread over him - one that he knows isn’t entirely caused by the clothes. Stiles really made it hard to stay mad.
Not that he was ever actually mad to begin with.
Scott rakes his fingers through his hair and brushes his teeth, puts his boots on - the only pair of expensive shoes he actually owns - and heads downstairs.
Stiles already has eggs and bacon cooking on the stove and has got Christmas tunes playing from Melissa’s cassette player on the counter. It’s as if seven in the morning has never phased Stiles a day in his life which is - well, true for the most part.
Scott doesn’t even mention wanting eggs over easy because of course that’s how Stiles is already making them and leans on the doorway, looking back into the dark living room at the four packages now added to the small pile under the tree.
Every year, they do this.
Scott would never be able to sleep Christmas eve and Stiles would come wake him up in the morning anyways, right when the sun is rising, bring presents, make breakfast, and then they would spend the entire day together. After the sun sets, they would head to Scott’s house where Melissa and the Sheriff would be making dinner and all spent the evening together.
That’s why Scott couldn’t sleep last night. He looked forward to this too much.
“Yo, sleepyhead,” Stiles greets, like they're just now seeing each other. He places food out on the table and does an unnecessary pancake flip in one of the pans - only doing it because he realized Scott was watching him.
“Thanks,” Scott answers, sitting down. “But this doesn’t make up for breaking into my room whenever you feel like it.”
“I’m supposed to be Santa,” Stiles scoffs, offended, sitting across from Scott after the pancakes are finished. He douses his in syrup and digs in.
“Why not dress as an elf instead? You already have the ears, right?” Scott teases, popping the egg yolk under the fork. Stiles flushes and coughs on his orange juice, glaring over the solo cup.
“Hey, that was middle school me. You wear elf ears once and suddenly it defines you as a person. . . “
They chuckle and keep eating like that. Scott makes fun of Stiles’ food even though they both know he likes it, and Stiles jokes about how waking Melissa would be the end of them since she has to go to work and needed all the sleep she could get.
“Ready to head out?” Stiles questions, hopping up to clean the dishes. Scott jumps up quckly and pushes him back, going to clean them instead.
“Yeah, there’s just one place I wanna go to first,” Scott answers, rinsing the plates and pans, looking back at Stiles. “If that’s cool?”
“Anywhere,” Stiles shrugs, “As long as we’re toge- “ he pauses there and clears his throat, “As long as we’re having fun.”
“Cool.”
Scott doesn’t bother bundling up much, it’s not like it ever snows in Beacon Hills. He opens the door for Stiles and is about to step out when a sudden weight appears on his calf and he hears a yelp from Stiles at the same as a yelp from the dog on his leg.
“You’re seriously five years old,” Scott laughs, hitting the white ball on Stiles’ Santa hat at the same time he looks down at Roxy. She nuzzles his boot, gnawing at one of the laces, and doe eyes at him - on purpose he knows it.
“You can’t go, girl,” he tell her gently, ruffling her silky ears. “Sorry.”
“I’m not sorry,” Stiles mutters bitterly from outside now, on the steps. Far away from the dog.
“You can have a nice bone for Christmas, tonight. How about that?”
Roxy perks up, paws at his ankle and affectionately nips at his hand before he shuts the door and walks with Stiles to the jeep.
“When that little demon turns on you, don’t forget I tried to warn you.”
“Whatever you say, Santa Stiles.”
The sun is rising in the clouds now, casting a little light on the cold morning. It’s calm and barren out on the streets. There's hardly a soul in sight.
“Sometimes I feel like the world belongs to just us,” Stiles comments, after making a sharp turn. He says it so calmly, in a so not Stiles way, that Scott gazes at him curiously.
“Uh, that’s because everyone is opening presents with their kids right now.”
Stiles doesn't react to that so they drive in silence, enjoying the comfort from the jeep heater and the solitude of a nearly open road.
“Right there,” Scott directs, watching Stiles’ turn the steering wheel onto the side street.
He doesn’t pay much attention usually but looking now, he sees how long Stiles’ fingers are. Normally those fingers are pretty clumsy but when driving, they’re solid, assuring, careful. Scott blinks and realizes how weird his thoughts are and raises his head when the jeep slows to a stop in front of a small house.
“I forgot to give it to him,” Scott explains, grabbing the Christmas present from the floor and stepping out of the car. “Be back in a sec.”
“Still gonna be here,” Stiles drawls out, “In the awesome heat.”
Chuckling, Scott goes up to the front door of the house and knocks. The porch light goes on and the door opens. Scott steps back and smiles sheepishly.
“Oh, Scott, what a nice surprise,” Dr. Deaton greets, holding the door open wider when he realizes who it is.
He’s dressed in a button down and a coat, an ivy driving cap snug on his head.
“Merry Christmas, Deaton," Scott replies, nodding, "I’m sorry it’s so early in the morning but I wouldn't have any other chance to stop by today.”
“No worries. I was about to head out myself.”
”Oh? Big plans?” Scott wonders, moving back so Deaton can come outside.
“Not exactly. Just meeting an old friend,” Deaton smiles kindly, letting that be the end of the conversation, shutting the door behind him and locking up. Scott nods again and then remembers why he came.
“So, yeah, I couldn’t make it to work Friday so uh - here.”
He holds out the white wrapped gift box hesitantly but Deaton takes it, eyebrows raising, face lighting up.
“That’s very nice of you, Scott. I appreciate that,” he says, holding onto the box like it’s fragile and looking up, face falling slightly, “I’m afraid I don’t have - ”
“No, that’s fine! It’s from me and my mom,” Scott cuts off, “But uh - I can’t keep Stiles waiting too long or he’ll get grumpy. Christmas with me is a big deal to him.”
When that comes out of his mouth, Scott furrows his brows, because he didn’t even mean to say it like that
“Uh, anyways, it’s the least I can do. You’ve helped me a lot. I really appreciate you giving me the chance to work with you.”
Deaton seems surprised again by Scott’s sincerity and stares at him fondly, as if he sees something in Scott that Scott himself can't. At ease, Scott rubs his hands against his pants and then holds his head higher.
“I just wanted you to know I’m grateful to you and that working at the animal clinic isn’t just a job to me - so, thank you.”
“You're a good assistant," Deaton answers honestly, because one thing Scott has learned about him is that he regards people as he sees them - never giving compliments to the undeserving. "And maybe one day, you can become a good veterinarian."
Scott doesn't know how Deaton knows that. How he knows that's the reason he's working there - to work towards his dream. He hasn't said a word about it to anyone.
But he doesn't have the chance to ask because Deaton reaches out and touches his arm gently and says, "Merry Christmas, Scott."
The touch is only there for a second but something about it causes Scott’s heart to swell in his chest.
He descends the stairs and slides back into the jeep where Stiles is impatiently tapping his foot, throwing a wave at Deaton who waves them off.
“You know, you’re weird, Scott,” Stiles blurts, driving down the street, rolling around a corner.
“Can you really call me weird, Stiles?”
“You just - you do weird things. Like giving your three month boss a present on Christmas.”
“Okay. And?”
“And - “
Stiles stops and gets to a red light, thinking over it for a bit. He looks at Scott, eyes soft, and looks back forward when the light hits green.
“It’s not a bad kind of weird,” Stiles finishes, shrugging, letting that be it.
Scott rubs his arm, where Deaton had pat, and that pain in his chest stings again.
“This is literally the worst idea you’ve come up with,” Scott sighs, getting out of the jeep, looking at Stiles like are you kidding ?
Stiles pushes Scott along towards the ice skating rink regardless. Scott doesn’t mind the contact so much.
“That’s what you say every year.”
“Because it’s true every year.”
“Uh, no it isn’t. You have fun every time.”
Scott can’t deny that and smiles, liking when Stiles gets all defensive because they know he doesn’t actually hate any of the ideas. Not even once.
When they’re inside, Scott snatches up a pair of skates for Stiles at the same time Stiles finds some for Scott and they exchange, lacing the ice skates on.
“Do normal best friends know each other’s shoe size?” Scott wonders aloud, tightening the strings.
“We’re not exactly normal best friends ,” Stiles brushes off, using Scott’s arm to steady himself to stand up.
“We’re not?” Scott laughs, walking towards the rink, Stiles only a footstep behind. He thinks he's getting more used to the shoes now at least. Until he gets up close to the rink and his ankles shake a bit. Surprisingly, there are a lot of kids and parents already on the ice, even though it’s still early in the day.
“No. We’re not,” Stiles shrugs. Scott doesn’t question further.
Scott is the brave one and steps out onto the ice first, crunching on the shavings that have already been torn apart. He luckily doesn't fall and hobbles a little further out at a snail's pace. He gets closer to the middle, where the ice is more solid and slick, and slides the metal blade across, throwing his arms out to keep his balance.
Too bad his arms fly too far out and he trips a little, catching himself though, breathing out slowly. A few kids fly by, giggling, and spinning - as if this was easy.
Scott regains balance and tries to slide out again but his skate skids the wrong way and he stumbles backwards - right into Stiles’ arms.
“Whoah, buddy,” Stiles laughs, “You’ve never ice skated before, have you?”
“Have you?” Scott retorts, his face going hot because Stiles is still holding on the back of his arms. It doesn’t help when he kind of bumps his chest into Scott’s back, staying there while he steadies them both on the ice.
But Scott let’s Stiles do whatever the hell he wants because honestly - that’s a bad habit of his. Letting Stiles get his way. Letting Stiles do what he wants. Spoiling him.
“I used to go with my mom when I was a kid,” Stiles blurts out, moving away from Scott now, leaving an uncomfortable and unwelcoming cold on his back.
Scott almost instinctively moves with Stiles - back into him - but reminds himself that’s going to be weird and stays where he is, watching as Stiles circles around him and smoothly stops without a problem.
“Okay, let's see some ice skating,” Scott challenges.
Stiles cocks his head to the side, silently accepting the challenge and miraculously skates backwards, going to the other side of the rink, avoiding the many kids zooming around. He pushes his legs out and in and then skates forward, skidding to a slow stop in front of Scott again.
Show off is the first word on Scott’s tongue but he’s too impressed to actually say it and nods in approval instead.
“Nice.”
“I know right,” Stiles drinks the praise in happily, reaching out to grab Scott’s hand, “Now, come on, quit stalling. You won’t get better by standing there.”
It’s quick and half expected when Scott goes forward too fast, running right into Stiles and sending them both to the ice, laughing.
"Ow, my ass," Scott snorts against his sleeve, which is now wet from the ice.
"Your ass is fine."
They manage to get back up and Scott takes Stiles’ hand this time - automatically, impulsively - but soon regrets it when Stiles catches his eye. They stare for a few beats too long and Scott suddenly feels like it isn’t okay to grab Stiles’ hand so he let’s go, and looks out at the other skaters.
“Uh, so - I’m gonna try to make it to the wall over there. Wish me luck, dude.”
He swallows and moves by Stiles, able to keep himself from landing on his face at least - even if he’s walking rather than skating. A few seconds pass and Stiles slides up next to him.
“Bend your knees a bit.”
Scott is about to make a joke but does as Stiles advises and shifts so that his legs are more apart, trying to mimic Stiles who is completely amused by this whole situation.
When Scott bends his knees more, he starts to swoon forward until Stiles’ hand push back on his shoulders and he sniffs, holding back another laugh.
“This is hilarious. I need a pic for Melissa. And future blackmail.”
“Uh, with everything I’ve never told the Sheriff, you’re out of luck on that one.”
“Damn,” Stiles agrees, taking his hand back out of his pocket and watches a little longer as Scott struggles just to stay standing. Impatience must have caught up with him because he grabs Scott’s wrists and they start going backwards, Stiles collected and steady while Scott wobbles nervously.
“I got this,” Scott tries to believe, easing his leg muscles a bit, naturally following suit with Stiles motion. The ice is almost menacing and mocking beneath him as he scrapes his skate into it, cringing at the vibration that goes through him.
“You’re pressing too hard,” Stiles corrects, “Just relax.”
They must look out of place. Two teenage boys skating together on Christmas. Scott thinks that must be what Stiles meant by they aren’t normal best friends .
Right?
Stiles pulls Scott along and they almost fall a few times but support each other enough to where they don't. Scott does run into the glass of the wall once because they curved a little too much and Stiles can't stop howling.
"Oh my God, Scott."
"Shut up."
Stiles reaches out to help him up and Scott yanks on him, sending him to the ice.
"That's not fair, Scott!!"
"You set me up to go ice skating. A little revenge isn't uncalled for."
"Touche," Stiles grins, grabbing onto Scott again so they can both stand and try to skate like before.
Scott observes how happy Stiles appears. Wonders what he might be thinking about. Wonders if being here for the first time since his mom died is okay.
Even though his pants are starting to get soppy from the ice, because he keeps slipping on it, and he almost twisted his ankle a couple times - he keeps skating with Stiles. Because Stiles is overjoyed doing this.
Scott can't stop the happiness daring to bubble over whenever Stiles smiles.
“Lydia and Jackson broke up,” Scott tells Stiles as they get closer to the other side of the rink.
Just for conversation. To distract himself from that familiar warmth coming up through his palms where Stiles has now slid his hands down Scott’s sleeves - down until he was holding his hands.
When Stiles doesn’t respond, Scott looks up from the ice and finds Stiles is staring at him again in that way - the way he was earlier when Scott accidentally grabbed his hand. Scott swallows and focuses back on the ice.
“Um. . . “
“Hm? What?” Stiles blurts, intertwining their fingers suddenly - probably just for better grip, Scott thinks - and leads Scott to the wall, pushing them off again, gliding sort of along it so they aren’t in the crowd so much now.
“Lydia and Jackson broke up,” Scott repeats, his throat going dry.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, less enthusiastic than Scott expected until it registers and his jaw drops. “Wait, really ?”
“According to Allison.”
“When did - How? Who broke up with who? What - ?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Allison asked me to go out with her on New Years though. Lydia will probably join us. Come with us?”
Stiles is dumbfounded for all of two seconds before he nods furiously and in his excitement drags Scott too quickly, causing them both to fall to the ice for the billionth time.
“So heavy, bro,” Scott mumbles into Stiles’ jacket from under him, laughter drowning into the fabric.
Stiles pushes him but laughs too, staying there until they catch their breath.
The sun is setting in the sky when Scott and Stiles park the jeep. They hop out and find their spot by the cliff, the one that overlooks all of beacon hills.
Getting closer, they sit on the grass, gazing out at all the buildings, all the places they’ve been and have never been. It's enough to make them feel small and big at the same time.
Even though they come here every year, Scott will never cease to be amazed at how pretty the view is. How free they seem to be sitting here. How much he never wishes to be anywhere else than on this hillside with Stiles.
They don’t talk for a little bit, not while the sky goes darker, not while the sun sets. It’s just something they don’t do. They listen to the gentle breeze, they watch how the sunlight on the horizon fades and the light of the city grows brighter. How the Christmas decorations on each building start to twinkle across what feels like the world - at least to them this is the world.
And it’s then, Scott understands what Stiles meant earlier that morning.
Sometimes I feel like the world belongs to just us.
The nigh air is chilly but refreshing as the high winds pick up, blowing soothingly over Scott’s face and neck. Stiles has his knees up and his arms folded over, his chin tucked into the crook of his elbow, his eyes out at the city. The lights almost sparkle over his glassy gaze.
The sun is setting further, the bright pinks and oranges and violets all fading into each other until they darken into a mellow blue and black.
“Scott.”
It’s pretty soft spoken, for Stiles, but Scott hears it and glances over. Stiles won’t look at him at first. Eventually, he does though - straight at Scott like it's all he was ever looking at it in the first place.
“Thanks for sticking with me.”
It’s a strange thing to say but Scott doesn’t care. He gets it without an explanation. That’s why they do this. Spend Christmas together and pretty much every other holiday and everyday after that.
Too many words are trapped in Scott’s breath.
Forever. Anytime. Always.
Thanks for taking me to a place you shared with your mom. Thanks for being my best friend - for being there. Thanks for everything.
None of it will make it's way out of his hardening throat so he just swallows and looks out with Stiles at the city lights.
“You too, Stiles.”
They get to Scott’s house in less than twenty minutes and find their parents chatting in the kitchen about their shifts at work today. Since crime and sickness don't take a Christmas break, they didn't either.
The Christmas tree is colorfully lit, casting shadows around the cozy livingroom. Melissa started a fire in the fireplace which adds a woodsy scent and Stiles doesn’t hesitate to race with Scott to the kitchen and barely even greet their parents before grabbing everything they need for s’mores.
“Hey, wait until after dinner, boys,” Melissa shouts a little too late. They’re already ripping the marshmallow bag open in the living room by the fireplace, Scott sneaking one at the same time Stiles is shoving one onto the log poker.
“Stiles!”
That’s the Sheriff and his voice is the only thing that's able to get Stiles to move the marshmallow away from the fire and mope. Scott pulls the slightly heated marshmallow off the poker and shoves it into Stiles’ mouth.
“Five year old.”
“Hey - mmmph!”
Roxy runs in, her paws scampering on the floor, yipping playfully, and Stiles’ eyes widen before he slams into Scott, clutching his shirt.
“Miss me, girl?" Scott grins, opening his arms wide to which Roxy hops up into his lap, paws at his chest, and curls up. Stiles casually let’s go of Scott and scoots away from him now that the dog is there, his back hitting the sofa front, a scowl on his face.
“One day you will love that dog,” Melissa sighs, coming into the room with a few plates that she sets down on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
“Nope. No way. I can sense the evil that you guys can’t. Trust me.”
Melissa mutters loco which Stiles frowns at but swiftly thanks her for the food anyways. His dad comes in and Stiles studies the plate on his lap as soon as he sits down.
“That’s too much gravy on your turkey. We talked about this!”
“It’s Christmas,” his dad debates, mixing a little melted butter into the mashed potatoes. Stiles’ mouth hangs open.
“Hey! That's too much butter!”
“Son, will ya let me eat?”
In the midst of the Stilinski debate, there’s a knock on the door. Since nobody hears it, Scott moves Roxy and crosses the room. A rush of excitement comes over him because he’s sure it’s the gift he ordered for Allison. The one he plans to give her on New Years. The day he plans to ask her out.
Okay, so far he doesn't have that great of a plan for it but - it's in progress.
Hopeful, Scott opens the door, blinking through the sting of cold air and stops.
“Hey, Scott.”
His dad has his hands pocketed and his posture is tall, much taller than when Scott was a kid. And even though Scott is bigger now, his dad seems to have grown too. But maybe that’s because Scott’s memory of him always had to do with his dad passed out or walking hunched over, barely there at all. Not clean shaven, with a crisp suit on - like the man in front of him now.
The only reason he knows it's his dad is because of the ID still on his neck, the one from his job - the only thing he was ever really married to except a bottle of Jack.
Scott doesn’t feel much at first but anger starts to creep in and he wants to slam the door all of a sudden.
“What do you want?”
There’s a bite there, an obvious one. His dad doesn’t flinch.
“I was in the town over so I thought I’d come see you guys. Is this a bad time?”
It’s always a bad time , Scott dares to say but doesn’t. His guilty conscious won’t let him. As if he even has anything to feel guilty over. But it’s just something he has to deal with. Sparing other's feelings came so naturally that it sucked sometimes.
“Can I come in?” Scott’s dad opts for, keeping his hands buried in his pockets, face stoic, body rigid.
“I don’t think there’s room,” Stiles scowls, coming up from behind Scott, leaning on the doorway - almost like he’s protecting the house - or Scott, one of those.
“I should have called,” his dad offers, blinking at Scott, ignoring Stiles. “I - uh, can go. You’re busy. I just wanted to stop by.”
“That all?” Stiles sneers, crossing his arms, voicing the way Scott feels. If only Scott could speak.
“Here,” Agent McCall says awkwardly, fiddling around in his pocket, retrieving a hundred dollar bill. “Tell your mom I came by, will you?”
He turns around and Stiles shuts the door before Scott can even say goodbye or change his mind about letting him in.
“Scott, stop that,” Stiles confronts, ducking his head a little into his space so that nobody can hear them.
“Stop what?” Scott asks slowly, thumbing over the money that he didn’t even realize was in his hand until just now.
“Stop looking like you actually give a shit about that guy.”
“Sorry. . .”
“Augh - Don’t apologize! Scott, just - let's have Christmas, alright? Forget that happened.”
Stiles pulls him into the living room and Melissa appears, having no clue anyone was at the door. Neither of the boys talk about Scott’s father. And Scott can’t get the weight off his chest. Even with Stiles so blatantly trying to cheer him up for the next hour, it doesn’t help enough.
He is happy though. He’s with his mom. Stiles’ dad. Stiles. It’s great.
They open presents and everyone is laughing and it’s amazing and he’s so happy. The Sheriff got him some cologne and a nice shaver while his mom got him a few video games that he wanted. Stiles opens his presents too and so do their parents. It's all so nice.
After a little more idle chatter, Scott and Stiles are sent to do dishes and it doesn't take long. Scott likes the busy work, not having to think too much.
"Your family is in there," Stiles tells him sternly, scrubbing on the last plate in the sink. "This is your family. Got it?"
It's harsh but it's what Scott needs to hear. They look at each other and the corner of Scott's mouth lifts.
When they go back to the living room, the Sheriff decides it's late and grabs his stuff. Stiles doesn’t even need to explain that he’s going to spend the night. He hugs his dad, a quick one, and his dad pats him on the arm, smiling warmly, before going out into the night.
Scott touches his own arm and it hits him all at once. Why it hurt when Deaton had done the same.
“I have an early shift so don’t stay up too late boys,” Melissa warns, kissing Scott on the head goodnight. It subdues the ache that his dad left. He smiles, watches her ascend the stairs with an audible yawn, and let's go of Roxy so she can follow her to bed.
The room feels emptier now. It's just him and Stiles.
Stiles slumps down on the floor by Scott and slides himself beneath the Christmas tree, tossing a messily wrapped present.
“Why don’t we just open our presents with them?” Scott laughs, catching it.
“I don’t know, it’s tradition,” Stiles replies, inching closer to Scott, grabbing Scott's gift to him eagerly from the other side of the tree. “Even when we didn’t have money, we waited until midnight to open them. Remember when you made me the Death Star out of legos? It was so awesome.”
“Until it fell apart because I used stick glue like a dimwit.”
“But it was awesome and hey, I stare at that pile of legos for inspiration every time I do my homework. I think - if ten year old Scott McCall can make a death star out of legos at the age of nine, I can do this shit . You know?”
“Hell yeah," Scott laughs.
The two rip open each other’s presents at the same time.
Scott is confused at first because it looks like a piece of cardboard wrapped in plastic until he turns it around and realizes it’s a calendar. He doesn’t know if this is some kind of hidden joke between them that he forgot about until he takes in the picture on the front and realizes it’s not a joke.
“Dude, are you freaking kidding me?!” Stiles yells, throwing the wrapping paper and box aside forever. “This is - what are you - Are you kidding me, Scotty?!”
“When did you take these?” Scott asks lowly, flipping open the calendar.
The photos inside are of Roxy.
And they’re all close up. Not exactly professional looking - clearly taken by Stiles’ phone camera - but all done at different times and up close, capturing her happy expressions.
“Usually when you’re in the shower or doing some kind of chore for your mom,” Stiles explains dully - only half listening because he’s busy staring at the new baseball in his hand.
He crawls forward and looks dead at Scott. “Signed Mets ball, Scott? You don't even know - I mean I guess you do since you got me a freaking signed ball and like - You just - but I just - " he gasps and his face scrunches up, "Why do you have to know me so well?"
Scott touches one of the photos of Roxy. The puppy he got when his dad left. The dog he slept with at night because she helped soothe his nightmares. In the picture, she's gazing up with her tongue out and Stiles' hand - he can tell by the long fingers - is under her chin affectionately.
“You’re scared of her and you still. . . “
Scott finishes flipping through the calendar and finally looks up at Stiles who has gotten closer than he remembered.
“You don’t like her.”
“But you do,” Stiles says softly back.
Then crashes into Scott, wrapping his arms around his neck, holding him tight.
They don’t hug often but when they do - it’s this weird thing. It’s more intimate than they ever mean for it to be and always emotional, always safe.
Always what they need.
“I love you, Scotty,” Stiles murmurs close to Scott’s ear, serious and sweet, unlike their usual playful ones.
In the glow of the Christmas tree lights, in the warmth of the fire, in the silence of nothing but they’re quiet breaths - Scott’s heart starts to beat again.
The pain disappears and he knows this is about much more than a baseball.
He shuts his eyes and let's everything be okay, let's himself fall into his best friend, forgets everything else for a little while.
“I love you too, Stiles.”