Hold It Over Me
Okay, today was the day.
Or, night rather. Tonight was the night.
Yeah.
Tonight was the night that Stiles would not interfere in Scott’s elaborate Allison plan. It wasn’t going to be like the last Lydia Martin bash, where Stiles dragged down Scott’s night. He would compose himself this time.
He would make sure this Allison plan pulls through. To the end.
And he's not going to mess it up.
At his doorstep, Scott shows up, and Stiles can’t help but gape a little.
He has his shaggy hair brushed and styled a bit so that his eyes are easier to see and he’s got a soft button up on that’s probably meant for Allison's touch. Okay, definitely meant for Allison. A ping of jealousy pricks Stiles in the side.
It's so stupid.
Keeping himself in check, Stiles bumps a fist against Scott's and sets off in the night with him.
They’re in the back of Lydia’s pretty Lexus and Stiles manages to actually greet her without looking completely dumb. Scott is sitting by him and they talk the whole drive, the girls play music and talk too, and in general it isn’t going as nerve wracking as Stiles thought it would.
“You brought the fakes right?” Lydia asks from the driver’s seat. The car is quiet until Stiles realizes she’s speaking to him and he sits up, swallows, and leans kind of on her seat so she can hear him over the music.
“Um, yeah, got them here.”
It’s still hard to believe he can talk to her so casually.
The drive is short to the club and as they park, Stiles hands out the fake ID’s. They manage to get in with no problem at least. Even if the bouncer looks doubtful.
The club is classy, not as crowded as Stiles had expected. There’s strings of white Christmas lights hanging over the ceiling, creating a tender atmosphere. People are moving together on the dance floor and Stiles actually feels under dressed.
Allison instantly peeks at Scott and puts her hand out to which Scott laughs and goes on the dance floor with her. She looks dazzling in her glittery dress and the two might as well be prom king and queen with how perfect they are together. Stiles turns to Lydia who is already heading to the bar and ordering a fancy drink he’s never heard of.
“You been here before?” he asks, after he’s gotten the nerve to sit down.
Lydia is gorgeous, in a tight white dress that flatters her figure, her red hair tied up with a black satin ribbon, and when her green eyes find Stiles, his brain fizzes a bit.
“A few times,” she shrugs.
“But you don’t even have a fake ID?” Stiles asks bluntly. She rolls her eyes at him and sips on the alcoholic beverage the bartender sets down.
“I don’t need one. But they would have checked us with you and Scott around.”
Stiles can’t deny that.
The music picks up a little and Stiles taps his fingers against the bar, wondering if he should order a drink too but before he can, the bartender sets one down and juts a finger out to the other side of the bar. Um, what?
Who the hell ordered him a drink?
Stiles follows the direction.
It’s Erica.
“You have an admirer,” Lydia hums, picking up interest all of a sudden.
“Not even close,” Stiles groans, standing up. “I’ll be right back.”
Lydia doesn’t say anything so he walks over to Erica who is already grinning and stirring a toothpick around in her martini, her blonde hair tucked behind her ears.
“Are you a stalker?” Stiles greets, drinking some of the beverage she got him regardless. He sticks his tongue out at the taste.
“I’m here with Boyd,” she waves off, “You missed your chance, sweetheart.”
“So this is your way of - what exactly?”
“Just saying hi,” she shrugs, “Boyd went to piss and you were an easy couple of minutes to kill.”
“I’m glad you’re so hung up on me,” Stiles responds coldly, “But I’m on a date so I don’t have time for your little games.”
“You came over here, remember? Is that your girlfriend in the white dress? She’s pretty, looks too good for you.”
“It’s a work in progress,” Stiles mutters, annoyed, “Before you nosed your way into it.”
“You mean like how I did with Scott?”
She laughs when Stiles almost chokes on the wine in his cup and he wrinkles his nose.
“First off, wine, really? Second, don’t ever mention that again. Third, shut up.”
“Wow, you’re still so touchy.”
Erica’s knowing gaze falls over him when he accidentally looks out at where Scott and Allison are dancing close to each other, smiles on their faces like nobody mattered but them right now.
“Oh, bummer,” Erica says into her cup, “Sorry.”
“What?" Stiles snaps, clutching his wine glass, which seems silly in his hand right now. "There’s nothing to be sorry about, jeez. You don’t know anything.”
“Except that you wouldn’t kiss me because you had a thing for your little friend over there.”
Stiles shoots her the most evil glare he can muster and his heart starts thumping hard in his chest when Scott and Allison come up to them, bumping arms and laughing from the dancing session, dying down from all the fun.
It’s hard to look at them for some reason. It’s an image Stiles shouldn't see. They're a blinding light, especially the expression on Scott's face. How happy he is with her.
“Erica,” Scott calls out in surprise, “Long time no see.”
“Hey, Scott.”
Allison looks between them and smiles before going to find Lydia. Which reminds Stiles, he needs to be chatting with Lydia not Erica. Dammit.
“Well, I’d say it was nice to see you but uh - yeah, bye,” Stiles ends, ushering Scott with him to where the girls are talking.
“You’re welcome for the drink,” Erica shouts after them with another laugh. "Don't get too drunk, Stiles!"
Stiles grits his teeth.
Lydia regards Stiles when he comes up to them but returns to texting on her phone because Allison and Scott are in their own little world. Stiles bites his lip and goes up to her, putting his drink aside that didn’t taste good in the first place, and puts his hand out.
“Lydia, wanna dance?”
She raises her head and seems opposed at first. He waits anxiously as Lydia thinks it over, glances at Allison and Scott, and then stands up, takes his hand, and leads him to the dance floor. Her heels clack on the slick floor and it’s a wonderful sound, her soft hand in his own is a dream come true. Stiles literally thinks his heart stops when Lydia is in front of him, dancing. She isn’t really feeling the music and doesn't look very ecstatic but the fact that she didn’t reject him meant something. He hoped.
Spending New Years with the girl he’s loved since childhood is like being in a movie, surrounded by a bunch of extras. Lydia peers around, her expression blank and distant, but she still sways a bit just because she can.
“You look really beautiful,” Stiles tells her suddenly, speaking his mind. Her head whips around. God, that took every ounce of courage in his body.
There’s a decent amount of space so they’re close but she shuffles a little closer after that, smiling slightly, like it was the first time she’s ever been told that. Which is unbelievable. Lydia has to know she lights the room.
Even though his anxiety is through the roof - he’s scared he’ll screw this up somehow - Stiles tries to remain calm when the music dies to a slower rhythm and Lydia gives him a once over and puts her arms around his shoulders, tucks her head by his neck, and sways with him. He thinks he may have died.
It’s amazing being in her arms. She smells like vanilla and oranges and her skin is smooth, delicate. Stiles wonders when he’s going to wake up because there’s no way he’s dancing with Lydia Martin, no way in hell.
He catches Scott across the dance floor by himself at the bar, drinking a little bit and gazing out at him and Lydia.
The lights in the room sparkle beneath them where Stiles is circling with her, in between the people, and for once he doesn’t feel anxious. He’s holding a beautiful girl that might actually give him a shot. Maybe at midnight, he’ll ask her for a chance. He has to. He has nothing to lose.
Scott’s going to leave him for Allison anyways.
Stiles’ eyes flash up and he wakes from the daydream, from the warmth of Lydia’s arms.
No. No, no, don’t think that.
No, shut up.
Stop it. Stop thinking. Don’t.
The song ends and a shiver runs down Stiles’ spine as Lydia pulls away from him. Her green eyes are a little glassy when she gives him a thankful smile and leaves the dance floor. He wants to go after her but his eyes follow and she’s gone up to Allison already, who emerged from the restroom. Allison’s features become concerned and she puts an arm around Lydia, going out of the room, onto the outside balcony.
Stiles doesn’t understand but he doesn’t think it's good to get involved. He crosses the floor back to Scott who hasn’t finished his drink yet. Scott is poking around at the glass, lost in thought, but straightens his posture when Stiles shows up.
“Hey, buddy,” Stiles murmurs, sitting down.
It feels like ages since they’ve talked even though it’s been barely an hour.
“Hey,” Scott responds quietly, full attention on Stiles.
They look at each other and an uncomfortable feeling rises in Stiles’ stomach. It’s twisting his insides, distressing him ever since his chat with Erica. Why did she have to say all that stupid shit? She doesn't understand anything.
“Almost the New Year, huh?” Stiles mumbles, taking a sip from Scott’s drink. Scott watches and nods slowly.
“Yeah, almost.”
The obsessive thoughts that haunt Stiles day and night start to creep up as he stares at Scott’s laid back demeanor. How can he be so calm? He’s about to ask Allison to be his official girlfriend. He’s going to kiss her at midnight.
He’s going to move on without Stiles.
Nothing will be the same.
“Hey,” Scott interrupts his racing thoughts, “Stiles?”
Stiles fidgets with his thumb nail, picks at it until it bleeds, and looks down.
“Hm?”
Scott notices, of course, and grabs his hands to separate them, looking him dead in the eye.
“Stop that,” he says wearily, “It has to hurt.”
Stiles shrugs.
“Not really.”
Not compared to everything else.
The neon clock on the wall reads ten minutes ‘till midnight and Stiles sinks a little, an audible sigh escaping his lips. Scott’s trained eye picks up on that too and he scoots his stool a little closer, not letting go of Stiles’ hands.
“Are you going to hate it?” Scott asks in a hushed voice.
It would be impossible for anyone to hear them with the music and nobody is paying attention anyways - but Scott is always careful to keep important conversations closed off from the world.
“Huh? Hate what?” Stiles wonders, shifting awkwardly. It’s difficult to process anything because Scott is looking at him like the room just blurred into nothing and they’re completely alone.
“Hate it if I ask Allison out?”
If Scott had a mind reading power that he never mentioned before now, Stiles is going to be extremely pissed. He taps his foot against the metal of the stool and lowers his eyes and then lifts them again, almost pulls his hands away but doesn’t and it’s - it’s too much at once.
“You get quiet when I talk about her,” Scott explains seriously, “And I don’t know, you’re weird sometimes around her. Do you not like Allison?”
Scott cares whether or not Stiles likes Allison. Scott cares if Stiles accepts her. He thinks it's important.
Stiles lowers his head, feeling more miserable.
“That’s - that’s stupid, Scott. She’s fine,” he brushes off, “Besides, she makes you happy. What's not to like?”
It’s the most truth he can spout from his lying mouth.
“You know," Scott exhales, "We're still going to be us."
The light glows over his eyes.
"You know that, right?"
His voice is sweet and earnest, like it always is. Stiles’ chest clenches on every syllable.
On - us .
And he wants to ask what exactly they’re supposed to be.
What do you mean?
Us?
What are we?
What am I to you?
Stiles laughs it off and guiltily slips his hands out of Scott’s because if he doesn’t he might do something regretful. He might ruin Scott’s happiness.
“Dude, girlfriend or not - you and me for life,” he snorts, gulping down the rest of Scott’s drink hastily. “And besides, did you not see me with Lydia? I’m pretty sure she’s starting to like me.”
Scott drops his hands and turns back towards the bar with a frown.
“Yeah, you're right. She’ll fall for you in no time.”
The clock ticks on and on as Stiles orders another drink to get his nerves back up. Scott watches but stays quiet and checks his phone.
“Oh, Allison is still talking to Lydia. Um, apparently she’s upset about something? What happened?”
Stiles furrows his brows and swallow the remainder of his drink.
“She seemed okay. I didn’t act like an asshole as far as I know. I have no idea.”
“Um,” Scott pauses, gliding his finger across the phone screen before looking up, “It’s about Jackson.”
Stiles’ hand freezes in midair and he lets it fall to his lap.
“Huh.”
The music shifts above them into a softer tune. A pretty piano melody picks up and encircles the room where people have gotten up to slow dance again, before the New Year's countdown.
“Sorry, Stiles,” Scott tells him, his body turned so that his knee bumps Stiles' own. Stiles barely registers it.
“It’s okay.”
“Give her time, she must have really loved him,” Scott utters, “She needs time, man, that's all.”
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles sighs, wishing he didn’t just get swept back into his anxiety. “I know that.”
The piano deepens overhead and hits a chord somewhere in Stiles’ soul. He inwardly groans and becomes all too aware of the loud voices and clinking glasses and bustling laughter. He wants to leave now. He wants to go home. Get away from everyone. Get away. It doesn’t matter anymore.
Lydia loving him is a pipe dream, unrealistic, something that would only happen in a movie or a fairy tale and nowhere else.
“Stiles, you okay?” Scott asks, sounding farther away than before. He's in Stiles' space more which sparks another pain in Stiles’ gut.
Make it all go away.
Don’t let Scott worry.
Don’t ruin his happiness. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t speak.
Don’t hurt him.
“Two minutes,” Stiles blurts out to distract him, pointing up at the clock. “You have two minutes to kiss Allison.”
Scott shakes his head.
“I don't want to leave you like this."
Stiles swallows hardly.
Stop.
Stop putting me first.
Stop putting yourself last.
Find Allison. Kiss her. Be happy.
Stiles rubs at his tired eyes and laughs again, hollow and empty.
“Dude, seriously, you’re going to miss your chance," he warns, "I have forever to sweep Lydia off her feet. It won’t be tonight but it will happen, got it? Now get that necklace out of your pocket, put it around Allison’s neck, and kiss her."
Before Scott can come up with a reason not to, Stiles keeps going.
"If you don’t, I swear to God I’ll hold this over you for the rest of your life.”
It’s silent for a few beats between them, unspoken thoughts left for another time. Or never.
Finally Scott eases up off the stool.
Then he’s gone.
Stiles tries not to get up too. Because he'll walk out. He'll leave altogether. But it will just make Scott worried later so he orders another drink. Might as well enjoy the New Year with a buzz. He considers looking for Erica and Boyd - so he isn’t completely alone - but his body won’t move.
“You and me, I guess,” Stiles grunts to his drink, emotionless. He’s reduced to talking to inanimate objects now. Fantastic.
The alcohol burns when it slides down but he doesn’t care. It’s there. It’s something.
People are crowding closer to the balcony to watch the fireworks outside, to celebrate. Stiles has never been so non-festive in his life. If that's even a word. Probably not.
He almost calls his dad but decides it’s best to wait until after the clock strikes midnight. Better to leave the suspense in the air. Besides that, there’s nobody else in his contact list. Maybe his grandparents but he hasn’t spoken to them in years. Welp, time to do this.
Stiles groans and rests his head on his elbow when the countdown begin.
10. . .
9. . .
8. . .
Everyone is growing louder, roaring the numbers, booming his eardrums. Stiles raises his head a little and stares out at the bottles on the bar, the glasses, the nothingness where the bartender used to be standing.
7. . .
6. . .
5. . .
In another world, he might have told Scott to stay with him. He should have. Scott’s his best friend, he’s been there for him since the start. Why can Allison appear out of the blue sky and make Scott’s eyes shine like there was never anybody else on his mind? Stiles has been there for everything, for better and for worse.
4. . .
3. . .
Maybe being cynical and envious is ingrained in his nature. He’ll never change. He can’t be a normal friend, can't even send Scott off with an honest smile. He’s never honest, not even with himself.
2. . .
Stiles drowns himself in what’s left of his alcohol and slams the glass down, burying the confusion and self hatred with it.
1!
There are cheers resounding the room, screams and a mixture of unintelligible slurs. People are kissing and hugging and crying and laughing and everything is supposed to feel like change, like excitement, like hope. Supposed to.
Stiles pulls his phone out but remembers his dad is on duty tonight. He considers calling anyways, because he’s the sheriff’s son and can do whatever he wants pretty much - he sure as hell takes advantage of that fact - but he isn’t in the right mindset to cause trouble right now and pockets the phone.
Maybe he should look for Lydia, to comfort her a little, to say Happy New Years at least.
It’s something.
All of a sudden Stiles is dragged out of his stool from behind and crashes straight into someone’s chest. Scott’s arms wrap around him and he grips a little too hard, a little too needy.
Stiles loses air when Scott’s lips brush against his cheek.
It’s subtle and doesn’t last long but it leaves an invisible mark so deep in Stiles’ skin that he doesn’t think it will ever disappear.
The screaming drowns out around them and so does the music.
Stiles can barely think anymore.
“Scott?” he breathes out, frozen in place. “Did you - What - Allison - “
Gotta make sure I didn’t ruin it. Gotta make sure he did it. Gotta hug Scott back. Gotta move, do something, be okay.
Make Scott okay.
"I told you I couldn't leave you like that," Scott discloses easily, naturally, not sounding resentful in the slightest.
"No," Stiles murmurs sadly, starting to understand but not wanting to, "Why did you - You didn't - No -"
“I guess you have to hold it over me,” Scott chuckles breathily into Stiles’ ear. He hugs him a bit tighter and rests his chin in the crook of Stiles' neck.
“For the rest of my life, right?”
The buzz of the alcohol warms Stiles’ face where Scott kissed him and his eyes go hazy as he registers what Scott meant.
No kiss with Allison.
Scott chose him.
To come back for him instead of moving forward with someone else.
Painfully, Stiles reaches up and hugs back, shoving his face against Scott’s shoulder so that he doesn’t start crying like an idiot. It isn't fair. Scott deserves better.
Because Scott is too good of a friend, too good for him, putting Stiles above all else.
Stiles chokes when he’s able to speak.
“For the rest of your freaking life, Scott.”