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Being the weirdo in a group of recently cool people – or always-have-been cool people, but only recently befriended – was like being an outdated computer system – you work hard enough to completely fuck your processors and fry everything on your hard drive, but they are still bitching about it not being enough. Like being the bad example without there even being a good one. Like the only one of the herd who lagged so far behind to get hit by a truck on the way over to the other side of the road. Like Pepper Potts, always underestimated even though if she could handle Tony Stark on a bad day she could fucking handle everything. Like –
He went back to the old text in front of him, but it couldn’t hold his attention for long. He was too restless, even though he took a double dose of his medication this morning. He felt like running, but he knew he wouldn’t last very long before falling into a gangly pile with all his restless energy still pounding through him. He needed an outlet, or he would go crazy.
The text fell from his bed as he bounded up, taking the whole of ten seconds to throw on the first clothes he could find – the jeans he wore for the week, a t-shirt only two days old and a plaid shirt he fished out of his waste basket, no matter how ironically it fit there. He smelled, but he found mild humour in the torture it would put his best friend through. Scott has been difficult for a really long time, long before summer break even started, he fucking had it coming. He made sure to forget his deodorant and not change his socks, just to be difficult too for once.
“Where you going?”, his dad yelled loudly out of the kitchen, slamming a cupboard door shut – no doubt sneaking junk food into his diet, the cheat – as Stiles bounded down the stairs.
“It’s the Senior Scribe, I – like – told you a hundred times.”, the boy responded, hopping up and down as he slipped into his shoes, watching his dad emerge from the kitchen wiping his hands on his trousers.
“You haven’t, I would certainly remember if you had. Everyone getting together for it? It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” Maybe his dad could be subtle enough to interrogate strangers without them being any the wiser, but Stiles was way too smart for that. He knew his tells before he even went to school. Why he still bothered to even try he would probably never know.
“First, with how often you say that I fear you’ll die of old age before I even graduate high school, you can’t claim that every time you forget something. Just man up and go with it, dad. Second, don’t make it sound like a fucking miracle we’re still friends. We’re, like, really close, I have you know. We plan to go to college together and all that shit, it’s like serious life-friendships. You know, something we will all look back on when we manage to survive as long as you did.” He snarked all the way into his second shoe – the ones Scott actually begged him to just throw out, but he never did and always put them on when he wanted to rub the werewolf the wrong way.
His dad didn’t have to rub his nose in the fact that whatever deep friendship he once had with Scott, with the pack as a whole, had somehow dwindled to next to nothing over summer break. Close to ninety percent he was on his own – yes, he actually did the math – doing research and making plans, training a little to be able to keep up, research some more – because who was he kidding, he knew the most interesting part of him was his brain and most people still thought him a spaz.
There was a time he thought of himself as cool, actually. Mature. Established. Granted, he was only nine years old, but he had felt great. He wasn’t only a spaz, he wasn’t the weirdo, the tag-along. He had a best friend, a cute boyfriend and parents tolerant enough not to yell at him when he came home declaring Theodore Raeken his boyfriend. They took him seriously, listened almost quietly enough for him to get overthrown by his nerves, but he barrelled on, like he always did. Told them that he felt good with Theo, that it felt right and that he wouldn’t be oppressed in his home, even if they had anything to say against it.
Stiles was always 105 % for everything he did, always charged head first and put up arguments even before they were needed. He fought with tooth and nail, spit flying – sometimes literally – and always gave it his all. He ranted about his rights as a human being, even despite his age, for a solid five minutes before he managed to see past his righteous rage to see the smiles on his parents faces. They knew him and took him exactly as he was, even if he was sometimes exhausting or annoying or whatever negative feeling parents sometimes felt concerning their children.
And where his parents accepted him with all his flaws, he felt as if he had none when he was with Theo. He knew, quite logically even at age nine, that he was still a hyperactive, demanding, annoying little boy, but with the way Theo looked at him when he ranted – and he did that a lot, felt safe enough to just let loose and harp everything on his boyfriend no one else wanted to hear – he felt great. Like he could take on the world if only the boy next to him stayed exactly where he was.
Stiles didn’t think that what they had was in any way comparable to anything other kids their age felt, because the memories where still precious to him and he never felt as good about himself since Theo left. Never felt as whole as with the other boy. It probably said enough about his social life that he was still as hung up as he was. He tried not to feel too bad about it, though. Theo wouldn’t have mocked him, he never did. Even the one time just as they started calling themselves a couple and Stiles refused to take his medicine because he wanted to be normal for his boyfriend and the day ended with him hyped up on the school roof, vomiting up thirteen candy bars and a pot of pea soup, bawling his eyes out and feeling sorry for himself – even than Theo had only pulled out a water bottle from his backpack, made him drink up half of it and hugged him tight. They never said anything more about that day, but Theo always made sure to smile sweetly whenever he saw Stiles taking his meds, handing him some water to wash them down or just squeezing his hand to reassure him that it was alright, that Stiles was alright no matter how weird he acted.
When he was with Theo it didn’t matter that the whole school laughed at him or called him names. Theo made everything pale in comparison, because no matter what he didn’t have, he still had his boyfriend. Until he hadn’t. Until Theo left, got ripped out of his life kicking and screaming and even months later he still missed him like a limb. His parents grew worried really early, suddenly not taking him serious anymore, not seeing how much it hurt him to have Theo stolen from him. They encouraged him to spend more time with Scott, to look for new friends, to just do something beside moping in his room or spent the day yelling himself hoarse – his only two settings for months and months on end. Then he saw Lydia Martin and he knew that she would never look at him without a sneer on her lips – she was so drastically different from Theo, in mannerism and character and looks – and he started obsessing over her, just to have something to look at that didn’t remind him about his boyfriend. His obsession was like a shield – no one would expect him to actually build something resembling a human connection with anyone if he was still hung up on Lydia Martin.
“Stop with the age jokes, kiddo, they are growing – oh boy. And watch your language, will you? Have fun tonight. Tell them I said hi.”
“I’ll watch my language if you start watching your blood pressure. Don’t think I can’t see the grease stains, old man. You off now?”
“It wasn’t – look, I’m your dad, not the other way around. Don’t make me ground you.”
Stiles scoffed. “You couldn’t if you tried. I’ll be home before you are, bye dad.” And off he was.
Seeing Liam chained to a tree was all kinds of entertaining – uncomfortably so, if he was honest, but when was he ever – and he took his sweet time to detail his genius college plan to Scott, who wasn’t as receptive to it as he had hoped. It wasn’t surprising, really – Scott and him were mostly acquaintances now instead of best friends, their outing together tonight probably more for old times sake. The thought saddened him, made him panicky and anxious, but he would find a way to deal with it. Maybe he’d try emotional blackmail, if he felt really invested into the whole thing. Maybe he would let it fizzle out without fighting against it – maybe it wasn’t important enough to fight for, if he was the only one who thought to do so.
But him turning onto his back and just giving up wasn’t the most surprising thing the evening held – Scott actually was right for once, he thought viciously as they fought against the huge were. The true alpha had just a few hours beforehand told him that the scale had to tip to the bad or the good any time now, because it has been peaceful for so long already. Having a strange were with glowing claws almost shredding your once-best-friend-turned-lukewarm-acquaintance probably counted as turn for the worse, but then it just turned into a bizarre dream that made Stiles question himself if he had taken his meds this morning. He had. Probably. He wasn’t as sure anymore, now that he stared into painfully familiar blue-grey eyes, clouded over like an early autumn afternoon sky.
“Theo?”, he blurted before he could give it any real thought, too eager for it to be true, too hyped up on the possibility to have this piece of his past back – the best piece of his past, probably. He knew it was him without a doubt – his memory hadn’t failed him back then and he had committed every part of Theo to his memory to treasure them. He stood at attention immediately, his focus zeroing in like a moth drawn to flame or everything supernatural to the Nemeton or his dad to high cholesterol food. In all his life, it was only ever Theo who could capture his attention as absolute as this and his mind rejoiced the sole focus, sharpening everything to clear precision. Sharpening it enough to notice the widening eyes, the shocked expression, the paling of Theos complexion. The step away Theo took to separate himself from Stiles. His heart clenched with unknown force, his joyful expression crumbled to uncertainty.
“Theo? Wow, man, long time no see. Good thing you came around just now, thanks by the way. What are you doing here? Not prying or anything, just curious.” Scott pushed himself to the forefront, but this time Stiles wasn’t mad about it. He somehow wished to just vanish into the background like he always did, but his feet stayed put like he accidentally stepped into wet cement. His mind flipped again from one end of the situation to the next, not daring to focus again because Stiles was sure he wouldn’t like what he would see. He was a hyperactive loser with an obsession on his childhood boyfriend. Of course said boyfriend, who by the way turned out to be the hottest piece of ass his imagination could have procured, would not in any way feel the same way. It was a good thing Scott took care of the situation. It was, really. Or, well, it would be, if Theos gaze wouldn’t burn on his skin, eyes intense in its emotions as he had never felt directed at him before and even with his brilliant mind couldn’t in any way comprehend the meaning of. It took ages for Theo to answer.
“Mischief.” Husky voice, almost strangled in its urgency, had goose bumps break loose all over his skin and he couldn’t stop the smile that came to his lips even if he tried. His memories ran wild, mind already ensnared again by the young man in front of him and he felt hopelessly, hopefully lost in the best worst way he wanted to lose himself. The last time he had heard this name was in better times by far and it brought back the feeling of safety, of love and hope he tried to take strength from when his own failed. He wanted to answer, to say something witty or cute or intelligent but nothing came forth and for once in his life he was comfortable with letting the silence speak. Something took over Theos face – it was almost pained, but the determination won out in the end.
“Okay, listen. I will say things you won’t like, and things you won’t be able to look at me anymore for. But first – first I’ve got to do this.” And Stiles – no, Mischief – wasn’t even able to comprehend the words before bloodstained fingers encompassed his face, surrounding his whole being and cocooning him in safety and a kiss was bestowed upon his lips, a kiss that not only took his breath away from sheer emotion, but also took every stray thought from his mind, leaving only Theo and love and hope for whatever the future may hold in store for them. And while Theos warning didn’t bode well, he was pretty sure he could accommodate to everything, as long as the kisses didn’t stop.