Archive of Our Own

The last day of the summer boardwalk carnival is always Stiles’ favorite and least favorite day of the year all rolled into one. On the one hand, there’s a huge celebration, all the rides are turned on until close to three in the morning, and all the food and drinks are free for employees. It’s about time, because they damn well deserve it. But it’s also a bittersweet day, too: Stiles is always tired and sweaty, underpaid for three months, and it’s the last day of the year he gets to go bug Scott at the Whac-A-Mole game near the funnel cake stand. It’s not like they won’t see each other after that, they’re best friends and they go to the same school, but it’s Stiles’ favorite tradition to go and make fun of how gently Scott actually whacks the moles because he thinks it’s more humane. He’s totally missing the point of the game.

Plus, every summer Stiles tells himself that this is going to be the summer he tells Scott he’s in love with him. He never does, in the end, but every year it’s the same resolution: Tell Scott you love him. Tell Scott you love him. Tell Scott you’re in love with him.

“Tell Scott you’re in love with him,” Allison says, coming up behind Stiles and scaring the shit out of him while he’s in the middle of staring at Scott wistfully from across the carnival grounds.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear what you just said,” Stiles tells her, brushing it off like it’s not something she tells him to do every single day. His friends are very meddlesome. “I’m very busy restocking the oversized unicorns right now.”

“You know tonight’s your last chance,” she says, looking at him like she genuinely wants to be helping. She’s not. Stiles hates her.

“But no pressure or anything,” he laughs a little bitterly, wrestling with a big green stuffed dragon as he tries to get it into its display pose.

“Oh, come on. You know you’d be great together,” Allison says, hopping up onto the counter and grabbing the reserve of cotton candy Stiles keeps stashed underneath it, shoving some blue fluffy sugar in her mouth happily.

Stiles huffs in her general direction and his hair chooses that moment to fall in his eyes. It’s getting way too long, and he really needs a haircut, but Scott said he liked it so Stiles just kind of left it like that for awhile.

Allison looks at him pointedly like she knows everything he just thought to himself, and she probably does.

“Of course we’d be great together! Why do you think I’m in love with him?” Stiles wails, finally brushing the hair off of his forehead. “But he doesn’t even like me like that, so what’s the point?”

Allison just stares at him for a minute, exasperated and maybe a little bit offended by Stiles’ obliviousness, and then she hops off the counter and looks directly at him. "Listen. Scott would never let this not be okay, okay? You know that, right?" Stiles nods at her, and he knows it's true. Even if he didn't feel the same way, Scott would never let it change their friendship.

“Good," Allison says, reaching out to hug him, pulling him close for a second and letting him sink into her like he needs it.

"Thanks," Stiles breathes.

"Of course," she tells him as she pulls back, hands on his shoulders and so sincere. And then there's a beat, just a quick pause, and an almost immediate glint of scheming in her eye, something Stiles recognizes all too well, something happy and bright and mischievous.

"Tonight’s your last chance,” Allison calls again as she saunters away with his cotton candy.

Dang. He was really looking forward to eating that later.

///

“You want some?” Scott asks as he jogs up to Stiles’ booth, holding out a hot dog in case Stiles wants a bite. He must be on his lunch break from the Whac-A-Mole station, because when Stiles looks up, Boyd’s standing in for him at his spot, getting his chance to take money from kids and delight in their management-sanctioned controlled property destruction. That’s really what Whac-A-Mole is, anyway.

“Nah, I’m good,” Stiles laughs. Scott knows he hates hot dogs but he asks every time just in case things have changed. Scott likes to say that he doesn’t understand people who don’t like hot dogs, and he likes to say it often.

“Can you believe we’re done?” Scott grins, rocking back on his heels and shoving half the food he’s holding into his mouth at once.

“I know,” Stiles echoes.

Scott chews as fast as he can but gives up and just talks around it, mouth full and totally disgusting. Stiles thinks it’s adorable. “It’s crazy. Four summers in a row. You think you’ll come back next year?”

“If you do,” Stiles answers almost immediately, and definitely too quickly. He didn’t expect that from himself, that gut-punch of honesty spilling out, even if it’s true.

But Scott just finishes chewing and laughs, and that right there is the reason Stiles fell in love with him in the first place: he’s so open and joyful, so easy with the people around him, so easy about loving Stiles.

Stiles runs a clammy hand through his hair and Scott reaches out, eyes bright and gleaming with mischief like they almost always are. “I can’t believe you kept it long,” he says, still smiling, and he pulls on the patch that Stiles’ was just touching, the front part that keeps falling into his face at inopportune times.

Stiles leans into it for a second before realizing what he’s doing and stepping back, pushing his hair back again, flattening it against his head.

“You want to grab lunch?” Scott asks.

“I just watched you kill a hot dog, dude,” Stiles answers, stalling for time.

“Who eats just one hot dog?” Scott counters.

“I don’t eat any hot dogs.”

“Yeah, I still don’t understand that,” Scott says, looking at Stiles skeptically. “So? Come on, I’ll buy you a soft pretzel.”

“No can do, Scotty,” Stiles tells him, jabbing a thumb behind him and gesturing at the line of kids he’s currently ignoring in order to have the conversation they’re having. “Can’t take lunch for another hour. Swing by and drop one off, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Scott nods, waving and running happily off to find more food. He does bring one by when he’s done with his break. He drops it off with another hot dog in his hand, mumbling something about letting Boyd out of his cotton candy-crafted prison before he takes off at a run across the grounds.

Stiles watches him walk away for so long that he takes a step without looking where he’s going, knocks a little girl over, and has to give her an extra prize.

///

“You should take him on the Ferris wheel later,” Cora says, walking up to Stiles’ booth and making him jump. Lydia slides up next to her holding a fresh-squeezed lemonade the size of her entire arm.

“Win him one of those stuffed wolves he thinks are so cute,” she says, offering her straw to Cora. Cora drinks half of the lemonade in one go and Stiles is almost impressed.

“You guys are in on this with Allison, aren’t you,” he asks, narrowing his eyes at them. “What did she tell you?”

“Nobody had to tell us you’re in love with Scott, dumbass,” Cora answers, raising an eyebrow at him. Lydia nods in agreement.

“Woo him,” she says.

“I wouldn’t even know how,” Stiles sighs, still completely ignoring the kids who are winning at his booth. He’s over it. It’s the end of the summer anyway, so it’s not like he cares about finishing strong or anything. Stiles Stilinski: champion of following through and also self-deprecating sarcasm.

“Ferris wheel,” Cora repeats slowly. “Little stuffed wolves.”

Stiles does not want to woo Scott with stuffed animals and cheesy festival rides. Scott already spends his entire summer watching people fall in love on carousels and seeing new couples winning each other prizes. People get engaged on the Ferris wheel all the time, and Stiles does not like that kind of pressure. He just wants to ask Scott if he wants to hold his hand sometimes and maybe kiss a bunch, or whatever.

Anyway, Stiles wants to be way cooler than that, even though he knows he’s not. He wants to be so smooth that Scott is totally blown away by it. Scott’s never going to be blown away by how smooth Stiles is because he’s known Stiles his entire life, but Stiles can try. Even though he knows cheesy rides and summer romance are totally Scott’s style. Even though he knows that Scott’s all about big, sweeping gestures, love stories for the ages, sticky ice cream hands and sticky kisses and perfect love in the heat of the California sun. Scott’s so open about stuff like that. Scott’s so nice and funny and he’s got a great mouth.

On cue, Scott looks up at Stiles from where he’s sharing a sno-cone with a little kid whose parents are playing Whac-A-Mole and waves at him.

Jeez, think a guy’s name enough and he’ll hear you or something.

“Alright,” Stiles decides, tearing his eyes away from Scott’s smile and leveling a glare at Cora and Lydia. They both give him amused stares in response, waiting.

“I’m gonna tell him tonight. On the Ferris wheel. By eleven o’clock. It’s gonna happen, okay? I’m gonna do it.”

“Okay,” Lydia says, totally dry. She’s smart enough to know he’s not done.

“By eleven o’clock I’m going to tell Scott McCall that I’m in love with him. By eleven-nineteen. By eleven-nineteen exactly, I’m going to tell Scott I’m in love with him,” Stiles says, shaking his hands out like he’s amping himself up.

“There it is,” Lydia says.

“Good for you,” Cora barely encourages, sucking down the rest of the lemonade.

“Oh god,” Stiles says, still shaking out his limbs as he sits with his decision. It feels different this time, like something’s settled into his gut, and he knows he’s really going to do it. Tonight’s the night he’s going to tell Scott McCall, his best friend and partner-in-crime for his entire life, that he’s in love with him.

“I think I’m going to be sick. Quick, somebody get me a unicorn.”

///

“Are you here to tell me that I should tell Scott I’m in love with him?” Stiles deadpans when Boyd and Erica stop by his booth later, almost at the end of the day, Derek trailing up behind them like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Oh my god, you’re in love with Scott?” Erica asks, way too incredulous to be sincere. Stiles knows it’s a trap almost immediately.

“Listen, Stilinski,” she starts, putting her hands on her hips and adopting the best take-no-shit stance she can, given the purple polo uniform shirt and khaki shorts she’s wearing. Stiles huffs in her general direction, and Boyd and Derek don’t look apologetic at all.

“We’ve been watching you pine over McCall for years, okay?”

“I know,” Stiles all but yells, frustrated a little bit with his friends for ganging up on him but mostly at himself for letting it get this far. For letting it get to the point where it’s evidently so obvious that even Scott probably knows. He probably just hasn’t said anything because he’s too nice. Stiles doesn’t want that kind of pity, he just wants to be by Scott's side forever, if that's not too much to ask.

“Tonight’s my last chance, I know,” he finishes.

“No,” Erica says, matter of fact. Boyd and Derek start nodding furiously in the background. “It’s not your last chance, dumbass. It’s just a really, really good one that you don’t want to miss. Got it?”

“Got it,” Stiles answers, watching Boyd and Derek turn tail as quickly as possible. It probably wasn’t their idea to be there in the first place.

Stiles is about to sit back, to slump down on the stool in his booth while they leave him to his own thoughts and the dozens of hyper kids still waiting their turn to race, when Erica leans forward and puts her elbows on the counter separating them. She's a little softer now, there's something kind in her face all of a sudden that Stiles isn't really used to yet.

“It’s going to be fine, Stiles,” Erica says, patting his wrist lightly. “It’s really going to be okay.”

As she turns to leave, the kid at the water gun station next to Stiles leans over and asks, “What’s she talking about?”

“Don’t fall in love, kid,” Stiles says, only barely joking. “It’s like playing this game every day for the rest of your life and never winning that fucking unicorn.”

The kid looks horrified and turns the water gun on him, drenching Stiles directly down the center of his shirt, and Stiles can hear Erica laughing all the way to the Ferris wheel.

///

As the clock winds down on the day, sun setting over the water and all the overhead lights coming on, fairgrounds all but sparkling with an end of summer glow, the decision to tell Scott he’s in love with him becomes super fucking real.

Stiles doesn’t even get a chance to freak out properly after the park closes because Scott finds him at his booth exactly one minute after all the kids clear out and the staff starts going nuts. They’re not paying for anything, so there’s a free-for-all on the booze and water games, a line out the door for skeeball, people already throwing up on the spinning teacups. Designated people are taking turns on operating the carousel and the Ferris wheel so the employees get a chance to get trashed and still ride safely and without worry, and it’s like a college frat party let loose on an amusement park.

Erica’s on the first shift at the Ferris wheel until ten thirty, and she’s got Stiles covered. Derek made sure she’d save a seat for them around ten, because evidently every single one of his friends has been conspiring against him. For him? Stiles isn’t really sure anymore.

Scott jogs over and gives Stiles a blinding smile, and Stiles is hit with it all over again. What he’s going to do, what he’s risking, how much it’s worth it to try.

“Hey,” Scott says, smile spreading impossibly wider. “Want to go on the Ferris wheel?”

“Yeah, duh,” Stiles answers, and it’s easy enough to pretend that wasn’t his plan all along.

So they go.

They stop for more cotton candy on the way, and by the time they get there, Erica has to wave them past twenty people who grumble at them as they walk by to the front of the line. Stiles doesn’t even feel a little bit bad about it, honestly. He’s surprised they don’t already know exactly what’s about to happen. He’s surprised Scott hasn’t guessed yet, if he’s really being honest with himself. He knows how obvious he can be about everything, despite being terrible at sweeping romance and expressing his emotions appropriately.

Scott, bless him, just packs himself into the seat of the Ferris wheel, and if he notices anything is different or tense, he doesn’t say a word.

Stiles checks his watch. Eleven-thirteen. He’s going to have to make this quick if he doesn’t want Lydia to kill him before he manages to confess anything in the first place.

“So,” he tries to start as they get moving, the huge machine underneath them lurching to life once they’re settled in and the bar across them is locked in place.

“Oh man, I love this song,” Scott interrupts immediately. From the middle of the wheel and rising, Stiles realizes they can hear the music clearer, floating up past the noise of all the drunk twenty-year-olds. He tries to tune in but all he manages to figure out is that it’s some old Barenaked Ladies song he can’t remember the title of.

“Hey, Scott,” Stiles says to get his attention, and Scott turns to him with a mouth full of pink cotton candy, moving his jaw dramatically to get it all shoved in at once. Stiles is sensing a theme with the way Scott eats his food.

“Yeah, buddy,” Scott answers once he’s able to.

“Listen,” Stiles says, and Scott immediately looks worried. “No! No, dude, don’t worry, nothing’s wrong, okay?” Stiles didn’t count on having to reassure Scott when everyone else has been reassuring him all day.

“I just wanted to say, you know.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you, Scotty.”

“I love you too, Stiles,” Scott says, grinning happily like he always does, like it’s easy.

“No,” Stiles says, trying not to wince at how awkward he feels.

They’ve made it to the top of the Ferris wheel now, and when they come to an abrupt stop, Stiles looks down through his feet to the ground and sees Erica giving him a thumbs up. Boyd’s there too, and Lydia and Cora and Allison. Great. Fantastic. Awesome.

He looks back up again, out over the whole of the fairground, and takes another huge breath.

“I mean, like,” he continues, knowing Scott will wait until he spits it out. “Like. Like I’m in love with you, or whatever. Like I want to hold your hand and stuff if you want to hold my hand and stuff. I know my odds are slim to none, but I guess I just figured, you know,” he takes another breath and Scott grabs his hand and throws his whole game off.

“Now or never, right?” Stiles finishes.

Oh shit. He did it. He really did it. He checks his watch again. Eleven-eighteen. He really, really did it. When he looks up, Scott’s still smiling easily back at him, grinning like Stiles is the most beautiful thing in the world. But that’s not new. That’s just how Scott looks at people. Right?

“What,” Stiles says, suddenly worried. “Do I have something on my face? Is there a popcorn kernel in my teeth or something?”

“Stiles,” Scott stops him, laughing quietly. “Why do you think your odds are slim to none?”

“Oh,” Stiles answers, shrugging. “I mean, it’s not like you can fall in love by the end of this Ferris wheel ride.”

Scott scoots over on the seat, kicking his legs out so that they smack against Stiles’ own, some weird little game of footsie.

“What?” Stiles asks again, because Scott’s still looking at him like that. Like maybe he doesn’t look at other people like that, actually. Like maybe that’s just how he looks at Stiles. “Oh.”

“Odds are,” Scott says, leaning in close, smiling through his words. “Odds are, I already have.”

When Scott ducks in and kisses him, mouth still sugary from the pound of cotton candy he housed and tongue dipping just past Stiles’ lips, pressing him open, Stiles hears a cheer float up from the ground. The Ferris wheel starts up again and they move forward and Stiles ignores it all.

He ignores it all until he’s lost in Scott, the way Scott squeezes one hand tight and uses the other to cup his jaw, the way Scott kisses like he’s maybe wanted to all along.

The only thing that pulls him out of it is landing, feeling the wheel jolt to a hard stop and hearing Allison talking from a couple of feet away.

“I told you it was a good idea to tell him,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“We did too,” Cora adds, gesturing between her and Lydia.

“Alright, whatever,” Stiles says, lifting the bar so he and Scott can get out. Scott doesn’t drop his hand when they stand up and walk over to meet literally everyone they know, waiting for them at the bottom of the tiny set of steps.

“You were all right,” Stiles concedes to them. “Are you happy?”

There’s a rousing round of nods, and then Stiles turns to Scott and asks him, too. “Are you happy?”

Scott looks at him and smiles, and from here on out Stiles will never forget that it’s a smile that’s just for him.

“I’m happy,” Scott says, and kisses him in the middle of another round of cheers.