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To be fair, Scott knew it was a stupid idea even as he did it.
He’d spent the last 17 years of his life concealing what he could do. Seventeen years of lying to everyone he knew, of practicing how to open a car door without ripping it, to hold a pair of scissors without crushing them, to touch another person without breaking them. Seventeen years spent in hiding, and Scott risked it all in five minutes.
A crowd stood frozen around the house, watching smoke and flames creep out from the windows and doors. There was a sickly trail of smoke Scott and Stiles could see from four blocks away, even before they smelled burning plastic and brick or saw the people gathered round. Stiles broke into a run when he realized what was happening, calling out to Scott behind him to hurry up.
Scott, however, was pulled up short by the sounds he could hear from inside. He’d been able to hear things from miles away for almost a year now, but it still took him a moment to sort out that the little boy he could hear calling for his mom was inside the burning house and not just a few feet away.
Before he knew what he was doing, Scott was ducking behind someone’s fence and ripping his hoodie out of his backpack. He threw it on as quickly as he could, zipping it all the way and pulling up the hood. If his dad had been there, he would have said not to risk being seen by all these witnesses, but Scott’s dad hadn’t been around for a long time. The worst he would get from his mom would be an extra wrinkle in her forehead while she hugged him tight.
As soon as the hoodie was zipped, Scott took off at full speed toward the house. He’d never measured exactly how fast he could go, but he always heard a brief pop when he broke the sound barrier. Mostly he tried not to think about it. He whipped past the crowd gathered around the house and out of their sight, tearing the back door of its hinges to get inside.
The flames were huge, coating the walls and carpets in a blanket of fire. Scott followed the little boy’s cries to a bathroom, ignoring the way his clothes were burning away from him in chunks.
Scott pulled the door open slowly, trying not to give the fire access to any more oxygen. The boy looked up when Scott came into the room, coughing weakly from where he was sprawled across an adult’s limp body.
“Hi,” Scott said, closing the door behind him and patting out the small fire on his arm before crouching down next to the boy. He checked the adult’s pulse, letting out a huge sigh of relief when he found a slow but consistent heartbeat.
The boy tried to speak, but it sparked another coughing fit. Scott rubbed the boy’s back until his coughing sputtered out into sharp breaths.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay. I’m gonna get you out of here. I just need to ask you something first, all right? You can just nod yes or no.”
The boy nodded.
“Is there anyone else in the house, other than you two?”
The boy shook his head quickly, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He reached down toward the adult again and tried to say something, but he wasn’t able to choke out anything more than, “Dad,” before he was coughing again.
“Okay,” said Scott standing up in a crouch. He hefted the adult – a giant man, probably taller than Scott himself – up over his shoulder, and reached out a hand for the boy. When the boy leaned in toward him, Scott picked him up and placed the boy on his hip.
“Hold on,” Scott said, readjusting his grip on the boy. “This is gonna feel weird.”
Scott heard the usual pop when he started running, and felt the way the boy’s hands clenched into tight fists in his hoodie. He ran fast enough that the fire couldn’t touch them, tendrils of flame pushed away by the shockwave he created.
Scott took the boy and father to the side of the house, depositing them on the ground just outside view of the bystanders. In the distance he heard sirens, and from inside the house there was a cracking noise as half the roof caved in. The boy’s eyes were fixed on the room where Scott had found him, now collapsed in on itself and pouring smoke and flames into the bright blue sky.
“You okay?” Scott asked the boy. The boy nodded, tears streaming down his face as he turned to look at Scott. Scott tucked his face farther back inside his hood. The sirens were getting closer. He nodded at the boy, getting ready to take off running. He felt the boy wrap his arms around Scott’s legs, resting his head on Scott’s hips. Scott leaned down into the hug, giving the boy a squeeze before pulling away.
He almost missed the click of a camera shutter, the noise of the crowd moving in closer.
“Hey, over here,” someone yelled.
Another person screamed.
“Who are you?” called someone else.
Scott ran.
“I’m just saying, it’s a stupid name.”
Scott winced, but didn’t look up from his Economics textbook. He could almost feel Stiles’ glare from across the room.
“And I’m just saying you’re a stupid person, Matt, so your opinion doesn’t count.”
Scott did look up then, to see Stiles staring down Matt, whose left eye twitched twice in quick succession. They were standing in the middle of the newsroom, facing off like they were about to duel or something. When Scott saw Stiles’ hand twitch at his side, he decided it was time to cut down on the John Wayne movies.
“Enough,” said Lydia, coming around the student editor’s desk and leaning back against it. “Everyone’s calling this guy the Blur, so the Blur is what we’re going with.
“But it’s only because those pictures Stiles took were blurry,” Matt said. “That’s a terrible reason for a name-”
“You’re just bitter that it’s my picture that’s going to be on the front page and not yours,” said Stiles, cutting Matt off.
“Stiles,” said Lydia, voice sharp, “stop insulting your colleagues. Matt, you’re a photographer, not a reporter. Next time we need your advice on reporting, we’ll ask. Now go take some pictures or something, this meeting is over.”
Matt huffed something about special treatment under his breath, but he still picked up his camera bag and left the room. Scott had never met anyone brave enough to go against Lydia in full editor mode.
“Thanks, Lyds,” Stiles said, reaching over and trying to plant a wet kiss on Lydia’s cheek. She stopped Stiles with a hand to the chest and pulled a face.
“What have I said about nicknames in the newsroom, Stiles?”
The newsroom was actually the old teacher’s lounge that Lydia convinced the faculty to give to the newspaper when she took over as editor sophomore year. Scott wasn’t really sure how she had done it, but over the years he’d learned that sometimes it was best not to ask when it came to Lydia.
The room was dark and perpetually smelled like burnt coffee and cigarettes, with a carpet that Scott thought had once been beige but was now mostly brown. The windows didn’t open and the air conditioning cut out on the regular, leaving the occupants sweating in the stagnant, stale air.
The newsroom was cluttered with cheap pine desks and brand new computers that Lydia had convinced the student council to buy, set up in a haphazard sprawl across the room. The maze of desks was complicated even further by the extension cords and wires travelling all over the floor, halfheartedly taped down to avoid tripping. Most students avoided the newsroom; Stiles and Lydia loved it.
Pushed to one corner of the room was a musty orange couch that Scott spent most of his time slouched on while the paper met every Tuesday and Thursday after school. And during lunch most days, and when Stiles was doing research for an article, and the occasional weekend when Stiles and Lydia felt something particularly newsworthy had happened. Ever since the Blur had first been spotted six days ago (ever since Scott had almost gotten caught), Scott had spent almost every waking hour on this uncomfortable couch that smelled like a mixture of his grandmother’s potpourri and spoiled milk.
“No using nicknames during newspaper hours, or when anyone else is in the room,” Stiles recited dutifully. “But technically we finished ten minutes ago, and we would have been done if it wasn’t for Matt thinking he’s allowed to talk. And there’s nobody else here, so nicknames are fair game.”
“Scott’s here,” said Lydia. Scott made a show of looking up from his textbook, as if he hadn’t been listening in the entire time the newspaper staff met and talked about their full page spread on the Blur. Blur, what Blur? Scott had never heard of any blurs.
“Hi,” said Scott, waving over at them across the room. He tried to look like someone who had just learned an entire chapter of Economics, rather than someone who continually lied to his friends and could bench press a car. He mostly just succeeded at looking like a dork.
“Hi, Scott,” Stiles said back, rolling his eyes fondly. Scott had never met anyone else who could roll their eyes fondly. It was one of a million Stiles Things that Scott kept catalogued away in his head, the way best friends did.
“If newspaper is over and it’s nickname time, does that mean we can go?” Scott asked, trying to sound casual.
The mock-up of next week’s issue of the school paper was pinned to the wall behind Lydia’s desk. Who is The Blur? asked the headline, bold and black in 100 point font that stared at Scott no matter where he moved, like the eyes of one of those creepy paintings.
The picture was one of three that Stiles managed to snap from the crowd outside the burning house. One showed the little boy, who was named Oliver Rivera and had only suffered from a mild case of smoke inhalation, thank God, hugging Scott as Scott crouched down to hug him back. All that was visible was a guy in jeans and a hoodie, clothing half burned away.
The second picture had a hint of a face from when Scott had turned momentarily toward the crowd. He had already been moving away when it was taken, though, and his face was shaded by his hood. The features were blurry and indistinct.
The third picture was a streak of red from Scott’s hoodie and dark blue from his jeans as he took off at full speed to get away. Oliver was standing stock still just inside the frame, face frozen in shock and hair flying away from his face from the force of Scott’s departure.
Scott had gotten the lecture of his life from his mom when he’d stopped by the hospital later that night to check on Oliver and his father, and let his mom check on him. She’d yelled at him quietly for five minutes about going into a burning building, and being seen using his abilities, and for making her have to hear about it from Sheriff Stilinski instead of calling her immediately. Then she’d hugged him for ten minutes straight and sent him off by telling him that he needed to take a shower because his hair still smelled like smoke.
“Give me a few more minutes,” said Stiles, jerking Scott back into the present. “I’ve got to format this article and then we can leave.” Stiles moved away from Lydia and back to his own desk. Technically he shared with Matt, but Matt was under pain of death not to move, disorganize, or otherwise touch anything on it.
Scott was pretty much always on Stiles’ side, but he did kind of see the point to Matt’s under-the-breath rants about Lydia’s favoritism. Since it was this same favoritism that allowed Scott to hang out all the time despite Lydia’s strict “no civilians in the newsroom” policy, he decided to keep his mouth shut.
With Stiles occupied making last minute revisions to his article and Lydia standing over his shoulder providing her special brand of menacing encouragement, Scott was free to watch them without having to pretend not to be interested. He wished he could just ask about it, but it had been years since he had pretended to care about the news for Stiles’ sake. It would be a little suspicious if he started now.
“All right,” said Lydia, an hour later. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, stepping away from the computer. “Time to go. You need to get your boyfriend home before he falls asleep.”
Stiles rolled his eyes at that, glancing over at Scott to share an incredulous smile. Scott tried to match it, ignoring the flush he could feel in his cheeks.
“Very funny,” said Stiles, turning off the computer and standing up. “But you know my heart only belongs to you, dearest, sweetest Lydia.”
“Careful, Stiles, or I’ll start to think you’re serious again. I still have all those love notes you sent me in middle school.
“Aww, you kept those. How sentimental of you, Martin.”
“Please,” said Lydia, smirking. “I keep them around for blackmail and mocking purposes only. For instance, wouldn’t it be a shame if one of those very effusive letters accidentally got published in the paper if you didn’t get me a follow up article on The Blur for next issue?”
Stiles paused in packing up his backpack.
“You wouldn’t.”
“You really don’t know that,” said Lydia, picking up her purse and patting Stiles on the cheek as she walked to the door.
“Bye Scott,” she said, sending him a wave as she left the room.
Stiles stood frozen as Lydia’s heels clicked down the abandoned hallway. The door closed with a soft thunk, and Stiles shook himself out of it. He turned to Scott, horror on his face.
“You don’t think she would really…”
“Uh,” said Scott, running a hand through his hair, “probably not? I mean, almost definitely not. Right?”
“Shit,” said Stiles, walking over to the orange couch and collapsing on top of Scott. He made a face at the Econ textbook digging into his back, until Scott shifted them so Stiles’ head was on the arm of the chair and his feet were in Scott’s lap.
“I need to find The Blur.”
Scott froze, hand clenching around Stiles’ ankle.
“Jesus, Scott, ease off the kung fu grip.” Stiles slapped at Scott’s arm, yanking his foot back with a grimace as soon as Scott released him.
“Sorry, sorry,” said Scott, hiding his hand between the couch and his leg. He almost never lost control of his strength, was always so careful with it, but ever since he’d been dumb enough to get caught in an admittedly blurry picture doing something distinctly not human, his nerves had been a bit frayed.
“Sorry,” Scott said again, patting at Stiles’ other leg carefully. “I just don’t like the thought of you going looking for this guy. I mean, we have no idea who he is. He could be dangerous.”
Stiles flicked Scott’s shoulder and rolled up off the couch in one smooth motion.
“I’ll be fine, dude. If I’m gonna win my first Pulitzer by the time I’m 25, I’m not always going to be safe. Honestly, I’m more worried that you’re on steroids or something, because I think you broke my ankle.”
Stiles walked over to his backpack with an exaggerated limp, picking it up and turning back to Scott with a huge frown on his face.
“I may never recover,” Stiles said. “I demand you carry me to my car to make it up to me, and also buy me McDonald’s on the way home.”
Scott felt his face melt into a smile, even though it was a bad idea to encourage Stiles when he was like this. He grabbed his bag and followed Stiles over to the door.
“Well,” Scott said, as serious as he could make himself sound when Stiles was pouting at him and trying to use Lydia’s rolling office chair as a crutch, “I suppose I’ll have to drive us, since you’re so grievously injured.”
Stiles straightened up immediately, shooting Scott a half-hearted stink eye.
“Never,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket to clutch at them. “I don’t care if I’m bleeding out or concussed or actually, literally dying, no one drives my jeep but me. That jeep is my family.”
“I’m sure your dad would be happy to hear that,” said Scott, pushing gently at Stiles’ shoulder as they walked out the doors of the school. It was already starting to get dark, and the jeep was one of the only cars left in the lot.
“Dad knows,” said Stiles, shrugging. “He understands the bond between a boy and his jeep, unlike certain other people around here.”
Scott waited while Stiles unlocked his door and climbed into the driver’s seat, reaching over to manually unlock the passenger’s side door. Scott let the argument go as he climbed inside, lifting the door up and to the right to get it to close. Neither of them talked while it took the requisite five tries to get the jeep to start, Scott making sure not to wince at the sickly sound of the engine turning over.
They drove away from school into the ever darkening night, and Scott played with his jeans where they were just starting to tear at the knee. The hem was practically riding above his ankle, and they were a little tight around his thighs. He really needed a new pair, but these were only six months old and it definitely wasn’t in the budget this month. Scott was going to have to hide this pair from his mom once they actually did tear, or she would get that forehead wrinkle that she always got when she paid the bills.
“Hey Stiles,” said Scott, interrupting the quiet.
“Hmm?” said Stiles, only half paying attention.
Stiles got like this sometimes, usually when he was starting to obsess over something. Scott knew to let Stiles’ silences sort themselves out, because it was impossible to tear Stiles away from something when he was that focused. This was more important though.
“Please don’t do anything stupid going after that Blur guy. I know, I know, Pulitzers and risk and everything, but I don’t want to have to explain to your dad why you, like, threw yourself off a roof hoping some random guy would catch you or something.”
“Huh, I was thinking of staging a bank robbery to get The Blur’s attention, but that’s not a half bad idea.”
“Stiles!” Scott pushed himself up straight in his seat, wishing one of his stupid powers was something useful, like night vision, so he could see Stiles’ face right now.
“Kidding, Scott, God. Totally kidding. Although as far as methods to attract superheroes go, throw yourself off a building is better than, like, a life of supervillainy or something.”
“Superhero?” Scott snorted. “Really, dude? This guy shows up once and does something that anyone else would do, and he’s suddenly a superhero?”
Stiles turned to look at Scott full on, ignoring the way the car started turning to the right. Scott reached out to grab the wheel and Stiles caught himself, turning back to the road and shaking his head.
“Only you, Scott McCall, would think that just anyone on the street would run into a burning building because there might be people inside. I guess I should be glad that Blur guy showed up before you threw yourself into that fire.”
Scott squirmed in his seat. He huffed out a laugh, but it sounded shaky even to his own ears. Scott leaned his head against the window as his house came into view down the street and Stiles pulled over to the curb. The jeep rumbled dangerously when Stiles put it in park. Scott unbuckled his seat belt, but turned to Stiles instead of getting out of the car.
“I’m serious. Just be careful, okay? For my sake, and for your dad’s blood pressure.”
Stiles rolled his eyes, but Scott knew he had him.
“Fine. I’ll be smart about it. But I am going to find this guy.”
Scott gave Stiles a tight smile and got out of the car.
“Yeah,” he said under his breath as he closed the door behind him, “that’s what I’m worried about.”
Scott spent the next week pretty much camped out on the musty orange couch in the journalism room while Stiles and Lydia researched the Blur. He mostly hid behind his economics textbook or furiously texted Allison every paranoid thought he had.
Stop freaking out, said Allison’s latest text. Nobody is suspicious of you. I would never have known unless … you know what hadn’t happened
okay but what if they know??? Scott sent back. stiles keeps looking at me and lydia’s smiling it’s creepy
Stiles is always looking at you. And Lydia’s allowed to be happy without exposing your deep dark secret. Now leave me alone, I have a date tonight I need to get ready for
Scott let his phone drop to his lap and tried not to sigh too loudly, but Stiles still looked over at him. Scott had been about to pick his phone back up to text Allison that Stiles was not always looking at him, but now there was a blush crawling up his cheeks at the thought of talking about it. Even back when Allison and Scott had dated, there had been some best friend things Allison just didn’t understand.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” Stiles said, reaching up to stretch his back. It made a cracking noise so loud Scott winced in sympathy. Lydia didn’t notice, too absorbed in yet another in-depth examination of the house fire pictures. Stiles and Lydia had been staring at them for hours, only occasionally talking in between bouts of furious googling.
Scott shook his head, holding up his Economics book in answer. He was pretty sure he’d read the entire thing in the last week, not that he’d managed to retain much of it between the fear he was about to be found out and the constant stress of living a double life.
Out of nowhere, Stiles made a frustrated noise and pushed away from the desk. Lydia finally dragged her gaze away from the pictures, frown lines etched into her face.
“This is pointless,” said Stiles, punching his thigh and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “These pictures are useless, we’ve looked them up and down for a week.”
“There has to be something,” Lydia said, flicking her hair behind one shoulder as she glanced between the computer screen and Stiles.
“There’s nothing. We’re not gonna find him this way. But there is…” Stiles trailed off, eyes vacant as he stared at the picture on the computer screen. It was the one of Scott with his face turned toward the camera, zoomed in on the pixilated shadows obscuring his face.
“I might have an idea,” said Stiles, grabbing his stuff and running out the door before Scott could protest that Stiles had promised to give him a ride home.
Scott looked at Lydia, who slowly turned to face him. The creases on her face had only gotten worse with Stiles’ exit.
“Do you have any idea what he’s about to do?” Lydia asked. Scott shook his head.
“Well you’re in charge of him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid. I have a date tonight I need to get ready for.” Lydia picked up her bag, running a hand through her hair.
“Oh, are you and Allison going on a double date?” Scott asked, picking up his own stuff. He was focusing half his attention on the sound of Stiles’ jeep starting up with its usual whine in the parking lot, Stiles’ frantic heartbeat speeding up as he went off to do… something. Scott probably needed to follow him, now that he thought about it.
“You’ve been talking to Allison?” Lydia asked, voice a little frosty.
“We’re friends,” said Scott, hugging his phone to his chest defensively.
“I’ve never met a pair of exes who transitioned to friends so easily,” said Lydia, still eyeing Scott up out of the corner of her eye as they walked together to the parking lot.
“Allison’s great,” Scott said, letting himself smile brightly as he thought about her. “I mean, we didn’t work out, like, romantically, but she’s still one of my best friends. We have a lot in common.”
“Hmm,” said Lydia, making a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. “Do you need a ride home?”
“Nah,” said Scott, waving Lydia off. She lived in the opposite direction of Scott, and he could be home in less than a minute if he ran it. He usually got a ride from Stiles for the company, not the efficiency.
Scott peeled off in the opposite direction of Lydia, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head when it started to drizzle. He focused in on the sickly grind of the jeep’s engine to try and track Stiles. He had just started jogging toward the sound, going fast but not superhuman fast, when the sound of the engine and Stiles’ fingers drumming on the dashboard turned into screeching brakes and the high pitched crunching of metal and glass.
Scott was running full speed before he even fully registered the noise, and it wasn’t until he was standing next to Stiles’ car that he understood what had happened. The jeep was on one of the old country highways outside town, nowhere near Stiles’ route home, and there was a dead deer halfway through Stiles’ windshield. The car had three wheels off the road, like Stiles’ had swerved to avoid the deer but had only made the damage worse.
Scott ripped the driver’s side door off the jeep and tossed it away. The airbag was deployed and Stiles was passed out in the seat, a thin trickle of blood leaking from his nose. Scott grabbed the airbag and pulled, yanking it out of the steering wheel and throwing it behind him somewhere. He unbuckled Stiles’ seat belt and reached in to lift him up.
Stiles started moaning as Scott picked him up and carried him to the side of the road. Scott set Stiles against a tree, propping him and checking him over for broken bones or swelling. Stiles’ head lolled to the side, and Scott reached up to catch it. His hand cupped Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles leaned into the touch.
Scott needed to go before Stiles came to, because a lot of things could be explained by a best friend connection but finding Stiles on a random road outside of town at the exact moment he needed Scott was stretching it a little bit. The door to the jeep was also barely visible on the other side of the road, Scott had thrown it so far. Maybe he could say the deer had done it?
Stiles was nuzzling into Scott’s hand and his face was so, so warm. And soft. Scott had never noticed how soft Stiles’ skin was. He rubbed his thumb up and down Stiles’ cheek, taking in the soft noises Stiles was making. Stiles’ eyelashes started to flutter open. Had they always been that long?
“Scott,” Stiles said, half a groan. Scott jerked away, palm tingling from the loss of Stiles’ warmth. Scott almost took off running, sound barrier be damned, but a closer look revealed that Stiles was still coming around. His eyes were closed and his heartbeat was still slow and even, not like someone who had just figured out their best friend was lying to them.
Scott reached into Stiles’ pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing 911 and laying it on the ground beside Stiles. He reached out one more time before he could stop himself, carefully wiping away the trickle of blood under Stiles’ nose. For a second he just stood there, letting himself feel Stiles’ skin. The 911 operator’s voice kicked in on the phone, and Stiles’ eye struggled to open again. Scott ran. He was halfway home before he realized he had Stiles’ blood on his hand.
Scott sat at home for most of the afternoon, waiting for the call from Stiles’ dad or his own mom about Stiles going to the hospital. After an hour passed, he started worrying that maybe it hadn’t been enough, that something had happened to Stiles after he left. Maybe there was internal damage Scott hadn’t been able to see. After three hours, Scott had to call Allison so she could convince him not to run over to the hospital, find Stiles’ room, and possibly kill Stiles for not calling him. Unless Stiles couldn’t call. Unless something terrible, more terrible, had-
“Just bring your mom dinner,” Allison said, exasperated. There were voices in the background, and the clink of silverware on plates.
“Oh,” said Scott.
“Yeah,” Allison said, voice cracking like she was trying not to laugh at him.
“That’s a really good idea.”
“It is,” said Allison.
“You’re on a date right now, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry,” Scott said, picking at his fingernails. He didn’t have so much as a hangnail from the car rescue today, but he wished he did. That might have helped him forget scrubbing his hands for half an hour to try to get the small smear of Stiles’ blood off his hand.
“It’s okay. Anyone I date is going to have to accept that I come with a neurotic, superpowered ex-boyfriend.”
“Ex-boyfriend/friend,” Scott corrected, because it had taken them a long time to get to that part and he was pretty proud of it.
“Definitely friend,” Allison said, and Scott could picture the smile on her face, the dimple appearing on one side, the crinkle around her eyes. He wondered when that image had stopped causing a pang in his heart.
“Go to the hospital,” said Allison, “I’m trying to get laid tonight.”
“Thanks,” Scott said, smiling for the first time all night. “And if this guy gets rude or creepy, just ask and I’ll kick his ass.”
“Scott.”
“Okay, you’ll kick his ass. But if you need back-up, give me a call.”
“I’ll let Lydia know,” said Allison, openly laughing at him. “Now go check on your boyfriend.”
“What?” Scott asked, but Allison had already hung up. The requisite “He’s not my boyfriend,” was stuck in his throat. The words tasted sour in his mouth anyway.
The hospital wasn’t too busy, and Scott’s mom rolled her eyes when she saw him coming through the doors.
“He’s on Three North, room 305. He’s been talking about The Blur saving him ever since he woke up, so I’m assuming you know what happened. I just hope you’re being careful, honey. And that better be Thai food, because I’m working a double tonight.”
“Of course,” Scott said, handing over the take-out bag. “Only the best for my mom.”
“Only the best for your mom when you’re trying to bribe her. World’s best son, definitely.”
Scott smiled, reaching over the nurse’s station to give his mom a kiss on the cheek. She laughed and shoved him away.
“He’s okay, right?” Scott asked, feeling the thin trickle of congealed blood on his hand once again. Scott’s mom melted, pulling him back in for a quick hug. Even with the bulky desk between them digging into Scott’s thighs, there was nothing in the world more comforting than his mom’s hugs.
“He’s fine,” she said, running a hand over Scott’s hair. “Just some bruising on his face. They’re keeping him overnight for observation, but that’s standard with a potential head injury. It could have been a lot worse. Now go. I have Thai food to devour.”
With one last smile for his mom, Scott went up to Stiles’ room. There was a deputy standing outside, flipping through a magazine that someone had left behind. She looked up when Scott came close, rolling her eyes when she saw who it was. Scott and Stiles had been infamous at the Sheriff’s station since they were kids.
“You’re not going to help him break out, are you?” the deputy asked, eyeing Scott up and down.
“Uh, no? Is he trying to break out? I thought he was staying overnight.”
“He is,” the deputy said, voice flat. “And I’m here to make sure he does stay, instead of running off to chase some superhero with a potential concussion.”
“Stiles,” Scott groaned, letting his face fall into his hands.
“His dad did the exact same thing,” the deputy said, cracking a smile. “Go on in, Scott. Just try not to cause too much property damage.”
Scott paused at the door, his hands shaking just a little. Stiles was fine. Scott’s mom had said so, the deputy had said so, and the Sheriff wouldn’t be anywhere but here if there was even a chance Stiles wasn’t okay. Scott focused in on Stiles’ heartbeat inside the room, strong and sure and consistent. His hands stopped shaking immediately, and he pushed open the door.
“Scott!” Stiles said, practically bouncing off the hospital bed. He was in an old t-shirt that Scott was pretty sure had once actually been his, and a pair of sweatpants Scott knew for a fact used to belong to him.
Stiles was hooked up to a heart monitor and had somehow managed to tangle the wire around his whole arm, and the bed was locked in an uncomfortable looking position half upright and half reclined. The remote that controlled the bed was swinging from its cord down near Stiles’ feet.
There was bruising all over Stiles’ face, centering around his left cheek and his nose. A thin cut ran across his cheekbone. His face was swollen and his lips stretched in a weird way when he talked. Scott was pretty sure he had never seen anyone more beautiful. He was also pretty sure you weren’t supposed to think that about your best friend.
“Did my dad call you?” Stiles asked. “Or your mom? Did they tell you what happened. It was The Blur, dude. He saved me. Just appeared out of nowhere and bam! He tore off my car door, which is kind of a dick move and normally I’d be pissed, but he threw it like 100 yards. He threw a car door a hundred yards like it was nothing. And he pulled me out of the car and called 911 and did the whole mysterious exit thing before they got there.”
Scott felt a hot stab of jealousy in his chest at the way Stiles talked about the Blur. It was the same voice Stiles used when he gushed about his favorite investigative reporters or when he told stories about his dad on the job.
“Stiles,” Scott said, staring at the rack of small, medium, and large latex gloves piled by the door.
“Yeah? Dude it was so cool, like so cool. I mean obviously it sucked because the jeep is out of commission for a while and that dead deer was really gross, but I got saved by The Blur, Scott. This is totally my in for the follow-up article, and now Lydia will never publish the embarrassing love poetry I wrote for her in middle school.”
The box of medium latex gloves was empty. Scott wondered if he should tell someone.
“Scott? Dude, get in here, what are you doing by the door? We have some serious planning to do, since Dad won’t let me come home tonight. I wanna be ready when I get out tomorrow.”
Scott’s head spun toward Stiles without his permission.
“Ready for what?” Scott asked, forcing himself further into the room. His heart felt twisted inside of his chest. He thought he might be about to start crying, but he didn’t know why.
“To find The Blur. Remember what you said the other day? About getting The Blur’s attention by pretending to put myself in danger. I think it’ll work, we just need to brainstorm ways to do it. I was thinking of those train tracks outside of town, you know by all those old warehouses? So we go out there and you tie me to the train tracks and then we wait for the Blur to show up. I mean the train only comes through once a week so we’ll have to go out there at like three in the morning on a Wednesday, but I think it could work. In the meantime I think we could set something up with our old toy guns and some black spray paint. Like a fake mugging, we could do that right?”
“Stiles.”
“I was also wondering how hard it is to get a hold of some C4, because there are a lot of abandoned buildings around here that we could pretend to blow up.”
“Stiles,” Scott said again, rubbing at his forehead where he could feel a tension headache brewing.
“It’s brilliant, right? I mean there’s no way this plan could go wrong. And I think we can-”
“Stiles,” Scott shouted, slamming a hand down onto the bedside table. The faux wood cracked under Scott’s fist, splintering and knocking over the plastic water cup and pitcher.
“Whoa dude, are you okay?”
Stiles looked up at Scott, eyes still feverish and faraway as he planned all the different ways to get himself killed.
“Am I okay? Am I- Stiles, you could have died today. You could get yourself hurt, or killed, with any of these stupid plans. You want to pretend you’re about to get blown up? Really? Or have me threaten you with a fake gun?
“What if any of this goes wrong? What if you actually get hurt? Or what you put yourself in real danger and this guy doesn’t show up? What if he doesn’t know about it? What if I don’t get there in time? Do you have any idea how scared I was today? I heard the crash and I couldn’t hear your heartbeat for a second and I thought-”
“I knew it,” Stiles yelled, jerking up in bed and tangling himself up in the heart monitor cord. “I knew it, I totally knew it, you dick.”
“What? No. I- What?”
Stiles yanked the heart monitor off his finger, climbing out of bed and stalking toward Scott.
“You’re The Blur. It was you all along. You saved me.” Stiles was smiling, advancing toward Scott. Scott backed up, shaking his head.
“I didn’t. I couldn’t. I’m just me.”
“Exactly. You said me. You said, ‘what if I can’t get there in time.’”
Scott’s back bumped up against the wall, but Stiles kept coming until Scott was boxed into the corner.
“I didn’t say- how did you know?”
Stiles smirked, triumphant, and Scott let his head fall back against the wall. It connected with a crack that meant Scott was probably going to have to find a way to explain a hole in the plaster. There was a reason all of Sheriff Stilinski’s deputies knew to watch out for property damage when Scott and Stiles were around.
“I suspected since the fire. You were right behind me and you disappeared, and then The Blur shows up.”
“So what? The Blur and I have never been seen in the same room? That’s terrible evidence.”
“Yeah,” said Stiles, caging Scott against the wall with an arm on either side of him, “but you were wearing my hoodie.”
“No I wasn’t,” said Scott, wiping his sweating palms on his jeans. Stiles was standing really close. Like, really close.
“Uh, yeah you were. That red hoodie was mine, before you wore it into a burning building.”
“That hoodie was mine, Stiles. I got it years ago.”
“Yeah,” said Stiles, leaning in even closer so his face was only inches from Scott’s, “but I stole it from you freshman year, so it’s mine now. Well, was mine. Before you killed it with fire.”
Stiles licked his lips, and Scott couldn’t help the way his eyes drifted down to stare.
“So that was all you needed?” Scott asked. “A hoodie?”
“You also lifted my dad’s car when we were five to get a toy that was stuck underneath it.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” said Stiles, smiling. “Not to mention the way you clam up whenever somebody mentions The Blur. You’re a terrible liar.”
Scott shrugged, focusing the boring landscape painting hung up on the opposite wall. Looking at Stiles’ lips was bad. Distracting.
“Yeah but I mean, we were kids, and there’s, like, adrenaline and stuff that makes moms able to lift cars for their babies, or whatever. And, look, I’m sorry dude, but The Blur is a really stupid name.”
Stiles jerked back, hands flailing around his face in stunned disbelief.
“I did not make up the name. And I can’t believe you’re siding with Matt, first of all, that is a complete betrayal of our friendship. Second of all, stop avoiding the issue. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
Stiles slumped backwards, face growing paler the longer he stood up. Scott reached out an arm to grab him, steadying Stiles on his feet.
“You should sit down,” Scott said, ignoring the way the worn cotton of Stiles’ (Scott’s) t-shirt was skin-warm and soft.
“I will sit down when you answer my questions,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and letting Scott take most of his weight. “I’m a budding reporter, dude, I won’t stop until I get my story.”
“Stiles,” Scott said, fingers digging in unintentionally. “You can’t- you won’t-” Stiles winced, pulling away from Scott’s grip. Scott loosened his hand, rubbing at Stiles’ arm.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Scott said, voice falling to a whisper.
For a second, Stiles just stared at Scott, mouth gaping. He opened and closed his mouth, made a screeching noise, and punched Scott on the arm.
“Ow!” Stiles said, jerking back and shaking his fist. “God, your arms are like freaking steel, dude.”
Scott reached for Stiles, checking his hand for bruises before letting it drop to Stiles’ side. As soon as he did, Stiles reached out to smack him again.
“I can’t believe you think I’d tell people that you’re some kind of freaky superhero. You’ve been my best friend since we were toddlers, you idiot, of course I’m going to keep your secret. I can’t believe you would even- never mind, clearly the extra strength has left you with diminished brain capacity. Now help me get back into bed, I’m injured.”
Scott reached an arm around to help support Stiles, until he realized he didn’t have to hide anymore. Grinning, Scott hoisted Stiles up into his arms, laughing at the yelp Stiles made. Stiles pounded on Scott’s back as Scott carried him to the bed like a sack of potatoes. Scott set Stiles down, trying not to laugh as Stiles looked on like a disgruntled cat.
“Never do that again,” Stiles said, patting his hair back into place. He’d been so particular about it since he’d grown out his buzzcut, and Scott didn’t have the heart to tell him it was pretty much a lost cause at this point.
“Promise,” said Scott, holding up three fingers in the Boy Scout salute. Stiles crossed his arms over his chest.
“I know you were never a Boy Scout, Scottie. I got us kicked out, remember?”
“Vividly,” Scott said, sitting down next to Stiles on the bed.
“It’s all right,” said Stiles, looking so much like Lydia it was scary as he looked down his nose at Scott. “I’ll forgive you if you start answering my questions and stop hauling me around like a freaking hay bale.”
Scott nodded, ducking his head to look contrite.
“So how does it work, dude? What can you do? And why?”
Scott blew out a huge breath of air and scrubbed a hand at the back of his neck. He wondered if it would ever get any less weird to discuss his powers, or whatever they were.
“Well, as far as I can tell, I’m sort of an alien?”
“An alien,” Stiles said, voice flat.
“That’s the best guess my mom and I have, yeah.”
“Right. Okay. Alien.” Stiles nodded to himself. “And what are your alien powers?”
“I can do a lot of stuff,” Scott said, trying not to sound too smug. “The strength, like you saw. And I’m kind of, um, bulletproof? Nothing really hurts me. I’ve always had that, but in the last year or so there’s been, well, more. I can run. Like, really fast. And my senses are just, like, extra. And do this x-ray vision type thing. And there’s also, uh,” Scott paused, looking down at the thin, ugly hospital bedspread. “I can kind of shoot lasers out of my eyes?”
Stiles practically bounced on the bed, pulling his legs underneath himself to make room for Scott to sit facing him.
“Dude, that’s awesome. Maybe the coolest thing ever. Can I see?”
Scott jerked up, staring at Stiles, who looked more excited than the time last year there’d been a dead body in the woods and he’d made Scott help him look for it.
“No, you can’t see. Stiles, we’re in a hospital, I’m not gonna break out the laser eyes.”
Stiles deflated, falling back against the pillows with a sigh.
“But when you’re out of here,” Scott said, “we could go out to the preserve and I could show you how I can cut a tree clean in half if I concentrate hard enough.”
Stiles perked up, and Scott smirked.
“Awesome,” Stiles said, staring at Scott with hazy eyes. Scott knew that look, and he knew he was probably going to spend every free moment of the next few months showing Stiles what he could do with his abilities. He didn’t mind much at all. Stiles could probably think of a thousand new things he could do with his powers.
“So,” said Stiles, sobering up again, “who knows about you? Your mom, I’m assuming. My dad? If he knew and he didn’t tell me, I’m gonna kill him. Well, you know, not kill him, but I’m not gonna let him anywhere near curly fries until we’re done with college.”
“No, no, your dad doesn’t know,” Scott said. “Just my parents. It’s one of the reasons my dad- well, he never asked for an alien for a kid, you know. So now it’s just my mom and, well.” Scott felt his cheeks heat up. “And Allison.”
“What?” Stiles shrieked, so loud Scott thought the windows might shatter. The deputy outside poked her head in, eyeing Scott and Stiles with the same combination of fondness and exasperation they were used to from Beacon Hills law enforcement.
“Try not to burst a blood vessel or something,” she warned, rolling her eyes as she closed the door again behind her.
“Seriously?” Stiles said in a hushed whisper, glancing back and forth between Scott and the door. “Your ex-girlfriend knows and I don’t. What the hell, Scott?”
Scott picked at a mysterious stain on the bedspread. He shrugged.
“I didn’t, like, tell her, okay? It just happened.”
“What just happened?” Stiles asked in his best Reporter Voice. It was a combo of the Sheriff’s Sheriff Voice and Scott’s mom’s Nurse Voice, and Scott had a really hard time resisting it.
“Remember the really cool laser eye thing? Well, they sort of, uh, came online when I was with Allison.”
“And by with Allison,” Stiles said, a smirk already forming on his face, “you mean…”
“Yes, with Allison. Having sex with Allison. For the first time. It was awful, okay, and actually really traumatic for both of us.”
Stiles laughed so loud and for so long that the deputy opened the door again, staring at the two of them suspiciously while Stiles tried to reassure her he was fine and Scott mostly tried to melt into a puddle on the bed. Unfortunately, disappearing was not one of his superpowers.
“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles huffed out in between laughs, waving at the deputy as she closed the door once again. Tears were forming at the corner of Stiles’ eyes, and, yes, okay, it was funny, but it wasn’t that funny and Stiles could stop any time now, thanks very much.
“Oh my god, I can’t wait to see Allison again,” Stiles said once he gained control of himself and the laughing had trailed off into the occasional unintentional giggle. “I need to hear this story from her.”
“It’s not funny,” said Scott, “she could have died. I’m- I can be dangerous, Stiles.”
“You, Scott McCall, are the least dangerous person I’ve ever met, and if you say that again I’m going to test how invulnerable your balls are to a sledgehammer.”
Scott looked up from his hands to see Stiles smiling at him. Stiles rolled his eyes fondly, in the way only he could, and Scott couldn’t help but smile back. Stiles leaned forward, resting his hands on either side of Scott’s knees.
“Try not to burn me to death with your laser eyes,” he said softly, still smiling, before he leaned in all the way and Scott was being kissed.
Scott wondered if the trade off for being able to go so fast sometimes was to freeze completely other times, because all he could do was sit there while Stiles’ soft, slightly chapped lips touched his own. Stiles pulled back way too soon, biting at his lip as he hovered near Scott.
“Scott? Scottie? Scott Delgado McCall? Some kind of reaction please?”
“Um,” Scott said, quite eloquently if he said so himself. Stiles was still smiling, but there was something wrong about it. It was lopsided and kind of plastic, like it was stuck on his face without any emotion to back it up.
“Look, if I’ve ruined ten years of friendship by kissing my apparently very straight best friend, you’re gonna have to tell me. I mean, I thought- you look at me sometimes, and Lydia said- but whatever, it’s okay, clearly I misread the situation.
“Um,” Scott said.
Stiles clapped his hands together, too cheerful for the broken look on his face.
“How about we just rewind five minutes and pretend I said something very hetero instead of kissing you? And I’ll just bury this whole thing I have going on, and punch Lydia in her stupid, smug, wrong face next time I see her.”
“Don’t punch Lydia,” was possibly not the best thing for Scott to say, but in his defense it was three more words than he thought he’d be able form.
“Well, obviously,” Stiles said, frowning and running a hand through his hair. His other hand was tapping out a rhythm on the bed next to him, the way he always did before big tests or when he and Scott were brought into the Sheriff’s office for some sort of minor felony. “Lydia would kill me. And I mean literally kill me, and make Allison help hide my body. Plus, you know, punching girls is, like, the worst. Girls have enough to deal with already, and I don’t want to perpetuate any cycles of-”
Scott grabbed both of Stiles’ hands in one go, stilling them and cutting Stiles off. Scott brought their entwined hands down to Stiles’ lap, letting them rest there. Stiles looked down at the way they were tangled together, and Scott gave up on ever getting his vocabulary back.
Instead, he leaned in and kissed Stiles, soft and chaste and identical to the kiss Stiles’ had given him.
“Don’t punch Lydia,” Scott said again, proud of himself, “because she’s not wrong. I do look at you. A lot, actually.”
Stiles’ grin was almost painful in its intensity, and Scott had no choice but to lean in and see what it tasted like. He licked at the seam of Stiles’ lips, trying and failing to hold back a groan when Stiles opened up and let him in. Scott pushed on Stiles’ shoulders, rearranging them so Stiles was lying on his back with Scott above him. He brushed a hand through Stiles’ hair, pushing it off his forehead and smiling at the way it was going to be messed up for the rest of night from Scott’s fingers. Stiles smiled back, although he was going to complain about his hair mercilessly once he realized what Scott had done to it.
Scott moved down to Stiles’ neck, pressing his lips and tongue to each of Stiles’ moles. He’d been staring for months, and touching was a revelation. Scott had never been able to get drunk in his life, no matter how many bottles of Jack Daniels Stiles stole from his dad’s liquor cabinet, but Scott imagined this was what it felt like. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop.
Scott found the dip between Stiles’ neck and collarbone, and went to work sucking a mark into the skin there. Stiles tasted like sweat, with a sharp hint of astringent that Scott attributed to the hospital. He felt Stiles’ hands roaming all over his body, resting on his neck, his spine, his ass.
“Scott,” Stiles said, Scott’s name turning into a groan as Scott laved at Stiles’ skin with his tongue.
“Scott,” Stiles said again, yanking on Scott’s hair. “Scott, we, we’re.”
Scott hummed in the back of his throat, grateful that he was able to take Stiles’ ability to speak away as effectively as Stiles took his. With one last nip at the already reddening spot on Stiles’ neck, Scott moved back up to his mouth.
“Scott, we’re in the hospital,” Stiles said. Scott nodded in response, biting at Stiles’ bottom lip. He let his hands move from Stiles’ shoulders to his hips, seeking out the warmth of bare skin.
“We can’t have sex in a hospital bed, dude,” said Stiles, but he pulled Scott back in for another kiss anyway.
“We can’t have sex in a hospital bed while one of my dad’s deputies is standing outside, and my dad promised he was going to come back here after his shift ended.”
Scott groaned, letting his forehead drop down to rest on Stiles’.
“Yeah,” said Stiles, “me too.”
Scott grinned, trying to look at Stiles and succeeding only in crossing his eyes. He lifted himself up, putting his weight on his elbows so he didn’t crush Stiles.
“Okay,” Scott said, proud of how steady his voice sounded despite the way his skin was burning up. “But later, maybe?”
“Definitely later,” Stiles promised, yanking Scott back down for one more kiss before he pushed Scott away completely.
“Now go sit on that chair and try to look less like you’re thinking about what I look like naked.”
Scott was fairly sure he could hear the sound of his brain exploding, and with the way his mouth gaped open it appeared he’d lost the ability to speak again. He just nodded, eyeing Stiles up and down. Reluctantly, he climbed off the bed and sat in the plastic-covered armchair next to it.
Stiles ran his hands through his tousled hair to try to fix it, pulling his clothes back in place until he looked a little less like he’d been mauled by a teenage alien. The swollen lips could be blamed on the bruising from the accident, and as for the huge grin on his face – well, maybe they could say that was because of the concussion or something. Stiles finally looked over at Scott, cracking up at the blank look Scott was sure was still on his face.
“Come here,” Stiles said, unbearably fond. He leaned across the bed and reached a hand out toward Scott, who immediately took it and laced their fingers together. Scott was pretty sure he was going to get addicted to the feel of Stiles’ hand in his. He made a mental note never to say that out loud, or Stiles would never stop making fun of him.
Maybe not, though, because Stiles was staring at their hands as well, and his smile was soft and private. Stiles looked up and met Scott’s eyes.
“You know you’re going to have to give me an interview as the Blur now, right?”
Scott blinked, trying to remember as far back as admitting he was Beacon Hill’s favorite amateur superhero.
“You did that on purpose,” Scott protested, trying to clear the fog in his brain. “You kissed me and made me think about you naked and then you asked for an interview while my brain was rebooting.”
“Did it work?” Stiles asked, scooting as close to the edge of the bed as he could get and resting his and Scott’s hands in his lap.
“No,” Scott said, ignoring the heat he could feel bleeding through Stiles’ sweatpants. “That’s cheating.”
Stiles laughed, reaching over to kiss Scott.
“Come on, Scott, you have to. If you don’t, I’ll have to go back to plan A to get The Blur’s attention. I’m not entirely sure how I could tie myself to the train tracks, but I’ll figure it out.”
“Stiles,” Scott said, frowning. He was sure he had a whole arsenal of arguments why he couldn’t give Stiles an interview, but Stiles was so warm, and his hand was solid in Scott’s, and Scott could hear Stiles’ heart beating. Thinking was just really, really hard at the moment.
“Just think about it,” Stiles said, leaning in to kiss Scott again. He lingered this time, tongue swiping out to flick at Scott’s lips.
Scott might have whimpered at that, but luckily Stiles’ groan covered the sound.
“How long until your dad gets off work?” Scott asked, maneuvering the hand not holding Stiles’ to grip Stiles’ hip.
“Ages,” Stiles said, getting a hand in Scott’s hair and pulling him out of the chair and toward the bed. “Forever.”
Scott moaned when Stiles got his mouth on Scott’s neck.
“Come on,” Stiles said, reaching for Scott’s shirt.
“Screw it,” said Scott, letting Stiles pull his shirt over his head. “I’ll hear your dad before he gets too close, anyway.”
“Mmm,” Stiles hummed into Scott’s shoulder. “Please stop talking about my dad and get over here.
The railing of the bed was digging into Scott’s armpit, Stiles was yanking at his hair, and Scott definitely did not hear the Sheriff until he was opening the door to catch his son and Scott half naked in a hospital bed, but oh well. Scott was indestructible.
Scott could hear the rumble of Stiles’ jeep ten minutes before Stiles even got to the school parking lot in the morning, and he could hear Stiles’ heartbeat getting closer from the time Stiles left his house. But as Allison told him every day, that was Twilight levels of creepy, and he was making a concerted effort to be less like a supernatural stalker.
So Scott kept his head down, pretending to read his Economics book on the gross orange couch in the newspaper room while Stiles made the trek across the parking lot and through the halls. One of these days, Scott was going to have to actually read about Economics instead of just using the textbook as a prop, but today was not that day.
Stiles stopped at the classroom door, dropping his backpack to the ground with a thud. It was so early even Lydia hadn’t gotten to school yet, but Scott could only pace in his room so long before his mom made him leave the house. She’d sent him off with a kiss on the forehead and a promise that everything was going to be okay, but she had also been smiling at his misery at the time.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Stiles said. Scott could hear the smile in his voice, the familiar sharp brand of fondness Stiles saved just for him. Scott didn’t look up, though, focusing instead on the incomprehensible picture in his textbook illustrating supply and demand. The mock-up of the front cover of today’s Beacon High Gazette was hanging on the wall behind Lydia’s desk, and Scott couldn’t bring himself to look at it.
“Come on,” said Stiles, moving through the maze of mismatched desks and poorly taped-down wires to get to Scott’s couch.
“Do you like my shirt?” Stiles asked, stopping right next to Scott’s legs. Scott looked up finally, ignoring the twinge of nervousness in his gut in favor of leaning against the back of the couch and staring at Stiles like he was finally, finally allowed to.
Scott looked at Stiles’ shirt, and the goofy smile he’d been saving up for Stiles all morning fell away as the anxiety flooded back in.
“My- seriously?” Scott said, tossing his Economics book vaguely in the same direction as his backpack and crossing his arms across his chest. Stiles was wearing a homemade version of the symbol Scott had showed him, Scott’s family name in his native language. The swooping S was identical to the stylized version Scott had put on his uniform, after his mother, Stiles, and Allison had all ganged up on him until her agreed to wear a uniform.
His mom had wanted it so he didn’t end up running around naked next time he went into a burning building, Allison had talked about strategic advantages, and Stiles had mentioned something about superheroes and secret identities (Scott was pretty sure Stiles just wanted to get him in spandex for his own nefarious purposes).
Scott’s eyes were drawn to the place he’d been avoiding all morning, the cover of the newspaper that was going out to the entire school population in just a few hours. On it was Scott, face hidden in shadow, clad in the red and blue spandex Stiles had clapped his hands in glee at. His legs were spread in a wide stance, hands planted at his hips to show off the same symbol Stiles had put on a t-shirt.
“What?” Stiles asked, glancing at the cover on the wall and back to Scott. Scott just stared. He’d been practicing his disappointed face in the mirror lately, what with taking on the whole superhero gig part-time, and he was getting pretty good at it. The disappointed face, that was. The superhero thing was still a work in progress.
“Oh, so I can’t be a supportive friend?” Stiles asked, putting on his best pout and shuffling even closer to Scott. Scott spread his legs, making room for Stiles between them.
“Stiles, it’s called a secret identity for a reason,” Scott said. He rolled his eyes, but some of his gravitas was lost when he put his hands on Stiles’ hips and got his fingers under the stupid t-shirt to get at skin.
“Yeah, yeah, all right,” Stiles said. He lowered himself down into Scott’s lap with his knees on either side of Scott’s thighs, boxing Scott in and blocking the stupid newspaper cover.
“But I look hot, right?” Stiles asked, leaning in close and resting his forehead against Scott’s. His grin stretched across his face, and Scott gave in to the urge to kiss him.
“Yeah,” Scott admitted, letting a smile spread across his own face. “You look hot.”