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He’s still a little shaken from being poisoned and thrown into a well by someone he considered a close friend, too tired to take in what is going on around him, answering the questions deputy Parrish keeps asking him almost robotically. He doesn’t even have to lie, just keep some things to himself, like the part where yes, he actually does know why he was a target and it has to do with the fact that he’s a supernatural being now. Still, he can’t exactly share that piece of information with the deputy, no matter how trustworthy he seems.
But by now the whole town knows about the teen assassins posing as regular students at Beacon Hills High, the kids Liam and Mason used to have movie nights with, so the deputy lets him off the hook easily, squeezing his shoulder and saying sympathetically that he understands how traumatizing this all must be for him. Liam doesn’t see how he could, unless he’s secretly a werewolf too. He thinks about calling Scott to ask how many other werewolves there are in Beacon Hills, but something tells him Scott doesn’t know either.
It’s only when he goes to take a shower, still half-frozen and numb on every level, that he realizes he’s still wearing Scott’s dark grey hoodie, the one Scott told him to put on as soon as he pulled Liam out of the well. He shrugs it off, making a mental note to wash it before giving it back to Scott. It’s the polite thing to do. He’ll take care of it in the morning, he tells himself one last time before closing his eyes.
He wakes up in the middle of the night gasping for air, feeling like he’s about to drown. It takes him a second to realize that he’s at home, in his bed, but his heart is hammering in his chest and something still doesn’t seem right. For some reason, once he’s awake enough that the lines between dreams and reality stop being blurry, the first thing he remembers is how it felt when Scott held him, Scott’s gentle voice and soothing touches. And he wants to feel that way again, calm and comfortable and safe.
And if he falls asleep wearing the grey hoodie, sniffing at it because it still smells like Scott a little – well, it’s no one’s business but his own.
***
It’s too much. Everything. There are fuck knows how many people out there trying to kill them for money and now he’s worth eighteen fucking million dollars and he keeps seeing Berserkers everywhere and –
He can’t do this. He’s not like the others, he’s too afraid, too inexperienced, doesn’t know how to deal with all of this. To be honest, he doesn’t even want to. He has to lie to his parents all the time, and these aren’t the lies he thought he’d be telling them, the kind everyone his age feeds their parents, where sleepover actually means party, and saying he’s studying with the cute girl in his chemistry class earns him a wink from his dad.
He has to lie to Mason, which makes him feel even worse, because he hasn’t lied to his best friend since they were eight and Liam accidently spilled juice on Mason’s brand new Xbox. It’s not like he doesn’t notice the looks Mason keeps giving him, how his shoulders slump in defeat each time Liam insists he’s fine, nothing’s wrong, man, promise. But he can’t tell Mason, can’t come clean about what is happening to him without revealing too much about the others as well, about this whole world that a month ago he didn’t even know existed. He doesn’t want Mason to feel the way he does, to live in constant fear.
If Scott is disappointed when Liam admits he doesn’t want to come along, he doesn’t let it show. He flashes a reassuring smile and offers to take Liam home, being nothing but genuine and kind even though Liam basically just told him that he wants out. But all Scott seems to care about is Liam’s wellbeing, handing him the spare helmet again, and Liam doesn’t understand why he can sense an apology in that gesture when he’s the one who should be saying sorry.
It’s early March, the wind still getting sharp enough at night to prickle the skin on his arms, making him regret the decision to only wear a T-shirt at the bonfire. He shivers a little, but he can’t tell if it’s from the cold or because he can still smell gasoline on his clothes.
Either way, Scott notices.
“Hey,” he says, wriggling out of his jacket, his voice soft like he doesn’t want to startle Liam. “Take this.”
Liam just stares at the brown jacket for a long moment. Scott needs to stop doing this – being so nice, worrying, looking after Liam. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s selfish and spineless, letting Scott and the others face the remaining assassins on their own. He isn’t even trying to help them. He’s just – giving up.
“Liam, come on,” Scott says, putting the jacket over Liam’s shoulders. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
He hops on the motorcycle behind Scott, wrapping his arms tightly around Scott’s waist, pressing his cheek to Scott’s shoulder blade. He lets a meek sorry slip out at some point and he hopes Scott hears it almost as much as he hopes he doesn’t.
***
He goes to Scott’s when they return from Mexico, partly because his parents believe he’s at lacrosse practice and he doesn’t feel like making up an excuse for why he’s home early, and mostly because he doesn’t want to leave Scott’s side.
Scott looks as tired as Liam feels, plopping down on his bed like he doesn’t have the strength to keep pretending he isn’t crumbling under the weight he carries on his shoulders. He rolls over onto his stomach, resting his head on his folded arms and sighing loudly, but there’s a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he looks up at Liam, bright and warm as always, a piece of the sun hidden in his dimples.
Liam starts fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, staring intensely at his sand-covered shoes simply because he needs to focus on something other than the warmth creeping up his neck. He can feel Scott’s eyes on him, daring him to look up, an unspoken challenge that makes his heart jump in his throat. It’s not like they have to talk about it, he knows that, but. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t mind if they did.
“You can’t go home looking like this,” is what Scott says, and that’s not even close to what Liam was expecting, but. Okay?
“Like what?” he asks dumbly, watching Scott walk over to his closet, starting to rummage through it like he knows exactly what he’s looking for but can’t find it.
“Like you spent the night battling monsters in an ancient temple.” Scott turns around with a grin, a navy blue shirt in his hands. He shrugs. “It doesn’t fit me anymore,” he says, inspecting the shirt until he seems satisfied with what he’s seeing and hands it to Liam. “Still gonna be a little big on you, sorry.”
Liam takes the shirt, biting his bottom lip to hold back the stupid smile that he can feel trying to take over his whole face. Of course Scott would apologize for not having clothes that fit Liam. Of course he would, Liam thinks as he puts his arms through the sleeves, a wave of immeasurable fondness coursing through his body.
It’s really not that bad. The shirt is a little baggy, a little too long, something Liam would wear on a lazy Saturday afternoon playing video games with Mason. It’s nice. Comfortable.
He wants to thank Scott but before he can even open his mouth he finds himself pulled into a hug, his own arms going around Scott’s waist of their own accord. This feels nice too, he decides, hiding a smile in Scott’s shoulder when he hears Scott whisper, “It was you, dude. It was you.”
That’s all Scott has to say for Liam to feel his cheeks starting to burn, pride and happiness and boundless affection rushing over him. Because for once facing his fears actually paid off, because he was able to help Scott, because for some reason he was the one who got through to Scott when no one else could. And that – it made him feel useful. Valuable, maybe. Needed.
Something’s changed, he realizes with a start, heart thump-thump-thumping with excitement. He’s not just the little boy that Scott always has to protect. He’s been part of the pack from the moment Scott bit him, he knows that, but. He’s only now starting to feel that he truly deserves that place. In Scott’s pack, in Scott’s life.
***
“I brought lunch,” Scott announces, loud enough for half the hospital to hear.
Liam trails behind him, unable to suppress the grin that breaks out on his face when he notices the apprehensive look Scott’s mom is giving them, one eyebrow raised like she knows they’re up to something, but the corners of her mouth keep twitching up the closer they get. This is a mission, Liam thinks, endlessly pleased. They’re on a mission and Scott wanted him to come along and help.
“I’m going to pretend for five more seconds that I don’t know you want something,” she says, taking the paper bag from Scott and pushing up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek. Scott starts rubbing the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly while she crosses her arms over her chest. “Alright, it’s been five seconds. Spit it out.”
“Can I borrow the car tonight?”
“We’re going bowling,” Liam adds excitedly, and he has no idea if that’s going to help in any way, but he supposes letting her know that they’re not planning another poorly thought out trip to Mexico can’t cause any damage.
Scott puts an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in, and that’s his cue, Liam remembers. He widens his eyes and pushes out his bottom lip, making himself look like a kicked puppy.
Scott’s mom bursts out laughing.
Liam pouts harder. That’s not what was supposed to happen. She was supposed to call him adorable and give them the keys.
“Okay, Liam, do me a favor and look at him,” she says pointing at Scott, her voice equal parts amused and adoring, sounding like she’s simultaneously teasing her son and professing her love for him. Scott is shaking his head, trying to hide his pink-tinted cheeks behind his hands. He’s –cute. So cute it’s ridiculous. Liam kind of wants to touch his skin to feel how warm it is. “I have seventeen years of experience, sweetie,” Melissa continues, a little softer now, reaching out to grab her purse. “Endearing as you are, I’m immune to puppy-dog looks. You can blame my son for that.”
“Mom,” Scott whines pitifully, cheeks still glowing, but he lights up when he notices the keys dangling in front of his eyes. He grins then, dimples coming out in full force. “Really?”
“Don’t forget to tank up.”
“I won’t!”
“I mean it, Scott.”
“I know! Thanks, mom.” He gives her a quick hug, then grabs Liam’s hand and starts pulling him towards the door, but Liam is frozen to the spot.
Since he met Scott, Liam muses, looking at Scott’s fingers wrapped around his own paler ones, life’s been nothing but an introduction to feelings he never imagined he’d experience – being afraid of the dark and having to sleep with the light on, wondering if there’s someone or something around every corner waiting to turn him into their next victim. And, apparently, he can add having a small heart attack because a boy is holding his hand to the list.
“Everything okay?” It’s Melissa who asks, looking down at him with furrowed brows and focused eyes. “You’re shaking.”
Scott tugs at his hand again, but he’s frowning too, looking worried. Liam feels like he has to reevaluate his entire existence. “Yeah, um” he starts, shrugging helplessly, because he has no idea how to explain something he himself doesn’t understand. Ignoring the issue and hoping it goes away seems like the best plan right now. “It’s fine, I’m just. Uh. Cold? A little, yeah.”
“Oh!” Scott takes off his denim jacket before Liam can even think about forming words to tell him that no, he really doesn’t have to do that, Liam was only lying because – honestly, he’s not even sure why. But Scott is looking at him with bright eyes and a smile that could probably stop wars, so he takes the jacket and tries not to think about the previous times he’s worn Scott’s clothes or how that made him feel.
***
At the end of the day, not even Scott’s seemingly never-ending kindness can change the fact that he’s a werewolf. That he can be dangerous, feral, a threat to all those who are weaker than him. And yet, there’s something about him, something incredibly soothing and gentle, something innately good that sets him apart. He could be a monster, but he isn’t. Not even the Berserker curse could strip him of his humanity.
Liam remembers looking into its eyes. Remembers thinking that underneath that mask, underneath all those bones was the person that had saved him time and time again. Scott – his Scott – was still in there somewhere. All Liam had to do was find a way to reach him – it was his turn to save Scott, because Scott was worth fighting for, he was worth facing any fear.
They’re both new at new this, Liam understands this much. He knows that their bond confuses Scott as much as it confuses him, but Scott never tries to push him away, doesn’t try to figure things out on his own, so Liam doesn’t either. Whatever it is that’s going on between them – they’ll learn how to deal with it together.
He smiles softly as he starts playing with the sleeves of Scott’s green and black plaid shirt, the one he took from Scott’s locker simply because he likes it, because he likes wearing it even if it is too big on him, because he knows he’s allowed to borrow Scott’s clothes whenever he wants to. Because Scott looks good wearing only a black tank top and faded jeans and the shirt would cover that up.
It’s not something he can admit out loud yet, but at least he’s past the point of trying to pretend he doesn’t find Scott attractive. Baby steps.
He climbs in the backseat of Stiles’s Jeep, a little tired from practice, a little drunk on contentment and the feeling of belonging. He can hear Scott and Stiles talking about the sport they all love, but for once he doesn’t listen to what they’re saying. Scott has his left arm stretched back, letting Liam draw tiny electric guitars on his skin with the old marker they found in the glove compartment, and Liam takes a moment to just revel in the tingly, fizzy sensation in his fingertips. He imagines something like champagne bubbles coursing through his veins, floating golden and bringing him happiness.
“Got any plans tomorrow night?” Stiles asks when he pulls up in front of Liam’s house, looking at him in the rearview mirror.
In the passenger seat, Scott snorts. “You’d know if I did.”
“Yeah, I was talking to Liam.”
“Oh.”
Liam shakes his head chuckling and keeps drawing on Scott’s arm. It has to hurt, he’s sure of it, Scott’s held his arm in the same position since they left the school parking lot. Either that, or it’s gone numb. It would explain why he’s not complaining. Then again, he’s seen Scott get stabbed and not complain, so there’s that. “No plans, why?” He pats Scott’s arm to let him know he’s done.
“Because we, the three of us, are having a Star Wars marathon,” Stiles declares, sounding more determined than Liam’s ever heard him, and it’s both hilarious and scary at the same time.
Scott groans, punching Stiles lightly in the shoulder and making him squawk, but he doesn’t argue. He’s smiling shyly when he turns to look at Liam, and Liam can’t tell if Scott is trying to apologize for his best friend’s nerdiness or if he’s asking for Liam’s opinion, like it really matters to him.
To be honest, Liam knows it does. Scott’s always given him a choice.
“I’m in if you are,” he says shrugging, focusing on Scott’s dimples because his heart is doing cartwheels now and he doesn’t need to think about that. It’s getting ridiculous, they’re just talking about watching movies together. He can watch a movie with a friend, it’s not a big deal.
Scott nods, grinning dopily, his eyes sparkling like the thought of spending time with Liam makes him genuinely happy. He reaches out and takes Liam’s hand, lacing their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Liam can feel his cheeks getting warmer, his body talking for him, giving away what he can’t put into words. Okay, so maybe it kind of is a big deal. This. Everything.
“Oh my God, here we go again,” Stiles mumbles suddenly, and Liam has no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but Scott starts laughing, loud and unabashed and carefree, and that can only be a good thing, Liam decides, smiling down at their intertwined fingers.