Archive of Our Own

Incredible Arrangements

      “Scott what should I do?” Stiles pleaded.

      “How am I supposed to know? It’s not like I’m from some sort of Druid royalty.”

      “You’re a werewolf. Why don’t you just marry me, so I don’t have to get into a relationship with some random ass clown werewolf dickwad I’ve never met before.”

      “And give up my chances at ever getting to have sex again. I don’t think so.”

      “You can sex me if you need to. Just help me out. I’m your best buddy. Please, my dad is already talking about arranging something.”

      “Then beat him to it. Find someone in the registry.” Scott says. “I’m not fucking you Stiles. You’re objectively way hotter than you were in high school, but you’re basically my brother. I could never be sexually attracted to you. We learned about that thing in psych class about why child brides don’t work for like a million reasons. It just would never work.” 

      “But I need an out to this.” 

      “Then find someone who hates the idea just as much as you do and date them,” Scott replies.

      “You want me to fake a royal engagement to stave off an arranged marriage?” Stiles deadpans.

      “What’s the worst that could happen?" Scott brushes his swoopy black hair out of his eyes, clearly more agitated with this conversation than he had been the four times he'd brought it up previously. "You hate them, that’s basically the same scenario with your dad but just impermanent.” 

      Stiles shrugs and flings himself down onto his best friend’s bed. “Your plan is basically just doing what my dad wants.”

      “It is the first time in your life he’s basically had any leverage on you,” Scott says. “You may as well give him the win.”

      “Making me go through ten years of intensive herbalism training wasn’t enough of a win for him?”

      “That was your mom’s win. If you don’t find a werewolf pack to bind yourself to through marriage, they’re gonna do it for you. You may as well pretend to do the job. Who knows you may actually like someone?”

      “Yeah, when’s the last time that worked out?” 

      “Senior year didn’t you date both Lydia and Danny?”

      “And where are we now?”

      “Fair point.” Scott walks over to the bed and pulls him to his feet. “Just go to the clinic. They’ll find someone for you.”

      Stiles scrubs at his head in frustration, flattening what was once a carefully coifed hair. “Fine, but I’ll hate every moment of it.”

      “You can always club them over the head with your bat.”

      “True,” Stiles says and loosens his shoulders. He lays down and settles in for a night of videogames and avoiding his dad’s phone calls. His mom’s legacy of being one of the strongest emissaries in North America was hard enough to live up to. He needed one more night to avoid this. This is just one last pointless braindead night killing zombies. I’ll tackle this tomorrow.

***

      Peter can barely take it. It’s 3 in the afternoon and he’s been busy all day. Talia’s been pestering him to run errand after errand. As soon as he’s about to be done with one thing she sends him another. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d chipped his car.

      This is the worst errand he’s had to run. She wants him to have a date to Laura’s wedding so now he must schlep over to the “matchmakers” as they call themselves and get a last-minute set of options for people to invite.

      He enters the building and goes to the front desk. There’s not much to it, just a sparse waiting room painted beige. The chairs along the sides are simple, a reprehensible light wood frame attached to a cloth covered back and seat for each.  There are a few posters about the goal of the company superimposed over happy couples. He feels nauseated just standing at the built-in wall window. Peter rings the bell at the front desk. “Hello Leslie,” he says when they peek around the corner.

      Bear and Leslie see him once every few months and ask him again what he wants. He always says the same thing and they always give him that same look. Bear’s is pity, Leslie is fonder of disappointment. It never changes anything though. Not in the end. He doesn’t want to be here.

      “How are you Peter?” Leslie says curtly.

      “Fine, just here for the usual.”

      “Alright pick up a paper off the desk and let yourself into the back room. Bear will be in momentarily.”

      “Thank you.” He picks up one of the forms and head in. He sits down and pulls a pen out of his pants. He clicks it and gets to work on paper below him. All the boxes and check marks are about as familiar to him as an S.T.I. clinic’s waivers. He finishes them quickly and pushes it across to the other side of the tables.

      “Good afternoon Peter. How’s your day going?” Bear asks.

      “Well, I’m here,” Peter replies.

      “I can see. Why are you here?” Bear asks.

      “Talia is being overbearing again and wants me to find someone to bring to my niece’s wedding. She’s getting married to some alpha on the east coast.”

      “How exciting,” Leslie says and sits down.

      "I’m riveted,” Peter sneers.

      “You’re not happy for her?” Bear says.

      “Happy, not happy, I mean I love ‘love’ don’t get me wrong; even I’m not immune to the sentiment. But it’s just not my favorite arrangement.”

      “You sound skeptical,” Leslie notes.

      “I’d be less so if Talia weren’t the one orchestrating it. She couldn’t find a good match if her life depended on it. I tried to set Laura up with a nice girl up north, but no. I mean what would I know about compatibility, right?”

      “Well, every date you’ve gone on has resulted in an unmitigated disaster,” Leslie says nonchalant.

      “Leslie, I’ll have you know that most of the dates you send me on go well. I have dated many of these purported matches for months at a time,” Peter says haughtily.

      “And yet here we are. Helping you. Again.”

      “Not because I want it. Talia sent me specifically here. If I could go single, I would.” Peter stands and heads for the door.

      “You two really must learn to get along. I’ll draw the profiles up and send them over,” Bear soothes.

      “We get along famously,” Leslie jeers.

      “Thank you. Nice to see you both as always.”

***

      Stiles just stares at the matchmaking sign. He can’t get himself to move. His feet are tapping on the floor of his Jeep. The fingers he thought he had control over keep tugging at the steering wheel cover, wringing it slowly.  “Just go in. Just go get in there. You can do this. You’re an adult. You’re an attractive adult. So why don’t you….” He mutters to himself over and over again.

      Eventually he twists his head, slaps the wheel, and opens the door. He walks up to the door quickly, reaches out to the knob, and his hand hovers for a moment not quite able to grip it. He licks his lips and grabs it; then wrenches the door open and walks into an orderly, brightly lit waiting room. It’s empty. The beige walls reflect its desertion back at him. There’s a desk behind a window in the wall. One which Stiles walks up to it, dings the bell, and waits. 

      Stiles hears voices coming muffled through the wall. Finally, the door opens, and a rather attractive man shows up. He has styled brown hair, lightly tanned skin and striking blue eyes. He’s in a heinously deep cut V-neck shirt and a loose chocolate brown cardigan. The man offers a goodbye to whomever’s in the room. There’s some gravel to the man’s voice, though it’s not particularly deep. It reminds him of a stockbroker. Rather, it would if he’d ever met one. 

      The man makes his way down the hall into the lobby. He looks irritated when he passes by, but he smiles at Stiles anyway. Stiles returns it with a wave. He can feel his heart clamor in his chest as he tries to smile before the man walks out the door behind him. 

      A few moments later, he’s greeted by a duo of kindly looking people, one much older looking than the other. One is an older man, average height that’s still gripping on to some black in his hair. He’s a built like a brick house that’s seen better days and is dressed in a sweater vest over a checkered long sleeve shirt and some slacks. The other one is a slim figure in their mid thirties rocking a pixie cut died jet black with strips of colors peeking out beneath it. They are wearing professional attire, but their standard vest is covered in pins and their shirt is rolled up past the elbows.  It reveals the tattoos they have covering their forearms. They smile at him softly and give him some papers. The man passes him a water and instructs Stiles to sit. 

      A few minutes later his partner comes out to greet Stiles. “Hi, I’m Leslie,” They say and extend their hand for a shake. “If you come with me, we can get started.” They lead Stiles into a tan conference room. He sits along a long table and Leslie sits across from him. 

      “So, M... Meecszi, um. I’m sorry. How do you prefer to be referred to?” Leslie asks.

      “You can call me Stiles, no one has ever called me by my first name. My pronouns are he/him, by the way.” He says and points to their “They/them” pin. 

      “Yes, of course. Stiles, what brings you in today?” 

      “I’m trying to find someone nearby that is also looking for an excuse not to date.”

      Leslie stares at him harshly. “The man before you was enough trouble. Please tell me that you are joking.” 

      “I’m not following.”

      “Just stay here,” they say, get up, and leave the room. 

      They leave the door open. Stiles can hear the two attendants arguing in hushed tones down the hall. A few minutes and some rifling of papers later and Leslie returns. Leslie enters the room, and the man enters after them. 

      “Hello, nice to meet you Stiles. I have your file on record, your parents left it for us long ago, along with advanced payment for our services. Your father wanted me to post you to the system on your next birthday. It’s a pleasant surprise to meet you personally. I’m Bertrand. Most people call me Bear for obvious reasons,” the man says and punctuates it with a laugh. 

      Stiles shakes his hand and they both sit back down across from him. 

      “So, what are you looking for?” Bear asks. 

      “Oh, well... I’m kind of hoping to meet someone particularly unpleasant who doesn’t warm to others very well.”

      “That seems highly specific, I must admit,” Bear says.

      “Just hoping to meet someone who will make fun of people with me really. My best friend is about as much cheer as anyone could need.” 

      “So, you want someone who’s got their wits about them?” 

      Leslie scribbles on a tablet next to Bear quietly. 

      “Yes. It’s more practical that way. You know more, more useful. I’d like a good scheming partner,” Stiles says.

      "So, you appreciate an organized person,” Bear says.

      More scrawling sounds come from Leslie’s direction.

      “No, I just want someone to brew some tea with.”

      “What pray tell are these nefarious schemes?” Bear asks.

      “Oh, just a way to avoid a boring marriage to a bland and stuffy person from high stature.” 

      “Mhm, so a person that is good at letting go,” Bear says with some amusement.

      “I’ve been avoiding this since I was old enough to be entered. I just don’t want an arranged marriage, okay. My best friend told me if I try to figure it out myself my dad may not marry me off to some aristocrat simply to ensure I ‘keep the balance.’” 

      “So, you want someone who is interested in a good match and is willing to take it slow.”

      “You sure have a way of making everything a positive.” 

      “Interpreting your needs is what we are here for,” Leslie says and slides the tablet to the center of the table. 

      “Quite so,” Bear agrees.

     "What’s this?” Stiles asks.

      “Your best matches, by our estimation,” Leslie says.

      “That fast?”

      “Most people who enter these doors are terribly transparent I’m afraid,” Leslie says. “Enter your email here,” they indicate with a tap.

      “Choose wisely. Most people who come in here the way you do end up upset with their first few choices. Then they give up. Maybe you’ll end up with someone you can stand though, unlike that man from before,” Bear says when Stiles is done and demonstrates navigating the selection screen. 

      “And who is he exactly?” 

      “Him, no one of consequence? You probably wouldn’t enter his pool.” Leslie laughs. 

      “Why not?” 

      “The only traits he was looking for were quiet and pretty,” Bear says.

      “He’s rejected like twenty matches. Too boring every time,” Leslie tuts.

      “Hey, I’m pretty! I could totally be the hot girl at the party!” Stiles says. 

      “That’s not really the problem is it though,” Leslie provides. “The problem is with him. He’s asking for exactly what he doesn’t want.” 

      “How about this we will email you all these profiles and you can call us about anyone you might be interested in after you’ve ran through them,” Bear soothes. 

      “Yeah, that sounds fine. Send me my riveting choices.” Stiles nods. 

      “Perfect, we hope to hear back from you soon.” Bear says and stands.

      “Thank you.” Stiles stands and goes to the door. 

      “And you as well Stiles.” Bear pulls him into a hug skipping right over the usual handshake. Then he’s ushered out to the waiting room. His phone dings an email before he’s even out the front door. 

***

      When he gets home, Peter marches up the stairs to the section of the house he’s carved out. He shoves all the items he’s had to procure for the event next month into the closet of his study and locks it away. He never would’ve thought that they’d be sending what amounts to a dowry worth of items with his eldest niece, but apparently, they are. 

      Sitting down in his chair, Peter opens his laptop. Five thirty. The computer mocks him with its long load screen. When it finally signs in, he opens his emails. 

      Deleting all the junk mail comes first; then he reads through his work e-mails. There’s a bunch of emails from his architecture firm requesting approvals for various renovations, materials acquisitions, and construction queries. He works his way through them. He must issue several rejections, but luckily a few can be approved as is. 

      When he’s done goes into his private e-mail and cleans it out as well. Then Peter investigates the standard email from Bear. He scrolls through the faces and reads the profiles. For most of them, he’s read before. The men and women in the directory are no more interesting than they’ve ever been. He’s never wanted them to be. 

      He chooses a girl and a guy to meet with. There’s not much more to it. He sends Leslie and Bear his notification on his choices of people he’d like them to arrange a date with and sets them up with a copy of his schedule for the next few weeks. He sets it aside for the night, goes to his room, and turns on his T.V. for background noise while he reads.

      It’s nearly nine in the evening when he receives a text message from Leslie.

      The Monster from Beyond the Grave: I left you a surprise in your emails, I know you’d normally stop checking them by now. The only people who will hate it more than you are your family members. Email me directly for inquiries. Bear doesn’t approve.

      He closes his book and sets in on a side table. He walks back to his study and pulls out his chair. Then he sits down in front of the computer. He fires it back up and opens his emails. Leslie has sent him just one profile this time, privately. It is titled with a near unpronounceable name and the word “Stiles” in quotations next to it. He clicks on it and realizes that it’s the young man with fair skin, rosy cheeks, and spatters of moles from this afternoon. He gives a lascivious grin when he sees that he’s 22, fifteen years his junior. Scanning through he notices that he’s local, has honey brown eyes, is 5’10”, a college graduate, and a trained druid.

      There are some other notes in the headers. Uninterested in courtship, Poor temperament: sarcastic, brash, and brackish. He laughs at Leslie’s candid distain and closes the profile.

      He responds to the email.

      Thank you. Your taste is impeccable. Please set me up at his next available convenience.

***

      When Stiles gets the invitation the following morning, he’s more than a little surprised. It’s simple. Leslie sent him a request for availability to meet with a mystery man. There’s no real information other than a statement that Leslie is sure that Stiles would enjoy himself and that the criterion he’s been hoping to fulfill were completely adhered to.

      Stiles sends a list of evening hours. Now that he’s home from university he’s been working daytime/afternoon hours at the Macy’s in town. They hired him to work shifts from nine to three or noon to six. It isn’t enough, but he’s getting by. He’s waiting on responses for criminology and forensic science positions he’s applied for. Sadly, there aren’t enough of those either.

      He’s applied to work at the local police office. His dad is Chief of Police. Beacon Hills tripled or more in size since the Nematon was reactivated fifty years ago. His mom’s position as the intermediary of all the supernatural factions in the area had been crucial. But when she fell ill when he was ten things devolved quickly. They'd remained tense ever since. Deaton and Morrell were sufficient, but it was clear that their prioritization of werewolves wasn’t appreciated by most of the larger community.

      He knew he’d likely get the job if only because of his parents. He wished it’d be for other reasons more than it was for that one, but it probably wouldn't be. Which is why he hadn’t applied until Thursday. Sitting in his room on a Saturday morning waiting until eleven hits feels a lot sillier now that he thinks about the fact that he could’ve been working in his field since June. Now that it was early September, and he had no real reason to pretend anymore; he wishes he had caved sooner.

      He’d spent the entire summer wishing he were still on campus at UCSF. It was a hell of a lot easier than getting hunted down at his minimum wage job by random supernaturals that needed healing or advice or mediation. The local teens wouldn’t leave him alone anymore. Once they’d realized he was back in town, they were all over him with queries. He may as well have been given his mom’s title by them already.

      He isn’t set to assume her responsibilities for another couple years, but he knew when he’d made the decision to come back rather than immediately go to grad school that it would likely be pushed forward. He’s already getting requests to meet from all the semi-local covens, packs, cohorts, and all other manners of micro-communities of Beacon Hills to discuss it all. He’s avoiding them all. He’s got a ton of letters, that have clearly never seen a post office of any kind, piling up on his desk.

      It’s not that he doesn’t care, he does. He just isn’t ready. His mom only passed a few years ago. She’d been sick for a few years, and even with remedies and drawing strength from the Nematon for longevity and healing, the dementia took her anyway. He isn’t ready to do what she did. He has all the knowledge. He just wishes he had more time. There’s never enough. Another hour or two pondering the elusive email and playing videogames wash the worries away. And before he knows it, he’s working another mind-numbing shift dealing with responsibilities that aren’t yet his. He has no time to worry about his other responsibilities.

      Stiles waits on a return email from Leslie, but none come through during the shift.

***

      Peter gets emailed a list of hours that have evidently been reformatted by Leslie. They’re in a spread sheet by date with hours of work and ‘leisure/available’ color coded for clarity. They’re each in distinctly obnoxious neon colors.

      He spends half the day figuring out how to rework his schedule to accommodate returning to Beacon Hills to meet during the week. Eventually, he just throws in the towel on looking too interested and says that he can meet this weekend any time of Stiles’s choosing.

      Peter informs Leslie just past three it’d be best to meet this weekend if able due to his having to go out of town for work during the week. He has several projects near San Francisco. Many of the well to do in the area have recently become obsessed with living buildings and ecofriendly buildings. He’s had to overhaul his entire design process over the last few years to accommodate. It also means that he must be on hand more to acquire any of the more elusive materials.

      Leslie responds near instantly:

      I’ll set up a table for you two at six tonight presuming that Stiles would be willing to attend.

      Half an hour later Leslie has sent him the address and time to a reservation at a local dim sum restaurant.

            ***

      When Stiles arrives, he’s adorably overdressed. Peter watches him approach the table with the waiter. He’s in a jacketless suit. He’s wearing bright red slacks that fit close to his body. His matching vest that covers his balancing dull blue grey shirt is tight enough to accentuate his body far better than the baggy sweatshirt Peter had seen him in the previous afternoon.

      Peter notices Stiles’s mouth twist and eyebrows pop up when he realizes which table he’s being led to.

      When he arrives at the table Peter stands. “Stiles, nice to meet you. I’m Peter Hale. I believe we met in passing yesterday at the clinic.”

      “Yeah, Hi. Thanks for asking me to dinner. I’m a bit surprised though. Leslie and Bear were adamant you wouldn’t be interested.”

      “Oh, so you asked about me?” Peter raises an eyebrow.

      “Leslie complained you were pissing them off the moment I started my meeting.”

      “Leslie and I are good friends. Though we rarely see each other on our own terms,” peter says.

      “Why’s that?”

      “Employment. Leslie lives and works in town and I often spend the weekdays around Sausalito and Marin City just outside San Francisco. That and I prefer not to frequent matchmakers when I can avoid it,” Peter says and shrugs.

      “What you’re not thrilled at the thought of being together with your ‘perfect match?’”

      “I am. One day maybe I’ll find them. But I try to date on my own terms. My sister, my alpha rather, gets stuffy on the whole traditions and such. She’s quite demanding. She’s why I was in there,” Peter declares.

      “What? She wants you to settle down?”

      “Pfft, probably. But the reason I asked you here is I have a proposition.”

      “A proposition for me?” Stiles asks feigning scandal.

      “Yes, and it’ll be to your liking I think.”

      “Probably not, but I’ll hear you out anyway.”

      Peter leans in and knits his fingers together on the table. “I need a date to my niece’s wedding next month. She’s a lovely girl getting married to a pitifully idiotic man from the east coast. I’d like you to attend with me.”

      “I’m not really good at weddings. I snack a lot and say what everyone doesn’t want to hear. Plus, I’m not sure what I get out of this.”

      “I’ve heard that you’re not interested in being romantically involved either. I propose that we meet some number of times a month to relax and insult interlopers. It’ll give us both an alibi to avoid less agreeable arrangements.” Peter says and pulls his hands from the table. “You agitating my relatives will just make the experience more enjoyable for me.”

      “So, you want me to go to things with you and piss people off?” Stiles asks.

      “Precisely.”

      “I could work it. But you’ll have to be respectful to my dad. He’s very worried about my ‘good standing’. Even with your family name, he will want to know that the person I’m with will be a good influence on my decision making when I take my mother’s position.”  

      “Your mother’s position.”

      “Claudia Stilinski, she was the main emissary for all the local supernatural creatures.  Most of the packs still refer to her by her maiden name, Claudia nee Gajos.”

      “Oh, You’re the police chief’s son. He and Claudia knew my family when I was younger. She and Deaton were always discussing something,” Peter explains.

      “Any idea what?"

"I wasn’t allowed to know. My parents kept us out of such things until we were of age and after that I was off getting my architecture degrees.”

      “That’s cool. I just finished up my degrees in criminology and forensic sciences at UCSF. I never made it out of the city much, but that’s because there’s already so much to do. Too bad though, I would’ve liked to know more about what my mom did and how.”

      “Sorry, I can’t be of more help. I loathe to admit I lack the knowledge you seek. Perhaps we should start paying the waiters attention though. Do you know what to pick by sight or by name?”

      “Both. I learned just enough Mandarin to order at the shops nearby. Can’t say I’m particularly good at pronunciation though. Regardless, you don’t have to know what’s inside to just agree to take a portion of dumplings.” 

            ***

      The conversation picks up again once they’ve littered their table with steaming platters. 

      “Do you like dim sum?” Stiles asks before shoving another half of a dumpling into his mouth. 

      “I don’t eat it regularly, but it’s good.” Peter says and takes another bite. 

      Stiles covers his mouth with his hand. “So, what would this whole... thing entail?”

      “Not much. We show up to my family events.” Peter swallows. “We wear matching tuxes. We annoy everyone by acting sickeningly in love.”

      “Mmm, sounds manageable. Is the plan to lie?”

      “No, they’ll know if we do. It’s to bend the truth.”

      “How do we do that?”

      “For instance, ask me a question an annoying prying aunt may ask.” 

      “So, Peter. Who’s your new friend?” Stiles puts a tremor in his voice and jumps it an octave. 

      “This is Stiles, my new partner.”

      “Oh, are you two in love? Do you think we’ll be seeing you at one of these altars next?” 

      “It’s unlikely. Stiles has goals of his own that I respect. But he gives me everything I want in a partner,” Peter contrives. 

      “Okay. So, like we just say things that are true, but can mean something radically different than the question is aimed at, like politicians.”

      “Exactly.” 

      “Alright seems easy enough,” Stiles says and grabs some more pot stickers and rice off the center plate. 

      “When would you be available to meet so we can get matching tuxes. I think the coordination will make us even more annoying when they’re all envying us.” 

      “I’m free all week. I mostly just hang out with my best friend whenever we’re both free.” 

      “Alright, is Friday okay. I’ll be out of town arranging things on site all week. Unfortunately having my own firm means I have to do some of the contracting as well.” 

      “Yeah, no problem. I’ll put my number in your phone when we’re done eating and you can text me the time and address,” Stiles tells him.  

***

      It’s not until Thursday afternoon when he’s hanging out with Scott that Stiles starts to freak out. 

      He starts losing at apex legends, basically every game they drop into Stiles goes down early and often. Scott has to revive him repeatedly. It’s a complete inversion of their usual rhythm. His map awareness is shot. 

      After their tenth devastatingly lost round Scott asks to take a break. “Hey man, you know, maybe we should play something else for a bit.” 

      “I don’t know what’s wrong I’m totally off today.”

      “Is something wrong?”

      “No, actually... I followed your advice and it’s going well. I think.”

      “Really? That’s great! What’s their name? What’re they like?”

      “His name is Peter. He a nice guy. Well not really. But he’s kinda like me I guess. So, we'll get along. Probably.” 

      “So, he’s an asshole?”

      “Hey!” Stiles objects.

      “You’re a loveable asshole, hate to say it. But that’s good. If you’re on the same wavelength maybe, it’ll go somewhere.”

      “Pfft, doubt it. He’s in this for the same reason I am. To get his family off his back.”

      “Perfect right? He wants the same thing you do. Basically, that’s the recipe for a functional relationship.” 

      “Are you crazy? I just told you he doesn’t want a relationship. And neither do I by the way. It’s all for show.” 

      “Any kind of arrangement between two mutually agreeing persons is a relationship. They don’t all have to be romantic.” 

      “Well, it’s not one.” 

      “Then why is it messing you up?” Scott asks.

      “He is taking me to a tux fitting tomorrow. He wants me to go to some sort of wedding for his niece. His sister slash alpha wants him to be accompanied, some sort of status thing.”

      “Won't that be a issue? I mean it is kind of intense to meet a S.O.’s family on the first real date. Even if it’s a fake one.” Scott says.

      “I don’t know. I just feel weird about it. Like what if it all explodes or like what if I mess up and he dumps me because I’m like awful at it?” 

      “Why are you worried about that? It’s not like you want to be with him.”

      “I don’t know Scotty, because rejection sucks.” Stiles snarks. “We’ve been texting all week. He wants my opinion on the color options. He wants us to have the same color scheme but on opposing pieces whatever that means.”

      “Like you both wear blue and white but one on the shirt and the other on the jacket?”

      “Why do you know that?”

      “Wedding dance compilations on YouTube. Love wins dude.”

      “What could that possibly even mean?” Stiles throws his hands up.

      Scott just shrugs. “Whatever man.”

      Eventually, after several more rounds of him getting crushed in other games, Stiles just sends Scott home early so he can sleep. 

      When he wakes up on Friday morning for the fifth time, he finally gives in. He looks at the clock. Five thirty stares back at him and he groans. He clicks his computer’s screen back on and wakes it from sleep mode. He ends up sitting on YouTube for hours and then eating cereal when he can summon the will to walk. He doesn’t laugh at any of the jokes the videos make, well he does but it’s manufactured. 

      At noon he gets a text. 

      Got in early. Would you like me to stop in for coffee on my way over? 

      He looks at the screen and jumps from his desk seat. He scrambles into something basic, but presentable. He starts with a white undershirt and just make-shifts an outfit from there. Then he rushes into the bathroom and styles his hair. He wanders back into his room while brushing his teeth. He picks up his phone and clacks out a response:

      Yeah. Large black iced coffee please and a shot of espresso if you’re feeling generous. 

      Okay. I’ll be there in 20. See you soon. Peter responds.

      Stiles finishes getting ready and jumps in the car as fast as he can. The rental place is twenty-five minutes away. 

      Be there as soon as possible. He types and then turns over his aging Jeep. He and his father had fully repaired it back in high school. Still, it was older than he was and the rattle it had as it rolled down the asphalt was pronounced. 

      When he shows up Peter’s leaning on an expensive car directly outside of the rental shop. He’s holding an iced coffee that was now light on the ice. 

      Peter watches quietly with a smile while Stiles parks and scrambles out of the car. 

      “Hey, nice to see you again. Thanks for that.” Stiles says and points to the iced coffee. “Very considerate.” 

      “I aim to please.”

      “Why do I feel like I’ve heard your first lie of the day?” Stiles says and takes the drink. 

      “Intuition? A general propensity towards mistrusting others?”

      “Yeah, I must get over that.” Stiles says and sips the coffee with narrowed eyes. 

      “To your liking?”

      “I’m appeased.”

      “Shall we?” Peter gestures towards the door.

      “Sure," Stiles says

      “Have you decided on which color palettes you like?” Peter asks and opens the door.

      “Not yet. There were a lot of options.”

      “That’s fine, we’ll know when we have them on.” Peter says and walks in first.

      “Rude.”

      “Is that a problem?”

      “It would be in a real boyfriend, but I’ll let it pass.” Stiles says and keeps his eyes trained on Peter’s as he walks in. 

      “How gracious of you.”

      Stiles turns to the room and gives it a gander. He realizes quickly how incredibly out of his depth he is. 

      The display room is large and has many spaced racks and pearlescent tables. Each is color sorted. There’re several styles of jackets hanging behind each display of neatly folded shirts, pocket squares, ties, and pants. Remarkably it’s still minimal. Each rack he goes to only holds one size of each jacket. 

      “Hello. Welcome to Opal Tux Rental, if you’re looking for something, we have a better version of it,” an employee greets through a smile. She comes up and shakes Stiles’s hand. Her grip leaves Stiles’s hands red for moment after she releases. 

      After a while of ogling the wares Stiles notices Peter’s presence has returned to his side. When he looks up Peter’s comparing squares to Stiles’s own complexion. Then Peter walks off to return each to their respective displays. 

      “How are we supposed to try anything on? It’s all just in stock sizes,” Stiles asks. 

      “We keep a large collection in the back,” the salesperson assures.

      “It’s unfriendly in appearance, but their selection is very good. It would be difficult to hold everything in one place and avoid making the floor look horrendously cluttered,” Peter explains.

      “It’s overwhelming as is.”

      “Now imagine it with five to ten times as much product,” The salesperson slants.  

      “You seemed pretty intense over there a moment ago. Did you make some decisions?” Stiles asks. 

      “Dark purple makes you look pale. It’s not a food reflection of your beautiful fair skin. I think we will skip it.” 

      “Oh good. Any other colors make me look like a ghost?”

      “Greens work. Blues look good on you, but they’re not exactly original. I want everyone to hate not being us.”

      “The plan is to put the groom to shame then. Delightful.”

      “The groom.” Peter puffs out a breath through his nose. “Sweetheart, we’re going to put all of them to shame,” Peter intimates.

      Stiles looks away and busies himself with examining jacket patterns. 

      “What about a mint color?” Stiles asks a while Later after fiddling with some of the jackets and looking at the small squares and spirals. 

      “It’d be quite the statement. It’s good for a vest or a shirt though. Perhaps with a grey to match. A blueish mint or a greenish mint?” 

      “Blue. It’s more obnoxious, but also kinda laid back at the same time. I could wear a white blazer over the shirt and greys for the pants and vest.” Stiles says. 

      “Maybe. But then I’d have to wear a grey vest with a white shirt, mint pants and a mint blazer,” Peter considers. 

      “You could wear the on-color tie. I could wear a grey or white one.”

      “A spiral mint on grey for you and grey on mint for me would be better,” Peter states with a shake of the head. 

      “Those are different?” 

      “Of course, The width of the bands dictates which is the base color,” Peter explains as if it’s something everyone should know. 

      “Would either of you two be interested in being sized to figure out what’ll work best?” The saleswoman cuts in. “I’m Hayden by the way.”

      “Nice to meet you,” Peter says then immediately prattles off his dimensions after prompting Hayden to write them down. “But I’d like to make sure the pants are slim fit. If I must have them tailored and buy them I will,” he finishes. 

      “Um, okay. Sorry most people don’t know that off hand.” She says. “I can get your selections pretty easy after you decide on the styles. And do you know his?”

      “No, he’ll need to have a fitting.” 

      “Sorry, I haven’t had to do a weigh in since I graduated. Fencing was fun but I had to trim down,” Stiles says. 

      “No problem. Corey can do it. His father is the store owner. He’s been measuring people since he was a kid.” Hayden says. She directs them to a waiting area and tells them to wait there. 

      Corey comes out a bit later. He’s in a suit, but he walks as though he’s in lounge wear. It’s both unprofessional and comforting to Stiles who has been worried about comfort. “You’re 5’10, 31 waist, 51 shoulders, 15.5 neck, 42 chest. 32 or 33 inseams should work. Your legs are somewhere between sizes. We’ll make it work.” Corey offers a smile and then leaves to go talk to Hayden. 

      “Okay we have it all worked out.” She says when she comes back over. “We can get you in some clothes when you choose styles and colors. Don’t forget belts though.” She gestures to a rack behind them. It’s a rainbow of colors and sizes. “We’ll help you choose once you have the rest of the outfits done. Corey goes crazy if anyone messes it up.” 

      “I do not!” Corey shouts from behind the corner somewhere. 

      “He totally does,” Hayden mock whispers. 

      After arguing about whether they should have patterned shirts and the like, they settle on no patterns but high sheen fabrics for all but the mint color which is more of a matte suede. 

      When they’re done switching jacket patterns and everything Peter goes to the belt rack and pulls out a snakeskin patterned teal belt. He walks behind Stiles who’s looking in the mirror and threads the belt through the loops. “Perfect,” he says with a grin. 

      Stiles turns bright red and knocks Peter backwards. “Dude what was that?”

      “You’re going to have to get used to it if we’re going to convince other people we’re... familiar with one another.” 

      “You can’t just do that without warning. We barely know each other.” 

      “I’ll prompt you next time, but at events you’ll have to act a lot more casual about physical intimacy.”

      “Duly noted.” 

      “You’ll also have to let me make you smell like me. Otherwise they’ll never believe we’re dating.” 

      “What?” 

      “Scenting. You know like the way oils get left on whatever you touch with your hands. It’s a part of the whole werewolf pack thing. Or did you forget?”

      “I didn’t forget, I just... You caught me off guard. Next time ask or I’ll shove you full of mistletoe.” 

      “I’ll keep your vicious nature in mind.” 

      Corey comes around the corner and sees Stiles’s reflection. “Whoa dude, you look hot.” 

      “You think?” Stiles asks brushing Peter off and straightening out the jacket. 

      “Absolutely,” Corey replies. “Here you go Mr. Hale. The jacket in the size and fabric you wanted. Sorry it took so long.” 

      “Thank you.” Peter says and snatches it. “Tell me Corey, how do you think our pants fit us.” 

      “Like if they’re the right size?” 

      “No, I want to make sure they accentuate the proper places properly. My partner and I are going to a wedding and we want to be the envy of the party.” 

      “Oh.” Corey says. He looks like his mouth dried out. He glances between the two of them. Stiles glaring at Peter who’s turned specifically towards the mirrors so he can see his own ass in the reflection. “You look...” He looks down at Peter’s legs. The pants are almost skin tight on his thick thighs before relaxing a bit more down his calf. “They’re uh...”

      Stiles coughs. “Don’t worry, we’re not partners. He just wanted to make you stare at him while not knowing how badly you’d upset him. If you couldn’t tell, he’s overtly incredibly narcissistic. He was just fishing for compliments.” Stiles turns back to look at Peter who’s now in front of him. “Weren’t you Peter?” He says pointedly. 

      “Hmm? Oh yes. Thanks for your assistance. I think these might do. Who’s your tailor?”

      “We have a couple. I can give you a card for one of them. Erin called in today, something about her dog. Nice older lady, she’s been doing this for years.” 

      “Good I may need to make a couple alterations to ensure the integrity of the outfits.” Peter says. “Stiles come over here. I need to make sure the vest is tightened properly. It is like the modern man’s corset after all.” 

      “Any more bullshit and I’ll break your foot.” Stiles says and steps in front of him. Peter tightens it enough that the vest forms to his upper chest just enough to make his pecs look bigger due to the slight ripple it makes in the material. “Huh, I didn’t know you could do that.”

      “Image is all about manipulation of perception.” 

      “Whatever you say dude.” 

      “You guys look great together. What do you think Corey?” Hayden asks teasingly when she comes back to the fitting area.  

      “They look really good. Great. Yeah.” He says uncomfortably and ambles off to the back. 

      “Sorry don’t know what that was about.” Hayden says. “I’ll check on him in a moment. If you want, I can chalk and pin any places the suits don’t fit the way you want and we can have them tailored to fit better for you.”

      “That’d be splendid. I appreciate your initiative,” Peter says, preening from the attention.

      “Get a load of this guy. It’s like he has a praise kink or something. But yeah, it’d be awesome if you did.  Any suggestions of what we need to do?” 

      “Well from what I’ve overheard you guys just want everyone else to need a constant water source to get over you so I’ll figure out where to pull them in to get the desired effect,” she replies. “Erin should be in tomorrow to put in the final touches. You guys okay to come in once they’re ready?”

      “What day could you have them done by?” 

      “Next Monday should be fine, we try to give all of the tailors a week. They get pretty busy. Erin, in particular, is only in for a couple of hours on the weekends. And she just comes in takes stuff and does it all from home for the most part. Not all the tailors we know are like that. But she’s the best.”

      “Okay. When do you open? I can be late for a meeting or two.”

      “Corey gets in at eight. If you tell him ahead of time, he can make sure to unlock for you.” 

      “Perfect.” 

      “Ugh, I’ll be in then to run interference.”

      “Interference?” Hayden asks.

      “Ask Corey; you’ll understand immediately,” Stiles says. 

      “Alright well, how about we get the fits squared away and figure out how to work the schedule later.”

      Peter micromanages the exactness of the cut markings and pins. He keeps saying “I want a specific effect,” whenever they groan at him.

      When they’re done Stiles drags Peter from the store with a fully secured timeline for next Monday. 

***

      Peter gets back to the Hale house and heads back to his rooms to prepare for later in the month. He goes on his computer and starts compiling a book of brief descriptions of all his relatives. 

      The ones for Talia, Derek, Cora, Laura, and her soon to be husband Preston are all rather detailed. He has smaller ones for Preston’s mother Avedon and Talia’s husband Aaron. He includes files on several of his aunts and uncles as well as his own father James. The ranking system is simple only incorporating how much he enjoys their irritation and how irritable each individual is in general. Talia and Derek each get 10’s in both. 

      When he tires of it, Peter moves on to reading again. He picks up a copy of “The Restaurant at the End of the Universe” by Douglas Adams. He plays meditation music on YouTube via his television and reads. The bizarre phrases and unintelligible jargon tickle him, however he puts it away early. And when he does; he’s gotten through less of it than he’d like. 

      He dreams of strange shapes and Stiles’s voice rambling nonsense into the void. 

*** 

      The week flies by with work and stressing over everything else that one can think of which consumes a person. It doesn't help that Peter strains Stiles' already weakened peace of mind by texting him every day harassing him about some weird thought only a man with too much time and money on his hands would be concerned with. He doesn’t really mind much until Peter asks him out to dinner on Saturday. 

      Stiles shows up just barely on time to the Italian food place. The moment he walks in he feels under dressed. The Maître d' clearly doesn’t approve, but when he asks for the Hale party he gets seen to his seat without much fuss. As he greets Peter his dismay worsens when he notices just how many forks the table has. Stiles places the cloth napkin in his lap, trying to respect the decorum in whatever modest manner he can. He puts his hands atop the napkin immediately after, realizing he has no idea what protocol here actually is. 

      “Relax, if anyone has a problem with how you eat, we can eat them,” Peter jokes.

      “That’s not exactly comforting.” 

      “Why not?” 

      “Cannibalism isn’t very appealing personally.” 

      “Fine, I’ll just downgrade it to light assault or something. The sentiment remains, you owe them nothing.”

      “Not much better, but at least it isn’t murder. I’m probably supposed to report terroristic threats though, seeing as they accepted me onto the force on Tuesday. Well, they didn’t accept me onto the force onto the force exactly. I’m a part of their research and tracking division. I’ll probably never be out in the field.”

      “Congratulations. I presume that means that you’ll be starting some of your mother’s old responsibilities soon.”

      “I don’t think so. It’s pretty early into it. I think I’ll have some time before that. I’ll be getting my masters while I work there. I’m gonna start classes in the spring. I don’t really want to be doing too much. I need more experience before I can act on the same level as my mom used to.”

      “I think you’re under selling yourself. I heard from my youngest niece Cora that you pranked the entire junior class with hallucinogenic punch the night of the prom.”

      “Yeah, I got in a lot of trouble for that. The werewolves had acid reflux for a week. My dad grounded me for a month.”

      “I bet they did. Cora wouldn’t stop her belly aching for the next three. She was so mad.”

      “Yeah, I remember. She shoved me into at least three lockers.”

      “That’s how she shows affection. It’s a surprisingly common Hale trait.”

      “Cantankerousness, holding grudges, and aggression?”

      “No family is perfect. Speaking of which, I have something for you.”

      “Really? Isn’t it a bit soon for us to be exchanging gifts? It’s not even Christmas.”

      “It’s not a gift, so much as a preparatory device,” Peter says. He takes out a folder and hands it to Stiles. “It’s a list of relevant members of my family and those soon to be. It has a profile on them, their interests, and generally how to interact with them. It even has topic suggestions.”

      “How sweet, a categorized list of how to bully people,” Stiles says when he opens it and skims the evaluations of Derek and Preston. 

      “Not all of them are. I just know it’ll be easier for you at the wedding if you aren’t walking in completely unaware.”

      “Can’t say I’ve ever been given homework by a date. I’ve heard of study dates. But somehow, this isn’t what I thought that term meant.” Stiles says.

      “Well, like it or not it makes no difference. I made it for you. You don’t have to use it. Your life will be more difficult though. Plus, you won’t be able to read my pithy comments on everyone. Writing it was fun either way.”

      “I’m glad you think so highly of yourself.”

      “Humility is only a virtue until it makes one degrade themselves.”

      “Philosophical insight, very attractive.”

      “Maybe the food will be appealing to you,” Peter says. “Get anything you want. I asked you out and chose the venue. I’ll pay.”

      “Fine, but next time I’m paying.”

      “When and where will be up to you as well.”

      “Sounds good to me. What on here tastes best? My dad and I never go to places like this.”

      “Italian restaurants?”

      “Places that charge forty bucks for half a steak.”

***

      The moment Peter peels off in his car Stiles texts Scott. Hey Scotty, can I come over?

      Sure, why? Scott replies

      I need to discuss this whole plan of yours. 

      Okay???? 

      I’ll be over in 10.

      He drives over quickly and parks his car out front on the street. Disembarking the Jeep unceremoniously is practically as routine as his habit of walking into the house unannounced. Before going to find Scott , Stiles walks into the kitchen and grabs two Mountain Dews from the fridge. 

      He finds Scott in his room and tosses him a can. 

      “Thanks," Scott says

      “No problem. You’re terrible at hydrating,” Stiles says.

      “Does Mountain Dew even count.” 

      “It does because I need to focus,” Stiles affirms. 

      “On?”

      “The many flaws in your plan.” 

      “What plan was that exactly?” Scott asks.

      “The fake royal engagement plan. It’s clearly going to be a lot more work than expected.”

      “That wasn’t really a plan Stiles.” 

      “Oh, but it was because we both know if you say something dumb; I have a fully mapped concept of how it works within fifteen minutes. We’ve been friends how long? Keep up.” Stiles says. “This plan is going to be seriously difficult to execute.”

      “Other than the fact that you can’t execute anything, what’s making it difficult?”

      “This guy. He’s like totally high maintenance. He’s super like controlling and shit.” 

      “In what ways?”

      “He basically redesigned the entire outfit to make my ass look big and my body look I don’t know, hunky? As if I could pull that off.” 

      “You could totally be a hunk. Remember junior year at UCSF. Girls were super weird in the gym around you all the time. You grew that beard,” Scott helps.

      “Yeah, but I wasn’t talking. We both know my aloof air dissipates the moment I start talking.” 

      “Does that really matter? Isn’t just showing up enough to like fulfill the terms of your agreement?” 

      “It should, but something tells me it won’t.”

      “Why not?” Scott asks.

      “He’s like very about how he’s perceived. He’ll probably dump me if I’m not desirable enough to others,” Stiles complains. 

      “That doesn’t answer why you need to be aloof to any degree more than visibly.” 

      “They’re werewolves Scott. They’ll all hear me.” 

      “Oh. Right. Yeah you may have some trouble with that one.”

      “I know.” Stiles says exasperated. He chugs half the can.

      “Probably not much we can do about that.” 

      “I know! What were you doing before I got here?” Stiles asks.

      “I was getting started on vet school stuff. Obviously, I could get by normally, but there’s the whole supernatural “vet” stuff here. It’s a lot to deal with. Deaton keeps sending me packets on wendigos and shit. I can’t write essays for him on human variant anatomy and keep up with my readings.” 

      “Which one of us do you think is going to have the worse migraines? Any bets?”

      “You for sure. If he’s a werewolf, you’ll never really be rid of him. You’re gonna be an emissary for like this whole region eventually. If he’s already this annoying now; imagine having him as an ex.” 

      “Scott!” Stiles groans. 

      “That bad, huh? That’s rough buddy.” 

      “Your ideas are awful,” Stiles whines. “He gave me a binder full of people in his family, information on them and how to bother them best. Who does that? What kind of arrangement did I get myself hoodwinked into?”

      “A nightmare that I’m glad isn’t mine. For your sake I hope you two never break up.” Scott laughs. 

      “Do NOT say that. We are not together. We are a pair of con artists looking to cheat our way out of relationships.” Stiles throws his hands over his face. 

      “Not all relationships have to be normal, or romantic.” 

      “Well, it’s not one; so it’s nothing.”

***

      Stiles wakes in his bed early Monday morning. He can’t believe he’s heeding the urgent call of an angry alarm. He should’ve gone to bed earlier last night. He didn’t. He never does. It’s always playing video games until two a.m. disregarding his wellbeing. 

      When he gets downstairs his dad is in the kitchen eating a ham and cheese omelet. “I got a call from the people at the matchmaker’s office. They told me you came in last week,” Noah says.

      “Huh? Oh yeah, I did, well, a week and a half ago now anyway.”

      “How’s it working out? I was beginning to think I’d have to start making arrangements myself.” 

      “It’s good. I met someone. He’s pretty interesting I guess.”

      “A guy this time? Alright son, well I’m glad to see you’re taking an interest. It’s pretty important to your mom you find the right person,” Noah says. “I hope it’ll work out.”

      “A bit too soon to know, but I hope so. I have to go meet up with him soon though.”

      “You’re getting up early for a guy? He must be pretty special.”

      “He’s something else that’s for sure.” 

      “Okay, well get going. Knowing you, you’re already late.”

      “I only hit snooze twice. I have time.” 

      “Then get in your car before you don’t. Being on time shows people you care.”

      “That’s not really a fair standard to set, but okay. I know what you mean,” Stiles says. “Will you be home much longer?” 

      “I have a meeting pretty soon here, so I’ll have to get going. Will you be home for dinner?” Noah asks.

      “Uh yeah, I work at ten today. I should be home by six.” 

      “Alright I’ll bring home your usual from that Mexican place on sixth.” 

      “The one with the bakery that sells conchas? Can you bring some home for this week too?”

      “Sure, to celebrate. Congratulations on getting accepted into the supernatural division.”

      “Awesome! Thanks!” Stiles gives his dad a quick kiss on the cheek. Then he grabs some pop tarts from the cupboard, fills a mug with coffee, and heads out to his Jeep. 

      Stiles arrives early. When he parks, Peter’s car isn’t in the lot. He goes to the door and gives it a tug. It opens and Stiles walks inside. He peeks around and surveys for wherever Corey is hiding. After a minute of wandering around Stiles goes to the desk near the back and rings the bell. Corey comes out of the back a few moments later. “Oh, hey Stiles! how’re you?”

      “I’m good, tired, but good. How about you?”

      “Pretty good. They forgot to tell me that there’d be new stock today. The shipment is a lot to handle alone. But it’ll be fine. My dad will be in eventually.”

      “Ok, well… Should I try on my suit?”

      “Sure! Yeah! I have it in the back. I’ll be right back with it.” Corey comes back out a few moments later with a dry cleaner bag. “Here you go. You can try it on over there.” He says and points back to the changing rooms and tailoring area.

      “Okay. I’ll be right back out.”

      “Sounds good. I’ll go get Peter’s stuff.”

      Stiles slips out of his clothes and pulls on the grey pants first. They’re snug. Peter wanted them that way. They just fit over his ass and he checks the button. They button together fine. He realizes the tailor, Erin, must have not adjusted the waist band at all. Stiles is suddenly incredibly grateful to her. He unbuttons them again and puts on the mint green shirt, stuffs it in his pants, rebuttons the pants. He puts on the mint green in-front and grey in-back vest and walks back out of the changing room half dressed. “Hey Corey, I forgot the belt and the tie wasn’t in there either.”

      “Hello Stiles,” Peter says. “Could I be of assistance?”

      “Peter! Oh-uh hey! Yeah could you hand me that belt?” Stiles says and frantically finishes buttoning his shirt.

      “Sure.” Peter grabs the mint green belt and hands it to him. “You look surprisingly good under that button down. However, you were definitely supposed to wear an undershirt with it.”

      “Yeah, I forgot. I got dressed in a bit of a rush.”

      “Forget your clothes a lot?” Peter asks and steps forwards.

      “Not, not really,” Stiles laughs.

      “Hey Stiles! I found your ties!” Corey yells. “Sorry they were in Peter’s-” He steps out through the doorway. “Oh! Hi Peter!”

      Peter turns to Corey with a smile. “Hello there, I see you found our stuff. How helpful of you.”

      “Yeah, its my job.” Corey smiles. “Here,” he says and hands Peter’s outfit to him. “Here you go Stiles. Sorry, I must’ve put the tie in the wrong bag before I gave it to Erin.”

      “No problem,” Stiles says and slings the diagonally striped, mint-on-grey tie around his neck.

      “Have you ever tried the Eldredge knot Stiles?” Peter asks.

      “Uh, no. Can’t say that I have.”

      “Let me show you how to do it.” Peter says and steps in closer. “You see. I’m a bit of a tie aficionado, I know dozens of knots. They’re mostly decorative, but I think this one in specific would look great on you.” Peter takes one end of the tie. “May I?”

      “Uh, sure. I don’t see why not.”

      “I’ll be in back tell me when you guys are done trying the clothes on.” Corey says and shuts the door behind him.

      “Will do,” Peter says without breaking eye contact with Stiles. He ties the knot without looking and then pushes Stiles around to look at the knot in the mirror. There you go. See? It’s perfect for your neckline.”

      “I can see that. Now you can back up and get your grubby paws off me. Thanks.”

      “Very well, I need to change anyway.” Peter takes his suit in both hands and goes into the changing room. When Peter comes back out, he’s dressed, and the tie is in the same knot he put on Stiles. “How do I look?”

      “The jacket looks good on you. It’s nice with your eyes. Take it off. Let’s see your outfit without it.”

      Peter pulls off the jacket and rests it over his left forearm. It exposes the spotless white shirt and grey vest beneath. “What’s the verdict?”

      “I hate to say it, but you look perfect. I didn’t even know clothes could fit like that.”

      “Thank you, Stiles. That’s perhaps the first kindness you’ve paid me.”

      “Don’t get used to it.”

      “I won’t. Scouts honor.” Peter turns and looks at himself. “Hey Corey! Can you come out here? I think we’re satisfied with the job, but we need to be sure.”

      “I’ll be right out!”

      “We really don’t need his opinion. I can tell you know, very well, how you look. I also know that you think I look good too.”

      “What gives you that impression.”

      “You stepped forward when you tied the tie. And you never broke eye contact with me. It was that intense kind of stare when you’re trying really, really hard to stay trained on someone’s eyes. I’ve done it when I’m trying to be respectful to women. I know what it looks like.”

      “Sounds like an awful lot of restraint for a narcissist.”

      “Narcissism is a personality trait in addition to being a personality disorder. Perhaps you just rate highly but aren’t diagnosable.”

      “It’s not much of an improvement on your perception of me, but I’ll take it,” Peter says. He then steps over to Stiles and wraps his arm around his shoulder just before Corey opens the door. “How do we look?” He asks.

      “You look hot. Together, you look hot together. The fit is fantastic. Should I ring you guys up?”

      “Yes! Please. I need to change. Peter, think you can handle not hitting on the guy handling our transaction while I do that?”

      “No promises he won’t hit on me.”

      “I’ll live with the jealousy as one carries all things, with immense poise and dignity.”

      “Is that from something?”

      “It sounds like something from the princess diaries,” Corey jokes.

      “And if it was?”

      “You’d be a huge corn ball,” Corey says.

      “There are worse things.” Stiles shrugs and walks into the dressing room to change back.

      “Hate to see you go,” Peter says.

      Stiles changes and when he comes back out with everything put away Peter switches with him. “I’ve got the check. You wouldn’t even be attending if it weren’t for me.”

      “You really need to stop that.”

      “Come up with something for this weekend. I’ll make you pay then. I’ve already paid so don’t even try.”

      “Okay well change so we can get out of here then. I’d leave, but I don’t want to leave Corey vulnerable to you baiting him into an uncomfortable position.”

      “I’m fine. Promise,” Corey says, a little too eager.

      “I’ll be right out.”

***

~Thursday~

      Stiles finishes setting the table and pulls a quiche out of the oven. “Okay dad, come on in. Pause the T.V. dinner. is. served.”

      “Alright, I’ll be right over.” The sound from the living room cuts out and Stiles sees his dad get off the couch. “Smells good.”

      “What no complaining?”

      “I’ve come to accept I’ll never have a fully enjoyable meal with you son. I’ll miss the days you were in college until you move out again.”

      “Dad!”

      “Son, you’re a good kid, and you’re an acceptable cook even, but a man deserves a cheeseburger every now and again.”

      “You went out for cheeseburgers for lunch. Judy told me.”

      “You have spies in my office?”

      “Always have, always will. Now sit and eat.” Stiles puts a section of the quiche on Noah’s plate and then another on his own.

      Noah takes a bite and groans. “It’s hot,” he says around a mouthful he’s trying to breathe cooler. “It tastes good though.”

      “Thanks.”

      “So how has your first week been?”

      “It’s been alright so far. The guys are okay. It’s a bit weird though. They all knew me already, if not personally then by reputation. I think they’ll keep treating me like a kid for the next decade.”

      “Don’t worry it’ll pass.”

      “Sure, hope so. I don’t want to have to start pranking them back,” Stiles says.

      “No unfair fighting Stiles. Most of them are just average humans.”

      “Other people’s ineptitude isn’t my responsibility.”

      “Stiles.” 

      “Relax, I’m not gonna do anything crazy,” Stiles says and makes jazz hands near his face.

      “Good. How’re things going with that guy?”

      “Good, good. Actually! I could use your help with that. I don’t know what to do for our next date. I’ve been trying to come up with something all week, but I’ve been having trouble deciding.”

      “Well, what does he like? Tell me about him.”

      “His name is Peter Hale.”

      “Talia’s brother? He’s a bit old for you, but he’s a good enough guy. Nice family.”

      “I mean he is a bit, but the match people thought it’d work so maybe it’ll work out and won’t matter. You think so?”

      “Yeah, your mother and Talia were good friends for many years. She and Alan worked well with your mother. They were very fair from what she told me. She keeps the whole area together now. What’s he do?”

      “Peter? He’s an architect, he specializes in ‘living buildings,’ whatever that means. He says they’re in demand from in the San Francisco area. He’s only in town on the weekends.”

      “So, take him somewhere like that maybe. What about that diner-café across from the gardens? Don’t they have those, this diamond things with vines on them?”

      “You think he’ll be impressed with vined trellises?”

      “No, but it’ll show you listened to what he talks about. At the least it’s a nice building and you can take a walk after.” 

      “Okay, I’ll consider it.” 

      “Alright well, I’m glad I could help,” Noah says. He takes another bite and then swallows. “I never did get many opportunities to be needed by you growing up.”

      “I always needed you. You taught me everything I know about detective work,” Stiles rebuts, mouth full. 

      “I know that, but you were a private kid, you and Scott were like this super unit. No one else ever had a clue what you two were thinking about.” 

      “Oh, they did, they just all pretended they didn’t. You let me off on a lot of bullshit dad,” Stiles assures him. 

      “And look at you now. Your mom would be so proud.” 

      “Thanks Dad.” Stiles tucks his head down trying not to blush with pride too much.

***

      Stiles finds himself waiting impatiently the next day at Café Verde the next evening. It’s a bit nippy out, so he’s waiting inside. He can’t stop shaking his leg, he’s been fidgeting for the last half hour. He checks his phone again, 6:55. Just a few more minutes until Peter’s set to arrive. His phone is devoid of notifications. They confirmed this morning and it’s been radio silence ever since. When the door opens, he looks up. “Hey- oh, sorry,” Stiles says. “Your just some, cute girl in running clothes that now I’m totally bothering,” he mumbles and looks back down.

      “I hope you’re not reconsidering your options,” Peter says.

      Stiles looks back up to a foot in the door. It pushes open revealing Peter in a pair of forest green sweats, a navy deep-v, and a grey knit cardigan. “Of-of course not. I already had my suit sized. And two weeks isn’t a lot of time left for you to find another date, it’d be crappy to back out now.” 

      “I appreciate your commitment.”

      “I try to maintain the value of my word.”

      “An important thing to do, if you don’t who could trust you?”

      “No one, I guess.” Stiles slaps his palms on his thighs. “Should we order?”

      “Sounds great, I haven’t had anything since lunch. Any suggestions?”

      “Depends on if you like breakfast food or not. They have all kinds of stuff, but I’m getting their huevos rancheros, churros and some mole.” 

      “You’re pre-planning dessert?”

      “If I’m not going to have fun why show up?” 

      “Is it a Mexican place?”

      “Half and half. It’s both a Mexican and American food place. Something about the owners being married and wanting traditional dishes to one of their upbringings and the other having always wanted a diner. It’s pretty good either way. I hear the bakery has nearly five stars on yelp.” 

      “Okay well give me a few minutes to decide and we then we can talk.” 

      “Sounds good, should we eat inside or outside?” Stiles asks.

      “Outside if we could. I’ve been in the car for way too long, I could use the extra space.” 

      “You don’t like driving?” 

      “It’s fine but leaves me feeling a bit cagey you know. Small box.” 

      “It must be your car, it's pretty small.” 

      “Yeah, but it’s so very perfect otherwise.” Peter steps into the line. 

      When it comes their turn, Stiles goes up to the register. “Hey, could I have the huevos rancheros, churros and mole and a horchata to drink?” 

      “Sure,” the cashier says. “Will that be inside or outside?” 

      “Outside please,” Stiles says. “And for him...”

      “Hello, I’d like the chicken and waffles with a side of mole and barbecue sauce. And if I could get a lemonade that’d be great.” 

      “Anything else?” He asks. 

      “No, you?” Stiles turns his head to Peter.

      “That’ll be all,” Peter parrots.

      “Sounds good. That’ll be 42.03,” The cashier replies.

      “Alright,” Stile says and hands his card over.

      After they finish ordering they go and sit outside. They choose a table that’s still embraced by the fading evening light. Stiles sits with his back to the sun. “So, any more study material for me today?”

      “I decided to skip it. Too much work to draw up something you’ll callously reject.”

      “I didn’t reject it the last time.”

      “You spurned it at the least.”

      “That’s just my natural pessimism,” Stiles says. “I do enjoy research. I just wasn’t expecting mini dossiers on your full family. Who even writes ‘my favorite nephew is prone to fits of indelible silence and brooding?’”

      “When you meet him, you’ll understand just how accurate it is,” Peter says and stretches out in his chair.

      “That doesn’t make it any less obtuse and harsh.”

      “I could’ve been harsher, I assure you.”

      “And you called Cora ‘the angriest young woman on the western seaboard’ and that you were proud of her for it.”

      “It’s one of her best qualities. She always knows exactly how to dissect a situation. And she’s decisive. Her blows may as well be fatal regardless of the form they take. I respect her for it.”

      “I can’t help but think this is the most dangerous wedding that’s ever been held.”

      “I’m told my father's had an actually attempt for a succession power play. I doubt this one will be that dramatic.”

      “Your family had a real-life version of The Red Wedding?”

      “A what?” Peter asks.

      “Do you seriously not know George R.R. Martin’s ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ or ‘Game of Thrones?’” Stiles asks incredulous.

      “I’m more of a fan of eccentric fantasy and sci-fi. Historical fiction isn’t for me. Too much sexual assault. And, as a werewolf, I’m hardly lacking for violent entertainment.”

      “What?”

      “We hunt every full moon. It’s another old-world tradition, but at least this one is fun.”

      “My dad and I have something like that. We catch bad guys.”

      “That’s a tradition?”

      “No, but it’s a rush. And it helps us bond together, you know, as family.”

      “Far be it for me to question family bonding.”

      Stiles nods and goes silent until the food gets brought out. “Ugh, I’m starving.”

      “Then let’s dig in.”

***

      When they finish Stiles suggests a walk.

      “You sure?” Peter asks.

      “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

      “It’s getting dark,” Peter notes.

      “Well, if any dangers are lurking out in the dimly lit community gardens, you’ll protect me; not that I need your protection,” Stiles says. Stiles looks both ways and steps out into the street. He dashes across the street. When he turns Peter’s next to him, still and calm.

       “Into the bushes we go,” Peter says and walks towards the topiaries.

       Stiles follows him. The trees are already lit for Christmas even though it’s only mid-September. They light the way down each of the paths and bathe the entire area in a warm yellow glow.

      “So, the café was nice.”

      “Yeah, the food was pretty good.”

      “Was it your idea?”

      “My dad thought of it,” Stiles says. “He thought because of the trellises you might like it as a venue.”

      “He has good taste,” Peter says and turns around another corner. “Glad to see my end of the deal is working out. Should I stop by to pick you up after a shift some time?”

      “That’d be great. He’s probably going to check with Talia that we’re going on dates anyway though. He’s almost as bad as I am about keeping his nose where it belongs.”

      “Then maybe I’ll send you home with something tonight; you know, for effect.”

      “Like what?” Stiles says and navigates into the central clearing. Inactive roses bushes form the walls of the area. The enclosure has a small fountain. A bed of chrysanthemums lining the outside of the fountain. And a set of park benches line the rose bush walls between each gap.

      “A flower perhaps, like one of these. What’s your favorite color?” Peter asks. He gestures widely at the full rainbow of flowers.

      “Uh, give me… an orange one,” Stiles decides.

      “You don’t sound too sure,” Peter says. “Why orange?”

      “Because I’d never pick it for myself.”

      “Red it is.”

      “What? You just asked me.”

      “Yeah, and you said you wouldn’t want an orange one. Stiles, red is the color of passion, of love. What stronger message can a person send than a red flower?”

      “You sound like Wolf from ‘The Tenth Kingdom.’”

      “I always thought he was rather dashing. How do you even know that series?”

      “My mom went to Block Buster one Sunday night when I was in first grade. She let me stay up with her to watch it. We were up until three watching it. Well, I was. She fell asleep halfway through the third episode. I had to wake her up when it was over to get her to go to bed.”

      “At least she was spared the singing ring.”

      “I didn’t mind it.”

      “Its voice is the worst part of the series,” Peter says.

      “It’s a common opinion, but I don’t think it was that bad. I thought it was funny when I was a kid. I didn’t mind Jar Jar either. I don’t like him much now, but I think hate for him is an overreaction.”

      “I give him a pass because he was clearly intended to be a Sith lord.”

      “You know Darth Jar Jar?”

      “I do regular deep dives on the internet. I did a lot of the research and reformatting of my family’s bestiary and other records. Computer illiteracy is beneath me.”

      “What isn’t beneath you?”

      “You, currently.” Peter hands Stiles a couple of red flowers.

      “Smoooooth,” Stiles says and takes the flowers. “We should keep walking.”

      “You promise not to lose them?” Peter asks. He quirks and eyebrow and turns his head.

      “No promises,” Stiles says and maneuvers towards another green passage.

      “Other than the fact that you’re a super druid and you’re still a sci-fi/fantasy super nerd, what else should I know about you? You haven’t given me a lot to know.”

      “There isn’t much to tell, I guess. I can’t sit still for most things unless I take my meds. I have ADHD. I work solving cases, though I’ve been doing that since I was a teenager. I love the Mets. My best friend’s name is Scott. He is training to be a supernatural vet under Deaton. He isn’t particularly good at it though. I think the fact that he got bit by that rogue alpha back in high school messed him up. He’s afraid of himself. It cured his asthma though so he should be better off than he realizes. Once he gets that sorted, I think he’ll get a lot better. I’ve basically been training since I was a toddler, so I guess it’s easier for me.”

      “Then why don’t you think you’re ready?” Peter points down another turn and heads that way.

      “I just, don’t feel like I’m an adult yet. I don’t know if I can handle all that responsibility.”

      “The only way to know is try and find out.”

      “Yeah, but I don’t want others to suffer if I make the wrong decisions.”

      “But you wouldn’t be alone right? Talia, Alan, Morrell, and the rest of the community leaders would discuss everything with you. No decision is made by any one emissary.”

      “No, but I would have to break the ties and adjust any of the sentences. My mom always told me that preventing violent outbreaks was her first priority. Wendigos, ghouls, banshees, hell hounds and everyone else were on unstable footing for a long time. Werewolves were the dominant force in the area, and they butted heads all the time. I don’t want to fuck up and hurt what we have here.”

      “If you care that much, you probably won’t,” Peter says.

      “Thanks,” Stiles says. They both go quiet after that. They walk for a while before circling back and finding the entrance they came through.

      “Have a good night,” Stiles says before getting in the car.

      “You too, Stiles,” Peter says and heads for his own. “I’ll see you soon.”

***

      By the time the clock strikes five on Friday everyone is pushing Stiles to get out of the precinct. He hasn’t been able to focus the entire day. He’s been main lining coffee since eight and every case he works on just makes his mystery board look more hectic. Each picture is now connected to another by various methods and the number of tacks in the cork board is innumerable. When they gather by the time clock, he doesn’t realize how early it is until someone stops him from swiping his badge.

      “So kid, what’s eating at cha?” Jordan Parrish asks.

      “Hm?” Stiles says. “Oh, it’s nothing. It’s just this guy, he’s stopping by to pick me up and we’re supposed to go out. He hasn’t told me what yet. I told him not to.”

      “You’re out of sorts over a guy?” Jordan claps a hand on his back. “What’s his deal?”

      “It’s nothing. My dad just wants me to date, so I’m trying to make it last. I don’t want to be sold off to someone I’d hate as the alternative.”

      “Oh, come on, your dad wouldn’t do that to you. He’s a hard man, but he loves you more than anything,” Officer Tara Graeme says. “I would know he never shut up about you when you were growing up, nor when you were in college neither.”

      “Well, I’m trying to make it work my way.”

      “Is that him?” Tara asks. She points out the door’s window to a man standing back to them in the lobby. He’s in a leather jacket, his hair is cropped short and messy. He turns around and waves.

      “Uh, yeah,” Stiles says and looks at the clock.

      “Well good for you kid. He’s hot.”

      “Tara!” Jordan says.

      “Well, he is.”

      “He can hear you guys.” Stiles glances back to the clock and sees it turn. He swipes and races out the door. “Let’s go.”

      “They seem to like me,” Peter says cheerily. 

      “Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

      Peter leans in and whispers. “I'm going to kiss you for effect.”

      “You really don’t need to.”

      “You need them to buy it right?”

      “Okay fine, but only because I want them to be able to confirm we’re dating for my dad.” 

      “You’re swayed by logic, good to know,” Peter says. When they get to the doorway Peter stops, turns to Stiles, and grabs the back of his neck. He pulls Stiles in for a kiss. Peter holds Stiles to his chest and sucks softly at his lower lip. He angles his head down and nips at it. Stiles moans softly and then again forgetting his surroundings. A few moments later, Stiles realizes that people are staring. He slaps Peter’s chest lightly and separates the two of them. His face is red, and he can barely breathe. Stiles keeps starting to try to yell something anything, but it all comes out garbled and cut off during the first syllable. Eventually, Peter leads him out the door, out to and into his car, and drives off.

      “What was that?”

      “I told you I was going to kiss you.”

      “Not like that!” Stiles objects. “That was our first kiss! I was at work! Oh my god.”

      “Why are you upset? You seemed to enjoy it,” Peter comments. He won’t look at Stiles and won’t stop smiling. 

      “Oh, come on. My dad is going to ream me out for that.”

      “At least he’ll have something to ream you out for. Plus, if he has to he can’t doubt your claims at all. Sounds to me I may have permanently silenced the issue.”

      “You’re a demon. I’m in cahoots with a demon.” 

      “You’re canoodling with a demon,” Peter corrects.

      “We are not canoodling.” 

      “Well, whatever we were doing you enjoyed it,” Peter says. 

      “I did not,” Stiles says adamantly.

      “You’re lying. I can hear and smell it.” 

      “Well, turn your ears and nose off. Werewolf powers are cancelled for today,” Stiles rambles. 

      “Where we’re going, I won’t need them,” Peter says. 

      “And where’s that?”

      “You’ll know when we get there,” Peter assures him. 

*** 

      When they get there is two hours of driving later. 

      “Your scheme was to get me to San Francisco?” 

      “The first part was getting to San Francisco. The second part will become clear shortly.” 

      “Where are we going?”

      “Did you know that the Giants are playing tonight?”

      “No, I’m a Mets fan, why would I care about the Giants?” Stiles says.

      “I’m aware.” Peter arrives at one of the Oracle Park’s parking lots. 

      Stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket and types in. Giants game tonight. 

      When it loads, he scans for the match up. 

      Giants Vs. Mets lights up his screen. 

      “What?!” He yells. “You’re ninja taking me to a Mets game?” 

      “Open the center console.” 

      Stiles pulls open the center console between them and finds an envelope. He peeks inside and finds the two tickets. “No way!” 

      “You can kiss me now.” 

      Stiles does a victory yell and gets out of the car. He starts walking directly for the stadium. 

      “Hold on. I have to pay the meter,” Peter says. He grabs Stiles by the arm and takes him back to the machine before swiping his card and dragging Stiles back to the car to leave the ticket inside. “Alright, let’s go.”

      On their approach Stiles is floored from the excitement of seeing the Mets icon flashing on the big screen. 

      The moment he gets inside he searches out a merch vendor for a jersey. He asks for a Reyes #7 Jersey. 

      “Who is that?”

      “He’s a short stop. He’s the hottest member of the team though. Gilmartin and Rosario are close, but you know. We have to carry our gladiators’ names to the heavens.”

      “They're athletes not warriors.”

      “Sports are just a sublimation of human craving for violent competition. There are entire studies on the effects of being in a crowd and viewing sports on human adrenal response systems.”

      “You are quite the font of knowledge.”

      “I can’t help it. I spend too much time falling into Wikipedia and scientific journal click holes.” 

      “Remind me not to take you to a science museum.” 

      “Will do. Let’s get hotdogs!”

      “Let’s find a place that also sells burgers.” Peter says. He then pulls out a Buster Posey Jersey.  

      “Burgers? This is a baseball game. We have to get hot dogs!” 

      “You have to get hot dogs; I’m getting a medium rare hamburger.” 

      “Fine, if you want to commit a cardinal sin; that’s your choice. Let’s go,” Stiles says. He then turns and sees Peter putting on the Giants jersey. “I cannot believe you brought me to a game just to root for the other team. You’re a devious beast of a man, a treacherous viper. And one who doesn’t observe time honored traditions at that.” 

      “Well, this beast has to eat. Have some bread and you’ll calm down maybe.” Peter walks in search of the nearest vendor to their seats. 

      When they get to their seat the first inning has begun. They sit down just in time to watch the Giants take the field. They had struck out quickly with 0 points for the top of the inning. Stiles starts scarfing down the frank and chugging a big gulp worth of blue Icee. 

      The Mets fare better. They get a near immediate two singles with a man at second. Stiles screams when Michael Conforto strikes out and immediately after so does Ty Kelly. This returns the Giants back to the dugout up for bat. 

      “Not bad,” Peter says. “It’s always nice when your team takes an early lead, no?” 

      “Yeah, but they could’ve done better. Their first game of their first match of the season they practically shut out the Giants,” Stiles gripes.

      Peter swallows another bite of his burger and licks his fingers. “Have faith.” 

      “I’m a Druid, I run on belief.” 

      “Then will them to win,” Peter says. 

      The second inning goes the same as the first with another two points to the Mets and none to the Giants. 

      Peter watches with amusement during the next four innings when the Giants hit three singles to the Mets zero. Stiles is flustered and thundering in the stands when they finally break the Giants hot streak with another point at the bottom of the seventh. 

      “Did you see that? We have you on the ropes now!” 

      “Yes, I did,” Peter says. Katy Perry’s, I Kissed a Girl comes on over the speakers. He stares at Stiles who’s beaming and nearly manic next to him. “Do you think your dad is watching the game?” 

      “Uh I dunno, probably. We never miss a game.” 

      “Good,” Peter says. “Look at the Jumbotron.” 

      Stiles looks up to see them in the heart of the Jumbotron. “Peter? What’s going on?” 

      “Kiss me,” Peter whispers suddenly much closer to Stiles. 

      Stiles gulps. His face goes red and he remembers the kiss from earlier in the evening. He closes his eyes and leans in. When their lips meet his stomach fills with butterflies. Peter wraps his arms over Stiles shoulders. When they break the song has ended and the camera has long since passed to another unsuspecting couple. 

      Stiles doesn’t recover until the Mets score another single in the sixth inning. He tenses back up considerably during the eighth when the giants score another two points, and the Mets strike out three in a row. He nearly cries tears of joy when the Giants fail to score again in the top of the ninth and the Mets are declared the winners. 

      The excitement leaves him chattering indistinctly on their walk to the car and throughout the drive home. 

      When they arrive back at his doorstep Stiles gets out of the car and Peter gets out after him to walk him to the door. “I hope you had a good time.” 

      “It was great! The Mets won, thank you for taking me. I can’t believe you did that. I can’t believe we ended up on the kiss cam. How mortifying.” 

      “Yes, it was quite the surprise.” Peter says with a smile. “Have a good night and sleep well,” he finishes and gives Stiles a peck on the cheek. 

      Stiles stands still for a moment before responding. “Yeah, you too. How’d you get the tickets by the way?”

      “Oh, I designed a house for someone in the broadcasting booth. He hooked me up with them when I told him I needed some.” 

      “Alright, sounds good,” Stiles says. “I’ll see you next week. And then it’s just a bit more till the wedding right.” 

      “Yeah, Sunday the 18th. The day of the full moon. Don’t worry, the reception will be over before moon rise.”

      “Okay, see you soon.”

      “Good night, Stiles,” Peter says and gets back in the car. 

***

      Stiles gets to bed late and passes out as soon as he’s done showering. When he wakes up he has a barrage of texts from Scott. 

      Scott: Hey are you up?                                                                                       : 10:05

      Text me when you get up.                                                                                 : 10:23

      Stiles wake up!                                                                                                  : 10:30

      Come on, we have plans for today.                                                                    : 10:40

      You said you were going to teach me more about the herbs and stuff.               : 10:40

      If you’re not up by 11; I am coming over and bothering the hell out of

      you and I’m not bringing snacks.                                                                       : 10:45 

      Stiles looks at the clock at the top of the screen it says 10:58. He taps out a response and sends it: 

      Bring snacks. 

      When Scott arrives fifteen minutes later, he’s carrying a bag of muffins and donuts. His other arm has a stuffed notebook and a paperback tome on herbal medicine. 

      “Hey buddy, how’re you this morning. Sorry, I got to sleep a bit late last night.” Stiles says.

      “I’ll bet. I saw the video of you making out with that guy on the kiss cam. When’d he get you home? Bet he bent you over a tree before bringing you back,” Scott jokes.

      “It was performative! We had to kiss for the camera. My dad was probably watching, if I said no he’d know that it was all a scheme,” Stiles says. His voice goes high pitched and his hands shake.

      “I don’t know man.” Scott starts with a hiss. “I’ve only ever kissed a couple of people like that. And we both know how things went with Allison and Isaac.”

      Stiles goes over to the couch and snatches the bag on the way over. He collapses into it and pulls a pistachio muffin from the bag. “You know. I don’t have to put up with this. The only thing keeping me in this conversation are these baked goods.” 

      “Seriously what happened? Like after the camera cut away. What happened?”

      “Nothing. Nothing happened. He drove me home and walked me to the door. Then he bid me goodnight,” Stiles says. 

      Noah descends from the stairs. “You’re lying Stiles. He kissed you at the front door.” 

      “What I’m not lying. And even if he did, it wasn’t on the lips. It doesn’t count.” 

      “Son, You have yourself a suitor,” Noah says. He claps his hands on Stiles’s shoulders from behind the couch. “And a pretty good one it seems. That was quite the date. And he’s a gentleman.” 

      “A gentleman? He surprised me with it. He trapped me in a car for two hours without prep time.” 

      “So what? You love the Mets. You have a whole host of their shit in your room. You never wash it because of luck. It reeks seriously,” Scott says. 

      “I have to go with Scott on this one. He basically gave you the perfect surprise given your obsession. And please wash your clothes. You’re not thirteen anymore. It’s gross,” Noah clamps his fingers down on the nape of Stiles’s neck.

      “Ow, ow, alright, alright. I’ll wash them today. I have a new lucky one anyway,” Stiles says. 

      “Is that right?” Noah says and looks at Scott.

      “So, you did get lucky,” Scott says. 

      “Ew, no. How can you ask that in front of my dad?” Stiles fumes.

      “So long as you guys do whatever you’re doing in private; it’s fine. And keep it appropriate at work while you’re at it. I don’t need Tara talking my ear off about ‘mysterious’ guys in ‘black leather’ kissing you at work. If I have to give my son a formal reprimand over sexual misconduct within his first month on the job I’m going to have an aneurysm,” Noah says and lets go. “Am I clear?” 

      “Okay. Okay. Can you go away now so I don’t have to be completely mortified by this conversation any longer?” 

      “Scott you promise to embarrass him while I’m gone?” 

      “Absolutely chief.” 

      “Then my work here is done. I’m going to go meet up with Melissa for brunch. You two stay out of trouble.” 

      “Will do Mr. Stilinski.”

      “See you later boys.” 

      “Bye,” Stiles says and flicks his fingers from his eyebrow in a mock salute.

      Noah opens the door and shuts it behind him. 

      “Your dad just said it counts.” Scott says and then pushes Stiles over to sit next to him. 

      “It doesn’t count!” Stiles shouts.

      Scott slaps his books on the table. “You ready to help me study?”

      “No. But get started anyway. I’ll boot up eventually,” Stiles says and bites into the muffin. 

***

Wednesday 

      Stiles rushes to eat on his break. He has to call the Stockton 99 speedway. And if he wants to get tickets for this weekend before they sell out, he'll have to call now. He texted Peter all weekend even when he was mentoring Scott and it continued through the work week. 

      Peter has been surprisingly helpful on the profiling of attack patterns of creatures which has helped him to catch up to speed during his training. He’s mostly been shadowing Jordan throughout most of his work days and reading up on cases and how they were solved. Peter has dutifully explained what he knows more than once. When he called to chat last night Stiles was surprised, but it led him to talking about Peter himself for once. 

      Other than researching and architecture, Stiles found out that Peter is into racing and basketball. Stiles also found out that he’s a closet ballet and musical fan. Peter claimed that he 'just enjoyed the beauty of the live human voice' and long hours of technical training the two involved. Stiles almost didn't believe him until he remembered random Hello! Dolly! songs were mixed into the playlist on the way to the baseball game on Friday night. 

      So now, he’s waiting on the line calling a speedway he’d never even heard of, until the night before. He’s getting tickets for the race on Saturday because the one on Friday starts too early and he wants to surprise Peter. 

      Jordan comes into the room while Stiles is still on hold. “Hey what’re you up to?” He asks Stiles.

      Stiles turns and shushes Jordan. He points to his phone just in time for him to hear the sales operator greet him. Stiles goes into the private soundproofed room within the break room and shuts the door.

      “Hello, Stockton 99 speedway. My name is Hillary. how may I assist you today?” A young woman asks. 

      “Hello, I need two tickets to the event on Saturday.” 

      "Okay, that’ll be forty dollars. Would you like to purchase the additional hot or cold pit passes? Cold passes are an additional twenty dollars per person and hot passes are an additional forty.”

    “Sorry, I’m not familiar with these kinds of events. What may I ask are those?”

      “Not a problem sir. The Cold Pit Pass offers access to the pits before the event so that those who purchase it may interact with drivers and check out the cars. However, the Hot Pit Pass allows you access for the duration of the race. It really lets you get up close and personal with the action.”

       “Ummm I think I’ll take the cold pit passes.”

      “Alright sir, That’ll be…eighty-five dollars and eighty cents after tax. I’m ready for your card details whenever you’re ready.”

      Stiles gives out the numbers, his name, the date, and the security code.

      "Alright, we hope you have a wonderful time at the race this weekend. There will be food trucks and a food stand on location if you’d like any refreshments. They take cash only, however you are allowed to bring your own snacks. You may pick up your tickets at the ticket booth adjacent to the food stand at the entrance. Have a great afternoon,” Hillary says.

      “You too.” Stiles says and hangs up. He opens the door and walks back out to the break room. “Sorry about that Parrish. I just had to make a phone call. I just ordered tickets to a vintage car race on Saturday.”

      “Another date with that guy who took you to a Mets’ game?”

      “Yeah, I’m trying to make it work. I just thought of it a bit ago. I’ve been stressing about it for the last few days.”

      “Aren’t those events kind of loud?”

      “Yeah,” Stiles says.

      “Isn’t he a werewolf?’

      “I mean yeah, that too.”

      “Maybe you should bring some earmuffs or something.”

      “That’s a great idea. Where could I get some?”

      “You could always swipe some from the firing range. Or you could pick some up from the surplus store. Ear plugs could work too.”

      “You’re a genius. Thank you.” Stiles looks down at his phone. “Oh damn, I’ll have to figure it out after work. I was on hold longer than I thought. See you out there.”

***

~Friday Night~

      Peter is laying down in his room of the Hale House reading when Talia knocks on the door. “Come in,” He says.

      “Hey,” Talia says. She walks over to his bed and pushes him over to lay beside him. “How’re you?”

      “I’m fine.”

      “Good, you’ve been preoccupied lately. Cora even said she saw you smiling when you arrived. What’s going on?”

      “If you must know I took your instructions to heart. I went and found myself someone to accompany me to Laura’s wedding.”

      “So, the voice I’ve been hearing you chatter to over the phone is?”

      “My date, yes.”

      “Is there any chance I’ll get to meet him sometime soon?”

      “Not until the wedding,” Peter says.

      “And he knows what he’s walking into?”

      “He has all the necessary information,” Peter assures her. “Rest assured his presence at the wedding will be an additive.”

      “I’m sure it will be,” Talia laughs.

      “What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter asks.

      “You certainly choose interesting partners, when you want to that is.”

      “I’ll remind you they were all suggestions made by Bear and Leslie,” Peter says.

      “Leslie and you have been hoodwinking everyone for nearly two decades now. Saying Leslie chose your date is like saying you chose radioactive waste as your car engine lubricant. It'll get you there, but a toxic event will ensue.”

      “They’ll take offense to that,” Peter says.

      “Is this date with anyone I know?”

      “Possibly,” Peter evades.

      “Are they an ex?”

      “You know me far to well to even insinuate that I’d ever retread old ground,” Peter grumbles.

      “I seem to remember you returning to a Christmas one year after you graduated with someone, you’d called it off with over year prior. She nearly ruined the holiday.”

      “That was different. Anastasia and I never called it off. She simply was unavailable for most of our distant period.”

      “She went to Rome. Without you,” Talia says.

      “For her thesis project. And, in her absence I completed my masters. Now look at me. I’m a successful architect with his own firm and a thriving niche where I’m at the fore of my field.”

      “That wasn’t your first holiday mishap either.”

      "You are not bringing up the Disney World fiasco.” Peter complains.

      “You promised Derek you’d take him and then went with Christopher instead.” Talia chides.

      “I was twenty-one. I was in love for the first time.”

      “And yet, you had an impact that has ruined at least three Christmases as a result,” Talia laughs. “Every time he sees the pictures of you two in the scrap books, he mumbles about it for hours.”

      “I’ve apologized a dozen times! Your son doesn’t still get to be upset about that, he isn’t twelve any more. I was subject to undue hormonal influences. I am not the source of his broody tendencies and trust issues,” Peter says exasperated. “What more do I have to do?”

      “You could actually take him to Disney World,” Talia chuckles. “They say restitution is the fastest route to healing a relationship.”

      “Fine, I’ll take your oversized man child to Disney World.”

      “Tell him not me.”

      “Oh, he heard me. Believe me.”

      “I do. Every word you’ve ever spoken is the truth, even when you’re dishonest. You simply avoid telling a lie by not saying anything relevant.” 

      “That’s hardly fair.”

      “Brutal honesty is difficult. Figure it out yourself. I’m glad you’re going to uphold the tradition.” Talia sits up. “I love you.”

      “You too, patronizing demon.” 

      “Good night, nasty beast child.” 

      Peter slams a pillow over his face and then throws it at the door closing it. “You know you’re supposed to close it!” 

      “You’ll never be in charge, thus I don’t have to play by your rules. You want me to listen get your own home.”

      Peter turns on his t.v. and puts on his meditation music. “I have three.” 

***

      Peter wakes early. He goes for a run immediately. He doesn’t return to the house until eight-thirty. When he walks back in, he immediately showers and changes into a thin white v neck he covers with a black cardigan and a leather jacket. He picks out a dark blue scarf and matches it with a pair of excessively tight dark wash jeans. He doesn’t arrive at Stiles’s place until nine-thirty. 

      “I told you to be here by nine,” Stiles say when he opens the door. 

      “Sorry, I had a difficult morning. I needed to work off some energy,” Peter says. He follows Stiles to his Jeep and gets in after him. 

      “It’s fine, we just will have to cut some of the day down a bit.” Stiles turns the Jeep over, slams it in reverse, and begins the forty-five-minute drive to the speedway. 

      “Where are we going?”

      “It’s a surprise, but I’m fairly sure you’ll like it.”

      “What’s in the bag?” Peter questions when he notices the backpack in between them. 

      “Supplies, don’t open it. You’ll just make yourself more curious. I’ll never get you to stop asking about it if you do.”

      “Someone’s in a poor mood this morning,” Peter says. 

      “I just hate being late. I’m late all the time, people hate it, and I hate people hating it.” 

      “That’s reasonable. What would you prefer to discuss on the way there?”

      “Anything else.”

      “Anything else it is,” Peter agrees. “So, point of information, have you ever had sex with a werewolf before?”

***

      They arrive in Stockton a little after ten a.m.

      “What are we doing in Stockton?” Peter asks.

      “Ten more minutes and all will be revealed.”

      “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me now?” Peter follows up.

      “I’m quite certain.”

      “Fully certain?”

      “Yes, and if you’d like I can tell you and then kick you out of my car.”

      “You couldn’t,” Peter says. 

      “I have a pocket full of mountain ash dust and wolfsbane that says otherwise. It’ll make you meek as a kitten.”

      “No need to be violent Stiles. That temper could get you into some unsavory positions one day.” 

      “I’ve been successfully avoiding them for twenty-two years. I’ll survive a full house of them.”

      “Either way you slice it forty-four and sixty-six are both drastically below the average,” Peter remarks. 

      “You’re infuriating.” 

      “And yet you indulge me with these easy set ups.”

      “I’m a kind and merciful god.”

      “Then I pray for us both.”

      Stiles eventually turns down the last road before the speedway. “If you listen closely you can probably figure out what we’re doing here.”

      “Oh? Let’s see.” Peter closes his eyes and goes quiet. He listens for a moment. “It’s hard to hear over your Jeep.”

      “Don’t hate on Roscoe. He’s been through a lot.”

      “Indeed,” Peter says and goes quiet again. A minute passes and Peter opens his eyes. “We’re going to a race?”

      “Yep. Vintage cars.”

      “Lovely. Though I wish I’d been informed beforehand.”

      “Look in the bag.”

      Peter unzips the bag and finds a pair of earmuffs and a box of ear plugs. “Not stylish, but they’re a good bit of forethought. Thank you.”

      “No problem. I have the tickets waiting at check in and cash for food. I brought red vines. You said you liked those right?”

      “I did.” Peter smiles.

      “Great.”

      Not long after they’ve parked in the large dirt lot and headed in. They pick up the tickets and passes and head in. Peter’s not loud so much as he is bracing. He talks to each car owner longer than the last. Stiles mostly just follows him around and takes in the detail and effort that has been put into the restorations. The cars are vibrant chromatic colors and bright whites in various muscle car builds or old school speed racer shaped vehicles.

      Stiles has difficulty staying in tune with the conversations. There are lots of noises and even more people walking around. Everything washes through him and he gets uncomfortable. He finds a place to sit down and a few minutes later Peter comes and finds him.

      “Are you okay?” Peter asks.

      “Yeah, I just got a bit overwhelmed. A lot is going on.”

      “Should we head out of the pits?”

      “No, no, you go and have your fun.”

      “Okay,” Peter says. Then he sits next to Stiles.

      “What are you doing?”

      “Dates aren’t much fun if only one person is enjoying themselves. Maybe we should take an intermission. The race is about to start anyway. Let’s grab a snack and find a place in the stands.”

      “Thanks.”

      “I’d be a terrible fake boyfriend if I made you sit here alone while I went around and did whatever I wanted.” Peter stands again. “Come on,” he says and lends Stiles a hand with standing.

***

      When they make it back to the stands the announcer has come over the loudspeakers and has begun to hype up each of the cars and their drivers.

      “In number seven the red Pontiac GT from 1966 is local hero Madam Marie Marimott. She has won three of the last five vintage races.”

      “Following her up number eighteen in the purple ‘64 Chevelle is up and coming… Jackson Whittemore. He’s done pretty well the last few races, but will he be able to break away from the pack tonight and take home a first place?”

      “No way,” Stiles says.

      “What?”

      “I know that ass hat. This whole thing just got so much more interesting. I have someone to root against.”

      “Ah yes, the only thing that can get someone as interested in an event as love, hate.” Peter chuckles.

      “Maybe he’ll crash, mangle it all up, and have to give up racing altogether,” Stiles ruminates.

      “That’s quite the image indeed.”

      “You know her. You love her. She’s the vixen with a little bite extra. She’ll jump start your engine and blow your grandfather’s pacemaker. In the hot pink Dodge Super Bee, number forty-two Miss Kira Yu-ki-Moo-Rah,” the announcer exaggerates.

      “Kira?” Stiles yells just before the crowd erupts in cheers.

      Kira looks up from her car in Stiles’s direction smiles and waves. She dons her helmet and disappears into the cab of her car.

      “You know her as well?”

      “Yeah, she and Scott dated. It didn’t work out, but they remained surprisingly good friends for a while after. I didn’t realize she was into racing.”

      “I’ve seen her at car shows before. Men either fawn over her or give her rank reviews because they’re enraged about her car. She showed up on the scene a year or two ago.”

      “So, it’s pretty new then.”

      “Oh yes, but she’s taken down some of the heavier hitters. She’s got a real knack for the sport.”

      “Impressive,” Stiles comments. “Go Kira!”

      The cars start their engines and Peter puts on the earmuffs. The practices begin.

      The cars set off at the sound of the shot and they’re off. Stiles watches from Peter’s side as the cars rev up and take off. Soon enough they’re taking turns and gliding along the black top.  Kira starts from behind, but they watch as she jolts into third by weaving through several other cars in no time. Jackson is being gated by another racer. And Marie is already ahead of most of the competition.

      The practice ends faster than Stiles expected. The cars return to the start mechanic zone for a short while and then return to the track for another test run. This time Jackson doesn’t get blocked by the racer in the red Shelby Mustang known only as Firecracker and he pulls to the lead in the pack and vies for first. The pack loosens up a lot and while people are still trying to outpace each other the turns are all taken safely.

      Jackson loses to Marie by a narrow margin and the cars all return to the pits for a short tune up. The announcer’s loudspeaker shrieks to life and Peter cringes. Stiles pats him on the back and gives him a weak smile.

      “Well folks, I hope you’ve enjoyed our warmup for today, but it’s time to start the main event. The racers are returning to the tracks and will be starting their engines to decide today’s ultimate winner. Will it be one of the newcomers? Can they establish that they really are the heroes of the day, worthy of their seats in the race? Or will it be our long-time running champion? Will it be one of her many rivals? In just a few minutes here we will find out.”

      “I hope this wasn’t a terrible idea,” Stiles says.

      “It’ll be fine. The race will start soon. I don’t mind the noise that much.”

      “Okay good,” Stiles says.

      “Are you having a good time?”

      “Me?” Stiles asks. “Yeah, are you?”

      “Yeah, come to these kinds of events every so often. I attend car shows more. Quieter. You know,” Peter says loudly.

      “It’s exhilarating though. I didn’t expect watching cars go in a loop would be so intense.”

      “It gets the heart going. The prospect of a crash is enthralling, but it’s the speed and skill involved that suck you in. Everyone wants to feel the rush, they just don’t know it yet.”

      “I usually get my rushes elsewhere.”

      “From what?”

      “I play a lot of videogames, you know. Killing bad guys, casting spells.” Stiles makes finger guns, bites his lips, and flicks them at stuff.

      “Isn’t that something you’re just going to have to do for work?”

      “Well yeah, but if I fail there’s no consequences.”

      “You’re very preoccupied on success. I admire the ambition, but don’t you ever just do things because you want to do it?” Peter takes Stiles by the hand.

      “No, not really. I absolutely must have a goal to focus on. If I don’t I get nowhere,” Stiles rambles.

      “So, we’re here to serve your goal?”

      “Uh… yeah, I guess. It’s not that self-serving, we are after all exchanging notoriety. We’re partners.”

      “But no one will see us here. If we were to kiss right now the world would forget it in an instant.”

      “Oh! Great idea! We should do one of those couples kissing selfies,” Stiles exclaims.

      “A what?”

      “You know one of those pictures where people in a couple kiss and take a picture of it. Then they like show people how great they are together. It’s pretty braggy, but its also kind of sweet and romantic.”

      “I don’t hate the idea,” Peter supplies.

      Stiles pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Would you mind if I, just…” Stiles puts his hands on the earmuffs and when Peter nods he drops them to Peter’s neck. “Alright. Just think, Passionate as your mindset. okay?”

      “No problem.”

      Peter pulls Stiles in by the lower back. Stiles extends his left arm and points it down on them getting a view of them with the track in the background. He adjusts it so the picture is focused on them and then looks back at Peter. “Okay, I’m ready.”

      Peter leans in and kisses Stiles tilting him back a bit when he does. Stiles feels the nips at his bottom lip again and he clicks his phone a few times to get pictures. Peter raises his left arm to support Stiles’s neck and stroke Stiles cheek with his thumb. Stiles holds down the capture button and takes a massive burst of photos.

      The gun bursts. And Stiles jumps and drops his phone. “Shit,” he says.

      He pulls out of Peter’s grasp and bends over to pick it up. Luckily, it didn’t fall in between the seating rafters to the ground below. By some miracle, when he examines it, he doesn’t find any cracks in the screen.

      “Sorry about that. I lost concentration.” 

      “It was rather loud,” Peter dismisses. “Should we have a do over?”

      “A do over? A do over... yeah we could do that. I mean if you want. I wouldn’t want to distract from the race though.” 

      “I wouldn’t mind. They’ll keep the coverage coming. Only the last few laps matter. You never know when a contender will surprise you,” Peter says, voice low. “A Live Photo may be better this time though. I heard a lot of shuttering sounds.” 

      “Another good idea. What a surprise,” Stiles says and raises his arms above his head. 

      “Okay, how should we do this?” 

      Peter steps in and grabs his left hand and extends it with him. “I’d like to get a good angle,” he says. He glances to and from Stiles and the phone until he’s satisfied with it. When he’s done, he looks Stiles in the eyes with a quiet smile and waits. 

      Stiles doesn’t move. Another moment and Peter leans in and whispers in his ear, “Your turn.” 

      Stiles huffs out a breath and closes his eyes. Stiles pushes his right hand through the short hair on the back of Peter’s head and grasps him there. He leans in and kisses Peter. He pushes Peter’s chest into his own using his elbow on Peter’s shoulder and knocks his head back lightly. He pushes the button on the phone. Then he slips his tongue into Peter’s mouth and tangles them together. He breathes out into Peter’s mouth. Peter grabs Stiles’s hips and reels him in. He locks their lips together. He draws in Stiles’s breath. Then, a moment later, Peter releases it back to him. 

      Stiles gets slightly dizzy while he desperately clicks his phone to capture the moment. Peter’s hand travels up his arm and supports it. Peter’s nails dig in slightly. Stiles moans softly. He brings his left hand in and wraps it around Peter for support. Then Stiles pulls his head away. 

      He heaves in a deep breathe and let’s it out. Stiles looks at a few of the photos. “Yeah, I think that’ll definitely convince people that I like you.” 

      “They most certainly have that kind of impact,” Peter agrees.

      “Should I post them or something?”

      “Not until after the wedding, please. I want our relationship to surprise my family.”

      “Oh, alright. Yeah, I can wait. Who do you think is winning?” Stiles asks and turns towards the track. 

      Marie is far out in front of most of the racers when they look, but someone’s ahead of her. Kira is not far behind them either. Her pink car stands out in the crowd of moving vehicles. Most of the cars are a lot closer together than in the practices and several of the cars are taking the turns much more dangerously. 

      “I think it might be Jackson.” Peter says and points to a car that’s mid-way between Marie and the stragglers at the back of the pack. Instead of putting the earmuffs back on, he puts the ear plugs in. 

      “No way!”

      Peter offers some Red Vines to Stiles. “There’s still time.” 

      Stiles rips into one. “Yeah, but how much?”

      Jackson is still in the lead, but Kira, the red Shelby mustang, and Marie’s car are all much hotter on his tail. 

      Eventually the announcer comes on. 

      “Alright folks we are headed into the last half. Jackson is maintaining his lead, but he is steadily losing ground to the Firecracker and the Pink Vixen. Marie is also still in this race. She’s been known to slide through tighter spots for victory. Who will take home first tonight?”

      Kira spends most of the next ten laps breaking her duel for second with Firecracker. In the eleventh Jackson takes a bad turn and finds himself pinched by the two of them. This results in each car slowing enough for Marie to sneak up directly behind them. On the first turn of the twelfth Firecracker kicks it into overdrive and distances himself enough from the two of them to pull ahead. Marie takes this chance to pull up alongside them. Kira is pinned against the wall next to Jackson. 

      The moment they come off the third turn of the twelfth circuit Kira floors it and pulls ahead of the other two. Jackson loosens up and distances from Marie. But once he does Kira starts blocking him. 

      The status stays mostly the same for the many of the following circuits as they all gain ground on Firecracker. 

      “Alright everyone, Firecracker is in the lead and holding steady leading into the last ten laps. Can he keep it up under all the pressure? Kira, Jackson and Madam Marie are all in hot pursuit,” the announcer says.  “Let’s find out.” 

      “I wonder what that guy in the lead looks like.” Stiles says.

      “He’ll probably take off his helmet if he wins.”

      “Does that mean we are rooting for him now? Because I mostly just want Jackson to lose. But I don’t really want Kira to lose.”

      “I don’t know who he is. I’m rooting for him out of curiosity. Maybe he’ll be hot.”

      “Maybe,” Stiles says.

      When they get to the next to last lap Jackson overclocks his engine and pulls out ahead to match Kira and Firecracker. Marie takes the next turn too quickly and ends up fishtailing into the middle of the track. She takes out several stacks of tires and squeals to a stop on most of the way diagonally down the field to the other side.

      She gets out and stands up and waves as soon as she’s stopped. The crowd clamors in a roar of applause and gratitude for her safety. They give the green light for everyone to continue and they finish the lap. They go around the first corner when a huge pop comes from Jackson’s car and he skids to a stop. His driver’s side tire exploded from the heat.

      “Whoohhoooo!” Stiles yells.

      Firecracker slows for a moment and Kira slams on the accelerator on the next straightaway and pulls ahead. They come into the turn with Kira on the outside and they start to even out and when they get to the finish Stiles can’t tell who’s in the lead. Lights flash when they pass through the finish line. Kira and Firecracker both slow on their way to the pits.

      “Well folks that was an exciting race today. It is a photo finish for the two leaders of the night. When we have made our official call on who made it across first, I will be back to tell you all about it. We’re going to wait to see about the other placements until then. It is a darned shame about the losses for both Marie and Jackson. Better luck next time my friends,” The announcer says and then the microphone cuts out.

      It’s a while longer before all the contestants finish and the announcer comes back on. “Alright folks. We have reviewed the footage and the infrared line breakage. It looks like Kira is the winner. She beat Firecracker by just shy of a millisecond. She is taking home our cash prize for first today. The smaller prizes for second and third will be handed out as well. We will have those three racers out on the track shortly for their awards.”

      “Well, it looks like we may see the man behind the mask,” Peter says and pulls out the ear plugs.

      “Looks like,” Stiles agrees.

      “After the prizes are handed out, we can go hang out in the lot. People often loiter to mingle with the racers at these smaller events.”

      “Sounds fun.”

      When the racer’s come out, other than Firecracker the rest of them are out of their helmets. When he gets to the podium, they set up in the center he steps up on the second-place block. Then he pulls off his cherry red helmet.

      He has jet black hair and a full beard. He has a toothy smile plastered on his face. He scans through the crowd and waves and stops when he comes to Peter and Stiles.

      “Is he staring at us?” Stiles asks. “He looks kind of familiar.”

      “Yeah. We’re leaving,” Peter says.

      “What why?”

      “That’s my nephew.” Peter returns and grabs his hand to drag him off the stands.

      “What?” Stiles exclaims.

      They don’t stop until they get to the Jeep. “Are you afraid to be seen with me?”

      “No, it’ll ruin the surprise. I’m more than proud of you. I want him to have a very fresh reaction to you at the wedding. It’ll be more fun if no one knows what to make of you at first.”

      “Fine. But he better be extra awkward to make up for it.”

      “He’s the thorniest, most stilted person I’ve ever met. You’ll run circles around him.” Peter kisses Stiles on the cheek.

***

      They arrive back at the house in peace and get out of the car.

      “Okay, well… I’ll see you next week?” Stiles asks.

      “Yeah, though I took the whole week off. I’ll be in town through the date of the wedding to get everything squared away. We can meet up for coffee and the like when you’re on breaks if you want,” Peter says.

      “Alright, just hit me up.” Stiles waggles his phone in his hand.

      “I’ll see you soon then?”

      “See you soon.” Stiles opens the door and walks into the house.

***

      Over the next few days, they see each other a handful of times. Peter can never stay long, he’s always between tasks. Coffee, lunch, all of them get cut short by calls from Talia. Until Saturday, they don’t see each other for more than thirty minutes at a time, usually less.

      Peter wakes early to go over to Stiles’s place to pick him up. He promised on Tuesday that he’d help Stiles with the knot he’d wanted Stiles to put in his tie. Stiles claimed multiple times that he’d practiced, but when Peter arrives, he just has to laugh. The tie is nearly mangled by Stiles’s attempt at the Eldritch Knot. Stiles’s jacket is hanging on the banister so Peter places his next to it.

      “Your outfit looks amazing. But sweetheart, I thought you’d practiced,” Peter chides.

      “I did. It’s not my fault the instructions are confusing, and the number of loops involved could reduce a NASCAR driver to a dizzy lump on the floor.”

      “Don’t worry. I’ll fix it,” Peter says, gives Stiles a pat on the chest, and immediately gets to work detangling it.

      “So, how long do we have until we have to be there?”

      “An hour and a half. I came over early, just to ease your long-suffering mind.”

      “That’s actually very sweet.”

      “I’m full of surprises. People should learn to trust my process more.”

      “But not you,” Stiles quips.

      “Never.” Peter leans in. “I’m a very dangerous man,” Peter whispers and winks.

      “Are you almost done?”

      “I’d be done faster if you didn’t squirm so much.”

      “I’d squirm less if you didn’t invade my space and say stuff like that.”

      “Your reaction to me isn’t under my control, unless you want it to be,” Peter intones and pushes the knot of the tie up to Stiles’s neck.

      “Knock it off. We don’t have time for this,” Stiles gripes. He hooks a finger in his collar and loosens it a little.

      “What’s a kiss between friends?”

      “A lot actually. I don’t kiss my friends, except Scott. But that’s different. He’s basically my brother. It’s not even gay.”

      “I had better not be. I’d hate to have my lover seem distant at my family affair. What would my relatives say?”

      “That I’m too good for you.”

      “And I’m the arrogant one,” Peter says.

      “You are the arrogant one.”

      “Debatable. Where’s your father?”

      “He should be up soon. He got home a bit late, but the moment he smells coffee he rouses from bed. I started it ten minutes ago.”

      “Good. He’ll get to see us before we leave.”

      “What should we do while we wait? I can make some food. Before you say something dickish, I’ll wear an apron,” Stiles says.

      “What would you be offering? And it’s a good idea. Ceremonies can be so long. I’d rather neither of us be hungry.”

      “What would you like? I have a flip waffle iron. I’d have to clean it. But I can also make omelets, scrambled eggs, and what not. It’s basically the only meal my mother and I let my dad cut loose on growing up. So, shoot your shot.”

      “All of the above. Carbs are always a good time. They’re a not-so-guilty pleasure of mine,” Peter says.

      “Okay, follow me I’ll need your help to get it all done quickly.”

      “I can clean the waffle maker. I don’t know your kitchen.”

      “It’s a deal.”

      Stiles walks into the kitchen with Peter in tow. He rifles around in the cabinet for the waffle maker and hands it over.

      “You know how to make them from scratch?” Peter asks and turns on the sink. He lathers a rag and starts cleaning the iron’s Darth Vader shaped indentations.

      “Yeah, I know how to make a bunch of stuff from scratch. It’s one of the only tasks that I’m able to do and just, you know focus. It involves pretty much your whole brain and body to do. ‘Optimal arousal’ or something is what my therapist called it one time,” Stiles says while he ties the apron around his back. “Do you want anything in them? I have chocolate chips and walnuts.” Stiles goes on his tip toes to see the higher shelves more clearly to collect all the ingredients.

      “You put walnuts in your waffles?”

      “People do weirder things,” Stiles says with a shrug.

      “I’ll just stick to putting things on top.”

      “Good enough for me. Less work.” Stiles finishes pulling out the dry ingredients and grabs milk and eggs from the old yellowing white fridge. He pulls a bowl from one of the cabinets next to it and cracks an egg into it quickly. He grabs measuring cups and spoons and starts adding the other ingredients in.

      “Where should I put this?” Peter asks when he’s done.

      “Over on the counter over there. It has the most space, and it’s near the outlet,” Stiles says and points.

      “Alright.” Peter places it and plugs it in. “Is there anything else I can do?”

      “Yeah, uh… put on an apron and beat some eggs.”

      “I’m on it, chef.”

      Stiles hands him a bowl when he crosses back to him and Peter grabs an apron from the hook. He pulls it over his head and looks down at it. “Kiss the cook? Really?”

      “It was my mom’s,” Stiles says.

      “Well, if it’s her commandment, I must obey.” Peter slides his hand across the small of Stiles’s back and kisses him on the cheek. He grabs the eggs and slips away.

      “Aren’t you boys a bit over dressed for breakfast at home?” Noah asks.

      “Dad?” Stiles yelps. He plops the whisk back in the batter and turns around. “H-hey dad. Yes, yes, we are. Have you and Peter met officially? Dad, this is Peter Hale. Peter this is my father, Police Chief Noah Stilinski.”

      “Good to meet you sir,” Peter says. He smiles and extends his right hand for a handshake. Noah takes it and gives it a shake. Peter doesn’t wince, but Stiles sees how his knuckles are pressed together.

      “Good to meet you Peter. So, today is the day?”

“     That’s right, Stiles is escorting me to my niece’s wedding.”

      “Your niece’s wedding? I’m surprised its not the other way around.”

      “It’s a bit of a misdirect. She’s only a few years younger than I am. My sister Talia had children rather young and I was born rather late as one would have it.”

      “Is that right? Well, at least you have the decency to dress well and show up.”

      “We’re a close family. Appearance and adherence to traditions is of the utmost important to us.”

      “Glad to hear it,” Noah says. “So, am I getting some waffles?” Noah cuts between them to pour himself a cup of coffee.

      “Of course. Dad. I’d never leave you out.” Stiles says and turns back to the bowl to mix more.

      “Alright, well carry on. I’ll be in the other room, watching the news,” Noah says, takes a sip and leaves.

      “I’ll call you when yours is ready,” Stiles calls after him. “Beat nine of them, then add cheese. I’ll get out a skillet.”

      “As you wish.”

***

      Once breakfast is ready, they eat quickly. It took longer to prepare than Stiles wanted. Peter makes him wear a cloth napkin, which he brought with him, in his shirt during the whole meal. Once they’re done, Stiles’s father takes them to the door.

      “Well son, have a good time.”

      “Alright. I’ll see you this evening.”

      “Peter, it was nice having you. Get my son home at a reasonable hour.”

      “Of course, Chief.” Peter says and shakes Noah’s proffered hand.

      Then they’re on their way. It’s across town at some fancy outdoor pavilion on the edge of the reserve. There’s an indoor area where the food is being served.

      They arrive ten minutes early and Stiles still couldn’t be more nervous. He recognizes almost none of the people he’s seeing.  “Peter who are all these people?”

      “Guests, mostly, lots of people from area well-to-do families are invited. My family is busying themselves sorting things out and fussing over last-minute details no doubt. Let’s go find our seats.” Peter opens his door and gets out. Stiles does the same from the passenger side.

      Stiles puts on his jacket and meets Peter in front of the car. Peter inspects him and then they walk away from the Shelby. Peter takes him by the hand and leads him around the enormous log building to the back.

      The moment they come around the building they’re greeted by the man from the race. “Peter, so glad you made it here okay. And who is this? He’s a bit young for you, isn’t he? How did you enjoy the race?”

      “Derek, this is Stiles. Stiles this is Derek.”

      “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Firecracker. Have you recovered from your loss to a girl? Men like you often seem fragile about things like that,” Stiles says and smiles.

      “I’ll beat her next time,” Derek grits out, his smile is much more forced than it had been a moment ago.

      “The other one too? She regularly wins right, not you?”

      “Well, I beat her this time.”

      “It’s a shame it didn’t get you a first.” Peter says. “When did you get into racing? I haven’t seen you at any events before.”

      “It’s a recent development. But as you can see, I’m improving quickly.”

      “Yes, all it took was two accidents for you to take second,” Peter says.

      “Well, that’s all we have time for today. I think the two of you should find your seats. Mom will be so happy to meet him.”

      “I’m a charmer,” Stiles says.

      “Ha ha, he’s a funny one Peter. Enjoy the wedding,” Derek says. Then he turns around and walks towards the building’s rear entrance.

      Now that Derek is gone Stiles can see into the clearing. The venue is large. There are dozens of white chairs lined up in neat rows with a column down the center to walk down. It is covered with a white fabric and another smaller, gold, one centered over it so just a few inches show on either side. There are small golden vines wrapped around the support bars of each chair linking them together.

      When they walk further into the clearing Stiles can see a large domed wooden structure beyond the seating. It’s constructed from countless rungs of beams bent into arches that are each offset by twice their width from the next. Beneath it is a smaller white archway put there for the ceremony. It matches the chairs with golden vines enthralling it. A simple podium lies beyond it. And just after that the gold and white carpets stop.

      “It’s nice,” Stiles says.

      “You think so?”

      “It’s pretty. A bit ornate, but in a minimalistic way,” Stiles affirms.

      “Isn’t that how weddings are supposed to look?”

      “Were you hoping for something more or less understated?” Stiles asks.

      “More, he’s always been a bit of a peacock in that way. As is evidenced by your remarkable outfits.” A woman says from behind them.

      “Talia, it’s so nice to see you,” Peter says.

      “I’m happy to see you both made it. Who may I ask am I greeting?”

      “Hello.” Stiles reaches out a hand. “I’m Stiles. It’s nice to meet you.”

      “Stiles?” Talia asks with a raised eyebrow. “Have we met.”

      “Not in a long time. I don’t remember you though. My mom, Claudia, used to work with you a lot.”

      “Peter, you should’ve told me you were dating Claudia’s son,” Talia says. “It’s so nice to meet you again. I haven’t seen you since you were a baby. Please tell me he hasn’t been too much; Peter has a tendency to be a bit controlling and a lot unpredictable.”

      “He’s been a perfect gentleman.”

      “Good. I’d hate to hear that he’s been improper with one of the most important people in our community and the child of a dear friend no less.”

      “Rest assured,” Peter says. “I can be quite charming when the situation demands it.”

      “But never when it doesn’t,” Talia replies. “Well, I’m glad to finally meet you and I look forward to working with you in the future. Don’t be a stranger. I have a few more things to attend to, but I hope you enjoy the ceremony.”

      “You too,” Stiles says.

      Talia walks away and Stiles returns to searching for their seats. “So, that was interesting.”

      “That was her diplomatic talk for I’m going to obliterate you later,” Peter says disinterestedly.

      “So, she full on secret mom gripped you, but verbally.”

      “What?”

      “She doesn’t approve.”

      “No, but she can’t say anything about it. Making a good impression on you is worth a fortune. You just being here increases the stress on her tenfold.”

      “Because of my future position?”

      “Precisely,” Peter says. “I found our seats,” He says. They’re in the center of the fourth row on the left. Next to them are several other Hales and Derek is on the inner end of the row on the opposite side of the aisle.

      “Why are we so far back?”

      “The visiting pack, and most esteemed guests are towards the front. Though right about now, Talia is reconsidering the seating arrangement. I can hear her discussing it with her husband and Preston’s parents.

      “You think they’ll actually move us?”

      “Not if Avedon has anything to say about it.”

      After they sit down other guests start to trickle in. Some come over to greet Peter. One of his aunts and an uncle each come to talk to him before they find their seats in the back. Peter plays up their interest in each other and waits for them to find their ways back to their seats. Once most of the guests have found their seats Alan Deaton and another Emissary come to the front to make announcements.

      “Alright everyone. Settle in please, the ceremony will begin shortly. We’re sorry or the delay there have been a few unexpected things to sort out.” Alan Deaton says.

      “For those of you who don’t know us, this is Alan Deaton, lead Emissary of the Hale Pack, and I am Gideon Milroy of the Geno Pack. We will be conducting the ceremony today. It will come in two parts. There will be the traditional American wedding and after that will be the handfasting and pack bonding ritual.”

      “We expect the whole affair to take about an hour and a half and after that you are all free to leave your seats for the reception.” Deaton says. “In a few minutes, Talia Hale will be up on stage to say a few words and then the groom will be ushered out and the ceremony will begin.”

      Upon their speaking the rest of the guests find their seats. This includes Peter’s father who’s sitting next to them.

      “Peter nice to see you.”

      “Nice to see you too,” Peter says.

      “And who is this?”

      “I’m Stiles nice to meet you.”

      “Nice to meet you too. I look forward to talking to you during the reception.”

      “Likewise,” Stiles replies. Peter takes his hand and starts rubbing the fleshy part of his hand between his thumb and pointer finger. Stiles smiles at him and settles in for the ceremony.

      It takes a lot of patience to sit there, a lot that he doesn’t have. Stiles keeps shifting in his seat. Every time he nearly stands to see more Peter places his hand on his thigh. He gives it a squeeze and then whispers in his ear. “Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer.”

      It’s a lie of course, Stiles knows, but he just nods and glues himself back to his seat. His seat keeps prodding him with one of the golden vine leaves and he keeps having to adjust it. Eventually, Peter just plucks it for him. He drops it on the ground and doesn’t say a word about it.

      Laura looks stunning in her dress. She’s in a simple pure white piece that has a lace lining at its collar and down her arms for the sleeves. The bottom hem matches. Her hair is a cascade of perfect jet-black curls.  The music swells as she approaches the altar.

      The vows are long. Preston talks for several minutes about devotion and loyalty before he ceases to give time for Laura to speak. Her speech is much shorter and more sentimental than his.

      The hand fasting is weird. There’s a lot of incense burning and other herbs involved. Each of them shift part way through in some sort of reaction to the application of a salve to their skins. Their eyes flicker and fade. Then a ceremonial chant, followed by a formal announcement of the ceremony’s completion occur. The ropes are removed, and their hands are washed. The emissaries announce that they’re now one, and Laura kisses Preston.

      The music begins again, and it accompanies the couple back into the dining hall for the reception. Everyone stands and claps. Once they’re inside all the visitors start milling about and making their way in for the reception lunch.

      When they get inside Talia finds them and directs them to their seat immediately. They’re put at the same table as Talia, her father, husband, and several of Preston’s immediate family members. Laura and Preston are at their own much smaller table that has two empty chairs, presumably so others can spend time talking to them. The tables are draped in a mix of white and gold tablecloths. Theirs is gold and is one of the largest tables.

      Appetizers are served first and there are large plates of freshly boiled shrimps with a variety of sauces being passed out to each table. They also have several options both vegetarian and non-vegetarian of sandwiches, stuffed mushrooms, berry kebabs, and sliders.

      Stiles grabs a warm breadstick and some of the shrimp and a bowl of lemon butter sauce to his plate. He tries to eat, but Peter stops him with a hand on his wrist. He looks up and everyone is waiting.

      Talia serves herself and toasts her meal quietly with Aaron and then takes her first bite. After that everyone else starts engaging with the food.

      “Peter where did you pick up your dashing new friend?” Talia and Peter’s father ask. “Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself fully earlier I’m-”

      “James, I know. No worries you need no introduction. Peter and I have had many conversations about you guys. He wanted me to feel comfortable when I got here.” Stiles interrupts.

      “How thoughtful,” James responds with a smile. “My son always has had a knack for ensuring the most pertinent information is relayed.” Then he cuts a slider in half and eats one half of it.

      “I wish I’d known just how many people would be here. I could’ve been better prepared.”

      “How do you mean?” Talia asks.

      “I didn’t know there’d be so many people from the community here. I would’ve worn something more druid-y,” Stiles says.

      “But your outfit is so-” Talia wipes her mouth. “Dazzling. It suits you well. And, you two match seamlessly.”

      “Yes, your collective style is unmatched,” Aaron says furtively.

      “Peter and I wanted to make everyone positively green with envy as they say.”

      “I’d say we’ve succeeded wouldn’t you, love?” Peter asks. Then he peppers a kiss on Stiles’s cheek.

      “It would certainly seem so,” Stiles says with a chuckle. “We’re already talk of the table.”

      “They’re quite the show,” Avedon chimes in. “I personally cannot take my eyes off you.”

      “Then we did our jobs well,” Peter says. He dips a shrimp in Stiles’s sauce and looks directly at Talia. He offers the shrimp for Stiles to eat. Stiles closes his mouth around it and sucks it from its tail casing.

      Stiles covers his mouth with his hand. “This food is remarkable Talia. Who did the catering?”

      “I’ll give Peter the information and have him send it to you. We used several companies to ensure all of the food options could be available and appealing to each guest.”

       “Well.” Stiles swallows and drops his hand. “They did a bang-up job. Congratulations. And the ceremony was beautiful too.”

      “I appreciate your glowing review,” Talia says and goes in for another bite of her food.

      “So, Peter, how did the two of you meet?” James asks.

      “At Talia’s behest I took myself down to the matchmakers in town. And as fate would have it Stiles came in the same day. Leslie set us up shortly after. They really know how to make a pair.”

      “Yes, he’s different from your usual consorts,” James remarks. “Don’t you usually arrive to events with quiet timid little things?”

      “Not this time,” Peter says. “I ventured into new territory with this one. I deeply admire his spirit. He’s quite the force of nature.”

      “I’ll say,” Avedon says. She chortles from across the table. “Is your union legal? He’s a bit young for you.”

      Talia glares at her.

      “For your information, you tacky old crone. I have a college degree. I am a member of a special task force in the area, and I’m going to be the head emissary of this entire region within the next few years. Before you consider questioning my boyfriend’s choice of partners; you should consider whether the partnering of that mauve dress with hot pink granny lip stick and a rancid lime green faux British hat is suitable for public viewing,” Stiles says. He grabs a slider from the center of the table and walks off. “P.S. it’s not.”

      Stiles makes for a corner of the dancefloor that, as of yet, is still unused. He grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter on the way over and eats his slider.

      Peter waits some time to excuse himself from the table. He finishes his meal, piles some more food on a plate, and stands up to join Stiles on the dancefloor.

     "The music will be starting soon,” Peter says and hands Stiles the plate.

      “Thanks,” He says. “I didn’t want to go back and grab more.”

      “It would’ve been a of waste your astonishing exit. Your last words were, compelling.”

      “What did her face look like?”

      “Like she’d smelled soured milk.”

      “So, no change then? Bummer,” Stiles says.

      Peter laughs. “I’m not sure which of your insults has upset her more. The first one or that one.”

      “What does it matter? She won’t be able to remember it in an hour.”

      “And how can I make you forget the unpleasantries?” Peter asks.

      “If I get enough champagne that would work.”

      “It’d be a pity to drown that sharp tongue of yours,” Cora says as she walks up to them. “Nice to see you Stiles. You’ve shaped up a lot from that punk who spiked the punch in high school.”

      “I hit the gym. Couldn’t let you keep bullying me.”

      “You’ll never get that in shape,” Cora says. She punches him in the arm lightly.

      “Yowch, hit me where it really hurts.”

      “You’ll get over it. So, how’re you enjoying the wedding?" "

       "Food’s good. The company could use some improving.”

      “Yeah,” Cora sighs. “I hate her too.”

      “I don’t hate her. I just refuse to be talked down to. I’ve seen it enough to know the kinds of people who can’t even be bothered to hide their opinions behind the veil of respect.”

      “Can we dance later?” Cora asks.

      “I don’t know Cora, his boyfriend may have a problem with that,” Peter interjects.

      Cora smiles. “Keep me posted,” She says and walks off to Laura’s table and sits down.

      Music starts playing in the background. “May I have this dance?” Peter asks.

      “Uh yeah,” Stiles says but he won’t meet Peter’s eyes. His face feels warm. He puts down the rest of his plate and takes Peter’s hand.

      Peter takes lead and starts them off in a slow dance. He’s smiling lightly. Peter floats them across the floor with Stiles not really paying much attention. Stiles, however, is  thinking too much. He’s thinking about how great Peter looks in his suit. He’s thinking about their dates and how much he’s enjoyed them. A squeeze of his hand brings him back into focus.

      “Enjoying you own little world, are you?”

      “No, not really.”

      “Then what’s on your mind?”

      “I uh, uh, I don’t know.”

      “I thought you knew just about whatever you’re interested in.”

      “Yeah, I know you're right," Stiles says.

      “Hmmm,”

      “I mean you know me." Stiles exaggerates the words cartoonishly, hoping it'll help play off his nerves and guise just how much he's thinking about Peter in specific.

      “That I do.”

      Peter continues waltzing him across the floor. Stiles shuffles after him. What did I just say? I’m such an idiot.

      “But you do know me, don’t you?” Peter follows up.

      “I mean, I guess. I guess I do.” Stiles lifts the hand that’s on Peter’s shoulder and tugs at his collar.

      “We are boyfriends after all.”

      Stiles trips forward and falls into Peter. Peter catches him as he steps backwards for the dance and stops. Stiles looks up at him, his smile hasn’t broken.

      Oh. Stiles thinks to himself.

      “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. I mean. You know. We could, we could be boyfriends. If you’re interested that is, in being boyfriends, boyfriends with me.” Stiles rights himself and Peter resumes dancing.

      “I am interested.” Peter says. “We’ve been for real dating for a month. A label couldn’t hurt.”

      “We’ve been what?”

      Peter releases Stiles for a spin and then pulls him back in. “We started dating when you called me narcissistic. Why else would I take you to a mets game and orchestrate us being on the kiss cam?”

      “So, you’ve liked me this whole time?” Stiles asks. He stops in place on the dancefloor.

      “No, I’ve hated you this whole time.” Peter rolls his eyes. “I’ve wanted you since the moment we met. Affection however came with time, and banter, mostly banter.”

      “Shut up and kiss me you asshole.”

      “Kiss me yourself, you are my boyfriend after all. You should probably be less passive about your role in our ongoing relationship,” Peter says.

      Stiles clenches his fists around the fabric of Peter’s vest. He closes his eyes and brings his lips to meet Peter’s. Stiles is greeted with the feeling of butterflies in his stomach again. Oh Fuck.

~Fin~