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The thing is that nothing really changed. Not in public anyways. But Stiles and Scott had always been close. They always shared beds at sleepovers and cuddled while watching movies and stole food off each other’s plates.
They always greeted each other with kisses on cheeks, they always had a picture of them together as their phone backgrounds. They always absolutely reeked of each other.
The only real difference between BFFs5Ever-Stiles-And-Scott and Epic-Love-Story-Stiles-And-Scott was the sex. The really, really fantastic sex.
Which may be why no one actually noticed that they were more than friends.
"You need to get laid." Lydia declared, loudly, in the middle of the monthly pack lunch at the shitty diner with the great burgers six miles out of town.
Stiles choked on his mouthful of curly fries, Scott reaching over to pat him solidly on the back until he could suck in air again, “I need to what?”
"Get laid." Lydia repeated, and Stiles absolutely hated the fact that even Derek was giving him looks like he agreed with Lydia.
Which, no, Derek got no say in anyone’s love life after dating two crazy people who used him and killed people and then a mercenary; still crazy, still killed people, not so much on the using him (Stiles really liked Braeden, actually, they sent pictures of kittens back and forth to each other).
"Um…" Stiles looked at Scott out of the corner of his eye, absolutely baffled, "Okay."
"We signed you up for a dating site." Malia blurted from where she was curled into Kira’s side on the other side of Derek.
Lydia sent her an unimpressed but still fond glare over the table. “I thought we agreed to break it to him gently?”
Malia shrugged, unconcerned, and sipped her milkshake.
"You…. you what?" Stiles stammered looking back and forth from Malia to Lydia, Kira to Derek. None of them were laughing, not even baby Liam shoved into the corner.
Lydia brought the site up on her phone. A picture of himself grinning toothily at the camera stared up at Stiles. Jesus Christ she even used his first name, “Pomysłowość “Stiles” Stilinski, age 19…” and it went on to list his interests and hobbies, leaving out “running with werewolves” and “casting magic”, which was probably a good idea.
Four people had already responded to his profile.
Stiles was at a loss.
Scott tried to intervene, “Guys -“
"He hasn’t dated anyone since he and Malia broke up." Kira pointed out, smoothing her hand over her girlfriend’s hair.
"Um…" Stiles looked at Scott. Scott looked at Stiles. "You guys… Scott and I have been dating for a year and a half." Which they thought they’d made perfectly clear.
There was a beat of silence. And then another. And then another.
"If you’re that against the site we’ll take it down, you don’t have to make up stories." Lydia finally said.
Stiles dropped his head down onto the table.
"No." Scott shook his head, "We’re really dating."
"Like actually, legitimately, we-had-sex-in-Scott’s-bed-this-morning kind of dating." Stiles mumbled into the crappy plastic tabletop before lifting his head again. "Listen to my heartbeat. I’m not lying. Scott and I have been together for a year and a half. We moved the pack meeting over a day because it was our anniversary! We told you we moved it because it was our anniversary!”
"We thought it was like… your friend anniversary." Kira waved her hands around for emphasis.
"Who the hell celebrates a friend anniversary? We’ve saved the world, you guys are supposed to be smart!” Stiles couldn’t handle this.
"You guys are always doing dumb shit like that!" Lydia pointed out.
"I call him baby.” Stiles whined.
"I kissed him hello!" Scott motioned with his and Stiles conjoined hands; (the main perk to Stiles being left handed was that they could eat and hold hands). "We are holding hands all the time.”
"We thought that was just a… thing you two did." Malia had finished her milkshake and was chewing on the end of her straw, "You guys have always been the Scott And Stiles Power Hour." She’d been picking up phrases from Stiles and Kira over the years and it never failed to amuse Stiles just how cute she could be.
Even when she was making his life difficult.
Stiles made a broken little noise in the back of his throat, “Okay, well we’ve never done this in a friendly way before.” And then he was threading the fingers his fingers into the short hairs at the back of Scott’s neck and pulling him into a kiss that was all teeth and tongue, more softcore porn than kissing that should be allowed anywhere remotely public.
There was no way anyone could label that kiss a “friendly peck.”
By the time they surfaced for air the rest of the pack had left, there was money left on the table for the check, and a napkin left on top of the holder that said “Get a room” in Derek’s curly hand writing.
Stiles cackled about it for weeks.
(But seriously how had they not known?)