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Hosting the McCall pack Christmas get-together at Liam's house is, to say the least, different.
It's certainly roomier than the McCall living room, which is normally stocked with corner-ripped board game boxes and boasts rows of family photos on the side tables (now including Alec, the youngest addition to the McCall household). Liam's house, by contrast, leans more toward the minimalistic and Scandinavian chic inspired (as Mason had described it with a very tongue-in-cheek glance at the Ikea box in the basement), which leaves the teen pack members plenty of floor space to pile around on but rather little to cuddle up against. Thus Liam expressly commissioned Alec to gather up all the blankets he could find and tote them over in the event that the normal dogpile turned into the inevitable sleepover.
Which is why he's flustered but not completely surprised when he rips open the front door at the muffled yell of hey, my hands are full over here! and is greeted by a tower of fleece in many colors instead of the speaker's face and torso.
Liam scurries forward to scoop the blanket stash and stow it away in the living room, then returns in time to see Alec already making himself well at home by draping his body across a dining chair. Liam rolls his eyes and kicks the front door closed.
"Wait, don't--"
The reason for Alec's protest becomes abundantly clear when there's a quick rap on the door. Liam opens it to find Scott on the porch.
"Oops," Liam says with a grimace.
"How'd you think Alec got here?" Scott says mildly, with a goofy tilt of his head toward his car.
"Flying broomstick," Alec offers from the dining table.
"Witches don't exist, Alec."
"Uh, you work for Deaton."
"Deaton is not a witch," Scott says with the infinite patience of a guy who's definitely had this conversation before with his newly adopted sibling and is by no means pulling on the supernatural reserve of fortitude of a true alpha to endure the reprisal of the argument now.
"Cherry pie," Scott explains with a lift of the foil-wrapped pan in his hands as he makes his way over to Liam's counter to set it down.
Another knock sounds at the same time that Liam's phone buzzes with a double text. That would be Mason and Corey. Sure enough, it's the two lovebirds clasping hands on the porch like they're about to do the wedding march or, alternatively, because this is Beacon Hills, get sucked into separate portals through time and space if they disentangle their hands now.
"I come bearing the lasagna," is Mason's greeting.
"Oh, thank G-d," Liam breathes, briefly tempted to tackle his best friend in a hug but deciding he won't test the limits of his dexterity today. Instead he dashes back to the kitchen and scrambles to clear the countertop of the scattered evidence of his last attempts to scoop the macaroni salad in presentable order. Mason simply snickers from behind him while Corey radiates judgmental energy with a single eyebrow raised that Liam doesn't need to see to know is there, thank you very much.
"I needed backups in case things went south with the pasta," Liam says in his defense.
"It's pasta," Mason says, gesturing with the gigantic foil tray before he sets it down on the counter, then beckons to Corey to bring over the second tray. "How south could things go with pasta?"
"With Liam, they definitely could," Corey deadpans.
Liam pinches his mouth with a hand on his hip and says, "I'll have you know my macaroni salad is going swimmingly ."
Mason takes the liberty of dipping a spoon into the current concoction in the glass bowl and works admirably hard not to screw up his face. "How much salt did you put?"
"What? I didn't put salt. That's sugar. I definitely put sug--" Liam's face pales in realization.
Alec, nosy busybody that he is and always will be, bounds over to perform a taste test of his own. "Salt," he declared definitively. "Dude, you put salt."
Liam takes a cautious sniff of the bowl and concludes forlornly, "That's--that's salt. I definitely put salt."
The unmistakable crash of a boot against the door makes them jump. "Yo, losers!" Malia hollers from the front porch. "I've been standing here for two minutes with the meat."
Liam breathes, please don't be raw, please don't be raw , and draws a deep breath to fortify himself before flinging the door open to a festively dressed but disgruntled werecoyote holding out a tray of...something. Something thankfully cooked.
"Venison!" Scott proclaims with a ridiculous grin. "Did you catch that?"
"No, I went to the farmer's market and asked the tiny old farmer to fetch me a deer," says Malia. She pauses. "Yeah, I caught it."
"A-minus on the sarcasm, B on the delivery," Alec informs her around a crunch of celery in his mouth. Which--Liam doesn't even want to know how and when he procured that, when all of the celery is supposedly already chopped up and incorporated into his disgusting salty macaroni salad.
Malia bares her teeth in playful retaliation to Alec, but doesn't take the bait and instead accepts the soft kiss that Scott plants on the top of her head and sets the meat down on the counter with everything else.
Some thirty minutes and another awkward door-opening dance later, the small gathering is complete with Lydia (accessing Stiles and Derek by video call) and everyone has settled into the rhythmic chaos that somehow works for their pack. Liam's parents won't be returning till two days later, after their pre-holiday trip, and Liam is somewhat glad for that because as much as he enjoys having the freedom now to show his werewolf self around his parents, they still have not witnessed the madness that is the pack when they're almost all in one place.
Through it all, Liam subtly checks his phone under the table. He'd texted Theo the day before inviting him--no, ordering him--to come over for Christmas dinner, but per the chimera's predictable pattern, Theo had left him on read without a response. Liam knows there's no use checking now, but he still heaves a private sigh every time he glances at his blank screen and sees no new notification.
He tunes back into the conversation, which has taken a remarkable hairpin turn toward Liam's decision to bring out some marinated artichoke oil as a dip for Lydia's artisan bread rolls.
"I'm not sure artichoke oil counts as a dip," Corey says.
"It doesn't," says Alec.
"Yes, it does count as dip, you assholes," Liam huffs. "Mase? A little help here?"
Mason opens his mouth with the look of a man who knows he's about to commit the umpteenth betrayal against his childhood best friend and experience an entire twenty-second bout of regret over it.
"I know dips, and I say it's not," Lydia opines.
Mason snaps his fingers in her direction. "What she said."
Liam scoffs. "Um, what about the Italians?"
"The Italians use olive oil, not the...crusty ass dregs at the bottom of that artichoke jar," says Corey.
Liam grabs the jar in question and glares at it. "There. It says olive oil ."
Scott takes the jar from his outstretched hand and squints. "It also says sodium sulfite, sorbate, nitrite...a whole lot of ates and ites …"
"Gimme that," Malia says with an impatient flick of her fingers. When Scott doesn't relinquish the jar quickly enough, she leans over the dining table to swipe it from his hand, unscrews it, and dumps it all out on top of her mashed potatoes and venison.
"I--" says Alec.
"It's not a dip, but it's edible and I was getting hungry. Now it's a sauce. My sauce. Your loss," Malia says with a shrug.
Liam's open mouth snaps shut. "Fair enough."
"Thanks for hosting us, though," Scott says with a half-cheeky, half-embarrassed smile in that particular way that only he can manage.
"Yeah. No problem. Flattery really soothes the burn of ultimate betrayal by your own alpha," Liam pretends to gripe. He turns to Mason, who stiffens. "And you--"
Before he can continue with his undoubtedly creative threat, he's cut off by the sound of scratching at the back door. It seems everyone else also heard it, because cutlery clatters as multiple pack members pause over their plates.
"Is that...scratching at the door?" is Corey's helpful recap of the situation.
"Probably not," says Liam. He's got his eyes on the cranberry sauce and he's not particularly keen on being interrupted.
The thing--person--animal--scratches again at the door outside.
"Oh, for G-d's sake," Lydia says with a roll of her eyes. "Are you a bunch of supernaturals or not? Who's outside? Can't you tell?"
"Sounds and smells like a dog," Scott offers, rubbing his fingers down the thighs of his jeans.
"Could've gathered that much with my human ears," says Mason dryly. "What does it want?"
"Oh, c'mon, we gotta be psychic too?" says Alec. "Why don't you go see what it wants?"
"Good idea," says Mason. "Liam, why don't you go see what it wants?"
Liam's already pushing back his chair even as he makes a face, mostly for show. "Why do I have to be the one to open the door?"
"Dude. It's your door," Malia reasons around another gigantic bite of venison. Liam briefly wonders how egregious it would be for the integrity of the pack dynamic if he ended up whacking her for evading dish duty again later.
Still, Liam pads through the kitchen over to the back door and pops it open. Through the screen of the storm door, he makes out the outline of a black dog perched on the prickly Welcome Home mat. Though dog may be a rather liberal descriptor, considering that this animal is...frankly...humongous.
Liam stares at the dog and the dog stares back, eyes wide and--somehow--pleading.
"Uh," Liam utters like a genius. "Hi."
The dog sweeps its tail back and forth on the deck behind it.
"You lost?" Liam tries. And honestly, the moment the words leave his mouth, he almost facepalms at his stupidity. How on earth does he expect a dog to communicate with him?
(Of course there was that day in study hall after Liam's great werewolf reveal that he and Mason briefly and gleefully entertained the possibility of Liam being some kind of canine whisperer. That theory flew straight out the window after Liam tested out his skills on three separate neighborhood dogs and only got barked and snapped at for his efforts.)
(So maybe he's been longing to have a real dog of his own since he was a little kid, but they've never taken a particular liking to him in the past. Yes, he's well aware of the fucking irony now of him being a werewolf.)
The dog in front of him doesn't make any indication of having understood. It doesn't move, either, whether toward or away from the house.
"You...hungry?" Liam tries again.
This time, after a split-second hesitation, the dog gives a soft yip and thumps his tail. Liam thinks he can hazard a guess that that would be a yes.
"Um, okay--okay, I'll be right back, just stay right there. Okay? Don't go anywhere."
Six heads swivel up as one as Liam strides into the dining room.
"What does it want?" asks Corey.
"Did it go away? Is it still there?" says Mason.
"It's still there," Scott informs them.
"You're getting it food?" Malia asks.
Liam doesn't respond, too intent on piling the large salad bowl in his hand with a helping of meat and potatoes and cranberry sauce and torn-up bread (so he wants to give the dog some variety--sue him).
"He's getting it food," Lydia deadpans.
"Um...have fun!" Scott calls after him as Liam turns and exits the dining room again. Liam shoots him a backward salute before disappearing.
The dog is indeed still there when he returns to the back door. This time, he unlatches the storm door and carefully steps out in his socked feet, keeping them planted on the relatively dry mat so as to avoid getting soaked through by the dewy puddles in the dips of the wood on the deck. He sets the bowl down on the deck in front of the dog, who perks up immediately and trots over, and Liam lowers himself to sit on the half-step in the doorway with one foot braced against the edge of the storm door to watch the dog eat.
The dog seems conscious of its audience, eyeing Liam with something akin to suspicion.
"I'm not judging," Liam says, hands raised. "Thought I'd just keep you company. Unless, of course, you'd prefer--uh--you'd prefer me not to look. 'Cause I can...I can do that. I can just turn around. Um, the meat might be a little tough but I tried to get you smaller pieces, and the bread is…"
Liam rambles himself right into a startled flush as he realizes the dog is staring at him with what he would almost describe as a deadpan expression.
"Whatever," Liam coughs into his fist. "You'll figure it out."
The dog chuffs, almost as if to say thanks for giving your permission for me to eat now . Liam's fairly certain the dog would be rolling its eyes, too, if it had learned that particular strain of human sassiness before.
Liam leans his shoulder against the lintel of the doorway as the dog chews and laps through the food with contented sounds. Liam could almost lose himself like this in the tranquil rhythm, feeling a companionship for the first time with a dog who doesn't want to bite him or give chase to him across town. He's so caught up in the quiet euphoria of it--half-fantasizing about keeping the dog and waiting for his parents to come home and just see its big round pleading eyes before they give in and let him keep it--that he doesn't even realize he's reaching forward with one hand to run his fingers through the creature's fur.
The dog flinches. The sudden movement jolts Liam from his reverie. "Sorry, sorry, I shouldn't have--sorry," he babbles.
The dog eyes him for a long moment, pausing in its chewing, before tentatively edging closer and using its head to nudge the underside of Liam's palm that is still outstretched.
"Oh--okay," Liam breathes in surprise. "Guess I just shouldn't have startled you, huh?"
A tail thump in response.
Liam recommences his slow, gentle stroking through the dog's fur. It's surprisingly soft and silky, especially for an animal that Liam surmises might have been out on its own for a while. When the dog bends its head again and resumes eating, Liam lets his hand slip down into the scruff of its neck and give light tugs, just the slightest hint of pressure there to let the dog know he's a friendly presence.
"You have any owners?" Liam asks, more rhetorically than for anything else. "A family? Anybody looking for you?"
That elicits a high-pitched whine from the dog that has Liam startled. How did it even know what Liam was asking?
"Nobody?" says Liam. "How long you been out on your own, huh? I bet it gets lonely with no one to talk to you and stroke your fur like this." He parts his fingers and cards them through the fur down the center of the dog's back in demonstration. The dog whines again, low and pitiful, and leans into the touch.
"I wonder if Mom and Dad will let me keep you if I ask," Liam confides in a conspiratorial whisper. "Just so you know, I'd ask really, really hard. I'd hound them about it." Liam cuts himself off with a laugh when he realizes his unintentional pun. Even the dog seems to pick up on his self-deprecation and shoots Liam an almost dry look.
"Are you talking to the dog?" Mason calls from the dining room.
"Shut up, no I'm not," Liam hollers back.
"Alec says you're talking to the dog. Don't make promises you can't keep, Li. It's cruel to the guy."
"Oh, so now you all got supernatural hearing again?" Liam scoffs.
"Hey," says Scott from somewhere above him, much closer than the other voices. The dog flinches backward and settles a few steps away, cowering, which has Liam momentarily confused given how receptive the dog was to Liam opening the door.
It turns out that Scott has slipped into the kitchen and is opening the fridge to grab another six-pack of ginger ale as he eyes Liam and the dog with undisguised amusement. It's clear he's fighting to hold back whatever snarky comment sprang to his mind first.
"Don't even start," Liam grumbles.
"I wasn't gonna say anything," says Scott. "Whenever you're ready, I'll make sure those hooligans save you a slice of each of the pies."
"Make it two for them making fun of me and my dog."
"You and your --you know what, never mind. Here, I was gonna give you this, too. I brought some for everybody, wanted to make sure Malia didn't steal your portion." Scott tosses him a medium-sized Crispy Crunch bar, which Liam catches in his lap.
Liam tears open the plastic, grinning. So maybe his alpha is kinda forgiven. For now. He breaks off a piece and immediately pops it into his mouth, moaning.
"No judgment," Liam grunts from behind closed eyes.
"I wasn't judging."
"Not you, the dog."
Scott laughs, and Liam opens his eyes to find that the dog is, in fact, judging. It has its eyes trained longingly on the bar in Liam's hand, and fuck, Liam's never built up a tolerance against the canine brand of Bambi eyes, okay?
He breaks off another piece and is reaching out to feed it to the dog, when Scott says, "No, wait! Don't!"
Liam jerks his hand back at the same time that the dog noses forward, and Liam has to momentarily drive it back with one socked foot against its chest. In the process, he lets go of his hold on the storm door, which swings closed and smacks the dog squarely in the butt.
"Sorry, I'm sorry," Liam tells the dog, and then asks Scott, "Why wait?"
"You can't give chocolate to dogs," Scott says with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry, buddy. Better to be safe." He pats Liam's shoulder on his way back to the dining room and calls over his shoulder, "Come join us soon, okay?"
Liam turns back with a morose look to the dog. The bowl is now empty, polished clean of even the faintest streak of gravy, and the dog is now fixated on the bar in Liam's hand.
"You heard what he said. You're a doggie, so you can't eat chocolate."
Liam gives the dog a long, hard look. It stares right back, unblinking and somehow both bold and pleading at the same time for the longest time ever, its behavior back to being at complete odds with its fright and diffidence in front of Scott.
And then Liam stretches out his hearing--can't help but do so now in the interminable quiet between them--and he's struck by the deafening boom boom boom boom of the dog's racing heartbeat as they continue to hold each other's gazes.
Then it clicks for him.
"C'mere, boy," Liam says softly. He pats his knees.
Ears twitching, the dog sidles up and carefully, ever so carefully, lays its chin on top of the hill of Liam's knees. The plastic wrapping crinkles in the boy's fingers as he breaks off two pieces of chocolate and cups them in his palm. He nudges his hand forward, tipping the chocolate toward the dog.
The dog thumps its tail inquisitively.
Liam quirks his mouth up in a smile. "I won't tell if you won't."
That makes up the dog's mind, and he noses at the piece in Liam's hand to lick it into its mouth. It chomps contentedly, a tiny grin lighting its face now in response to Liam's.
Liam pops the other piece into his mouth--dog saliva and all--and absently scratches the space behind the dog's right ear.
"Hey," he whispers. "You should come inside, it's getting real cold out here now. Just be quiet about it, okay?"
The dog studies him with a far too intelligent look before consenting with a gentle nip of its teeth at Liam's fingers. He suppresses a laugh and leans over to gather the empty bowl, then taps the side of the dog's head to coax it up and into the kitchen. The storm door falls shut with a quiet creak behind them.
Liam briefly considers locking the door again, but then thinks it wouldn't matter much anyway because this particular dog could still leave if it really wanted to. He shrugs to himself and fills another bowl from the dish rack instead with water for the dog to lap at on the floor. It seems to have found a comfortable spot, tucked against the warm buzz of electricity at the foot of the stove, and Liam gives it another fleeting grin and a pat on the head before leaving it to drink up and slipping away himself to rejoin the pack at the dining table.
---
While pack gatherings normally turn into movie marathons which then turn into sleepovers, this time around they've all got their own families to get back to--especially Scott and Lydia, having been away at college for too long--and the rest of the pack eventually agree to call it a night, too.
Liam tenses up when the puppy pack members enthusiastically start traipsing toward the kitchen to clean up the dishes, and is halfway to blurting out some bullshit excuse for them to leave it be (he's not above claiming the kitchen is flooded with disgusting sewage), but it turns out he needn't worry. When he and Mason round the corner of the island, the dog is nowhere to be found.
Liam's heart thrums anxiously in his chest before he manages to wrangle it under control. If he focuses enough, he can make out the soft thump thump of the heartbeat he's looking for hovering under the back deck.
Good.
It seems to take entirely too long for the pack to get through their chatter, the customary soap suds fight at the sink, a squabble over who's taking what leftovers, and promises to do a group FaceTime in two days, before they are all finally, blessedly out the door. The moment Liam hears the last of the cars pull out and fade into the distance, he zips out the back door to the deck.
The dog isn't anywhere in sight. Definitely still hiding underneath, then.
"They're all gone. You can come out now," Liam says to the air in his normal voice.
It takes a moment, but eventually the dog's snout appears from below the slats, and then its head, and then the rest of its body. Liam waits for it to trot up onto the deck and slink up to his feet before he says, "Where'd you park your truck?"
The dog startles so badly that Liam would almost laugh if not for the absolute tragedy that undercuts the situation itself.
"Theo," Liam says, making his voice go soft, so soft, "I know it's you. You can--change back or whatever, I have clothes you can borrow, but I just wanted to make sure your truck is somewhere safe that won't get ticketed."
A low growl ignites in Theo's chest. Liam frowns.
"I'm not letting you just leave , you know. We gotta talk about this, and I'm sure as hell not gonna have this conversation with you one-sided."
Having dropped all canine pretenses now, Theo just sits back on his haunches and stares flatly at Liam like try me .
"Ugh, why do you have to be such an asshole," Liam mutters. "You can be very sweet as a dog, you know."
Theo shocks him then by standing again on all fours and shifting back to his human form right there and then on the deck, in front of G-d and Liam and probably the two pervy neighbors down the street.
"Oh, my G-d!" Liam complains, slapping a hand over his eyes. "You can't just do that, Jesus Christ! Stop--stop being naked on my porch, for fuck's sake--"
He gropes around blindly for Theo's arm and lands on the very firm, very warm swell of Theo's bicep, which has Liam swallowing down all sorts of humiliating sounds in the back of his throat as he forcibly tugs the chimera backward through the kitchen.
He gives Theo several seconds to...do something about his nudity situation, before he says, "You decent?"
"If by decent you mean getting very well acquainted with your mother's floral kitchen towel , then yes," is Theo's dry reply.
Liam drops his hand from his face with a sigh, which promptly turns into a glare as he realizes that yes, actually, Theo is holding up Jenna's floral embroidered kitchen towel to cover his groin area.
"Stop trying to stare at my dick, you don't have X-ray vision," says Theo. His voice is raspier than normal from disuse.
"You're a dick," Liam growls. "Seriously? Ignoring all my texts inviting you like a normal person to have dinner with us, and instead you decide to show up as a fucking dog?"
"Werecoyote," Theo corrects him. He's already turned and taken the opportunity of opening and rifling through Liam's fridge for something, giving the other boy a rather...generous and vivid view of his ample backside.
"Oh, my G-d," Liam complains again. He tries to look up at the ceiling--he really does--but he's only human and Theo's ass is right there .
Theo finally turns back around with the last can of Fanta in his hand. He pops it open with his teeth, then feigns shooting Liam a look for permission. "Oh, may I?"
"Be my fucking guest," Liam says flatly, his arms crossed.
"Not right now. Maybe later," is all Theo says with a wink that has Liam spluttering, before he tosses back the drink and downs half of it in a few gulps.
"Stop that," Liam seethes. "I'm serious. I know what you're doing. You're uncomfortable in this situation, so you're trying to turn it around to make me uncomfortable so then I'll leave and we won't talk about your giant ten-gallon bucket of problems."
"Fascinating," Theo remarks. "Does this psychoanalysis come free with a couch consultation? Because I'll be honest, I could use a nap on--"
Liam surges forward and shoves him back against the fridge, feeling a grim sort of satisfaction as Theo winces at the icy metal hitting his bare back. "Shut up," Liam snaps. "Shut up . Stop being an asshole and answer my question. Why didn't you come when I invited you?"
Theo looks like he's point-two seconds away from snarking back something along the lines of well, I came, didn't I? but for both his and Liam's sakes, thankfully, he swallows the quip down. Instead he works his jaw and glances to the side.
Liam presses the flat side of his fist against Theo's bare sternum when the chimera doesn't answer. Theo's gaze flits to Liam's knuckles, the little pressure points of skin against skin, and Liam's fairly certain he doesn't imagine it when Theo's heart rate speeds up at the contact.
"Answer me," says Liam. "Why didn't you reply to my texts?"
"Liam," Theo says, and this time it's only one word, two syllables, but it sounds like it carries the weight of half of Theo's lifetime in it. He sags against the fridge.
"Why?" Liam asks again.
" Liam ," Theo pleads again. "This isn't a conversation I should be having naked."
That gets Liam to release him and step back with a huff, running a hand over his face and tugging at his hair. "That one wasn't my fault. There's--clothes in my drawer upstairs."
Theo slips past with a nod, and Liam stands in the middle of the kitchen with his hands on his hips, listening to the chimera's footfalls fade into the carpet of the stairs, as he considers what to do next.
---
Liam is sitting on the stairs with his socked feet planted on the stairwell, his back to Theo, when the chimera quietly joins him and lowers himself close enough for their knees and upper arms to be touching.
"I don't know how to do this," Theo admits.
"You were scared," says Liam. "Before I opened the door...and later, when Scott came over to give the chocolate. You smelled scared."
Theo's mouth opens and closes several times without a word coming out.
"Why were you scared?"
"I wasn't scared."
"If you're trying to convince me of that lie, I'm pretty sure your window of opportunity already flew by. Try again."
"Liam, I don't know how to do this ," Theo stresses. "Don't you get it?"
Liam turns to face him then. "It's simple. A friend told you we're all having a party and you're invited. A simple yes or no would have been enough. Easy."
"No. Not easy. It's never that simple."
"He wouldn't have cared that you came over."
"Did you tell him you were inviting me?"
"No, but...I would have as soon as you texted back."
"Well, there you go, Liam."
"No, no, this is not my fault. Don't shift the blame on me."
"Just think for a second. Do you think it would have remotely been okay for me to show up if it had been the McCalls' house?"
"Well, it's my house, so I get to say who's invited."
"Exactly. It's your house . But in any other circumstance, it's his pack, his say."
"Why the fuck," Liam snarls, "can you not believe that we've forgiven you?"
Theo leans back with his elbows against the step behind him, away from Liam. "Like I said already. Not that simple."
Liam twists around to face him, falling back on the heel of one palm to hold his weight up, undeterred. "Okay, tell me this, then. Why'd you come anyway? Why go through all the trouble of masquerading as a dog?"
"Werecoyote," Theo mutters again, just to be stubborn.
"Theo."
"Liam."
" Theo ."
There's a breaking point in here somewhere. It hangs between the racing of their heartbeats and the way Liam gazes down at Theo, willing him, challenging him to make eye contact, but Theo refuses to give it to him. And Liam--Liam may not be a former spy or a master manipulator, but he knows how to hold his ground when it matters.
And so Theo breaks, slowly, piece by piece, not like a glass of fizzing cider but like the bitter melt of chocolate between the warm pressure of two fingers.
He brings his hands up to cover his face, trembling, and he says, "I was hungry."
Liam's stomach wrenches.
"And it was Christmas and I'd long learned that I don't get to have these things since I started taking responsibility for the shit I've done, but...I didn't want to be alone."
You're not. You're not , Liam wants to say, except his throat is suddenly dry and his mouth won't cooperate.
A beat passes, and then another, and then a third and a fourth, and ever so slowly Liam learns to speak again.
"Theo. Look at me?"
Theo's breath hitches like there's a ball of iron there resting on the center of his chest, and it seems for a moment that he's incapable of moving his hands away. So Liam leans over and does it for him, fingers wrapping softly around his wrists and drawing them away from Theo's face. Theo's face, with its dark traces of sleeplessness that Liam can see now that he's paying attention, with its brow drawn and its lip held so stiffly like it will quiver if Theo gives up on his control for even a second, and with its eyes so wide and wet and pleading.
"G-d, don't look at me. Don't--I can't," Theo says, wrecked. "Shit. G-d. I shouldn't be crying over these things."
Liam's grip only tightens infinitesimally around Theo's wrists, and incredulously, miraculously, the chimera submits to his touch, to his hold. Stiff and shaking but showing no sign of a struggle to break free.
"You're allowed to cry," is what Liam says. He wraps each word in earnestness, puts a gift bow of honesty over every syllable. "You're allowed to not be alone. And you're...you're allowed to have the things you want when they're not hurting anyone."
"Am I?" Theo whispers.
Liam thinks whatever answer he gives now could only break Theo in one direction or the other. So he opts not to say anything, but instead lifts one of Theo's hands by his grip on the wrist and presses Theo's palm to the warmth of his own chest through his sweatshirt.
Theo swallows and looks down at the point of contact between hand and chest, then back up. Uncomprehending.
"Listen to my heart. I'm not lying," whispers Liam.
It takes a fraction of eternity before Theo draws a shaky breath and says at last, "Okay...okay."
Liam allows his face to light up in hope. "Yeah?"
"Okay," Theo repeats, firmer this time. He doesn't look like he means that he particularly believes him, or that he's even halfway there, but Liam could always read him somehow, ever since Theo came from hell. And right now, Theo looks for the first time like he wants to believe Liam.
Liam can work with that.
"You're not alone," Liam reminds him. "Not if you don't choose to be. We're right here. I'm here. Have been telling you this whole time, actually."
"Okay," Theo says a fourth time, because kindness breaks down his entire vocabulary, apparently. And then, inexplicably: "I'm sorry."
Liam gives a breathless chuckle. "You can start being sorry by staying the night."
Theo's eyes fly up to meet his, somewhere between why are you doing this? And please, G-d, please can I?
"Yeah," Liam huffs. "Don't be getting any sappy ideas about it, though. I need you to help me with the dishes tomorrow since you were out pretending to be a dog and left us all to it tonight."
Theo offers up a watery chuckle in response. "Yeah, okay, I can see how that's a fair deal."
"And you're helping me clean the rest of the house before my parents come home."
"Well, I--"
" And ," Liam concludes with a smirk of triumph, "you're turning back into a dog for at least an hour and playing fetch with me."
"What the fuck ."
"That's for single-handedly dashing my hopes of having an actual, real Lassie to adopt, you prick," Liam says cheerily, and releases his hold on Theo's wrists to flop over bodily on top of Theo's torso.
Theo offers various complaints and counterarguments to that, but Liam only burrows into his chest further and chirps, "No," each time, and then presses his face into the crook of Theo's neck with his parted lips just barely brushing against the skin there. That ends up being a rather effective way of ending the argument, until, that is, they move on to bickering about newer and more exciting things while snuggling on the carpeted stairs.
Because it's them, and it's Christmas, and Liam thinks getting up to collect his gift for Theo from under the tree right now can wait. Right now, the best gift he can give him is nothing but his company.