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It is 3:17 in the morning, and Theo is trying to leave through Scott McCall’s back door.
Scott had come back to Beacon Hills for reading week at his university, and his presence had essentially been interpreted as an invitation for most of the pack to move in with him until he left again. To Melissa’s credit, she’d adapted relatively quickly to the seven-odd supernatural young adults sprawled over her living room, pulling out a large air mattress and leaving them to fight for who had to sleep on the couch.
The group was smaller, with Stiles and Lydia too busy with school to come home, but regardless, it felt… good. Whatever latent guilt still hung about Theo’s shoulders at the sight of Scott McCall was easier to box up and deal with than the full brunt of Liam’s pouting face, if he didn’t make an appearance every other day.
So he’d dutifully come when Liam called, making awkwardly cordial conversation with Scott in the kitchen, and avoiding Malia’s eyes throughout dinner. Mason had saved him two slices of pepperoni pizza, and he’d actually smiled when Theo had thanked him for it.
He’d spent the night on the couch beside Liam, half-watching the baking competition that Mason had insisted upon. Theo had been talking, muttering snide comments about mediocre bakers with their mediocre pâte à choux to hear Liam giggle, quiet enough that it felt like their shared secret. The television across the room beamed its blue light across the edges of Liam’s face, casting the gentle curve of his cheek into drastic contrast, and Theo did not think about tracing the illuminated parts of his face with his tongue.
Then Liam, laughing, leaned into Theo, his thigh pressing a burning line of contact into Theo’s leg, lighting him up all the way down to his ankle.
And Theo’s voice had hitched, ever so slightly, like his body hadn’t gotten its fill of betraying him. Liam had tilted his head towards him- curse his stupid fucking werewolf ears- and then looked down at where their legs were touching. His big eyes widened ever so slightly- it was a testament to how close they were sitting, how closely Theo was watching him, that it was noticeable at all, then he was shifting away, his scent giving away nothing but faint embarrassment.
His eyes darted from Theo’s face, down to his leg, then across the room to where the others were- like he was worried they’d be caught, like this. Mason and Corey were wrapped up in each other on the air mattress, oblivious. Nolan was snoring quietly from where he was lying across Scott’s magnificently uncomfortable armchair. Then Liam looked back to Theo, his expression apologetic. Theo’s leg burned.
“Sorry, man,” he whispered, and held out the last piece of licorice that he’d been holding, like an offering. Theo didn’t take it. “I know that it’s- y’know, a lot.” He dropped the candy onto the corner of Theo’s paper plate, angled so that it wouldn’t dip into the smear of sauce. Theo wanted to correct him, tell him that he was getting better with affectionate touch- hadn’t he seen , remembered when Melissa had patted Theo on the shoulder, that he hadn’t flinched? Didn’t Liam know how much he’d changed since then, he wondered childishly, how much he could handle, now? Wouldn’t Liam help him- push the limits?
Instead, he picked up the licorice- it was black, and Theo had never liked the taste, but Liam did. So he bit at it tentatively, keeping himself busy so that he wouldn’t open his mouth and his overflowing demands would spill out everywhere, interrupting the hum of pastry-making with a beg to touch me more, please, please.
Theo ate the candy, and later he picked up his and Liam’s paper plates, leaving them stacked neatly on the coffee table, right next to where Liam’s feet were resting. Theo did not look at the tiny sliver of skin right between where Liam’s sock ended and his sweatpants began. He didn’t think about how he could put his hand right there, and feel the blood-warm skin, could properly hear the heartbeat underneath. Fibula , he thought, instead. Tibia. Medial, lateral and posterior malleolus . Talus. Metatarsal.
“What’re you looking at?” asked Liam, his voice low and drowsy. He was one of the last few to still be awake. Theo looked back at him, to where he was sprawled out on the couch, the side of his face mashed into a throw pillow. His eyes were sharp, though, bright and alert, and focused entirely on Theo. He was a devastating sight, all soft and warm and gorgeous, and Theo settled back into the couch, blinking away pointedly. You, Theo thought. I’m only ever looking at you.
It was a bit like staring at the sun, Theo thought, to be focused on by Liam- only if the sun was able to follow you around for your entire goddamn life, and had the spare keys to your apartment, and the better save in Skyrim on your computer. Like if you’d had enough time to memorise the sun’s laughter, until you could replicate it entirely in your mind. If the sun had burned its way past your skin, embedding its golden touch into the tender flesh beneath. He didn’t say that.
“You have fucked up bones,” Theo said instead, and Liam snorted out a laugh, kicking half-heartedly at Theo, his socked feet pressing against Theo’s arms. Affectionate, but wrapped in a tissue-paper-thin coating of boyish teasing, like that would make it anything less. Then, cruelly, he left his legs in Theo’s lap, comfortable and lazy in his movements. He was tired, only barely clinging to consciousness, and his scent was soapy and masculine, but softer, easier. Theo inhaled, and could practically taste him, as the scent settled into the gaps between his teeth. He didn’t linger on it.
“My bones are the best, asshole,” Liam murmured, curling around so that he was on his back, eyes glinting in the dark as he peered over the pillow at Theo. His hair was sticking up in a messy halo around the back of his head, and his lips were pursed in an impish expression, teasing Theo like it was the easiest thing in the world. “They’re way better than your lame bones.”
Theo made a face at him, something mocking and arrogant, because he didn’t trust himself to speak and have it come out as anything other than achingly sincere. He rested his hands on his knees, carefully bracing himself around the shape of Liam’s body in his lap. Liam’s feet were up on the armrest beside him, the warm press of his calves like a brand through Theo’s jeans, imprinting themselves on the skin of his thighs beneath them. Theo wished they’d scar.
“Is this alright?” Liam whispered, muffled by the cushion. Theo nodded, biting his bottom lip. He was fading by now, his eyes mostly closed, but still, still looking at Theo. Liam smiled then, this tiny, genuine thing, then closed his eyes, and Theo could breathe again, until. “You’re comfy,” Liam murmured, and Theo’s heart stuttered out a half-melody in his chest.
“I’m glad,” Theo replied, dumbly, fingers flexing against the denim of his jeans, almost nervous. He was glad that Liam wasn’t looking anymore. Ask me to stay , he wanted to say, to beg. If you ask, I’ll stay here forever.
The blinds were open, and the dimmed light of the streetlamp from outside was casting beams of light through the room, soft enough to leave everything shadowed still. A strip of light was falling over Liam, when he lay like this. It illuminated the bottom edge of his jaw, and part of his pouty mouth, and Theo didn’t trace the plush lines of Liam’s mouth with his eyes.
He didn’t think about putting his hands on Liam, running his fingers up the muscled contours of his legs, his waist, possessive, demanding. He didn’t think about pressing his mouth to the thickest part of Liam’s throat, where it was tilted up and out of his sweater’s neckline. He didn’t think about rubbing his scent into Liam’s skin, exchanging sweat until they couldn’t be distinguished from one another. He took a breath.
Like any wild animal, Theo knew how to starve.
He waited until Liam’s breath evened out, until his face was pressed deeply into the couch cushions. It took two-hundred and seventeen breaths until Liam seemed entirely asleep- breathing these quiet, snuffling sort of breaths, the kind that Theo had to focus to listen to.
It was easier than it should have been, to attune himself so wholly to Liam. To match him, breath for breath, eye to eye- but then again, how could it be any other way? Tara already had his heart, clean out of his chest, so Theo could do nothing but echo the beating of Liam’s. Theo would gladly be Liam’s shadow, faithfully dogging his steps forever.
It was time to leave, before he outstayed his welcome.
Theo carefully nudged Liam’s legs out from on top of him, gently tucking him back against the couch, right into the warmth left from where Theo’d been sitting. Then he was standing, hovering over Liam’s sleeping form, pretending to himself that he won't commit this picture to memory, staring long and hard enough that when he blinks, he’ll still see Liam, curled up like a pillbug, breaths even and soft, burnt into the thin skin of his eyelids.
There’s a lock of Liam’s hair that’s slipped over his forehead, and Theo allows himself this vice, brushing it gently, so gently , out of his face. He doesn’t let his hand linger.
There was a blanket draped over the back of the couch, and Theo dragged it over Liam as best he could. It was practically muscle memory, at this point, to tiptoe his way around the other sleeping bodies, slip into his shoes at the door.
And Theo didn’t turn around, and didn’t see the quiet glint of Liam’s eyes in the darkened room, watching him go.