Archive of Our Own

Theo hadn't ever intended this to happen, which is why he doesn't have a plan for it. 

He catches Liam's scent before he sees him, warm, complex, sports gear and battered paperbacks, with more than a hint of sweat from his lacrosse practice. (Tuesday and Friday afternoons, 3 to 5; Theo has Liam's schedule memorised, like the idiot he is, eating his stolen heart out for someone who'll never – ) 

He shakes himself, scents the way the trail leads around the side of the truck, and stops in his tracks, wrestling for a few long tangled moments with the urge to turn tail and flee.

But he's trying - he's trying, even if he knows that someone like him can't ever really reach the plane of reality that people like Liam and Scott and the McCall pack seem to exist on, sunsoaked and achingly natural and simply good; he knows, he really does. No matter what he does, he'll never atone for what he's done – Tara, Tracey, Josh – but – well. There’s a dull hard stone of knowledge lodged somewhere between his chest and his throat: he'd rather rip out his own throat than go back to – that.

He's trying, and so he ignores the cringing curl of shame in his stomach, sets his shoulders and comes round the side of the truck.

Liam's leaned up against it, body slouched in an accusing streak down the dusty paintwork, arms folded across his chest and his mouth set in a tight line. Behind him, Theo knows, his pillow and blankets are still clearly visible through the window of the cab, spread out across the back seat where he'd left them that morning after a broken, aching night, hurrying to make it to the construction site in time.

He takes a deep breath, but Liam speaks before Theo can even begin his attempt at damage control, his voice surprisingly calm and controlled.

'Were you ever planning to tell us that you'd been sleeping in your truck?' he says, and then just waits, watching Theo levelly. His jawline is as hard as a diamond, Theo thinks, and then shakes the thought away like a buzzing fly.

'I - ' he says, wincing, and stops, because he didn't have a plan for this. He likes plans, they make everything easier, but he hadn't had one and now he's off-kilter, wrong-footed.

He opens his mouth again, but Liam must see something in his face - infuriatingly, things tend to slip around Liam, tiny leaks of emotion, little upticks in his chest. 'Don't try to lie,' Liam says, sharply, and Theo closes his mouth again and then his eyes, just for the briefest moment, frustration welling up in the spaces between his bones.

'Fine!' he says roughly, the word shoving itself out on the end of an exhale. 'Fine, then no, I wasn't planning on telling you, because it's not your fucking problem, it's mine, and I'm dealing with it, okay? Happy?' 

He glares down at Liam, but, perversely, his own annoyance seems to have settled Liam's mood a little, Liam's mouth softening just the barest amount as he watches Theo's face. 'Not particularly,' he says coolly. 

'Look, I'm trying,' Theo says at last, after a few moments of attempting, and failing, to match Liam's narrow gaze. He brings his hands up, rakes them through his hair and then slides them down to scrub tiredly across his face. 'I'm trying, Liam,' he says again, a little thickly. 'I am. I have the job at the construction site. The cell’s paid for so the pack can contact me if you need me. I have to keep the tank full in case – something happens.’ There’s one other thing, too, but he’d rather die that tell Liam about that. ‘There’s just not – apartments aren’t…’ He lets out a long breath, because he’s not sure how that sentence ends, and then, hating the pleading note in his voice, ‘I’m not trying to – sneak off, or avoid – anything, I just – ’ and then he stops, because Liam’s voice drowns his out.

‘What the fucking hell, Theo,’ he says, and all at once his voice sounds full of rage, temper held in check by the barest thread. ‘You asshole, you really think that we’d…’ and Theo flinches, clenching his fists, suspended between utter confusion and automatic defensiveness.

‘What...?’ he starts to say frustratedly, but Liam just says, ‘Shut up and get in the truck, Theo.’

Theo stares at him for a moment and then – does it, stomps around to the driver’s seat and then glares back at Liam, indignation twisting in his throat. ‘Whatever. Fine!’ he snaps, and gets in, staring straight ahead as he registers the peripheral movement of Liam climbing into the passenger seat beside him. ‘Are you going to maybe tell me what the hell you’re so angry with me about?’ he enquires, coldly, after a moment, because he can’t work out what he’s done, and anxiety is curdling unpleasantly in the pit of his stomach.

Liam turns his head to give him a long look, and Theo can’t stop himself from turning his own head, his gaze catching on the strong line of Liam’s jaw and the shape of his mouth before he drags it up to meet Liam’s blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but as Theo watches, an odd look flashes across his face, gone in an instant. ‘I’m not,’ he says after a moment.

Theo snorts. ‘Not angry, or not going to tell me,’ he says, flat and a little bitter, feeling suddenly exhausted and irritable and tired of this whole conversation. He tears his eyes away from Liam’s, staring out the windshield again. ‘Look, just tell me what you need, okay. We both know you have better things to do than hang around here.’ He’s ashamed as soon as he’s said it, hearing the palpable, pathetic self-pity in the echo of the words.

‘That’s not – ’ Liam says, ‘That’s not true.’ He lets out his breath on something that’s almost a sigh, shoving a hand through his ridiculous hair. It’s a stupid length, Theo thinks. Just enough to curl annoyingly over Liam’s ears. His fingers ache to tuck it back, so he curls them firmly around the bottom of the wheel and clenches, staring down at the white-knuckled grip.

There’s a long silence, and then Liam leans his head back against the seat, rolls his shoulders, and says, quite casually, ‘Give me a lift home? I ran here from practice.’

Theo bites his lip, but… ‘Oh, fine,’ he grumbles, taking the olive branch for what it is and putting the truck into gear. ‘You do know you’re a werewolf, right? Super strength, super stamina? There’s no way you can even feel the stretch anymore.’

Liam smirks at him sideways, Theo ignoring the traitorous little flip in his stomach as he catches the grin. ‘I’m not tired,’ Liam says, ‘I’m just lazy. Home, James. Don’t spare the horses.’

He pulls a goofy, Liam-ish sort of face at the last part, as though he knows how utterly ridiculous he sounds, and Theo can’t stop himself from smiling helplessly, the remains of his earlier irritation melting away, shaking his head as he pulls out of the parking space. ‘Has anyone ever told you you’re a nerd?’

‘You. Several times, so far, and for the record, you’re still wrong,’ Liam says, clipping his seatbelt in like the nerd he totally is. ‘I’m lacrosse team co-captain and the star player, dude. I’m a jock.’

‘Modest, as well,’ Theo comments with a smirk, and gets a punch in the arm, for that. He’s still smiling to himself when they pull up outside Liam’s house.

It’s not particularly big, or fancy, but Theo always thinks that Liam’s home belongs in that sunny plane of existence, Liam’s and Scott’s world – just a gentle-looking California bungalow, weatherboarded in a soft worn grey, a swinging chair on the porch and a rainbow of childish cellophane art stuck to the attic window. It makes something twist faintly in his chest, every time, right where his stolen heart beats.

He pulls up the brake and glances at Liam, waiting for him to swing himself out, thank Theo with that stupid little awkward half wave he’s taken to doing, sometimes. It always makes Theo smile for a few minutes after Liam leaves, because it’s so stupid.

But Liam doesn’t move, looking at Theo sideways, studiedly casual. His fingers tap a little drumbeat on the handle, and then –

‘Come inside,’ Liam says.

Theo looks at him blankly. ‘Is there a meeting Scott wants me at?’ he asks after a moment. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ He thinks suddenly of Argent, of Sheriff Stilinski, of the way they watch him as though he’s dangerous, as though they’d put him back in the ground without the slightest hesitation, if Scott would let them; and his stolen heartbeat races suddenly, before he can suppress it, panicky and high in his throat.

‘Jesus, dude,’ Liam says. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, you’re an idiot.’ He rolls his eyes. ‘There’s no meeting and no danger, unless you count Lanna trying to put glitter all over your face. Which, you know, I wouldn’t blame you for. Some poor fool gave her a makeup kit last Christmas.’

‘Liam, I - I don't know,' Theo gets out. He clenches his fingers around the bottom of the wheel again.

'Come on,' Liam says impatiently. Apparently making the executive decision that he's won this dispute, he reaches over and pointedly unclips Theo's seatbelt, then swings his legs out of the truck. His fingers pass a hint of warmth through Theo's shirt to his hip, sending a tiny, involuntary shiver across the surface of his skin before Liam snarks over his shoulder, 'It's not like I'm proposing to you, Jesus.'

Theo stares after him, suddenly and horrifyingly feeling heat flush across his cheekbones, and god, he needs to get a grip. Liam raises an eyebrow at him as he rounds the hood, mouthing, 'COME ON,' with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. He makes his way towards the front door without even bothering to check if Theo's following, which should probably be more insulting than it is.

Theo stares at his lap for a moment, then watches his own hands turn the key to cut the engine. Just maybe – maybe an hour, he thinks. An hour of Liam and golden sunshine and the kind of house where little kid art hangs in the windows, just an hour and then he'll go back to the truck and find a parking somewhere he might not be disturbed long enough to snatch a few hours of extra sleep.

Liam shoots him with a smug look as Theo comes up to wait uncertainly in his peripheral, as he jiggles with his key in the door. It opens after a few moments of Liam swearing mildly at it under his breath - 'It sticks, it's fucking annoying,' - and Theo's nose is hit by a wave of mingled scents, the living signature of the house. Liam's scent is twined through it all, but there's others, too - someone who smells of soft rose perfume and cartridge paper, another like clean bar soap and antiseptic, and a younger, sweeter scent, like grassy playing fields mixed with... bubblegum bubble bath? Liam's mother, stepfather and sister, Theo thinks, and he draws a breath of it into his lungs, warm and comforting, his chest twisting again.

Liam pockets his keys, leading the way inside and making a beeline to what must be the kitchen, dumping his backpack on the floor in his haste. Theo carefully pulls the door shut behind him, hesitates, then flicks the latch before following.

He finds Liam, as expected, in the kitchen, his head buried in the fridge. 'There's doughnuts!' he announces when he hears Theo arrive, his voice gleeful but already garbled around his first bite.

Theo hasn't had a doughnut in a while - his wages are rock bottom, the job at the construction site the only thing he could find with his lack of references or qualifications, and between the cell plan and fuel for the truck and – the other things, the money doesn't stretch that far. His stomach clenches with want.

Liam emerges from the fridge with a grin, dumping a flat cardboard box on the square wooden table and giving it a push, so that it shoots across the table towards Theo. He darts out a hand to catch it, unable to draw his eyes away from the neat rows of doughnuts, iced with thick, sticky chocolate and strawberry.

The first bite tastes so good that he has to close his eyes, stifling the tiny sound that nearly escapes, sweet, sweet chocolate exploding across his tongue. When he opens them again, Liam's hoisting himself up to sit on the counter, a doughnut in one hand and a whole carton of milk in the other; he cracks open the lid and has it halfway to his mouth before Theo huffs disapprovingly. Sure, he hasn't exactly experienced much in the way of normal house rules himself in his life, but come on.

Liam just shoots a cocky look at him, making comedically challenging eye contact as he lifts the carton to his mouth and takes a swig. When he brings it down there’s milk clinging to his top lip, and as Theo watches, a little mesmerised, Liam swipes his tongue over it, running it warm and pink and wet around his mouth. Theo drags his eyes away when he realises he's staring, but thankfully Liam doesn't seem to have noticed.

They end up both perched on the counters on either sides of a corner, trading off the milk carton swig for swig and eating their bodyweight in doughnuts and snacks that Liam produces from the pantry. Liam starts flicking Cheetos at Theo's nose to ‘test his reflexes’; the first one catches him unawares and his expression of surprise makes Liam snort milk out of his own nose, which is somehow disgusting and endearing at the same time.

They're having a small, silent, but fiercely contested Cheeto war when Theo hears the jiggle of keys in the front door - how had he missed the sound of a car? There's a few moments of struggle with the sticking lock, and then the door opens, a woman's voice saying with a motherly kind of exasperation, 'Really, Liam? Must it always be locked and barred like we're trying to survive an invasion?'

'You never know, Mom!' Liam hollers back; it's clearly an argument they've had many times before. Theo slips off the counter to his feet moments before Liam's mother appears, her hair wisping out of its clips, dumping an overflowing handbag and suit jacket on a chair. 

'Off the counter, Liam, you nightmare child,' she scolds, but it's toothless, more teasing than anything.

'Hey, Mom,' Liam says, grinning, and leaps off the counter and almost on top of her, wrapping his arms around her for a quick hug. It's so natural and easy that Theo's throat tightens for a moment, his stomach twisting yet again as he watches.

'This is Theo,' Liam tells his mother when he releases her, swinging around to wave an arm in Theo's direction.

Theo takes that as his cue, moving forward and letting his most charming smile fall over his face, offering his hand out to shake. 'Nice to meet you, Mrs Geyer,' he says smoothly, ignoring Liam rolling his eyes at him over her shoulder.

Mrs Geyer smiles up at him. She's very short - Liam's not tall by any means, but he towers over her by a head – and her hair is even more wispy around her face after Liam's hug, and her smile makes her eyes crinkle at the corners as she takes his proffered hand. 'Welcome, Theo, and just Jenna is fine,' she says.

After that, the conversation is predictable, Theo apologising for the locked door with a charming little confession, Mrs Geyer brushing it off with a smile before trailing towards the coffee pot with a sigh of anticipation. ‘Come on,’ Liam says, and snags a bag of corn chips in one hand and the sleeve of Theo’s hoodie in the other. His fingertips brush at the thin skin on Theo’s inner wrist, making him shiver, but he follows Liam as he leads the way towards the den.

It’s – good, hanging out with Liam. They sprawl on the couch and play Minecraft, Liam whooping and leaping right out of his seat in excitement when he finds a vein of diamonds, Theo curling back into the squashy comfort of the sofa and laughing at him. Theo tames a wolf, and then another, and then he has a whole pack of them running on his heels.

The wicked irony of it occurs to him after a few minutes, like a wrecking ball shattering the fragile contentedness inside his chest, his fingers tightening around the controls with a sense memory of claws slicing wetly through flesh. Of the way Josh had sounded, the betrayal in Tracy’s eyes, the bubbly, choky sound of their last, blood-soaked breaths. It’s only when Liam bumps a shoulder up against his that Theo realises he’s stopped, staring blankly at the pixelated screen.

‘You okay?’ Liam says. Theo turns to look at him, unable to stop his eyes tracing rather desperately across Liam’s face as he forces his heart rate to slow.

‘Fine,’ he gets out, and then, needing suddenly to get away, ‘Can I use the bathroom?’

‘Uh, yeah,’ Liam says after a moment. There’s a faint crease between his eyebrows as he looks back at Theo, his gaze clear blue and unwavering and suddenly – somehow – unbearable, Theo dropping his own to his lap to avoid the scrutiny. ‘Down the hall, second door on the right,’ Liam says.

In the bathroom, Theo sags against the cool tile of the wall, tipping his head back and closing his eyes to simply breathe, in and out and in again. The hard metal of the towel rail digs into his back, and he flattens his hands back against the tile and stumbles downwards until he’s sitting against the wall, resting his face on his knees. Long, motionless moments follow, punctuated by the hard relentless throb of his heart – his stolen, sister’s heart – and Theo focuses in on the aching pain in his chest and forces himself to feel it.

Eventually though, he makes himself get up. Flushes the toilet – for anyone who might be listening – and washes his hands, flinching a little when he meets his own gaze in the mirror, then forcing himself to look back. It's been a while since he last saw his own reflection in anything larger than the rear-view mirror, and he realises he looks thinner, a little haggard, his eyes shadowed with smudges of black.

When he gets back to the den, Mrs Geyer is there, one hip balanced against the couch, her hands curled around a mug of coffee as she watches Liam build a kennel for Theo's dog pack. 'I'll admit the dogs are sweet,' she's saying, 'but I can't get past how everything's just blocks. It makes my eyes hurt.'

'You crochet, Mom,' Liam says, long-suffering, and hacks at a wayward block. 'How can Minecraft possibly make your eyes hurt and those tiny little hooky whatsits don't?'

'I have no idea,' Mrs Geyer says, and smothers a yawn with her hand. Then she looks up, and sees Theo hovering near the entrance, giving him a little smile. 'Don't worry, I'll leave you two to it,' she says. 'Liam, can you sort the washing in the dryer when it finishes, maybe put another load on?'

'Sure, Mom,' Liam says, and then ducks and whines when she gives his ridiculous hair a teasing little ruffle. Theo ducks his head and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth to try and hide the little grin that curls at his mouth without any sort of permission of his own, and when he looks back up, Mrs Geyer is sending him an amused little glance over her coffee cup.

'Have fun, boys,' she says, and sighs, pushing off the couch to make her way out. She pats Theo's shoulder as she passes him, soft and fleetingly casual, and Theo only barely manages to restrain his little flinch of surprise at the touch. He really needs to get a grip, he thinks helplessly. First Liam, and now Liam's mother?

He should leave, he keeps telling himself – it’s been two hours now, and then some. But when the dull jangle of the dryer thuds to a stop, Liam pauses the game and says, ‘Come on, help me,' and Theo does it, trails after him like a lost puppy and waits for instructions.

The washing tumbles out in a cascade of colours and the warm clean scent of fresh laundry, a white net bag filled with tangled women's underwear on the top. Theo shifts awkwardly, but Liam just reaches to unzip it, dropping the bras casually onto the table and directing Theo to sit down and help sort out socks while he puts everything into piles.

One of the pairs of socks has 'BIOHAZARD' written all over it, white on tomato red, and Theo snickers as he pairs them, glancing at Liam.

'Yeah, they were from Mason,' Liam says resignedly, 'and he can't talk, anyway! Well, actually he can talk, because he doesn't play sports, but still. Rude, right?'

Theo's openly laughing now, looking up at him - Liam relaxed and goofy, shaking his head with his ridiculous hair tucked behind his ears. He gives Theo one of those wry little almost-smiles of his, and Theo's heart thuds, once, before he can force it back to evenness, something aching in his chest. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on pairing the socks.

'Okay,' Liam says when the laundry is sorted, and really, the overly casual quality to his voice should have Theo's alarm bells ringing already. 'I'm going to do another load of washing. You should go get your laundry and put it in.'

And there it is. 'What, no,' Theo blurts out, staring at Liam, who immediately drops the casual act and squares his shoulders, preparing to dig his heels in.

'What, yes,' he says, almost glaring back. 'Go get it, Theo.'

Theo's fingers grip the edge of the wooden table tightly, something tight and panicky clawing in his throat. 'Liam, no,' he says, and hates how his voice sounds pleading again. 'I'll take them to the laundromat. Look, I have to leave now.'

'Do you?' Liam says. 'Yeah, look me in the eyes and tell me you actually have somewhere to be that's not your car.' His face is tight again, angry, and Theo's stomach churns with anxiety again, but the feeling flips rapidly over into anger.

'Fine. Fine!' he says, and then the words splurge out, tumbling over each other, low and fierce and shaking, just a very little. 'I don't have anywhere to go. I don't have a freaking apartment. What, you want me to play the poor lost little homeless kid?’ He laughs, harshly and without any humour behind it.

‘You kind of are that kid,’ Liam says brutally. His face is all hard lines now, and Theo hates him a little, hates even more the fact that he doesn’t really hate Liam at all, his vision flashing with panicky white.

‘I fucking killed – ’ he snarls, and chokes on the words, biting the inside of his mouth so hard that he tastes blood. ‘I don't belong here in your little apple pie life with your mom and your – your washing machine and your – ’

'Shut up,' Liam says suddenly, harshly, and Theo – does, clenching his hands to stop them shaking, staring at Liam's tight face with hot prickling eyes. Liam's hands are clenched as tightly as his own, his whole body tense, and Theo wonders for a moment if Liam's going to punch him – braces himself a little for the impact.

But Liam doesn't punch him - just takes a moment, letting out a long breath through his nose, and with it, almost deliberately releasing a little of the tension in his shoulders. When he speaks again he sounds quite calm. 'Can you just get your stuff, okay?'

And Theo looks at him helplessly, and swallows, and says, without intending to at all, ‘Okay.’

It’s touch and go for a minute, out by the car, but Theo doesn’t leave, even if he knows he should. It feels like the first step into freefalling. 

He brings his plastic bag of clothes inside and unloads them into the machine with Liam's things, not meeting Liam's eyes at all, feeling sore and ashamed. Liam puts up with that for all of five minutes before he makes a sound of irritation and says, 'Okay, enough. It's just a load of laundry, Jesus, why are you acting like I kicked your puppy?'

'I'm not,' Theo scoffs. His eyes feel like they're burning at the edges.

'Yes, you are.'

They glare at each other for a moment before Liam blows out a slow breath and puts his hands out in a deescalating gesture. 'Okay, okay,' he says. 'I'm sorry, okay? Just – can you stop looking like you want to – to – flee the country or whatever, and come over here?'

'Fine,' Theo says, after a wary moment, and runs his hands under the laundry tap, drying them on his jeans and then shifting a little closer to Liam, who’s sitting on the table with his hands braced firmly on the edge. It feels a little like walking towards a chopping block; Theo hesitates, then slouches, strategically, carefully casual, against the bench, not too close and not too far.

Liam looks at him for a long moment as he settles. His jawline is a long, smooth line; it's hard for Theo to look away from it, harder to lift his gaze those few centimetres upwards to meet Liam’s eyes. He’s expecting that hard look again, but when he gets there Liam’s expression, like his scent, is more unreadable than harsh.

Theo swallows. ‘Liam, what’s this about?’ he says quietly, reasonably. ‘I know the car thing makes you – uncomfortable, or something, but it’s not like I have other options.’ He forces himself to hold eye contact, presses through the shame still cringing at the back of his neck, makes his voice calm and coaxing. ‘Just give me six months or so. I’ll find something.’

Something flickers in Liam’s eyes. ‘Theo,’ he says, and he sounds very nearly gentle. It cracks something brutally open in Theo’s chest, and his face spasms without his permission, dropping his eyes away. There's a little pause, and then Liam says, 'Promise me you won't, like – run away if I make a suggestion.'

Theo can feel the focus of his gaze like sun through a burning glass. 'Okay,' he says, and it comes out a croak.

'Okay,' Liam echoes, and then his scent goes sweet with something that makes Theo catch his breath; hope, he thinks. Warmth. 'Stay here, then,' Liam says.

Theo's eyes jump back to his face, incredulous. 'What?' he says, wrong-footed. The sweetness of Liam's scent is still in his nose, heady as a drug.

'Stay here,' Liam says again, coaxing. 'There's a spare bedroom, you can - '

'Liam, I can't,' Theo bursts out. His hands are trembling; he clenches them to make them still. 'You have a family,' he says.

'They won't mind,' Liam says, still quiet, reasonable, perched on the table and watching Theo carefully, and it's so ludicrous, so far from the point that Theo brings his hands up to scrub wearily over his face, biting back a little sound.

'Not what I meant,' he gets out.

'Then break it down for me,' Liam says softly, and all at once Theo feels trapped, caged in, a wild animal backed into a corner. He suddenly can't endure the direct force of Liam’s gaze for another moment, and pushes off the counter with a fierce spasm of movement, only to swing around and grip it tightly with both hands, his back towards Liam, his head bowed towards the counter. The charcoal speckling of the laminate shimmers before his eyes and he blinks fiercely, trying desperately to focus them. ‘Theo,’ Liam says again, and Theo breaks.

‘I could – I’ll hurt – I can’t,’ he gets out in a breathless panicked tangle, ‘I, I, Jesus, Liam, I can’t, I can’t, I,’ and something crunches terribly beneath his hands, like bone snapping, and he can’t breathe, bands tightening mercilessly around his chest like the old asthma he’d had – that the real Theo had had, before he was twisted and carved and mutilated into an instrument of death, a mockery of a werewolf. He can’t – he can’t –

He's stumbling somewhere, the room tipping violently around him, a high fuzzing whine filling his eardrums. The taste of copper fills his mouth, and he forces his head down to see his own clawed fingers red and dripping with blood. ‘No,’ he chokes out, ‘no, no, please,’ and his shoulder collides at an awkward angle with something solid and unyielding, his knees seeming to buckle under his own weight until he’s sliding downwards, burying his face into the dark space beneath the cross of his wrists.

‘Theo – Theo!’

He can hear Liam’s voice, but it sounds distant and faraway. ‘No, I can’t,’ he gets out again; he can’t seem to stop saying it. He can’t.

‘Theo, look at me!’

Theo jolts, gasping in air; there are hands cupping his shoulders, Liam’s warm scent everywhere, filling his lungs. ‘Theo!’ Liam says again, and he doesn’t sound faraway, not anymore. Theo draws in another long shaking breath in through his mouth and forces his eyes open, forces himself to look.

Liam is very close, his eyes blue and concerned. ‘You’ve got to breathe, Theo, okay?’ he says. His hands squeeze lightly, thumbs rubbing over Theo’s collarbones, and Theo’s eyes nearly fall shut again because it’s the best thing he’s ever felt, that small gentleness. ‘Breathe,’ Liam reminds him, and Theo does, sucks in another breath and another, even as they scratch rawly down his throat. He wants to fling himself at Liam, bury his head in Liam’s t-shirt and stay there, wants to crawl and scratch under Liam’s skin like a parasite and never leave. Fuck, he just – he wants so badly, wants Liam’s touch and Liam’s attention and Liam’s hands all over him until he forgets, until there’s nothing else that matters. He wants too much.

‘I think you’re having a panic attack, dude,’ Liam says worriedly. ‘Shit, Theo, you’re shaking – here, just – ’ and he’s gathering Theo’s unsteady hands in one of his own and bringing them to his own chest, curling his forearm over them to hold them there.

Theo tries to force in another painful breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment. He doesn’t know what Liam’s doing, but his chest is warm and Liam is holding his hands there firmly and – oh. There’s Liam’s heartbeat, a little fast but steady and strong, beating away beneath Theo’s hands – th-thud. Th-thud. Th-thud.

‘Yeah,’ Liam says, ‘yeah, just – feel my heartbeat, okay? Just listen.’ His other hand rubs Theo’s shoulder when Theo manages another breath, and it’s a little, just a very little easier. His hands aren’t shaking quite so much, either, pressing into the warmth of Liam’s t-shirt, and he shifts one of them a little, seeking out the steady thud of Liam’s heart. Liam makes a relieved little humming sound and strokes his shoulder again, finding the edge of the neck binding and running his thumb – probably unconsciously – across Theo’s skin.

And – oh, god. What is he doing, Theo thinks desperately, awareness flooding back all at once. What the hell is he doing, sitting in Liam’s laundry room, having a goddamned freakout like an attention-seeking child, and all in front of Liam, too. Jesus. He opens his eyes and looks properly this time, sees that the pale blue of Liam’s t-shirt is blood-streaked beneath Theo’s flattened hands. He removes them like he’s been burned, curling them instinctively only to find that there are no claws there. When he checks Liam’s shirt, it’s intact despite the blood, and that one tiny worry releases itself from his throat, at least.

But the blood had had to come from somewhere, and he raises his eyes next over Liam’s shoulder, to the countertop where he’d been standing earlier, flinching when he sees the two deep crunches in the laminate. God, so stupid, to think that it was the sound of breaking bone. He should know well enough by now how to tell the difference. ‘The counter,’ he croaks. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t worry about the counter,’ Liam says. He’s very close, his face wrinkled up with concern and his hands still touching Theo carefully. His thumb smooths across the skin of Theo’s neck again, and Theo screws his eyes shut.

I can’t, he thinks once more, clear and quiet and resigned somewhere deep down inside him, and it settles into an aching kind of resolution.

Liam is still there, somehow, warm and close and overwhelming. ‘Do you need – water!’ he blurts. ‘Okay, okay – I’m just going to the kitchen, okay, I’ll get you a glass of water. Just stay there.’ His hands linger on Theo’s shoulders for a moment before he lets go, and Theo drags in one last shaking breath of his scent. I can’t, he thinks, but he bites it down, holds it inside. Doesn’t let himself sway towards Liam as Liam leaves. I can’t.

He knows what he has to do.

The laundry has a back exit, a door leading onto a narrow side path that runs along the house from front to back. It’s easy enough for him to stumble down, leaving his clothes still turning in Liam’s washer. Easy enough to start the truck despite his shaking hands.

He thinks Liam might not have even realised he’s left by the time he pulls away.

He’ll have to get new clothes, he thinks hollowly, sitting in his cold switched-off car deep in the Preserve. That had been almost everything that he’d left behind in Liam’s laundry. Fuck, he can never go back, he thinks, and buries his face in his hands, trying to swallow the sob that rises in his throat. He can’t go near Liam again. Can’t go near any of the pack.

He’ll have to find a new job, too, find some way to keep up with the funds he’s been funnelling into Corey’s college fund – and Hayden’s, too, three states away – under the guise of a nebulous scholarship program that doesn’t exist. If it wasn’t for that, he could just end it all, find six feet of water and a heavy enough weight… fuck, he’s pathetic. He’s never going to see Liam again.

He makes another, broken little sound and twists around, reaches for the threadbare duffle bag he keeps behind the seat, almost empty now. It takes a few moments of shaky, cold-fingered scrabbling, but then he finds what he’s looking for, faded grey, claw-pocked, but tucked carefully into a side pocket and never worn since the first time. Since Theo had been only hours out of the ground, filthy and still trembling, and Liam had handed him a little pile of clothes, sweet with his own scent, and nodded curtly towards the bathroom.

Theo brings it up to his face, presses it there and heaves Liam’s scent into his lungs, fighting the burn of tears behind his nose and eyes. This is all you get, he tells himself harshly, all you get, and the tears win and he’s choking on the pain, curling around Liam’s shirt and the punched-out, hollow feeling in his gut.

He's not sure how long he stays there, curled in on himself with his face hidden in Liam’s t-shirt, but judging by the thickness of the dark around him, it has to have been hours when he hears the tap-tap-tap of someone knocking against the window. The ludicrousness of it breaks through even the matted tangle of his emotions, because really? Here? Now? He’s never really believed in karma, or any other concept not backed up by hard science, but maybe some kind of retributive force of justice does follow him around, cheated of its due when Liam had pulled Theo out of the Skinwalkers’ prison.

‘Theo,’ someone’s voice says quietly through the glass of the window, when Theo doesn’t bother raising his head. ‘Theo, can you hear me?’

It’s the Hellhound, Theo realises through the aching haze of his mind – Parrish, Stilinski’s baby-faced deputy. Fuck, he shouldn’t have stopped, he thinks miserably. He’d been so fucking tired and heartsick and his throat had kept spasming with little hiccupped gasps of breath, and he’d found the furthest spot in the darkest corner of the Preserve, but clearly it hadn’t been enough. He shoves the back of his hand across his wet eyes, tries to smooth out the shake in his voice. ‘Okay – okay. I’m just leaving.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t,’ Parrish says, mild. ‘Can we talk for a few minutes – for Liam’s sake, if not your own?’

Theo darts a glance at him through the closed window despite himself, twining his fingers around the crumpled shirt in his lap to try and still their shaking. ‘What’s Liam got to do with this?’ he bluffs.

‘I think you know,’ Parrish says, gently, and Theo feels a crack forming in his defences at the gentleness, even from someone he barely knows.

Pathetic. He brings both hands up, digging the palms into his eyes and covering his face. ‘Don’t tell me he went to the cops,’ he says despairingly.

‘He very much did go to the cops,’ Parrish tells him, a little rueful. ‘He told his mother what happened straight away, and they went to the Sheriff together. You’re currently the subject of a reasonably sized search party.’

‘Fuck, fuck,’ Theo mumbles. God, he’s fucked this up so badly. Of course Liam hadn’t just let it go, with Theo acting as erratically as he had been, because Liam’s just like that, like a dog with a bone when he gets stuck on something. Theo should’ve stuck it out, should have stayed a bit longer and then been firm and left the house like no earth-shattering altercations had occurred. He could have left Beacon Hills later, quietly, in the night, instead of running away just like Liam had specifically asked him not to do. He keeps his face buried in his hands. He’s fucked up, and he doesn’t know what to do.

‘Hey, breathe, okay,’ Parrish says quietly. ‘Look, can you just open the window? I haven’t radioed them yet, so you have time.’

‘Fine. Fine!’ Theo says bleakly, dropping his hands and dropping his head back against the headrest. He feels like a rat trapped in a corner and out of options. He opens the window, then tips his head back and screws his eyes shut to try and prevent any more water from spilling out of them.

'Thank you,' Parrish says quietly. 'All I want is to talk, okay?'

‘You could’ve just broken the door open,’ Theo says tightly, not looking at him.

‘Pretty sure that would count as a misdemeanour,’ Parrish says, and Theo can’t help it, remembering a few specific red-letter nights with the deputies on patrol that stand out in his memory. He snorts, bitterly.

‘Like that’s ever stopped you people,’ he bites.

He can feel Parrish's eyes on him. The silence stretches and grows, and then Parrish says softly, ‘How long have you been living in your car?’

Theo presses his lips together. ‘What, the Sheriff doesn’t have me on the records, Deputy?’

‘No,’ Parrish says. ‘He doesn’t. None of Scott’s pack knew, you know. Not every report of a kid sleeping in their car goes past the Sheriff’s desk, not when they’re over eighteen and don’t cause a fuss. And you made pretty sure to steer clear of anyone who might have recognised you on patrol, didn’t you?’ His voice is still very gentle, and Theo can’t bear it, the way it makes his hands tremble and his eyes start watering again. He turns his head away and doesn’t answer, staring out the passenger window at the blackness outside.

‘He cares about you,’ Parrish adds quietly, and Theo's stomach lurches, hollow. He doesn't need to ask who Parrish means.

He hunches, clenching his hands and his jaw. 'That's the problem,' he says in a low voice. 'If he - ' he swallows, has to take a moment to breathe painfully through the aching, conflicted mass of feelings in his chest before he can go on. 'If he – pities me, or feels like he has a responsibility, or whatever makes him... That's the problem.'

'I don't think that was pity I saw down at the station, earlier,' Parrish observes. 'Or responsibility - or not only that, at least. He cares about you.'

'It doesn’t matter,' Theo says harshly, and forces him to look back at Parrish's face, show him the naked truth in his eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ He clenches his hands together. ‘If he does – it’s going to get him hurt. He’s too trusting, he – ’ and it’s too hard to go on meeting Parrish’s eyes, so he looks away. ‘You have to let me leave.’

There’s a long silence. Theo can hear Parrish shift, wonders if he might offer Theo the mercy of leaving with no more words exchanged. He curls his fingers gently around Liam’s shirt, smoothing where his trembling hands had screwed careless crumples into the fabric.

‘That’s his, isn’t it?’ Parrish murmurs.

Theo’s shoulders slump. ‘Yeah,’ he admits, low, trying to block out the scent of Parrish’s compassion; it hurts, tightening Theo’s throat and stinging the back of his eyes.

‘Look, what if I cut you a deal?’ Parrish says softly. He waits until Theo looks tiredly back up at him, then offers him a little smile. ‘Come with me. I’ll buy you dinner, we’ll sit somewhere a bit warmer and more comfortable and talk. I won’t call the others, except for Noah, and he’ll keep them all away for a couple of hours to give you a chance to make a decision. If you decide you still want to leave after dinner, I won’t stop you.’ He holds Theo’s eyes and waits, letting Theo read the truth in the steady thud of his heartbeat.

Theo’s so tired. He turns his face away and rests it against the headrest, closing his eyes and swallowing harshly. ‘Fine,’ he says. ‘Fine.’ It’s a waste of his time, and Parrish’s, but if this is what it takes to call off the manhunt, then what does it even matter.

The diner Parrish takes him to is large and warm, comfortingly impersonal once they’re tucked away at a table at the back. Theo stares blankly at the menu for long enough that Parrish simply orders for him, adding several unnecessary sides.

Theo’s dully surprised that Parrish doesn’t immediately launch into trying to convince him, instead pulling out his phone to check a text that pings through, looking down at it for a moment with a soft little smile Theo’s not sure he realises is even there. He looks back up at Theo almost immediately, but the softness lingers. ‘The Sheriff will make sure they don’t disturb us,’ he tells him. ‘Be grateful - it sounds like he’s having to hold Liam back by the scruff of his neck to stop him razing Beacon Hills to get to you.

Theo’s mouth wavers; he’s not sure if it’s with amusement or tears. ‘Goddamnit, Liam,’ he says, and drops his tired head into his hands, rubbing them roughly over his face and gritty eyes with his elbows propped on the battered diner table.

‘You know, Theo,’ Parrish says, quietly blunt, ‘you’re the only one in Scott's pack who doesn’t trust you.’ He watches Theo across the table, still gentle but adamant. 'I know you’re not going to hurt anyone. Do you think Scott would let you go on seeing Liam for a second if he thought you were a danger?’

‘Scott’s nineteen,’ Theo bursts out. ‘And Liam’s barely eighteen, and both of them are too naïve for their own good.’ He rakes his hand agitatedly through his hair. ‘I just. I can’t hurt Liam,’ he says, pleading with Parrish to understand. 'I can't.'

‘Because you love him,’ Parrish says, and it’s such a patently undeniable fact that Theo drops his shoulders, defeated.

‘Yes,’ he says, hollow. There’s no more to it than that, he just loves Liam, loves him hopeless and quiet and aching and he thinks he always will. ‘You're in love with Stilinski,’ he bites tiredly, after a moment, not even sure why he says it or even if it’s true until he sees the caught, telling little twitch of Parrish’s face.

Parrish’s cheeks have flooded faintly pink, but he goes on watching Theo, steady. ‘You’re very perceptive,’ he says ruefully.

He doesn’t confirm or deny the accusation any more than that, but Theo drops his eyes after a moment, looking back down at the table, ashamed. There had been well-hidden pain there in Parrish’s eyes, too; a year ago, Theo would’ve twisted his fingers in and pulled on that thread until it unravelled, one way or another – not even taking any kind of pleasure in it, but with pragmatism, cold and numb.

He doesn’t pull, this time. He thinks Parrish is about to say something else, but then their food arrives, a big burger each and fries and onion rings and a basket of mozzarella sticks. Theo’s stomach growls despite himself. The last thing he’d eaten had been Liam’s snacks, and that had been hours ago and preceded by a full day of hauling rubble. He’s sinking his teeth into the burger before he can even think about slowing himself down.

He’d expected Parrish to go on trying to convince him through the meal, out of whatever misplaced, boy-scout sense of compassion is driving him through all this. But Parrish just looks calmly down at his plate and starts eating, slow and methodic, pushing the lion’s share of the sides over to Theo’s side of the table.

The burger goes too fast, but the food in his belly does something, filling up a little - just a little - of the gaping hollowness inside him. Theo crunches down on a warm mozzarella stick and thinks about how cold it’s going to be inside his truck, and then has to squeeze his eyes shut against the burning behind them, swallowing his mouthful painfully through the tightness in his throat. He can hear Parrish’s phone buzz, faint across the table, and wonders pathetically if it might be Liam on the other end.

When the burning passes, he blinks his eyes open to find Parrish looking at him with an odd expression on his face, his phone in his hand. ‘Argent has been talking to the Sheriff,’ he says.

‘Great,’ Theo says dully. He wonders where Argent stands in all this. He’d seemed to be okay with Theo roaming free, in Beacon Hills at least, but there’s a difference between that and letting him leave the county. But then again, maybe he’d prefer that Theo was gone, and someone else’s problem. It’s hard to tell how Argent’s mind works.

‘He’s been watching your finances,’ Parrish says, very gently. He waits as Theo jolts and fumbles what’s left of his mozzarella stick onto the plate, staring across the table, panic freezing his limbs. ‘You weren’t ever going to tell anyone, were you? About sending that money to Corey and Hayden?’

‘Corey can’t know,’ Theo blurts, urgent. ‘You have to text Argent back, tell him. He can’t.’ He shoves his hair back with a trembling hand. ‘Parrish, please.’ If Corey knows, he’ll – Theo’s not sure what he’ll do, whether he’ll reject the money or feel violated or tricked by Theo, yet again. It only – it only works – if no-one knows.

‘It’s okay. He hasn’t told him,’ Parrish says reassuringly. ‘He said you’d ask. Mason and Corey had already left earlier, when the Sheriff told them you’d been found.’

‘Okay. Okay,’ Theo says, his fists pressing restlessly against the tabletop. Fuck, he’d been so careful, too, but of course Argent had been a step ahead. He stares at Parrish, trying to think.

‘Theo, take a breath,’ Parrish says quietly. ‘It’s atonement, isn’t it? You’re trying to make up for what you did.’ His eyes are kind across the table, his tone low and calm, but it doesn’t stop the words from hitting Theo like a blow directly to his chest, and he hunches a little over the pain of it.

‘I know it’s not going to make up for it,’ he says, low and fierce and heavy with everything he hates about himself, about what he’s done. ‘They trusted me, and I killed them. Josh, and Tracy, and Tara. You can’t just buy that back.’ He brings his hand up to rub unsteadily at his sternum.

‘No,’ Parrish says. ‘You can’t.’

Theo stares down at the table, the confirmation sinking deep in his stomach. ‘Then why are we here?’ he says bleakly. He presses the heel of his hand hard into his chest, feeling the stolen thud of it and forcing himself, always, to feel.

‘Because that’s not what you’re trying to do,’ Parrish says quietly. ‘Because Liam cares about you, and that matters. Because Scott wants you to stay. Because no-one knows what Beacon Hills will throw at us next, and the pack needs you, and you need them.’

There’s a long, aching silence. Then Parrish adds, very softly, ‘And because you know you can’t make up for what you did, but you’re working every day of your life trying anyway,’ and Theo closes his eyes and sucks in a shaky breath.

‘Fuck,’ he says helplessly, rubbing his hands over his face, and he doesn’t know whether it’s the pack needs you or the warm food in his stomach or the thought of Liam’s worried eyes waiting at the sheriff station, but – ‘Fine,’ he croaks, muffled into his hands. ‘Fine. I don’t know what you all expect me to do, but – okay. I’ll go back.’

The sight of Liam hits him like a punch to the gut. He’s sitting on the bench near the door, hunched over, with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Theo stops in his tracks, and then Liam’s head jerks up, his gaze zeroing in on Theo standing there. Theo can’t help the way his face spasms, the deep desperate longing tug at the pit of his stomach as he catches Liam’s stress-soaked scent.

Liam’s already on his feet, coming forward and Parrish sidesteps Theo where he’s rooted to the ground, squeezing his shoulder lightly as he makes his way around him and towards Stilinski’s office. Then it’s just Theo and Liam looking at each other, the small night staff of deputies melting out of Theo’s peripheral as they go back to their work.

‘Jesus, Theo,’ Liam says, and his whole face wobbles and then he’s surging forward, heedless of the sharp panicky thud of Theo’s heart. Theo flinches; he’s already bracing himself for a probably well-deserved fist to the face, but it never comes. Instead, he finds himself wrapped in a fierce, bone-crushing squeeze, Liam flinging his arms around Theo’s body in a hug that feels almost as angry and desperate as an actual punch.

Theo barely has time to process the contact, though, before he’s being shoved away again with force, back and out of the door, a subvocal growl vibrating the air between them. Liam’s eyes are overbright and glassy, his shoulders high and tense, anger overwhelmingly flooding his scent in the sudden way it always does when Liam’s tension breaks.

‘You asshole!’ he says furiously. He’s glaring at Theo, and when his arms come up to shove him again, Theo reacts on instinct, his hands flying up to catch Liam’s wrists as the station door swings shut behind them. ‘You freaking asshole,’ Liam chokes. ‘You just – you just fucking – freaked out and then left!’

Theo glares back at him, exhausted and irritable and ashamed, with a small childish part of his brain just plain pissed off at Liam’s admittedly predictable fury. ‘Yes, Liam, thank you. I remember what happened.’

‘Fuck you, Theo!’ Liam’s voice shakes. ‘I was worried, I thought – ’ He stops, swallows harshly. ‘I don’t know what I thought! Where – why the hell did you just leave?’

‘Well, excuse me for trying to – ’ Theo snaps before he can stop himself. He manages to grit his teeth together just in time to prevent the end of the sentence from escaping, but from the way Liam’s eyes kindle angrily, it’s damning enough despite his efforts.

‘Trying to what? You don’t need to goddamn protect me!’ Liam’s irises are glinting gold, the breath snarling wetly out of his throat. ‘And especially not – ’ and his hands wrench up, easily taking Theo’s clutching fingers with them, and make jolting contact with his collarbones. ‘Especially not from yourself! You’re so – fucking – fuck. Theo,’ and Theo’s back hits brick, Liam’s forehead thudding forward to slam into his clavicle.

It hits with far less force than expected, and after a dizzy moment Theo realises Liam isn’t fighting him anymore. He’s just resting his head there, a warm solid weight, his breath shuddering against Theo’s neck. ‘You really scared me, you know?’ he says after a moment, low and unsteady. ‘You really – you fucking scared me, Theo.’

‘Liam,’ Theo says helplessly, but he doesn’t have the right words to follow it up, the back of his throat burning. Trembling, he lets his hands curl around to rest, carefully, on Liam’s back, the warmth of Liam’s body just barely seeping through his hoodie to touch Theo’s chilled fingers.

‘Jesus, just, come here,’ Liam says unsteadily, lifting his head, and then he’s tugging at Theo’s shoulders and wrapping his arms around him again. It’s marginally gentler, this time, but almost as desperate, and Theo can’t help himself from making a tiny shuddering sound and melting helplessly into it, hunching down to tuck his face into the warm crook of Liam’s neck. Liam is so warm and close and his scent is in Theo’s nose, so much deeper and more overwhelming than what’s still faintly clinging to the shirt Theo keeps in his car. It’s too much, after everything that’s happened, like eating too much too soon after a famine, and to Theo’s utter horror he finds himself choking back tears.

‘Fuck, sorry, sorry,’ he whispers, trying to pull away so he’s not crying into Liam’s shoulder like a pathetic baby.

He only manages to withdraw by a couple of inches, though, before Liam tightens his grip. ‘No. Stop it,’ he says stubbornly, under his breath, and all but shoves Theo’s face back against his neck.

‘Fuck,’ Theo chokes, and fists his hands into Liam’s hoodie, mortified and overcome and unable to control the way he’s shaking. God, it’s just – the way Liam is hugging him, tight and warm and perfect. He can’t remember the last time someone hugged him like this, the last time someone wanted to hug him like this, and he’s desperate and greedy for it, for the perfect, steady pressure of Liam's arms. He doesn’t know how he’s ever going to make himself let go.

‘It’s okay. It’s okay, Theo,’ Liam whispers, and Theo’s whole chest spasms in something too violent and soundless to be called a sob. Liam hugs him a little tighter, one hand curling around the back of Theo’s neck, and Theo presses his face down into the warm crook of Liam’s jaw, squeezing his eyes closed and trying to breathe through the burning in his throat.

Liam holds him through it until the burning passes and Theo can manage to breathe a little easier, Liam’s warmth finally seeping into his chilled limbs and bones in a way that even the hot food at the diner hadn’t managed. He brings his knuckles to his face, trying to surreptitiously wipe away the wetness, but it’s obviously a hopeless cause given the dampness on Liam’s neck and blotching the shoulder of his hoodie. ‘Sorry,’ Theo mumbles again. Jesus Christ, he’s such a goddamn mess.

Liam squeezes him tightly. ‘No. Shut up,’ he mutters. ‘Argent told us about the money stuff,’ he says bluntly after another moment. His fingers nudge the hair at the nape of Theo’s neck, even as Theo stiffens, his earlier panic sweeping back.

‘You can’t tell them, Liam,’ he gets out. ‘Corey and Hayden can’t know.’

He shifts, agitated, but Liam won’t let him pull away, keeping his arms stubbornly wrapped around Theo’s body. ‘No-one told them! Calm down, okay.’

Theo takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, a little terrified at the way Liam’s firm reassuring hold works on him, Liam’s scent curling around him and helping to steady his racing heart. ‘Who did he tell?’ he asks quietly, after a moment.

‘Just the Sheriff and Scott, and the Sheriff texted Parrish,’ Liam says. His scent goes a little sheepish. ‘He didn’t actually tell me, tell me – but if they didn’t want me to hear they should have found a more private office, dude! What was I supposed to do. Of course I listened!’

Unexpectedly, Theo finds a tiny laugh bubbling up his chest; it comes out a little choky but it’s real, amused, and he muffles it into Liam’s shoulder because it’s there and close and Liam’s not letting him go anyway. ‘Of course you listened,’ he agrees.

Liam grins, and Theo can feel the shape of it against his ear. ‘Yeah, well!’ he says, but then his tone softens. ‘Just – dude, that scholarship money – do you know how relieved Corey’s been? What a difference it made? And you’ve just – you didn’t even tell anyone. I didn’t know.’

‘You weren’t supposed to know,’ Theo says in a low voice. He doesn’t know if he can bear to go on talking about it; it feels too raw, too personal, too much like a part of his soul ripped out and bared to the world like an exposed nerve. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, Liam, okay? I just – please.’

‘Okay,’ Liam says, simple and quiet. His fingers are still nudging the nape of Theo’s neck, and they move in a small, stroking motion that feels almost unconscious, smoothing the ends of Theo’s hair. ‘You’re coming back home with me, though, right?’ he says eventually.

Theo doesn’t miss the way Liam holds his breath, waiting for an answer, but he has to ride out his own reflexive wave of panic before he answers. He hunches down a little more closely into Liam’s body, Liam’s warm scent, and it helps a little. ‘Yeah – yeah, okay.’

‘Okay,’ Liam says immediately, his scent and voice going soft with relief. ‘Okay, yeah. Good. Let’s go home.’

‘Don’t spare the horses?’ Theo manages to murmur, and the beautiful, surprised huff of Liam’s laugh feels as good as warm sunshine on his back.

‘Don’t spare the horses,’ Liam confirms, and nudges his temple against Theo’s hair.

Mrs Geyer hugs Liam tightly when they come in. She looks as though she wants to hug Theo, too, but ends up just putting a warm hand on his arm. Theo's rather desperately grateful for it, because even the gentle touch to his shoulder has his eyes burning and his throat clogging up. He's not sure he would have survived a hug from her.

To his relief, there aren't a lot of words exchanged around his staying. Dr Geyer, who's stirring some sort of creamy pasta in a pot over the stove, offers him a warm smile and makes an offhand mention to Liam that they've put out clean sheets and towels in the green bedroom.

Liam stays glued to Theo’s side, only leaving him – reluctantly – at the bathroom door, arms loaded with a ludicrously fluffy green towel and a set of Liam’s sweats and a t-shirt to wear once he gets out, because apparently Theo’s own clothes haven’t finished drying yet, Liam tells him. Theo hesitates in the doorway, glancing back at Liam. ‘I won’t be long,’ he says quietly, except he’s saying a lot more than that, and by the flash of relief in Liam’s eyes he knows it too. 

The hot water of the shower thunders down on Theo’s head, pounding the tense ache out of his neck and shoulders, soaking away the sticky itch of past tears and losing the few new ones that fall into the flood. When he’s done – forcing himself not to overstay the careful ten-minute timer in his head – he feels almost human again. He dresses in Liam’s sweats and t-shirt, Liam’s scent surrounding him, and has to take a moment to just close his eyes and rest his forehead on the cool shower glass and breathe.

He opens the bathroom door and crosses the empty passage to the door of the guest bedroom opposite, then stops in his tracks, frozen in the shaft of warm light emanating from the doorway. There’s a little girl sitting cross-legged on the bed, dressed in a set of yellow pyjamas and watching him interestedly. ‘Hello,’ she says, bright-eyed.

Theo hoists his wet towel and drybag a little higher in his arms, a barrier. ‘Hello,’ he says cautiously, and glances both ways up the passage, but no help comes from either direction; he can hear Liam talking to Mrs Geyer at the kitchen island, Dr Geyer still mixing something at the stove behind them.

‘I’m Lanna,’ the little girl informs him. She uncurls her legs from beneath her, but the bed’s high enough that they’re too short to reach the ground, and she swings them a little, cheerfully, resting her hands on the bed, the twin puffs of her hair bobbing. ‘Are you Liam’s friend?’

‘Uh,’ Theo says. ‘Yes. I think so?’

‘Cool!’ she chirps. ‘What are you called?’

‘Theo,’ Theo says after a moment, not venturing any further into the room.

‘Liam said he went to the zoo with you,’ she tells him wistfully, and Theo blinks, thrown. ‘I’ve never, ever been to the zoo.’

‘It wasn’t a very good zoo,’ Theo says, because it really wasn’t, ‘but – yeah.’ He hesitates, thinking about things. He thinks about trust, about Parrish on the other side of the diner table, about the way Liam's hand had cupped the back of his neck; and then he takes a deep breath and steps over the threshold and into the room, and nothing terrible happens. It’s okay.

Alanna bounces a little on the bed as he goes to hang his towel over the drying rail in the corner. ‘Did you have fun? Zoos are so fun,’ she says, longingly.

Theo’s duffle is sitting where he left it, propped up against the pine dresser. He kneels down next to it to put his drybag away, and smiles a little, down at his hands, remembering. ‘Yeah. It was fun,’ he says, and glances back to see her eyes fixed on him, rapt.

‘Did you see giraffes?’ she asks, breathless, then leans forward confidingly. ‘I love giraffes. They’re my favourite animal, ever.’

‘I –’ Theo hesitates. ‘Yeah. I saw giraffes.’ He dredges up an ancient memory, a school trip when he was seven years old, before he’d ever heard of werewolves and Dread Doctors. 'They let us feed them.'

‘You and Liam are so lucky,’ Alanna says wistfully. 'Some giraffes have purple tongues, you know.'

Theo glances back at her. 'I didn't know that, actually,' he admits, and smiles slightly. She returns it with a beam so sweet and warm he can feel the corners of his own mouth curling up a little further in response. Something clenches in his chest – a sharp but bearable ache, like the weather-groan of an old wound that you learn to live with though it never quite heals – and Theo breathes through it, holds the pain there like a gift even as he smiles back at her, soft and careful. He opens his mouth, not sure what he’s about to say, but he’s beaten to it.

‘There’s a pretty good zoo near Devenford,’ Liam says quietly. He’s standing at the doorway, and when Theo looks at him, there’s an odd, soft expression on his face. ‘We could take her, right, Theo? It’s not that far.’ There’s anxiety shot all through his scent, but hope, too, and he’s watching Theo steadily even as Alanna gasps and bounces on the bed in delight.

Theo swallows, meets Liam’s eyes. ‘Yeah. We could do that,’ he says, and the corners of Liam’s mouth turn up, his eyes brightening and the tension draining out of his body.

‘Great! Great,’ he says. He glances down, and Theo notices he’s carrying two bowls, both heaped with the creamy pasta Dr Geyer had been cooking earlier, fresh with chicken and pesto and lemon. ‘I brought us food. Yours is in the kitchen though, Lanna.’

She sighs, but slips off the bed without protest, padding on socked feet to the door. ‘Bye, Theo!’ she says as she leaves, grinning at him.

‘Goodbye,’ Theo says automatically, watching her go. When he looks back at Liam, Liam offers him one of the bowls; it’s warm, cupped in his hands, a fork already dug into the mound of pasta. ‘Thanks,’ he says quietly, and when Liam makes himself at home, perched on the bed with his legs crossed, Theo hesitates and then joins him, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The pasta tastes as good as it smells, even if Theo could’ve lasted easily until the next day on what he’s already eaten at the diner; this is probably twice the calories he normally gets in a day. He blinks when he reaches the bottom of the bowl, not having realised how fast he was eating.

He hears the scrape of Liam’s fork on the bottom of his own plate a moment later. ‘Good, right?’ Liam says.

‘Yeah,’ Theo says, heartfelt. Liam’s stepfather is a hell of a cook, apparently. ‘It’s great.’

Liam grins at him, bumping his shoulder lightly against Theo’s. ‘There’s more downstairs,’ he says. ‘Come on,' and somehow before Theo can decline, he's being shepherded back towards the kitchen, still awkwardly clutching the bowl in his hands.

Liam’s family is already perched on the tall stools around the kitchen island, eating. Alanna is chattering to Mrs Geyer about something, taking sporadic slurps out of a bright turquoise plastic cup, and Dr Geyer looks up as Liam approaches, returning his grin as Liam makes a hungry beeline for the pasta pot. Even the air around them seems to shine a little, touched by the golden-warm light of the lamps that hang above the bench.

Theo hangs back a little, Tara's heart aching steadily in his chest. They look so peaceful there, perfect, the four of them moving together in an easy kind of harmony, and he feels suddenly and painfully like an intruder, unbelonging in their little bubble of warmth. God, he should never have agreed to this, he thinks in a desperate flicker; he doesn’t fit here, just a dark ghoulish thing trying to wear the skin of something real and alive.

Then Liam looks over his shoulder, grinning a little, and Theo meets his eyes without really meaning to. ‘Come on, dude,’ Liam says, all light bravado. ‘Don’t make me come over there and get you.’

Theo swallows, hesitating. He can smell the pasta, and his stomach clenches hopefully – his body apparently intent on making the most of the abundant food – and that feels real enough. So does the shaky little flip in his chest when Liam smiles at him. He glances at Liam’s family again, catching Alanna’s eye when she beams.

‘Can Theo sit next to me?’ she says, bouncing a little. ‘Sit here Theo! Can you sit next to me?’ Still clutching the plastic cup, she leans sideways, trying to pull the neighbouring stool out with her free hand, and Theo sees the exact moment that she overbalances, starting to fall.

Theo lunges forward at the same instant that Liam and both his parents do, but she’d been leaning in Theo’s direction, and he's the one who reaches her first, catching her with one arm around her waist and one steadying the dangerously tipping cup. There’s a little explosion of sound, Mrs Geyer’s shocked little gasp, Liam’s sharp ‘oh my god!’, the clatter of Dr Geyer’s fork as he drops it; and then a collective huff of relieved laughter as Theo steadies Alanna back atop the stool.

She’s so little, her heart beating rabbit-fast under his arm and her lip wobbling undecidedly, so Theo hesitates and then gently pats her back. ‘Caught you,’ he says quietly, and gives her a little smile. She sniffles bravely and blinks a few times, then returns his smile with an unsteady one of her own, warm surprise spreading in Theo’s chest when he realises that somehow, that had actually worked. In the periphery, he sees Mrs Geyer relax; she’d been watching closely, ready to comfort her daughter, but she picks up her fork again, her scent smoothing out into warm approval.

‘Good reflexes, now sit down before anything else happens,’ Liam tells him, and pulls out the stool next to Alanna for Theo himself, giving him a friendly little bump with his elbow. Theo does what he’s told, and Liam plonks down next to him, their knees connecting beneath the counter, and suddenly what had been impossible seems almost easy. Liam pushes the pot towards him, Mrs Geyer nudging the salad closer while Dr Geyer fills a glass of water and hands it across the table with a smile, and just like that, Theo’s included.

He takes a deep breath. Liam’s knee is warm against his own, sitting there in the kitchen light, and on his other side Alanna has started chattering again. I’m trying, Theo thinks, and maybe – maybe, for now, that’s just enough.

Four months later

Liam finds him sitting outside the gymnasium on the steps, quietly nursing a cup of cola and gazing off into the dimly lit parking lot, the music muffled out here to the dull distant thud of bass and drums. Theo looks up when he hears him approach, offering him the corner of a smile.

‘Hey,’ Liam says quietly, and drops down next to him. ‘What are you doing out here, dude? I missed you in there.’

Theo huffs out a laugh, doing his best to keep the wistful edge out of it; he’s trying not to be that pathetic. ‘You were having fun. Go back inside. Dance. You’ve earned it.’

The truth is that he’d been – not jealous, exactly, because jealousy would assume he had some sort of claim over Liam, and he doesn’t, of course he doesn’t. He knows that. It had just ached, that was all, seeing Liam dance with other people. He’s not yours, he’d told himself sharply. Grow up. But it had still hurt, and so he’d gone outside so he didn’t have to see it for a while.

Liam bumps his shoulder. ‘You’re not in there,’ he points out, and sips his own coke, like he’s made some kind of important point.

Theo shrugs. He’d only come to the graduation dance because Liam had asked him to, and he’s been trying to train himself out of hanging around Liam too much in social situations. Liam doesn’t need someone holding him back. ‘I wasn’t the one who graduated,’ he points out, and takes a deep breath, steeling himself to push Liam away, just a little bit, for his own good. ‘The party’s for you. You can go find someone nice to make out with or something. There’s plenty of cute girls in there.’ He thinks. Probably.

‘Pretty sure you don’t even like girls, dude,’ Liam says, the eyeroll clearly audible in his voice, and knocks his knee against Theo’s. It’s very warm, and Theo feels the contact like a fire burning through the material of his pants to his skin. Liam leaves his knee there, touching him, and makes a huffy sound. ‘For a smart person, you’re incredibly stupid sometimes,’ he observes.

Theo stares down at his drink, trying to will his hands to stay steady, to not – reach for Liam like he wants to do so badly. God, he just wants, wants and wants and wants, always the things he can't have, and his chest aches with it.

Liam sighs, deeply. 'Give me that,' he says, impatient, and then his hands enter Theo's line of vision and close half around Theo's, half around the plastic cup, tugging it out of Theo's loose grasp. Theo's gaze darts up to him; Liam's close, too close, and Theo swallows sharply.

Liam frowns down at the cup he's taken, as though he doesn’t quite know what to do with it, then decisively puts it and his own drink down on a lower step, out of reach. Theo's stolen heart thuds violently, like it's trying to force its way right out of his chest. He flattens his hands on his knees, neat and careful, tries not to let anything show on his face.

'Hey,' Liam says quietly, and he reaches forward again, and touches Theo's hand, very lightly, with just the tips of his fingers.

Theo's breath catches, embarrassingly, in his throat. 'Liam,' he says. 'Liam, what are you – ' and then Liam nudges his hand up and threads his fingers through it, as though it's something they've done a hundred times before. 'What are you doing,' Theo says, pleading.

'Oh, just – finding someone I want to make out with,' Liam says softly. His fingers are warm, and he runs his thumb comfortingly across the back of Theo's hand. ‘That’s what you wanted me to do, right?’

Theo's eyes are stinging. 'Liam, you can't – you shouldn't,' he croaks, but Liam's other hand comes up to cup Theo's face and he can't help leaning into it. 'Liam.'

'Stop being an idiot,' Liam says, 'and come over here.' He kneels forward, between Theo's knees, and grins at him, holds his face in both hands and thumbs carefully beneath his eyes, where Theo hadn't realised was lined with tears. 'Hey, Theo,' Liam says, very softly. 'You're cute and stupid and I really want to kiss you. Want to make out on the gym steps outside my graduation party?'

Theo sniffs, laughs chokily and blinks hard, trying not to tear up any more than he is already. He doesn't think he's ever had anything this good happen to him in his life; it doesn’t feel quite real, like perhaps it’s all just the best dream he’s ever had. 'Mm, insulting the person you want to make out with, great – great tactic. That usually work out for you?'

'I don't know,' Liam says, and smiles at Theo, softly, a warm, contented edge to his scent. 'You tell me, did it work?'

Theo laughs again, the sound shaking out of him, and leans into Liam’s hands. ‘Yeah – yeah, Liam, I guess it did,’ he says unsteadily.

‘Oh yeah?’ Liam says, even softer. He’s grinning like he can’t stop, and he strokes his thumbs over Theo’s cheekbones and then –

Then he’s finally, finally kissing him, and it’s perfect and terrifying and devastatingly intimate, and Liam is so very warm, lips and breath and gentle fingers on Theo’s face. Theo is trembling and trembling and he can’t make himself stop, but it’s okay; Liam’s careful hands are anchoring him there, smoothing the tears away, and the soft light filtering from the gymnasium touches them both, turning everything to gold.