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High school had been too early to expect to find the loves of his life, Stiles thought. Things just didn't happen that way nine times out of ten, and the tenth time almost never works out. He compares Scott's parents to his own all the time – Melissa left alone when her two husbands refused to part when she threw one out on his ass versus his mom and dad meeting his mima years after they got together, a happy twist of fate when Tara stopped teaching school to become a deputy. Building a relationship to last takes patience, a quality Stiles has never been prone to, but it was easiest to pretend he was with everyone around him scrambling through permutations.
He'd watched Danny, Jackson, and Lydia get together and split time after time, sometimes leaving them all single and frustrated and others leading Danny and Lydia back to the twins, so nearly interchangeable that it was almost a triad in and of itself. Even the couples were impatient, on and off dating everyone around him. Not him. Never him. He'd had to start joking that he was waiting for Scott and Allison to decide they wanted to round themselves out, finally. In fact, it had been good for all three of them to pretend that Stiles was their third; Stiles didn't have to feel so much like the only perpetually single person in their grade and his best friends dodged the questions about when they'd get over their infatuation with each other enough to get their shit together. They'd had no intention of ever dating someone else, of course, but some part of Stiles had become convinced that it would be him, anyway.
That happened a lot back then, usually preceded by a burst of panic and followed by a few weeks of abject humiliation at how far he'd deluded himself. Twice he thought Heather might be considering asking him out, deciding to try a guy for a third despite the fact that Danielle had no interest. The same happened again with Caitlin, which had culminated in one very drunk makeout and innumerable apologies. The worst, of course, was the brief but mortifying period of time when Derek had dated, of all people, his English teacher.
College came and there were couples everywhere, actively looking and being intimidating and attractive to Stiles in that way that only couples every managed to be. Sure, he could recognize a hot person on the street in passing, but there was something more to seeing people together, the way they looked at each other. The similar faces they made when they'd been together a while, and the contrast between their bodies.
He'd thought Erica was single when he met her. Other single people made Stiles feel less like he was losing a race, and it was easier to approach someone who didn't have to consider whether he'd also be someone else's type. As far as he knew, Stiles had never been anyone's type at all. But he'd seen Erica two or three times a week in the coffee shop Kira worked at, alone and sipping her coffee black but syrupy, and she was...well, she was hot. Big blonde hair, more yellow than white unlike the usual dye jobs he saw, and warm brown eyes that seemed mischievous when she was typing away at her laptop. Both of her hands were bare and she flirted at least once a visit with Kira, who had either become so accustomed to it that she didn't blush or was completely missing the point. A third option – that she'd only had eyes for Malia at the time – was possible, too, but they'd started going on dates not long after.
Erica had sort of looked like she wanted to eat him when he first asked if he could sit down with her. She fiddled with her phone for a while, considering, and then let him park it awkwardly in the second stool, the third looming beside them in its conspicuous emptiness. They'd exchanged names and talked about school (for him) and work (for her) and which pastries here were fresh and which obviously came straight out of boxes in the back. It was kind of okay, and Stiles had thought it went pretty well, for his first attempt at hitting on a stranger.
His first words to Boyd, unfortunately, were, “Is that bubble tea?” In his defense, he'd walked in expecting a coffee date with a single girl and found a giant of a guy in a soft sweater holding a bright orange drink already missing most of the little pearls of whatever that settle at the bottom. As a whole, the picture had made little to no sense – supposedly single Erica with one eyebrow arched in amusement and a guy even bigger than Derek with Kira's favorite girly drink to make since she started working here. Boyd saved the moment, if it could be considered salvageable at all, telling him it was mango and gesturing for him to sit at that same third seat, now the empty point of a triangle for him to fill in instead of a future opportunity.
It was clear pretty quickly that Boyd, despite being not much for words and something like 6'3”, was not the textbook strong and silent type like Derek Hale. Between his enrollment in an engineering program at school and the paltry few minutes it took for him to finish the crossword he worked on while Erica gossiped, he seemed more like a match for Lydia than for Stiles, and his sense of humor was absolutely scathing. He'd hated to admit it to himself – especially since Allison and Scott's first boyfriend, Isaac, could be just as sharp – but that kind of thing got to him. In a zero to one hundred in the pants sort of way.
It's been months since then, and everything that gets to him about Boyd and Erica – the insane good looks and contrasting personalities – is still the same, of course. He gets to see them at their apartment now, moving around each other in the kitchen without even having to look, feeding each other from serving spoons and laughing over old jokes. They've been together almost as long as Scott and Allison, and they'd been friends before that, bonding over middle school outcast status. Boyd's sister Alicia is even more settled than he is, bringing her boyfriends over for movie night and making Stiles somehow feel like an extra instead of number six, the last empty space in their living room. They sprawl over one another, a tangle of limbs only distinguishable by skin tone. Stiles's knee bumps Boyd's and he feels like he ought to apologize.
Scott's been giving him advice about this for weeks, about what to do when you're all together in theory but not quite in practice. It hadn't taken long for him to notice that even though they've been hanging out and doing stuff as a triad, he's mostly just dating Erica. There's no indication that Boyd is, y'know, straight, based on every casual remark Stiles has obsessively analyzed after their dates. The only other option is that Boyd is just plain not attracted to him, not the way Erica is.
“Nah, man,” Scott tells him, rubbing at his shoulder reassuringly. “You just need to spend some time alone with him. Me and Allison, we had to go on dates alone with Isaac sometimes. We could tell he felt kinda left out sometimes, with both of us. It's just because they know each other so well already, like we did. Just hang out with him sometimes, he's gotta be free when Erica's busy at least once a week, right?”
Erica's hours at the salon are regular enough that it's easy to find the spots in the week that she's busy snipping and tinting and everything else she's responsible for while he and Boyd don't have class. Then the lists start – evening stuff, lunchtime stuff, morning stuff (though he fucking hates getting out of bed), everything he can think of that he could possibly get some kind of enjoyment out of that Boyd might like. He even looks up whether it's football season and what games are earlier than others. Stiles knows nothing about football, but Boyd played in high school , and it can't be that different from any other sport he can actually follow, right? If only Beacon Hills had given two fucks about football, he might not be working so hard to learn about quarterback sneaks and what counts as an interference on top of studying for classses.
The problem is that Erica keeps inviting herself to things. If Stiles wants to have lunch with Boyd at eleven, Erica makes it half past and takes her break early. When he suggest an afternoon game, Erica decides that Thursday night football is a fantastic idea. He tries to be angry, but the two of them look so sweet in their matching jerseys that he gives up and listens to Erica having intelligent, informed opinions on the chances these two teams have for the Super Bowl. Even when he tries to make study dates, something Erica has literally no use for, things get twisted somehow and they all wind up at the coffee shop, Erica winking and twirling her hair in Kira's direction and Boyd working away at his math while Stiles wonders where he went wrong in life.
It's not that they only want to see him as a couple, either. Stiles sees Erica alone all the time. Sometimes he sees lots of Erica when they're alone. Not that he's complaining, because his experience up until now is basically nil and Erica is even curvier out of her clothes, soft everywhere she lets him touch and kiss. It's just that he feels guilty about it afterward every time, lying there in his own sex sweat and watching Erica stretch and hum in contentment. There's nothing wrong with having sex with one partner at a time, but shouldn't they have started out together? It only widens the gap he feels when he sees Boyd, broad through the shoulders and soft through the waist where Erica lovingly drapes her arm. He feels small, not just physically – scrawny enough as it is and even more so by comparison.
He's been avoiding both of them for a few days now, trying to work this out on his end instead of pushing it on them. What happened to that fleeting happiness he'd talked himself into in high school? He'd told himself that not everyone gets to have the normal experience, or else there'd be no need to call it normal. He'd been willing to date girls with girlfriends who he knew would never glance his way in more than friendship. Now being frozen out by Boyd feels like the end of the world – like he's being wronged and doing something despicable all at the same time. They deserve to have someone both of them can be happy with, instead of settling for him – a sort of funny asshole who makes up for his only recently discarded virginity with a lot of enthusiasm for getting his mouth between Erica's dimpled thighs.
This has to be handled, and he knows he can't do this face to face with Erica – she'll smile and tap those candy apple red nails against his thigh, tell him how silly he's being. More than once whatever he'd been about to say has been lost to Erica's favorite wicked grin and a little bit of contact. She knows how to work him, whether it's with words or sex, and she'll just talk him out of what he knows has to be done. So he sends the text directly to Boyd. He picks a time when he's actually supposed to be in class, so Erica won't even suspect that he's up to something, and asks if they can meet up at the cafe. He reflexively spits out all three of their orders when he shows up first, and Malia teases him when he realizes and blushes. “Just the bubble tea and the macchiato,” he corrects, and sits down at their table, right next to the glass so they can watch people go by on the street, making up stories to procrastinate handling their responsibilities.
The bell over the door rings five minutes after Stiles has convinced himself that Boyd's bailed on him or possibly been involved in some sort of pedestrian accident on his way here. He's completely fine, obviously, beelines right for the table and smiles when Stiles nudges his mango bubble tea across the table for him. “You're...” Late, he wants to say, but nitpicking right now is a bad idea, right? Fuck. How do you break up with someone? “Looking...nice today?” Not like that.
Boyd gives Stiles The Look, the one that he usually interprets to mean that Boyd is questioning his life decisions, and then glances down at his wrinkled t-shirt. “I slept in this,” he says flatly, and Stiles flushes, fumbling for an excuse. “But. I mean, I do look pretty damn good.” He can't keep a straight face and it brings more than relief for Stiles, warmth spreading in his belly, making his pink cheeks even brighter.
“Yeah,” he agrees, working hard not to stutter. “You know what Erica would say...”
“I woke up like this,” they quote in unison, laughing. Neither of them is sure why she picked it up in the first place, or why she didn't give it up when everyone else did, especially since she sometimes spends an hour or more in the mirror perfecting her look for the day.
They both fall silent, and Stiles knows he has to bring this up fast. He'll chicken out if he dawdles, waste away what little alone time they have together and ruin his chances of getting a real answer.
“Are you attracted to me?” he blurts. Great, Stiles. Perfect.
Boyd looks less than surprised. Like he knew this question would come, only waiting on the when and where. He takes a long sip from his straw, eyes never straying from Stiles's. “No.”
The drop in his stomach is worthy of a roller coaster. “Oh.” As much as it's exactly what he expected, actually helpful if he wants an easy to end things, it still hurts. He'd gotten his hopes up for real this time, not like all those imaginary romances he'd dreamed up in high school. The way that Erica touches him is real. Boyd's voice and his broad hands, how he takes up space in a way that makes Stiles feel like enough, instead of smaller...that's all happening. But now this.
The look on his face must be unmistakeable, because Boyd leans closer, reaching for Stiles. “Listen, okay? I'm not attracted to Erica either. I'm not attracted to anyone. Not like that.” His face is expectant , but Stiles is confused. “I'm asexual. I'm in love with Erica, but I don't want to have sex with her. Or you.”
Scenes from the past few months play over in his head. Boyd and Erica dancing together around their furniture to try out her new heels, his forehead lowered to hers, their clasped hands. The way they cuddle on the couch, curving into another, quiet kisses that are touch and go, back to the movie or game after a moment. They're so comfortable with one another, like they'd spent a lifetime in each other's bodies. Stiles had thought it was all the sex over the years. Apparently not.
“So you're..you're a virgin?” Fuck. “Don't answer that. You don't have to answer that, it's none of my...” Is it his business? Boyd doesn't owe him an answer, sure, but it's relevant to him, isn't it?
Thankfully, Boyd doesn't move his arm away. He's not the angrily storming out sort of guy in the first place, but the touch is reassuring. “Nah. I did try. I had this stupid idea that I wouldn't really know, if I didn't. It was with Erica, though, and she knew everything.”
“If Erica didn't do it for you, you're definitely not into it at all,” Stiles jokes. He's still processing, but the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. He's always been so focused on how sexy Boyd and Erica are together that he'd never noticed that nothing they did was sexual, not intentionally. “Is that why Erica won't let you be alone with me?”
Wincing, Boyd dips his head, runs his free hand over his scalp. “That's her way of giving me time to tell you without it being...”
“Like you turning me down in the middle of trying to get laid,” Stiles finishes for him. “That was smart. I probably never would've shown my face around here or anywhere else again. That is transfer to another school and never look back material.”
“Scott would sell you out. Or Erica would find you,” Boyd argues certainly. “She likes you a lot. Last week when you left to study with Scott, she turned to Alicia and said, 'Rent's gonna go down; I love that scrawny kid.'” He ought to be told off for enjoying it that so much, but Stiles is too busy adjusting to the feeling of that weight being lifted from his shoulders.
He drinks from his now lukewarm coffee, figuring he's in for a penny, in for a pound. “What about you?”
“Do I think you're a scrawny kid?” That sly grin creeps back up, too eye-catching to be as infuriating as it ought to be. “Nah. But I do like you.”
Malia stops by their table to wipe it down, standing next to Erica's empty stool and making faces at them. “Get a room,” she gripes, and Stiles laughs at the absolute absurdity of it.
He doesn't let Boyd let go of his hand when they leave, still sipping their drinks as they wander down the sidewalk. Stiles is just starting to miss Erica when Boyd steers them into a right turn with no fanfare, turning onto the next street of shops instead of heading for the apartments.
“We should stop by the salon. Maybe Erica can get you a haircut at half-price.”
“Hey, that's still fifteen dollars better spent injecting caffeine directly into my veins, okay?”
“Yeah, well, Scott showed me all of those high school pictures. I could always just buzz it all off for you...”