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It was nice to just relax for once. No impending doom or life changing decisions to make, just him and Stiles curled up in his to small bed. The other boy was still fast asleep, long arm hanging off the edge of the mattress, snoring lightly. Scott had never felt so content, his eyes tracking the sunlight as it spread curved lines across pale skin, warm and hazy.
Stiles was one of the few people in his life that knew him inside and out, that he trusted so completely and undeniably that people were generally affronted by their relationship.
Scott had always seen Stiles, all of him. Or he had thought he had. Now he understood that you can never know anyone that well. The realization had stung a little but, when compared with the possible outcome it could have had, well Scott could take that.
He would always regret not believing Stiles, it wasn't about something trivial or even really about someone else. Scott could see that now. Stiles hadn't been asking him not to trust Theo, to not listen to anyone else. He had been begging him to say he didn't believe Stiles was capable of violently killing someone in cold blood. To reassure him that they both knew Stiles was not defined by that thing that had used his body to commit terrible atrocities.
They had talked about it, quietly one night in Scott's room. And Scott couldn't remember a time when Stiles had looked so small and damaged. It was one thing to make your own mistakes, learning to live with the ones forced on you was another, to watch your body do something you didn't want it to. The act of forgiving yourself was a seemingly impossible struggle.
Donovan had been a crescendo, his best friend was trying to live with what had happened, an accident. That's what it was. It was easy to see now in hindsight, the scene played out in Scott's head while Stiles gave the account with his head pressed into his hands, long fingers threaded through his hair and doing nothing to wipe at the tears making a home on the soft blue fabric of his shirt.
Stiles had never tried to rid himself of the responsibility for what had happened. He saw himself as a killer, his edges pressing up against the void that pulsed inside of him.
Scott could have put that to rest that rainy day in the parking lot, could have reached out and pulled Stiles to him and whispered that of course he believed him because Stiles could be mean, sarcastic and stubborn to a fault but, he wasn't some psychotic killer.
No, Stiles was the embodiment of skepticism. Instead of trusting someone until they gave him a reason not to, he only trusted people when he had a reason to. He demanded people prove themselves. Scott could see where he got it from. He was the sheriff's son after all, the packs very own detective. His mind entertained every possibility, flipping through them like a deck of cards, trying to figure out what game they were playing. That was his way of keeping them all safe.
Scott was the opposite.
He desperately wanted to find the good in people yet, he had failed to apply that when his best friend had needed him.
They had talked about it and they were both trying to forgive themselves.
“What time’s it?” Stiles mumbled, rolling over to face Scott, scrubbing at his eyes.
“Still early.” He shifted closer, close enough that Scott could see the sunlight clinging to his dark lashes and smoothing the shadows from his face.
“Something got you up?” Scott just nodded, the sleepiness in his friend's voice tugging a smile on to his face.
“Just thinking about how glad I am you’re here.” Stiles pressed his forehead into his shoulder, making a sound that managed to be both understanding and appreciative.
“You're doing the thing again aren't you, that we promised to stop doing” Scott didn't bother to answer because it really wasn't a question as much as a statement.
“Sometimes I just think that we hurt each other too much, we're bad for each other Stiles.” He gave a kind of resigned shrug. Then before Stiles could launch into his ongoing retort, flailing limbs and huge expressive eyes he sighed and continued.
“Someday I'll be able to overlook it, to learn not to see it. “ He manages a sad, resigned smile at that.
“Until then you’re going to have to just be patient with me.” Stiles hummed softly, stretching out his limbs, his hand so close to Scott that it brushes his mop of hair. Instead of retracting the touch he leans into the mattress, the frame that has held Scott’s twin bed since before they even knew each other creaks under the shift of weight.
Thin fingers brush an errant curl out of his face, honey gold eyes crinkle fondly and Scott can’t breath for a moment because he wants this so, so badly.
“That’s asking a lot of someone who’s practically addicted to adderall.” He tries not to react to the hand gently tangling into his hair but, it makes Scott shiver.
“God I must really, really like you, like a lot. Like mount Everest size adoration, we’ve kind of been through it all together so I guess a little more...more waiting is, it’s fine.”
“I’m tired of waiting, it makes it hard to know what you’re going to end up with.” He watches Stiles for a beat, relishing how at peace he feels for once. If this was it, the rest of his life just a replay of this moment he realizes that he would be alright with that.
“I already know what I want.” For once Stiles doesn’t say anything, just watches Scott watch him.
“You know, you’re really sending mixed signals right now buddy.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, a quiver that serves to remind Scott that Stiles is never actually completely still, ever.
All he wants is to clear it up, to say what he means without tip toeing around it.
“I love waking up next to you, your fingers pressed against my skin. I’ve always loved you Stiles. In a thousand different ways at a thousand different times. I hardly remember life without you in it.” To his credit Stiles doesn’t react negatively or really at all, not at first.
“I wish I could always be that person, the one you see me as.” His words aren’t cold just careful and right now that feels like the same thing and it fucking hurts, pin pricks that don’t do any permanent damage but leave the skin raw and bleeding just the same.
“I’m just not Scotty.” Everything in him wants to be angry, to express how unfair it is to try and tell him what he does and doesn't want. But the appropriate set of emotions seem to be missing.
“Stiles, you don't have to be just one thing. I want you just the way you are. All you fears, pain, violent night terrors and stubborn determination because that comes with the rest.” His best friend snorts at that, and Scott can feel his frame tense.
“Don't sugar coat it or anything, I definitely needed the hey don't forget your a psycho speech right now.” He still doesn't move away.
“ Stiles you know that's not what-”
“I know it's fine.” He's doing that thing where he turns everything around to pick a fight because he doesn't want to deal with what they are talking about. It's a tactic he's used as long as Scott can remember but it’s disconcerting to be on this side of it.
“I'll never leave you, you know that right? In always going to choose you, come back to you. Stiles I don't even know how to be without you.” Saying it out loud only makes him realize just how true it is.
“I know.” Stiles answer is quiet enough that Scott can barely make it out, soft and scared in a way that he doesn't associate with his best friend.
“Same goes for me, I guess we should have seen this coming… We were always abnormally high in the co-dependency category. Unhealthy obsession, check.” His smile is tight but, honest which makes Scott unable to not smile back gently.
“I'm completely and totally okay with this”
Stiles scoffs at his assessment, sitting up and giving him a quick once over.
“You have no one to blame but yourself at this point. You realize that right?” And Scott's about to ask what for when Stiles leans down and kisses him fondly.
Its nice to just relax sometimes.