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It started about two weeks before Christmas - or at least, that was when Scott really noticed it. They were watching Friends reruns when Stiles’ attention would divert to an empty corner and his lips would turn down into a frown. Scott would vocalize his concern, ask him what was wrong, but Stiles always brushed it off with one excuse or the other. I have homework to finish that I haven’t started on. Or I’ve been working my ass off and I think I need more sleep. Stiles had gotten very good at lying to the wolves, but after a while … he couldn’t lie to Scott for too long.
It was their first Christmas on their own. After they graduated their senior year, the both of them stayed with their parents for a few months into college - and the only logical thing to do after leaving was to get an apartment together. It was easier, money wise. Especially since anything that said bill on the top simply translated to anxiety producing adult responsibilities in either of their minds.
They both moved out and signed a lease in January, after their first semester into college. Melissa and the Sheriff had made a big deal out of it being their last Christmas there - despite the fact that they were barely a breath away from Beacon Hills. Both of them had taken the full day off and spent it in the McCall home with movies, freshly baked cookies, and eggnog.
Their apartment was barely furnished, and it looked like a thrift store had thrown up inside of it. The couch looked like it had been birthed right out of the 70s, and the only way to tell if the refrigerator was working was if you could still hear it making its godawful battlecry with gaming headphones at full blast.
But, it was home.
It took a few days for Scott to finally work out of Stiles what was bothering him, but after offering him eggnog with a few shots of Bailey’s in it (and by offered him eggnog, Stiles drank three glasses whilst tearing up over whatever ABC Family had marathoning on their 25 Days of Christmas), Scott finally got it out of him. Scott didn’t even have to try.
The TV had just been turned off, static still dancing across the blank screen for a few moments before Stiles’ attention diverted to the corner again - that same, familiar frown jerking at the corner of his lips. And it took just one sentence for Scott to realize something he probably should’ve weeks ago.
“Y’know, a tree … a tree would fit just perfect. Right -- right there, don’chu think?”
Scott hadn’t given much thought to the fact that they hadn’t decorated; he hadn’t given much thought to the fact that it was his, and Stiles’, first year without Christmas decorations. He had been too focused on his finals. And, well … he didn’t really have an excuse now that it was Christmas break. Sure, he was picking up a few extra hours at Deaton’s. But …. He should’ve known.
Scott helped Stiles to bed that night and resolved to fix Stiles’ upset by the time that Stiles got home from work the next day.
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It was Christmas Eve. Stiles had actually almost forgotten, but the ride home on the interstate reminded him. A normal ten minute commute had turned into thirty minutes and left him fighting the radio for something pseudo-tolerable to listen to that wasn’t going on about Santa. Or Christmas. Or Jesus. Or … whatever. Anything that honestly made him want to explode into little bits of candy canes and pine needles.
After what felt like hours of sitting uncomfortably in the car and wondering who the hell designed car seats to not be comfortable no matter how much you fumbled with them blindly, he finally pulled into the parking lot of the apartment complex. The weather outside was in the dreary seventies, and lukewarm mist pelted against his exposed arms – blinking quickly to try and clear his vision as he looked to the second floor staircase that would ultimately lead him to his apartment where he could forget that Christmas was tomorrow and load up his new video game. He remembered that Scott was supposed to work a double today, so he was going to be kicking it alone for a while.
He toyed with his keys for a long moment until he found his door key, unlocking it after a few fumbled attempts that was simply brought on by work exhaustion. He shouldered the door open once it produced the satisfying click that reassured him that the door had been unlocked.
He was expecting a dark and quiet apartment when he opened the door. Maybe a light or two left on by Scott in a rush to work, or even the TV still dimly playing in the background. He didn’t expect to be bombarded by colorful spectrums of different colored lights and the strong scent of peppermint and pine.
He hovered cautiously in the doorway, dropping his laptop bag in front of the threshold – eyeing the apartment with skepticism as if he expected the Home Alone kid to pop out of the spider webbed rainbow Christmas lights. He licked his lips slowly, craning his neck around the corner that led into their living room, debating on whether his voice would work or not. “…Scott?” he asked what he had previously assumed to be an empty apartment. He honestly didn’t expect an answer back. Then again, he didn’t expect for what looked like the entire holiday aisle of the store to tornado into his apartment.
To his surprise, which he found himself wondering why he was still being surprised, Scott rounded the corner of their kitchen with his typical blinding smile painted across his lips. He held two mugs in his hand, and Stiles soon pieced together that that was where the smell of peppermint originated from – he should’ve recognized the smell of Melissa’s hot chocolate recipe from a mile away.
Before Stiles could say anything else, or even fumble for coherent questions of what the hell is going on?, Scott was handing him one of the portable heaters full of hot chocolate – and Stiles blindly took it.
“What is … ?” Stiles started, spinning around slightly to see a large Christmas tree illuminating their off-white walls different shades of green, blue, and red. And, yes, that was where the smell of pine was coming from – betrayed by the stray needles that created a incriminating trail from where it sat to the doorway. “…you… decorated,” was his calculated, brilliant quirk as he slowly turned his eyes to the alpha that suddenly got very close to him in the time that it had taken him to observe the Christmas tree.
Scott smiled again, both of his hands cradling his mug. Stiles could see the Christmas lights in Scott’s eyes – and he could’ve even admitted to going insane if it wasn’t for the knowledge that he knew that the lights in his eyes were from the tree behind them and not just solely produced by the chocolate eyes that swam in his best friend.
Scott had done all of this. And Stiles was … his emotions swirled around to the point that he almost felt disorientated. Dizzy. Scott had taken off of work and did this. For him. Simply because he mentioned that Christmas just didn’t feel the same without cheap Christmas decorations glaring at him from the mantle. And that in itself made emotions nearly choke him. He could almost see Scott wandering around the Christmas section, squinting his eyes at each box and tipping his head before just throwing things into the cart in a rush because … Stiles wasn’t going to be at work much longer.
Scott had done this for him. And Stiles … -- Maybe it was the multicolored lights, or maybe it was something that Stiles had long ago forced himself not to think about. Because Scott was his best friend. Just his best friend. But, there was a different light on the alpha that wasn’t just the multitude of lights glowing across his darker toned flesh.
And then, Scott was talking and pulling him out of his daze.
“It was our first year without a tree, and … I wasn’t really thinking about it at first. I should’ve, honestly. And I’m sorry I didn’t suggest it sooner. It’s Christmas Eve, and I know it’s kind of a waste for it just to be up for a day. But… you were … upset. I could smell it against your skin, but I didn’t understand why for the longest time. And, dammit, I should’ve realized it. But … I hope that it helps a little that – “ Scott was rambling, of course he was. He was trying to defend the marvelous display that Stiles had come home to. And, it didn’t need defending. It didn’t need any words. And Stiles didn’t have the words to stop Scott’s rambling.
So, without a second thought. And without thinking of the backlash of it – in true Stiles spirit – his free hand was finding a home against the curve of Scott’s back and pulling him closer. Pressing together their lips in a shocked clash of teeth that was soon hidden by the plush of lips. A sharp, hot intake of breath so quick that Stiles couldn’t even tell you which one of them it had come from. A small, pitiful noise that rose out of one of them as Scott’s weight fell back against the threshold of the kitchen and he relinquished one of his hands from the mug to tangle fingers into Stiles’ rain dampened hair.
When they were kids, far before the supernatural tainted their lives, they always talked about what a real kiss was like. And both Stiles and Scott had felt like they had had them. Allison and Kira. Malia, and that time with Lydia. But, no … this … - This was different. Special. It should’ve been strange, kissing his best friend. And, on top of that, feeling something that he couldn’t blame on the warmth of the hot chocolate blooming in his chest. But, it wasn’t. It was right. Everything that was wrong in the world had fallen perfectly into place because of a few snowmen decorations and shimmering red and green lights.
They finally parted in a rush of beating hearts and racing minds, a small quirk playing across Stiles’ lip as he nodded upwards – Scott following the gesture with his gaze. Mistletoe. “You can’t tell me you’re surprised, Scotty. You’re the one who decorated.”
Scott merely responded with resting his mug on the kitchen bar and using his now free hand to cradle his cheek – pressing forward for a second, deeper kiss.