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He keeps having to remind himself they weren't staying.
Chris is hiding, layers of clothes doing nothing to keep the coldness from seeping in; ignoring the whispers, ignoring the looks.
He can't believe this, can't believe his family. Seventh high school in four years, he's barely a Senior, a week late and that's just enough to garner attention.
Knees to chin, book propped on shins, he hopes he's giving off enough of the "leave me alone" vibe....but of course, his light is blocked by someone.
Not even bothering to look up, he just closes his book, gaze on the concrete of the step below him. "What."
Chris can only imagine what clever remark he's going to have to ignore today, the bullies seem to never change, addicted to fresh meat.
"Do you like basketball?" Slightly goofy smile, rocking feet, and god, Chris can't say no. Not when the teen is all limbs and introduces himself as "Peter Hale, terrible at sports but doesn't care, if that's okay."
In the next hour, he sheds layers, and learns more about another person than he has in all his life. Chris doesn't even know as much about he does his sister as this boy.
Who laughs, bright and loud, when he tells him so.
This boy, who was there when his family wasn't.
----
Peter can't get the new kid out of his mind. Out of his nose, out of every sense he has. He can practically taste the tanned skin, what little he saw before he bundled up at the end of the school day. Making sure his sister gets on the bus okay, Peter wants to know him.
Wants so badly.
So he pulls his wolf in tight, tries to keep the loping predator out of his motions as he goes up to him, ignores the loneliness and aggravation pouring off of him to invite him back inside, into the gym, so he can see those layers go, smell something more, and he can't keep his mouth shut, constant chatter something to keep him from how much he wants.
Chris is still guarded, he can tell that, but the smiles and laughter are enough.
For now.
---
Hiding from his family, Chris dodges back inside when he sees his father's car out in the library parking lot, mindlessly wandering into the back, into the L-O's of fiction, into where he finds Peter nearly asleep on the floor, with a redhead girl in his lap, her face pressed into his chest as the boy reads to her. She's probably fifteen, and so wild looking, he does a double take, catches dirt on Peter's knees and has to sit down, smiling at them both, keeping quiet as Peter continues reading.
Who's voice lulls him to sleep, and maybe he lists over onto the brunette's shoulder, but he doesn't think Peter minds, by the way he laughs when Chris starts, the redhead having crawled into his lap to press hands through his hair. "You smell really good." She murmurs, and he can see something he doesn't want to, so he turns to Peter with a confused look, playing it off, hoping no one noticed the way his hands clenched into fists, the shift from teenager to hunter.
But she's not a threat, and she's smiling goofily at Peter when he laughs in response, then nuzzling Chris and falling back to sleep.
Peter's quiet, then he slides a hand over, curling it over the fist, gently pulling until he released to knot their fingers together.
"She's embraced it. Too well, and no matter how hard I try, she doesn't want to hide it."
Peter murmurs, breath hot in Chris's hair and Chris is squeezing his eyes shut, clinging to the other's hand, fighting down the panic.
He's hoped so much that he'd never have to meet one, never have to do what his father wants so badly.
"You know-"
"Chris, we're not monsters. Don't let him fool you otherwise, you know me better than that, don't you?"
It's been four months since they've met, and Chris wants to say he does, but he can't speak, can't get past a lifetime of training, of what is near habit to him.
"I don't want to, but....once he finds out, he's going to make me. I'm due for my first kill." Spitting the last line out with disgust, opening his eyes to see Peter's sadness so clearly, his chest clenches up, his fingers curling even tighter, but the boy doesn't even flinch, just smiles, then reaches out with his free hand to tilt Chris's face towards his, and they're kissing, so much gentler than he'd been imagining.
Not that he thinks about kissing Peter often, but now that it's happening, he pushes away the thoughts of metal and blood, breathes in that earthy smell of his werewolf and grins when they pull apart, even if a few tears might be rolling down his face.
"I hope they never find you."
---
Fifteen years later, Peter is watching his nephew snarl his way through negotiations, and he might be the shell of his former self, but he can smell the guilt, and his heart might be breaking.
If only Derek knew how much Chris once cared, that his mother used to force Chris to read to them, that she was so in love with him even if she knew he was Peter's.
If only Derek knew that Chris was the one to get their parents together, sixteen and so in love.
That he ate dinners with the pack, helped Peter get through his grandmother dying, that once, Peter claimed him, the night before he moved away, two days after graduation.
Chris was family, before family took him away.