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“You have that look on your face. The one that gets us in trouble.”
Chris just chuckles and looks away for a moment, wetting his lips, and Peter can’t help but watch the movement. They’re waiting to talk to the principle for some prank or another. Peter’s honestly forgotten what it is this week, and Chris is only there because he’d taken half the blame merely so when Peter gets suspended for the day they can go get pizza and hang out in the woods.
“I have a question,” Chris finally says, and when Peter waits in silence for the rest asks, “Do you think I’m cute?”
It’s a ridiculous question, both in the actual context and how damn obvious the answer is. Chris just likes to ask for the sake of asking. So Peter plays along like he always does, looks down coyly and mumbles, “Uh, maybe once every full moon.”
“Funny you should mention that,” Chris says, rummaging through his backpack with nonchalance. “There’s this mangy wolf who keeps following me around on my hunts. Strange fellow, it’s a bit creepy honestly.”
“Mangy?” Peter asks, eyebrows raised so high in indignation that Chris bites back a laugh, trying to smother his grin behind his sleeve. “Well maybe he’s too busy dodging bullets and arrows while trying to look after your rookie ass to keep his pelt clean. A wolf can only do so much, you know. He doesn’t even have thumbs.”
And Peter’s so honestly defensive and offended that Chris shakes with laughter as he sinks down into his chair, covering his face with his hands. The secretary has long since stopped trying to shush them, but Peter can still feel her glare.
“Are you done?” Peter asks after a few minutes. Chris tries to wipe away his grin and chances a glance over his best friend. And, despite the irritation in his tone, Peter snorts in good humor, shaking his head at Chris. They share a secret smile. Because that’s what everything is these days.
Secrets secrets secrets.
The Hales don’t know that eager Christopher is a hunter in training, not with his dorky grin and his innocent eyes. Just like the Argents don’t suspect Peter as a werewolf. They’re both so young and the peace treaty still stable enough that no one suspects a thing, and no one questions what the two boys get up to when they go off alone; into the woods, the lacrosse fields long after it’s been vacated, a bedroom to study. No one has any idea; its their secret together.
Secrets in the way Peter touches Chris whenever he can, rubs his scent all over him so that his family, his pack, knows who Chris belongs to and they aren’t allowed to touch his claimed. Secrets in the way on full moons when the pack is out terrorizing all the little woodland creatures, Chris breaks into Peter’s room. Brushing his fingers over stray clothing and rolling in Peter’s bed. He even got off in the other boy’s closet once. Puts his scent all over Peter’s space, because he knows the wolf will smell it, knows the wolf will know everything Chris did while he was out. It’ll drive Peter crazy and that alone makes Chris giddy. Sometimes it even gets pebbles clinking on his window, and secretly that’s Chris’ aim every time.
Secrets like the fact that sometimes when they’re together—gasping and pawing at each other, lips and hands and teeth marking every inch—Peter lets the wolf out just a little bit, just enough to satisfy it. Secrets that aren’t so secret because Chris knows him better than most and knows exactly what goes on when there’s sharper teeth and claws just barely pushing into his skin and he’s flipped over roughly to bite the damp sheets as he trembles at the complete loss of control. Because he knows the differences in pitches of Peter’s growls, but he lets the secrets stay just that because secretly he likes it very much.
But soon the secrets that once bound them together start pushing them apart. Because Chris is a hunter and Peter loyal to his pack, and neither can fully deny who they are as time drags on. They talk less; suspect and mistrust more. A lot of avoidance and trysts in the back of dark vehicles where the rare kisses are desperate and sad, and they don’t look each other in the eye anymore if they can help it.
Chris starts hanging out with Kate more, and Peter spends less and less time in his human skin. Sometimes they cross paths in the woods, when the sun has long since set and a wolf’s eyes shine brightly in the moonlight. It wrenches at Chris’ gut, to remember what it was like to run beside him, eating mile after mile and feeling like he could go on forever—safe—as long as the wolf was by his side. Now they stand on opposite sides of the river and the wolf whines. Chris is always the first to turn away.
Chris knows what’s going to happen, is one of the few privileged to the knowledge. Knows enough in advance to do something about it.
He turns a blind eye and never looks back.
Peter hates how few days he spends in that hospital cursing Chris, in comparison to the hundreds more he spends forgiving him.