Archive of Our Own

Snow was falling in Beacon Hills.

Not much — never much here. Just enough to dust the rooftops and make the cracked pavement look prettier than it really was. Theo leaned against the hood of his truck, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, watching his breath fog in the air. It was cold enough to sting, but he didn’t move. The silence of the street, broken only by the occasional car sliding past on salt-slick roads, felt sharper than usual.

Christmas was five days away. He knew that because every shop window on Main Street wouldn’t let him forget it. Plastic wreaths. Flashing lights. Inflatable reindeer that looked like they were losing a slow-motion fight with gravity. People called it festive. Theo called it noise.

Holidays weren’t for people like him. They were for families who sat around a too-bright tree, pretending they liked each other while tearing open wrapping paper. They were for kids who never learned the hard way that people didn’t stick around. For people who never woke up in a cold house with nothing but silence waiting.

Theo let out a humorless laugh, one quick breath of air that fogged in front of him and disappeared.

He remembered being a kid, watching the neighbors through their window. Warm light, laughter muffled through glass, the smell of something sweet drifting out when someone opened the door. He’d told himself he didn’t care, that it was just another night, that presents were useless and all that happiness was fake anyway. But he remembered the way his chest hurt. He remembered wanting to knock on the door and pretend he belonged there.

And he remembered learning not to want things he couldn’t have.

That lesson stuck.

Christmas was just…a date. A red mark on the calendar. A reason for stores to jack up prices and people to put on ugly sweaters. None of it mattered. Not to him.

He tilted his head back, looking up at the gray sky. Snowflakes stuck in his hair, melted against his skin. It was quiet out here. The kind of quiet that pressed down, heavy. Too easy for memories to slip in when he wasn’t masking.

He shoved them back. He’d gotten good at that.

Still, the stupid holiday followed him everywhere. The motel he was crashing in had a fake poinsettia on the counter. The gas station clerk wore a Santa hat. The grocery store played the same damn songs over the speakers, all bells and cheer and promises of mistletoe. Theo hated it, the way people seemed lighter this time of year, like joy was something you could just slip on with a scarf.

He didn’t get it.

Joy was fragile. People were worse. And Theo had learned what happened when you let either one too close.

Once bitten, twice shy.

The phrase stuck in his head, and he almost rolled his eyes at himself. Sounded like something out of a bad pop song. But it fit. He’d been bitten enough times — abandoned, shoved into the ground until all he knew was pain. You didn’t come back from that and start believing in fairy lights and candy canes. You came back harder. Meaner. Smarter.

And yet…

His jaw tightened.

Snow clung to the edges of his truck windshield. He could imagine what Liam would say if he was here. Probably some wide-eyed comment about how “it never snows like this in Beacon Hills” or how they should go do something dumb, like make snow angels. Theo almost smirked at the image — Liam flopping onto the ground, muttering curses as the cold soaked through his jeans.

Almost.

The truth was, Liam was the only reason Theo even noticed the holiday at all. The beta cared about it. He cared about all of it — traditions, lights, family dinners, the things Theo had written off as weakness. Theo couldn’t understand how Liam kept that part of himself intact after everything. After monsters, after death, after him.

But he had. Somehow.

Theo kicked at a patch of ice, the crunch sharp in the stillness. He told himself he wasn’t jealous. He told himself it didn’t matter that Liam could walk into a room and still believe in things Theo had lost years ago.

But the lie was harder to hold onto in moments like this, when the cold bit through his jacket and the whole world seemed to glow with something he couldn’t touch.

He remembered once — back when he was trying to play the part of perfect friend, perfect packmate — he’d gotten Liam a gift. Stupid, really. Just a pair of gloves, because Liam’s were always ripped to hell. Theo had wrapped them, even wrote “Merry Christmas” on the tag like he knew what that meant. He’d meant it, in his own messed-up way.

Of course, it hadn’t mattered. By the time the holiday came around, everything had already blown apart. His plans. His lies. Him.

Theo rubbed his hands together, more out of restlessness than cold. That was the thing about the holidays. They dragged up the past whether you wanted them to or not.

He didn’t want them to.

This year was different, though. This year, he wasn’t just a shadow lurking at the edge of someone else’s life. He was here. Alive, somehow. Trying, somehow. Stumbling his way through something that almost resembled a second chance.

And that made the whole Christmas thing… complicated.

Theo didn’t do hope. Didn’t do second chances wrapped up in shiny paper. But every time Liam looked at him, like he was more than the sum of his mistakes, Theo felt something shift. Something dangerous. And that’s why he had left.

Beacon Hills wasn’t built for someone like him, not really. Not after the Anuk-Ite, not after the dust settled and everyone else seemed to slot back into their roles — heroes, survivors, the ones who made it through.

Theo wasn’t a hero. He was the guy who had clawed his way back from hell only to find out no one wanted him back in the first place. So he walked. No warning, no goodbyes. Just gone.

He drifted after that. Cities blurred together — Seattle, Denver, Chicago, anywhere that wasn’t California. He slept in places that didn’t remember his name the next morning, worked just enough to keep moving, kept his head down when the shadows of what he’d done tried to catch up.

It was easier to keep running than to admit the truth: he hadn’t really left Beacon Hills behind. He hadn’t left Liam behind. And no matter how many miles he put between them, that tether never snapped.

So now he was heading back. Not because he believed he deserved it, but because the silence without Liam was worse than anything Beacon Hills could throw at him. He could only lie to himself for so long.

And if Liam asked him to do Christmas? If he showed up with that stubborn grin and those damn puppy-dog eyes and said, Come on, Theo, it’s just one night?

Theo wasn’t sure he’d be able to say no.

The thought made him scoff, shaking his head at himself. He wasn’t that pathetic. He wasn’t—

But his chest tightened anyway. Because maybe he was. Maybe, after all this time, after everything, he still wanted the same stupid thing he’d wanted as a kid: a place at the table. A reason to belong.

And that was dangerous.

Theo let out a sharp sigh, the kind that left his chest hollow. He pushed off the hood of his truck, boots crunching over the thin crust of ice, and yanked open the driver’s side door. The cold leather seat greeted him like an old enemy, stiff and unwelcoming.

He dropped into it anyway.

For a long moment, he just sat there, hands gripping the wheel, forehead resting against the chill of it. The world outside blurred behind the faint fog creeping up his windshield. He could still walk away. Could still turn the key, point the truck anywhere else, and keep moving until Beacon Hills was nothing more than another pinprick in his rearview.

He almost convinced himself to do it.

But his hand found the keys anyway, twisting until the engine coughed to life. Headlights cut across the snow-dusted road, and Theo felt the vibration in his bones. He pulled out of the empty lot, tires spitting slush, and merged onto the highway.

The night stretched out in front of him. Dark. Endless.

The drive back to Beacon Hills wasn’t short, but he knew the route like it was burned into him. Maybe it was. Maybe no matter how far he ran, the road always bent back toward this place. Toward him.

Theo settled into the rhythm of the drive. The hum of the tires, the low growl of the engine, the occasional flicker of another car sliding past. He liked the quiet of roads at night. No one watching. No one asking questions. Just him, the darkness, and too much time to think.

And, as always, his thoughts circled back to Liam.

He pictured him the way he always did—half glare, half smile, always running too hot for his own good. The kind of kid who punched first and asked questions later but still somehow believed people were worth saving. Theo couldn’t figure out how someone like that had ever looked at someone like him and seen more than a threat.

But he had.

Theo’s jaw clenched, his grip on the wheel tightening. That was the problem. That look — the belief in something better — it stuck. Crawled under his skin and made it harder to keep pretending he didn’t care.

Beacon Hills had chewed him up once already. He should’ve stayed gone. Should’ve saved Liam the trouble of remembering why no one trusted Theo Raeken.

But the thought of Liam spending Christmas with someone else who wasn’t him — it twisted something deep inside.

The radio crackled when he turned it on, static fading into some overplayed holiday song. Bells, cheer, lyrics about love wrapped up in tinsel. He snorted and reached to shut it off, but his hand hesitated halfway.

He let it play.

The irony wasn’t lost on him — Theo Raeken, enemy of seasonal joy, stuck listening to a chorus about miracles on Christmas Eve. He almost laughed, the sound bitter on his tongue. But he didn’t change the station. Maybe some part of him wanted the noise. Wanted the reminder that the world kept moving even when he didn’t.

Miles blurred by, headlights sweeping across the empty road. He thought about the motel rooms he’d left behind, the jobs that hadn’t mattered, the faces he’d already forgotten. None of it stuck. But Liam’s did. Always Liam’s.

Theo drummed his fingers on the wheel, restless energy buzzing through him. What the hell was he doing? Showing back up in Beacon Hills like nothing had happened? Like he hadn’t walked out without a word?

He could already imagine the look on Liam’s face when he saw him. Shock first. Anger, probably. Maybe even hurt, though Liam would never admit it.

Theo wasn’t sure which one scared him more.

The snow thickened as he drove south, flakes streaking past the headlights like a curtain. The road shimmered with ice, but Theo didn’t slow down. He liked the edge of it, the sense that one wrong move could send him spinning. It felt honest, at least.

The truth was, he wasn’t going back for Christmas. Not really. He was going back because Liam was there. Because no matter how many excuses he gave himself, no matter how much he pretended otherwise, the only thing that had ever dragged him out of the dark was Liam’s voice. Liam’s fists. Liam’s faith.

And if that meant putting himself in front of a Christmas tree, fine.

His lips twisted into something almost like a smile. The idea of it made his skin crawl, but the thought of Liam laughing, bright-eyed and unguarded, made the corners of Theo’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t smother.

Theo blew out another breath, fogging the glass as the heater finally kicked in. He flexed his fingers on the wheel, as if that would shake the tension out of him.

The “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign loomed sooner than he expected, snow piled along its edges, the paint peeling. He slowed as he passed it, headlights sweeping across the familiar letters. His chest pulled tight, a knot of memory and regret lodged beneath his ribs.

He was really doing this.

Theo pressed the gas. The road into town wound dark and familiar, each street corner and half-broken lamp exactly where he remembered. Not much ever changed here. That was part of its curse.

He tried to tell himself he wasn’t nervous. Tried to convince himself he didn’t care how Liam would react. But his hands on the wheel said otherwise, tendons taut, knuckles white.

Christmas in Beacon Hills. He almost laughed again. The irony, the stupidity of it all.

Yet here he was.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

Theo stood on the porch with his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets, staring at the door like it was some kind of execution chamber.

Four days until Christmas.

He’d counted the hours through the night, every minute stretching longer than it should have. Sleep hadn’t come, not in the stale motel room with peeling wallpaper and a heater that rattled like it was choking on its own last breath. He’d spent the hours pacing, running through excuses, through reasons not to be here.

Now he was. And it was worse.

The wood grain of Liam’s door looked too clean, too solid. A barrier he didn’t have the right to cross. Theo shifted on his feet, boots scuffing against the porch, and forced his hands deeper into his pockets. His fingers itched like maybe if he could ball them into fists hard enough, the nerves would go quiet.

They didn’t.

It was a stupid idea. Showing up here. Knocking like he belonged. Like he hadn’t left months ago without a word, disappearing into the dark the way he always did. Liam had every right to slam the door in his face. Hell, Theo half-expected it.

So why was he still standing here?

He should walk away. Get back in the truck, drive out of town, and never look back. It would be cleaner. Safer. Exactly what he’d promised himself he’d do the next time he got too close.

But his feet wouldn’t move.

Theo exhaled, watching his breath fog against the crisp air. The town was quieter in the morning, snow barely clinging to the edges of the street, muffling the usual noise. Christmas lights blinked weakly on the houses across the road, plastic snowmen already sagging from the weight of the frost. The whole neighborhood looked too perfect, like a postcard. The kind of place he’d always known he didn’t fit into.

And yet here he was, standing at the edge of it, heart slamming against his ribs like it wanted out.

He could imagine it too clearly — the way Liam’s face would tighten when he saw him. Surprise first, maybe even a flicker of happiness before it twisted into anger. Or worse. Disappointment.

Theo swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hated that thought most of all.

His hand twitched toward the door, then fell back to his side. No. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. He wasn’t ready for that look.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath. The word was sharp, cutting into him, but it didn’t shove him off the porch. Didn’t get him to turn around.

He thought about last night — driving past the “Welcome to Beacon Hills” sign, every muscle in his body screaming to keep going. He hadn’t. And now, here, he was paralyzed.

The door stayed shut.

Theo leaned back against the wooden railing, running a hand over his face. His pulse wouldn’t slow, no matter how steady he tried to breathe. He hated this. The waiting. The not knowing. The way every second stretched into another reminder that he didn’t belong here.

And still, beneath all that self-loathing, there was the other thing. The tether that had dragged him across state lines and miles of empty road. Liam.

It was always Liam.

Theo closed his eyes, forcing the memory away, but it slipped in anyway — the sound of Liam’s laugh, sharp and unguarded, the way it filled a room. The way he’d once looked at Theo like maybe he wasn’t a monster after all.

That look was why he was here. Why he couldn’t just leave, no matter how much sense it would make.

Theo pushed off the railing, jaw tight. One knock. He could manage one knock. If Liam told him to leave, he’d leave. Simple. Clean. Final.

He lifted his hand.

Stopped.

His chest clenched so tight it almost hurt. He lowered his hand again, biting down a curse. Coward.

The seconds dragged on. He stared at the door, willing it to open on its own, to save him from making the choice. It didn’t. Of course it didn’t.

His fingers curled back into his pocket, nails biting into his palm through the fabric. He should go. Right now. Before the weight of the past crushed him completely.

But then—

The lock clicked.

Theo’s head jerked up, breath catching as the door swung open.

Liam stood there, one hand on the knob, the other clutching his phone like he’d been about to head out. His hair was messy, still damp from a shower, sticking up in places he hadn’t bothered to fix. A jacket hung half off his shoulders, and he blinked against the sudden sight of Theo like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Theo froze.

For a second, neither of them moved. The cold air curled between them, heavy with all the words Theo hadn’t said.

And in Liam’s eyes — shock, just like Theo expected. But not anger. Not yet. Just wide-eyed disbelief, like he’d opened the door to a ghost.

Theo’s chest tightened. He almost wished Liam would slam the door. That would’ve been easier. Cleaner.

Instead, Liam just stared, his lips parting like he was about to speak, and Theo’s pulse roared in his ears.

Theo’s mouth went dry. For all the time he’d spent rehearsing words, building excuses in the motel mirror, he couldn’t get a single one past his throat.

Liam beat him to it.

“…Theo?”

The sound of his name, soft and uncertain, rooted Theo to the porch, muscles coiled like he might bolt and stay at the same time.

“Yeah,” Theo managed. He cleared his throat, forcing a shrug that didn’t feel casual at all. “It’s me.”

No response. Liam just stared, his fingers tightening on his phone until the plastic creaked. His heartbeat spiked — Theo heard it, sharp and erratic — but Liam’s face didn’t give him much more than shock.

Theo shifted, the weight of Liam’s eyes on him unbearable. “I was just—” He jerked his chin toward the street, forcing the words out. “—leaving.”

He turned, boots scraping against the porch. One step down, two, three, and it would be over. He’d keep moving, like always. Pretend he hadn’t come this far just to see Liam’s face again.

“Theo.”

It was Liam’s voice again, but sharper this time. Cutting. Theo froze on the top step.

“Are you serious?”

Theo’s shoulders stiffened. He turned halfway, enough to see Liam in the doorway. Anger had started to bloom in his expression now, burning through the shock.

“You disappear,” Liam said, stepping forward, the door left wide open behind him. His voice wasn’t raised yet, but Theo knew it would. “You don’t say anything, not a word. You’re just gone. And now you’re back, and you’re—what? You’re gonna walk away again?”

Theo’s jaw clenched. He forced his gaze down, toward the porch railing, anywhere but Liam’s eyes. “That was the plan.”

“The plan?” Liam’s laugh was sharp, humorless. He shoved his phone into his pocket, free now to gesture with his hands like he couldn’t keep them still. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Theo flinched before he could stop himself. He hated that Liam’s words hit deeper than claws ever could.

“I didn’t ask you to care,” Theo said, voice low, defensive.

“Well, too bad,” Liam snapped. “I did.”

Theo’s chest locked up, heat rushing to his face. He forced a scoff, trying to cover the crack forming inside him. “That was your mistake, then.”

He turned again, ready to take the step he should’ve taken hours ago. But Liam’s voice followed him, sharp enough to freeze him in place.

“God, you’re such an idiot.”

Theo’s head snapped around, anger flaring. “Excuse me?”

“You think this is just about you?” Liam’s eyes burned, and for the first time since opening the door, he moved off the porch and onto the last step, closer, crowding into Theo’s space. “You think you can disappear and I’ll just—what? Go back to normal? Pretend you weren’t here?”

Theo opened his mouth, closed it. He couldn’t breathe with Liam this close, couldn’t think past the thrum of his heartbeat in his ears.

“You didn’t even give me a chance to—” Liam cut himself off, jaw tight. He dragged a hand through his hair, the motion sharp, frustrated. “You left, Theo. And it sucked. And now you show up like nothing happened, like you didn’t—”

“Like I didn’t ruin everything?” Theo bit out, finally letting the words spill. His chest heaved, his voice louder now, breaking into the cold air. “Because that’s what I do, Liam. That’s all I’ve ever done. So yeah, maybe it’s better if I just leave before I screw this up again.”

The porch went quiet. The only sound was the faint hum of Christmas lights strung along the neighboring houses, the soft crunch of ice beneath Theo’s boots as he shifted.

Liam stared at him, anger still sharp but something else bleeding through now — hurt.

“You think I don’t get it,” Liam said finally, quieter but no less fierce. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to screw up, to think you don’t deserve anything good. But you don’t get to decide that for me. You don’t get to walk away and then come back and try to vanish again, like I don’t—”

He stopped, swallowed hard. His throat worked like the words caught there were too heavy.

Theo stared, something twisting deep inside him at the sight. Liam wasn’t just angry. He was — God, he was broken open in a way Theo hadn’t expected, in a way Theo didn’t deserve.

He drew in a breath and kept his voice steady, cold even if his chest ached.

“I—I didn’t come here to argue,” he said. “I just… wanted to say—” He looked down, kicking at a loose patch of snow on the porch. “…Merry Christmas.”

Liam blinked. Then he blinked again.

“You—” he started, voice cracking slightly, but he caught himself, voice sharpening again. “You do realize that you don’t even do holidays, right?”

Theo’s jaw tightened. He didn’t flinch. “I know what I said. Doesn’t mean I can’t manage a quick greeting.”

“Just a greeting?” Liam’s tone was incredulous, frustration vibrating under his words. “You show up out of nowhere, make me think you’re back, and all you can give me is a ‘Merry Christmas’ before you walk away?”

Theo’s shoulders stiffened. The ache in his chest deepened, but he refused to let it soften him. “I said what I came to say.”

“You can’t just…show up like this and walk away again,” Liam shot back, stepping closer, closing the gap. His voice lowered, but the intensity didn’t fade. “Not after everything. Not after you left. Not after—”

“I know,” Theo interrupted sharply, voice rising slightly in exasperation. “I know what I did. I don’t need a lecture.”

Liam’s hands flexed at his sides. “No, you don’t get it!” His voice cracked this time, desperation threading through it, but he swallowed and caught it before it broke entirely. “…You don’t get what it’s like to have someone leave and then just…come back like it’s nothing!”

Theo’s chest tightened further. He wanted to argue, wanted to remind Liam that he didn’t belong in this conversation anyway, that everything he touched turned to fire, but instead he muttered, almost curtly:

“Fine. Merry Christmas.”

He turned, boots scraping against the porch, fingers brushing the railing, the motion automatic, rehearsed. He could leave now, like he always did. Clean. Simple.

And then…

“Wait!”

Theo froze mid-step.

Liam’s hand shot out, gripping the doorframe. His jaw was tight, the familiar mix of frustration and hurt written all over him, but there was something else in his eyes now, something Theo had never seen directed at him so openly. Vulnerability. Want. A quiet plea masked by the anger.

Theo’s pulse hammered. He could feel it in his ears, in the heat climbing his neck. “…What?” he asked cautiously, keeping his body half-turned toward the street, half-facing Liam.

Liam swallowed. His voice was lower now, tighter. “Stay. Just…just for Christmas.”

Theo blinked, processing. He opened his mouth, thinking of a sarcastic, cutting reply, something to keep the distance between them intact. “…You’re joking.”

“No.” Liam’s voice was firm, desperate even, though he tried to steady it. “…I mean it. One night. One night, Theo. You don’t have to stick around forever. You can leave after, and I won’t stop you. But…just Christmas. That’s all I’m asking.”

Theo’s chest felt like it was being squeezed. He wanted to argue, to push it away, to tell Liam he didn’t deserve him, that this was stupid, that Christmas wasn’t for people like him.

But he couldn’t move.

Liam stepped closer still, not pressing, not touching, just letting the closeness speak. “…Please,” he added, quiet now. “…I just… I just don’t want to spend it without you.”

Theo’s breath caught. The words were simple. And yet wanted to deflect, to run, to tell himself this was one-sided, that Liam’s attachment wasn’t his problem.

He let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “…You really think one night with me is going to make you happy?”

Liam’s lips pressed into a thin line. “…Yeah. It’s a start. And I don’t care if you leave after. I just… I don’t want you gone right now.”

Theo’s hands itched to shove them into his pockets, to ball them into fists and force control over the fluttering mess in his chest. He swallowed hard, voice quieter this time, almost a murmur: “…You know, you’re so ridiculous sometimes.”

“Maybe,” Liam admitted, a small wry smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes never left Theo’s. “…But you’re here. So…” He shrugged, tense but steady. “…You gonna stay, or are you gonna make this harder than it already is?”

Theo stared. The cold air bit at his face, but he didn’t feel it. Not really. All he felt was Liam, and the tether he couldn’t deny anymore, the one that had pulled him back from cities and highways and the numb emptiness of being alone.

He exhaled slowly, finally letting himself meet Liam’s gaze. “…Fine,” he said, voice low, rough around the edges. “…I’ll stay.”

Liam’s face softened slightly, relief threading through the corners of his expression. Not smug, not victorious, just soft. “…That’s all I’m asking,” he said, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “…Just for Christmas.”

Theo opened his mouth to respond, to quip something sharp, to deflect before the weight of the moment sank any deeper — but he didn’t get the chance.

“Technically,” a voice said from behind Liam, casual but laced with amusement, “you’ve got four nights before Christmas, so ‘just for Christmas’ doesn’t really make sense.”

Theo froze. His head snapped toward the voice, and his stomach dropped like someone had shoved it into a deep pit.

Standing in the doorway, leaning lazily against the frame, was Mason. Mason, who apparently had been there the entire time, watching the scene like it was his own private reality show.

Theo blinked at him. Then blinked again. “…You were…there?”

Mason shrugged, still leaning, hands tucked into his hoodie pocket. “Yeah. Just…you know. Eavesdropping. Human observing behavior. Typical Mason stuff.” His smirk tugged, almost teasing, almost friendly. “Didn’t mean to startle anyone.”

Theo could feel his face heat up, though whether it was from embarrassment, fury, or the lingering tension of Liam so close, he couldn’t tell. “…You scared the hell out of me,” he muttered.

“I call that a public service,” Mason replied easily, clearly enjoying the reaction.

Liam groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mason…” His voice was tired, exasperated, but there was a wry undertone, the kind that made it obvious he’d been thinking the same thing as Theo: that Mason had appeared out of nowhere and now complicated everything.

“I mean… c’mon,” Mason continued, arms crossing over his chest, smirk widening. “You say ‘just for Christmas,’ and I’m like, well technically, if Christmas is the 25th, and today’s the 21st, there are four nights before Christmas. So unless you’re planning on leaving and coming back for the big day, Theo, Liam’s math doesn’t really add up.”

Theo opened his mouth again, but no words came. He could feel Liam’s stare boring into the side of his face, both impatient and quietly amused, while Mason stood there, impossibly calm, forcing him to feel caught off-guard.

“…You’re right,” Theo muttered finally, voice low, controlled, though the edge of incredulity was impossible to hide.

Mason ignores Theo, glanced at Liam. “So, just to clarify…Theo’s staying. One night. And that counts as Christmas?”

Liam turned sharply toward Mason, exasperation flaring. “I didn’t ask for a math lesson!”

“You didn’t need one,” Theo said, but his tone carried a hint of humor now. “Mason’s right, though…technically.”

After a while, Theo exhaled, shoving his hands deeper into his jacket pockets. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll stay for four nights. But after that…I’m gone. I’ve made that clear.”

Mason gave a slow, exaggerated nod, as though Theo’s begrudging acquiescence was the most satisfying thing he’d witnessed all week. “See? Much better. Much more…technically correct.”

Theo turned back to Liam, hoping for some sign of agreement. Liam’s shoulders slumped slightly, relief and amusement flickering across his expression. “Not so bad. Four nights…that’s plenty.”

Theo arched an eyebrow. “Plenty?”

“You know,” Liam said, smirking faintly now, stepping aside to gesture at the doorway. “…Plenty of time to, I don’t know…try to have a little fun before the big day. Maybe even…relax a bit?”

Theo huffed, muttering under his breath, “…Relax. Right.” But he let himself be guided inside anyway, the cold porch giving way to the warmth of Liam’s house, lights twinkling faintly against the walls. The faint scent of cinnamon and pine hit him immediately, and he realized with a quiet pang that he hadn’t been inside a house like this for months — not really, not since everything went to hell.

Mason followed behind, still smirking, clearly enjoying himself. “…See? This isn’t so bad,” he said, voice casual as he leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. “You get to stay four nights, eat some food, maybe drink some cocoa…all without Theo exploding or disappearing.”

Theo shot Mason a glare. “I could leave at any moment.”

“You could,” Mason agreed, nodding. “But for some reason, you haven’t. So…” His smirk widened. “I’m guessing that’s progress?”

Theo’s lips twitched, almost a smirk of his own, but he quickly masked it, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “…I’ll believe it when I see it.”

Liam moved past him to the living room, gesturing toward the small tree in the corner, ornaments already hung, lights blinking softly. “…C’mon. Sit. Relax. You don’t have to plan your escape yet. At least not yet.”

Theo followed reluctantly, noting the way the warmth of the room brushed against him, how the lights flickered over Liam’s profile. He kept his posture rigid, still defensive, but the tension in his chest eased slightly. Four nights. That was enough. That was temporary. That was safe.

At least…that’s what he told himself.

Mason wandered over, plopping down on the arm of the couch, casually flipping a coaster between his fingers. “So,” he said, voice playful, “first night of Christmas for Theo Raeken. How’s it feel to be… domesticated, even if just a little?”

Theo narrowed his eyes at him. “Domesticated? Really?”

Mason shrugged, utterly unconcerned. “Yeah, I mean, look at you. In a house. In a living room with Christmas lights. And you hate holidays. And you haven’t run. That’s domesticated in my book.”

Theo scowled, but couldn’t deny the tiniest tug of satisfaction that he hadn’t bolted the second the door closed. He looked over at Liam, who was fiddling with a string of lights, smiling faintly, watching him like he was already imagining what the next four nights might look like.

Theo’s chest tightened again. He refused to think about it too hard. He couldn’t. Four nights wasn’t forever. It was temporary. That was the only way he could justify staying.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

By the time the clock pushed past midnight, Mason had finally peeled himself away, muttering something about Corey waiting on him and how Liam didn’t need a third wheel hanging around. Theo had rolled his eyes but hadn’t protested — truth was, Mason’s constant commentary made it harder to breathe. Easier to hide, sure, but harder to actually think.

Now, the house was quiet again. Too quiet.

Theo sat stiffly on the edge of Liam’s couch, arms crossed tight over his chest, staring at the muted glow of the Christmas tree. The lights blinked in uneven rhythm, like a heartbeat too quick to catch. It made the room look smaller, warmer, like the walls were trying to close in.

He should’ve left hours ago. Should’ve thanked Liam, offered another hollow “Merry Christmas,” and walked back into the cold. But instead, here he was, watching his own reflection flicker faintly in a silver ornament, stuck in the gravity of Liam’s stupid, stubborn determination.

From the hallway, footsteps padded back toward him. Theo didn’t need to look to know who it was—the uneven heartbeat gave him away every time.

“You’re still here,” Liam said, sounding almost smug about it.

Theo didn’t turn. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not.” Liam stepped into the living room, carrying a folded stack of fabric against his chest. His damp hair clung to his forehead from the shower, his skin still pink at the edges. “I’m just…glad you didn’t leave while I was showering.”

Theo rolled his eyes, though the words lodged somewhere deep, irritatingly difficult to shake off. “You make it sound like I’m a stray cat that wandered inside.”

Liam smirked. “Kinda are.”

Theo shot him a look sharp enough to cut, but Liam only grinned wider, holding the folded stack out toward him.

“What’s that?” Theo asked warily.

“Pajamas.”

Theo stared at the bundle. White, green, and red plaid. Bright. Cheerful. The kind of thing you’d see on a Hallmark card, worn by perfect families who actually enjoyed this holiday.

He blinked slowly. “…You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Liam set the pajamas down on the arm of the couch, casual, like it was already decided. “We’re wearing them.”

Theo barked a laugh, sharp and humorless. “We’re not.”

“Yes, we are,” Liam said, unbothered. He was already tugging his own shirt over his head, dropping it in a heap on the floor. “Tradition.”

Theo stiffened, dragging his gaze anywhere but the lean line of Liam’s shoulders, the muscle carved into his stomach, the way his damp hair clung to his neck. “You’ve lost your mind.”

“Doesn’t mean you get to get out of wearing them,” Liam says, shimmying into his own pair of plaid pants. “You’re not backing out.”

Theo let out a scoff, pushing up from the couch. “I’m not wearing those.”

“You are,” Liam countered, voice steady as he tugged the matching shirt over his head. His hair stuck up worse afterward, static catching at the strands, but he only smiled, faint and triumphant. “You said you’d stay. That means you’re in this.”

Theo glared at him, but Liam just stood there, arms crossed now, plaid bright against his skin, daring him to argue.

“You look ridiculous,” Theo muttered.

“Good,” Liam said. “Then you’ll look even more ridiculous.”

Theo opened his mouth, shut it, then dragged both hands over his face. “I can’t believe this.”

“You’ve done worse things,” Liam said dryly, already tossing the spare set toward him. The fabric landed against Theo’s chest, soft, irritatingly warm. “Put them on.”

Theo caught the bundle on reflex, fingers clenching around the flannel. He wanted to throw it back, wanted to snap that Liam couldn’t just order him into pajamas like he was part of some dumb tradition. But he didn’t move. Didn’t throw them. Didn’t even unclench his grip.

“You’re serious?” Theo asked finally.

“Dead serious.” Liam’s grin softened. “It’s Christmas, Theo. You don’t get to sit here in jeans like some kind of Grinch.”

Theo scowled. “The Grinch had a point.”

“Yeah, well…” Liam shrugged, tugging at the hem of his shirt, already half settled into the couch cushions. “You’re still putting them on.”

Theo stared at him, long and hard, weighing every possible excuse. Finally, with a muttered curse, Theo stalked toward the hallway. “Fine. But only because you’ll never shut up about it otherwise.”

Liam’s grin widened, teeth flashing. “I’ll take it.”

Theo changed quickly, refusing to glance at the mirror, refusing to acknowledge how utterly wrong the plaid felt against his skin. Too bright. Too soft. Too… normal.

When he stepped back into the living room, Liam looked up immediately, and his grin softened into something else entirely.

Theo shifted uncomfortably under the stare. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t gonna,” Liam said, though his smirk betrayed him.

Theo crossed his arms, trying to reclaim some kind of edge. “I look like an idiot.”

“You look—” Liam cut himself off, catching the edge of his own words before they slipped too far. He leaned back into the couch instead, smirk easing into something fond. “You look good.”

Theo froze. “Good? That’s—” He stopped, realizing that whatever insult he was about to throw wasn’t landing. Liam’s smile was warm, not teasing, not mocking. Just…genuine. And it had that effect, the one he hated: it made his chest tighten.

Liam patted the couch beside him, gesturing for Theo to sit. “Come on. Sit down.”

Theo hesitated, boots planted firmly against the floor. “I’m fine standing.”

“No, you’re not.” Liam leaned closer, voice soft but insistent. “C’mon, you’ll like this. Trust me.”

Theo squinted, suspicious. “Like… like what?”

“You’ll see.” Liam stretched out, inviting, and motioned again. “…Seriously. Sit.”

Theo rolled his eyes but reluctantly shuffled over, perching on the edge of the cushions. Liam’s arm brushed against his as he settled back, and Theo stiffened. He wanted to complain, wanted to argue, wanted to shove the blanket into his lap and pretend this was normal. But he didn’t.

“Alright,” Liam said, tugging the blanket fully over both their laps now, warm and soft. “We’re watching Christmas classics. Your choice. What do you want?”

Theo blinked. “…I don’t… I don’t know any Christmas movies.”

Liam blinked. Then his grin widened, the familiar spark of teasing returning. “Not even one? Not ‘Home Alone,’ not ‘Elf,’ not—”

“None,” Theo interrupted, cutting him off. “I’ve never cared about Christmas movies.”

Liam laughed softly, low and warm, and Theo felt it in his chest. “…Well, that’s about to change.”

Theo leaned back against the couch, arms crossed again, but the warmth of the blanket and the soft glow from the Christmas tree was creeping through his defenses. He muttered, “…I hope this isn’t one of those sappy ones.”

Liam smirked. “…You’re fine. I’ve got exactly the right thing.” He grabbed the remote from the coffee table and thumbed through a few options. “You’ll love this. I promise.”

Theo raised a skeptical eyebrow, but didn’t speak. He knew arguing with Liam at this point was pointless. Liam always got what he wanted. Always.

Within a few moments, the room was filled with the nostalgic crackle of the television. Bright colors flickered across the walls, and the opening credits of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer began to roll. Theo squinted at the screen, arms still crossed, lips pressed into a tight line.

“…Seriously?” he muttered. “Stop-motion… Christmas reindeer nonsense?”

Liam leaned over slightly, smirking again. “Hey, it’s a classic. You’re going to love it. It’s got drama, action, romance…” He raised an eyebrow, the teasing edge back in his voice. “…Okay, maybe not that much action. But it’s heartfelt.”

Theo let out a humorless snort. “Heartfelt.” He shook his head.

Liam chuckled, settling back into the couch. “My family has a tradition of watching movies like these every year.”

Theo rolled his eyes but stayed put. The glow from the tree reflected in his eyes, and he had to admit — grudgingly — that he felt was… pleasant.

The movie started to play in earnest. Rudolph’s nose glowed, casting a soft red light over the puppets as they moved across the screen. Theo’s initial smirk shifted into something closer to neutral, then slowly softened as he found himself watching more than he expected.

Liam noticed the change and nudged him gently with his elbow. “…See? Told you you’d like it.”

Theo grunted, not willing to give him the satisfaction of words. But he didn’t pull away. He didn’t leave.

As the story progressed, Theo found himself laughing quietly at the antics of the elves and the over-the-top drama of the other reindeer. He didn’t admit it, not even to himself, but the simple absurdity of it — the earnest little faces, the bright colors, the music — was…relaxing.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

Theo groaned softly, eyelids half-lidded as he shuffled down the stairs. His plaid pajamas hung loosely, sleeves sliding down his wrists, hair sticking up at impossible angles from sleep. The early morning sun had just begun to sneak past the curtains, painting stripes across the steps, and for a moment, Theo considered turning back and crawling under the covers again.

But then he caught it.

The smell.

Warm, sweet, and buttery. Cinnamon and sugar, vanilla and chocolate, all mingling together in a way that made his stomach twist and his brain spark to life. Hot chocolate. French toast. And…something else? Something faintly savory and spicy underneath that sweet aroma.

Theo’s stomach growled audibly, and he pressed a hand to it, grimacing a little. “I shouldn’t be hungry this early…” he muttered to himself, dragging his feet down the last few steps of the stairs.

The kitchen came into view, and Theo blinked. Liam. Shirtless. Golden morning light catching the curve of his shoulders, the way his arms flexed as he stirred something in a small pan on the stove. His hair was messy, sticking up in cute little tufts. Theo’s chest tightened without warning, and he cursed quietly under his breath.

“…Liam,” he said slowly, trying for casual, failing spectacularly. “…Are you—shirtless?”

Liam glanced over his shoulder, smiling apologetically at Theo. “Yeah.” He wiped a hand on a towel, and Theo noticed little streaks of egg batter glistening on his chest. “Just got a little…messy with the French toast.”

Theo blinked, half sleepy, half in awe. “…Egg batter?” he repeated, his voice muffled by a yawn.

“Exactly,” Liam said with mock gravity, nodding. He grinned and went back to the stove, flipping a slice of French toast expertly. “…Now, you’re awake, which means you get to eat.”

Theo shuffled closer, still rubbing at his eyes. The warmth of the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon, and Liam’s presence made the air feel heavier in a good way, like it was wrapping around him. “…You really went all out,” he muttered, voice still thick with sleep.

“I did,” Liam said proudly. “French toast, hot chocolate, and…” He reached over to a small ramekin and scooped out a dollop of what looked like scrambled eggs with herbs and little bits of cheese. “…And something else that you have to try.”

Theo eyed it warily. “…You’re going to make me eat something weird, aren’t you?”

Liam laughed, a low, soft sound that made Theo’s chest flutter. “…Maybe. But it’s good. Trust me.”

Theo opened his mouth to protest further, then caught sight of the plate he was holding — another slice of French toast, golden and dusted with powdered sugar, steam curling off the edges. The scent alone made his defenses melt. “Fine,” he muttered. “…I’ll try it.”

Liam grinned triumphantly, scooting a chair over for him. “Sit. You’ve got syrup, chocolate, and other goodies waiting. We’re not going anywhere until you eat.”

Theo eased into the chair, blanket sliding slightly off his shoulders, and let Liam set the plate in front of him. He took a tentative bite, eyes half-closing at the sweetness, at the warmth spreading through him. “Mm…” he mumbled, small but approving.

“I knew you’d like it,” Liam said, voice soft, leaning casually against the counter with a mug of steaming hot chocolate in hand

Theo swallowed and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Mhm.”

Then Liam held out the small ramekin. “Now the other thing. Just a little bite.”

Theo hesitated. “…Why do I trust you so little?”

“Because,” Liam said seriously, though his grin gave him away as he lifted the fork to Theo’s mouth, “…you know I’d never let you starve. Now, try.”

Theo rolled his eyes but parted his lips, letting Liam feed him a tiny forkful of the scrambled eggs with herbs. The flavor hit him — savory, rich, the little kick of spice underneath— and he blinked in surprise. “Not bad,” he admitted, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I know,” Liam said proudly, leaning closer, brushing his arm lightly against Theo’s. “I make a mean breakfast.”

He didn’t say anything, just leaned back slightly, feeling the warmth of the kitchen, the sun, the food, and Liam all at once. It was…cozy. Safe. Almost like he belonged here.

Liam caught the look and his grinned widened. “You’re actually enjoying this,” he teased, setting his mug down and sliding into the chair beside Theo. “You’re even smiling. Look at you, sleepyhead.”

Theo groaned softly, burying his face in his hands. “Don’t call me that.”

“But it’s adorable,” Liam says, laughter threading through his voice. “There’s nothing more cuter when you’re groggy. Admit it.”

Theo peeked through his fingers at Liam’s grinning face. “I’m not cute.”

“You are,” Liam countered easily. “Don’t argue with me on it.”

Theo tried to scowl, but it faltered when Liam leaned over slightly, brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. The contact was light, fleeting, but it made Theo’s stomach twist in a way he hadn’t expected. “You’re too happy in the mornings.”

Liam chuckles. “Someone has to be.”

Theo dropped his hands from his face and slumped further into the chair, shoulders sinking like the weight of exhaustion was dragging him down again. The warmth from the food and cocoa wasn’t helping; it just made his body heavier, his eyelids harder to keep open.

“You’re gonna fall asleep right at the table,” Liam said softly, almost fondly.

Theo cracked one eye open, shooting him a tired glare that had no bite. “Not my fault you shoved food at me the second I woke up.”

“That’s called taking care of you,” Liam said, reaching over to slide the cocoa mug closer to Theo’s side. “You should be grateful.”

Theo huffed, the sound muffled by his arm where he’d rested his head against the table. His voice came out low, rough, like he was fighting sleep even while awake. “You’re annoying.”

“Mm.” Liam rested his chin in his hand, watching him with a crooked smile. “You don’t mean that.”

Theo cracked his other eye open this time, glaring again, though it softened almost instantly. Liam’s grin had that irritating brightness to it, the one that seemed to warm the whole room. Theo’s chest tugged in a way he didn’t want to acknowledge, so instead he muttered, “I do.”

But the words were slow, thick with drowsiness, and Liam only chuckled.

“Yeah, you definitely don’t,” Liam said, voice soft as his gaze lingered on the rumpled plaid pajamas, the way Theo’s hair stuck up at odd angles, the curve of his mouth when he tried not to smile. He looked… different like this. Not guarded, not sharp, not carrying the weight of every bad decision. Just Theo, quiet and half-asleep, and God, Liam thought he could get used to this.

Theo shifted, rubbing his eyes again with the heel of his palm. “You’re staring.”

“Am not,” Liam said quickly, though his grin betrayed him.

Theo’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile. “You’re bad at lying.”

Liam laughed under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “Guess I am. Not my strong suit.”

He reaches across the table without thinking, tugging the blanket from the back of Theo’s chair and draping it over his shoulders. Theo flinched faintly at the contact, then stilled. The blanket was soft, warm, smelling faintly of cinnamon and Liam. He swallowed, eyes falling shut, breathing evened out, shoulders loosening under the weight of the blanket, his cheek pressed against his folded arm. For once, he wasn’t fighting, wasn’t running, wasn’t building walls.

Liam let his gaze linger, helpless against the fondness that flooded through him. He should’ve looked away, should’ve gotten up, should’ve done anything other than sit there and stare at Theo like he was the most important thing in the room.

Theo shifted slightly in his chair, letting out a soft, unconscious sound, and Liam’s chest clenched. Yeah. He was gone. Completely and utterly gone.

So he let himself sit there a little longer, watching the rise and fall of Theo’s shoulders, the soft glow of morning light on his hair, and the curve of his mouth as he drifted. Just one moment. One quiet, perfect moment before reality could try and ruin it.

And if Liam smiled like an idiot the entire time, well…no one was awake enough to call him out on it.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

Theo woke to the sound of voices.

Not just Liam’s — lower, steady, familiar enough now that Theo could pick it out without thinking — but others. Louder, faster, cutting through the air like static.

Theo’s eyes blinked open, heavy with the weight of sleep. The plaid blanket was still curled around his shoulders, the couch pressing soft against his side. He sat up slowly, head throbbing faintly as he tried to get his bearings.

“…no, dude, not there, that looks lopsided—”

That voice. High, sharp, rattling like a motor that never shut off. Stiles.

Theo’s stomach twisted, anxiety spiking hard and fast in his chest. He pushed himself upright, breath catching as the next voice followed, smoother, steady, calm even through the laughter.

“Stiles, it’s fine. Just hand me the box.”

Scott.

Theo’s heart hammered, and the haze of sleep evaporated in an instant. He shot to his feet, the blanket slipping to the floor, body tense before his brain caught up. Scott and Stiles. Here. In Liam’s house.

For one second, instinct screamed at him to bolt. To grab his jacket, slip out the back door, vanish before they noticed he was here at all. He wasn’t supposed to be here — not with them.

If either of them decided this was a mistake—

“Theo?”

His name, warm and casual, cut through the spiral. He looked up.

Liam was standing in the kitchen doorway, a string of red-and-green garland looped around his shoulders like he’d gotten tangled in it.

“Hey,” Liam said, careful, steady. “You’re awake.”

Theo’s throat felt tight. “Yeah,” he rasped.

From the living room came another voice — Stiles, muffled but clearly annoyed. “Liam, this tree is too small for your house.”

Theo stiffened again, his gaze darting toward the sound. His pulse spiked, fingers curling into fists at his sides.

Liam noticed instantly. His smile softened, quiet reassurance shining in his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said low, just for Theo. “They’re fine with you being here.”

Theo huffed a bitter laugh under his breath. “Yeah, right.”

Theo’s jaw clenched so tight it hurt. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out most of the words drifting from the other room. He didn’t need to hear them clearly; his mind filled in the blanks on its own.

They’d see him. They’d remember everything he’d done. And maybe Liam could forgive, maybe Liam could forget, but Stiles Stilinski? Scott McCall? They weren’t wired like that.

The thought made his chest seize.

“Hey.” Liam’s voice cut through again, low and grounding. He reached up, tugging the garland from his shoulder and dropping it onto the counter. “You’re good. You’re safe.”

Theo forced out a laugh that didn’t sound like one. “Safe?”

Liam tilted his head, stubborn in that quiet way of his. “Yeah. With them.”

Before Theo could fire back, Stiles’s voice carried louder, sharp and fast as ever. “I’m telling you, Liam, this tree looks like it belongs in a sad Charlie Brown special. It’s tiny. You need a new one. A bigger one. One that doesn’t look like it’s been through three years of a drought.”

Theo flinched. The urge to bolt surged again, curling hot and desperate under his skin. He’d take his jacket, slip out the back door, vanish before—

Too late.

Footsteps thudded against the hardwood, and then they were there. Stiles appeared first, gangly limbs and plaid flannel, his hands flailing as he talked. Scott followed behind him, calmer, steadying, carrying a box of ornaments with a faint grin like he’d seen this chaos a hundred times before — which, Theo figured, he probably had.

The second Stiles’s gaze landed on Theo, his words cut off mid-ramble. His hands dropped, and his expression froze.

Theo’s stomach bottomed out.

Scott’s eyes followed Stiles’s line of sight, settling on Theo. For a second, everything went still.

Theo braced. His body coiled, waiting for the hit — the anger, the accusations, the demand to leave.

But it didn’t come.

Scott’s mouth curved into something soft. “Hey, Theo.”

Theo blinked.

Before he could process that, Stiles spoke, his tone flat. “Huh.”

Theo’s chest tightened. Here it was. The verbal blow.

But instead of launching into accusations, Stiles just squinted at him and said, “You look like you haven’t slept in three years. Which, okay, is on brand, but still.”

Theo’s brain stalled. “What?”

Stiles gestured vaguely, still squinting. “I mean, dark circles, twitchy energy, broody posture. Honestly, it’s like your whole thing got turned up to eleven.”

Theo opened his mouth, then shut it again. He had no idea what to do with that.

Liam’s grin flickered, like he’d known this was coming. “Stiles,” he warned, though there was no real bite in it.

“What?” Stiles threw his hands up, looking at Liam like he was the unreasonable one. “I’m not even being mean. I’m just saying he looks like he needs a nap and maybe…I don’t know, therapy.”

Scott shot Stiles a look, though his voice stayed calm. “Stiles.”

“What?!” Stiles repeated, defensive. Then his gaze slid back to Theo, sharp for a beat before softening just slightly. “Okay, fine, maybe I am being a little mean. But I’m not gonna kick you out, dude. Chill.”

Theo’s chest tightened. His body didn’t know whether to relax or get tenser.

Scott shifted the ornament box in his arms, giving Theo that steady, unshakable look that had always grated on him before. This time, it felt different. “I’m glad you’re here,” Scott said simply.

He stared at Scott, waiting for the catch, but Scott just smiled faintly, like he meant it.

Theo’s throat worked, but no sound came out.

“Anyway,” Stiles said, breaking the moment as only he could. He turned back to Liam, waving a hand at the tree in the corner. “We seriously need to have a talk about your tree situation. That thing is pathetic.”

Liam groaned. “It’s fine, Stiles.”

“It’s not fine,” Stiles argued immediately. “It’s lopsided. It’s barely taller than Scott, and Scott’s not even that tall.”

“Hey,” Scott protested mildly.

“You know what I mean,” Stiles shot back, rolling his eyes before turning back to the tree. “We’re fixing this. It’s Christmas, Liam. You don’t half-ass Christmas.”

Liam just shook his head, muttering something under his breath about regretting inviting them.

Theo stood frozen by the couch, the blanket pooled at his feet, trying to catch up with what just happened.

He’d expected fire. Fury. A demand to leave.

Instead, Stiles was critiquing Liam’s tree like Theo wasn’t even a factor, and Scott…Scott had smiled at him.

“Okay,” Stiles announced suddenly, clapping his hands together like a man making a battle plan. “Game time. We’re not wasting another second with this disaster.”

Theo blinked. “What?”

Stiles pointed at him, sharp and direct. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

Theo’s brows furrowed, his chest tightening again. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Stiles said, already moving toward the door with that jittery, nonstop energy of his. “Throw on a jacket, some shoes—whatever it is you wear when you’re brooding around Beacon Hills—and let’s go.”

Theo’s body tensed. He hadn’t expected them to tolerate him being here, let alone…invite him anywhere. His mouth opened automatically. “I’m not—”

“Stiles,” Liam cut in, tone warning but a little amused, too.

“What?” Stiles spun around, throwing his hands up again. “We’re not leaving him here. He’s part of the group now, apparently. If he’s sticking around for Christmas, then he’s coming with us.”

Theo stiffened harder. “I didn’t say I was sticking around.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles shot back, “you’re in pajamas, man. Matching pajamas.“

“So?”

“With Liam,” Stiles added, as if that helped explain anything.

Theo blinked, confused.

Stiles stared back, before turning to Scott. “They’re fucking hopeless.”

Theo’s brain short-circuited. What the hell was he even talking about?

Before Theo could demand clarification, Liam shoved past Stiles, tugging on the end of the garland still slung around his shoulder. “If you’re dragging us out, Theo’s not going in plaid pajamas.”

Theo crossed his arms. “I’m not going out at all.”

“Yes, you are,” Stiles said immediately, his tone leaving no room for debate. “This isn’t optional. We are fixing your sad excuse for holiday cheer, and that requires teamwork. And you—” He jabbed a finger at Theo, nearly poking him in the chest. “You’re on the team.”

Theo glared, opening his mouth to bite back, but Liam interrupted again, his voice calm, steady, annoyingly practical. “He can wear my clothes.”

Theo whipped his head toward him. “What?”

“You don’t have anything here except what you drove in with,” Liam said simply, already moving toward the stairs.

Theo’s brows knit together. “I don’t need—”

“Too late,” Liam tossed back over his shoulder. “I’ll grab something.”

Theo stood frozen, his chest tightening for reasons he couldn’t quite name. Borrowing Liam’s clothes? That felt…too personal. Too much.

Behind him, Stiles let out a low whistle. “Wow. Sharing clothes already. Bold move, Raeken. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Theo turned on him, scowl sharp. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Stiles widened his eyes, feigning innocence. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” Then he grinned, wicked and far too pleased with himself. “Just saying, I’ve seen Scott lend out a sweatshirt here or there, but this is next level. Couple-y, even.”

Theo blinked, the words catching him off guard. “Couple—what?”

But before he could push, Liam reappeared, holding a pair of dark jeans and a navy hoodie. He didn’t even acknowledge Stiles’s comment, just thrust the clothes toward Theo like it was already settled.

“Here,” Liam said. “Get changed.”

Theo stared at him, then at the clothes, then back at him. “I never agreed to this.”

Liam raised a brow, smirk tugging at his lips. “You will. Or Stiles will drag you out in pajamas, and honestly, I’d pay money to watch that.”

Stiles perked up immediately. “Don’t tempt me.”

Theo’s scowl deepened, but the fight bled out of him as he snatched the clothes from Liam’s hands. The fabric was warm from being folded fresh out of the drawer, soft in a way that made his chest tighten even more. He muttered something low under his breath — definitely a curse — and stalked down the hallway toward the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the sound of voices in the living room. Theo braced his hands on the edge of the sink, staring at his reflection. Messy hair. Tired eyes. Matching plaid pajama pants that Liam had somehow convinced him to wear the night before. He looked…wrong here. Too out of place in all this color and warmth.

He glanced down at the clothes in his grip. Jeans. Hoodie. All Liam’s.

His throat tightened. He should hate this. Should hate pulling on clothes that didn’t belong to him, feeling them hang a little different, softer, worn in by someone else’s skin. But he didn’t. And that unsettled him more than anything.

With a sharp exhale, he shoved out of the pajamas and into the jeans, tugged the hoodie over his head. The smell hit him immediately — Liam’s detergent, a faint hint of cedar, something warmer underneath that was just…him. Theo clenched his jaw and shook it off, shoving his hands into the hoodie pocket.

When he stepped back into the living room, the noise hit him again full force.

Liam was fussing with the garland that was hanging off his shoulder, brow furrowed like he was trying to wrangle it into submission. Scott had crouched by the tree, untangling lights with the same patient focus he always seemed to carry, like even a ball of twisted wires wasn’t worth getting frustrated over.

And Stiles—Stiles spotted Theo immediately.

He froze, eyes sweeping Theo once, twice, before a grin stretched across his face like he’d just been handed the best Christmas present of his life. “Oh my God.”

Theo stiffened. “What.”

Stiles leaned his elbow on the back of the couch, smirk widening. “You look like you just stepped out of Liam’s closet.”

Theo narrowed his eyes. “That’s because I did.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said, drawing the word out like it proved some grand point. “Couple-y. Told you.”

Theo’s jaw locked. “You need to shut up.”

Stiles didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He turned to Scott, gesturing at Theo like he was displaying evidence at a crime scene. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

Scott looked up from the string of lights, eyes flicking from Theo to Liam and back. His smile was small, easy, nothing sharp about it. “You’re not wrong.”

Theo’s stomach lurched. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Liam finally managed to untangle the garland and slung it over the back of the chair, rolling his eyes. “Don’t listen to him,” he told Theo, voice steady, calm. “Stiles just likes to hear himself talk.”

“Correction,” Stiles shot back. “I like to point out the obvious. Which, for the record, is that you two are about two steps away from—”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted, his tone gentle but firm, the kind of tone that had stopped arguments before they could spiral since high school.

Stiles sighed dramatically, throwing himself onto the couch with all the weight of his limbs like the world had wronged him. “Fine. I’ll stop.”

Theo dragged his hand over his face. He should’ve walked out the door ten minutes ago. Should’ve put his foot down. But instead, here he was, standing in Liam’s clothes, listening to Stiles Stilinski accuse him of…whatever the hell this was supposed to be.

Scott’s voice dipped back into easy conversation, asking Liam something about the box of ornaments, but Stiles was already up again, moving at full throttle. He darted to the coat rack by the door, snatching up an extra pair of sneakers that looked like they’d been abandoned there sometime last year.

“Alright, grumpy,” Stiles announced, striding back over like he was leading a military op. “Since you’re so reluctant to participate in Christmas cheer, here’s your mission gear.”

Theo blinked just in time for a pair of shoes to be shoved into his chest. He caught them automatically, more out of instinct than willingness. “What the hell?”

“Shoes,” Stiles said matter-of-factly, as if Theo had asked the dumbest question in the world. “For your feet. So you don’t freeze them off while we go buy Liam a real tree.”

Theo stared down at the sneakers, then back up at Stiles. “I didn’t agree to this.”

“Yeah, you did,” Stiles countered without hesitation, already snatching his keys from the counter. “When you put on the hoodie, you silently signed a contract. No backsies.”

Theo opened his mouth, ready to tear into him, but Stiles had already turned, calling over his shoulder. “Dunbar, let’s go! Chop chop!”

Liam’s lips twitched, like he was trying not to laugh. He crossed the room toward Theo, brushing past him just close enough that their shoulders brushed. “Don’t bother arguing,” he said quietly, eyes crinkling with amusement.

Theo scowled, looking from the shoes in his hands to the smug figure by the door. “This is ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Liam agreed easily, tugging on his jacket. “But it’s easier if you just roll with it.”

Before Theo could come up with a retort, Stiles clapped his hands, impatient. “Okay, lovebirds, less staring, more moving. The Jeep waits for no one!”

Theo’s head snapped toward him, glare sharp. “We’re not—”

“Save it,” Stiles cut him off, already holding the door open with a flourish. “I’ve got limited daylight, and apparently an entire holiday emergency to solve. Shoes on, both of you, out the door. Now.”

Theo’s grip tightened on the sneakers. He could walk away. He could refuse, dig his heels in, let them all pile into that beat-up Jeep without him. But Liam was watching him like he knew exactly how close Theo was to bolting.

And for reasons Theo couldn’t begin to name, he sat down on the arm of the couch and shoved his feet into the damn shoes.

Stiles grinned. “Atta boy.”

Theo yanked the laces tighter than necessary, the sneakers squeaking faintly against the hardwood as he stood.

Stiles was practically vibrating at the door, jingling his keys like a man about to rob a bank. “Finally. God, you’re slower than my dad getting ready for a town hall meeting.”

Theo gave him a flat look. “Keep talking, and I’ll slow down more.”

Stiles opened his mouth, clearly ready with some rapid-fire comeback, but Scott cut in from the corner, still crouched by the tree. “Stiles, maybe dial it back a notch.”

“Dial it back? Scott, do you see that tree?” Stiles jabbed a finger at the lopsided thing, his expression full of despair. “It’s an insult to Christmas. A tragedy. A—”

“—tree,” Liam interrupted, dry.

Theo almost smirked.

Scott stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. “Okay. Let’s just…go. Before Stiles has an aneurysm over pine branches.”

“Exactly,” Stiles said, as though Scott had just handed him a gavel. “To the Jeep!”

He flung the door open dramatically, cold December air gusting inside. Theo tugged the borrowed hoodie tighter around himself, instinctively ducking into the warmth of it. The scent of Liam hit him again and he hated how grounding it felt.

Liam stepped past him, jacket zipped, glancing back once as if to check Theo was following. Something about the easy certainty in his eyes made Theo’s feet move, even though every part of him screamed not to.

The driveway was half-iced over, Stiles’s ancient Jeep sitting crooked with a spray of pine needles clinging to the windshield like it had been parked under a tree for weeks. Stiles bounded ahead, throwing himself into the driver’s seat with the grace of a caffeinated raccoon.

“Shotgun,” Scott called, sliding into the passenger side before Stiles could argue.

“That leaves you two in the back,” Stiles announced loudly, twisting in his seat to waggle his eyebrows at Liam and Theo. “How convenient.”

Theo stopped dead on the curb. “No.”

“Yes,” Stiles shot back instantly, grin feral.

Liam walked right past Theo, climbing into the back without hesitation. He glanced out, calm as ever, and patted the space beside him. “C’mon.”

Theo’s jaw clenched. He could walk away right now. Turn on his heel, head back inside, pretend none of this happened.

But Liam’s eyes lingered on him, steady and sure, like he wasn’t asking, just…waiting.

Theo swore under his breath and yanked the door open. He slid in, the seat creaking, the whole Jeep smelling faintly of motor oil, pine, and something distinctly Stiles.

Liam’s thigh brushed against his, warm through denim, and Theo went rigid. There wasn’t enough space to move away without looking obvious, so he stayed still, staring hard out the window.

Stiles twisted around, grin shark-wide. “Cozy?”

Theo’s glare could’ve burned through glass. “Drive.”

“Gladly,” Stiles said, turning the ignition with a triumphant rev. The Jeep rattled to life like an old dog coughing.

They pulled out of the driveway, Scott fiddling with the heat vents while Stiles babbled about the best lots in town. Theo tuned most of it out, the hum of the engine loud in his ears, his chest tight. He hadn’t been trapped in a car with Scott and Stiles in years — and never like this.

Liam shifted beside him, pulling his phone from his pocket. His elbow brushed Theo’s arm in the process, feather-light, and Theo felt it all the way to his spine.

“You okay?” Liam murmured, so low only he could hear.

Theo swallowed. “…Fine.”

“Liar,” Liam said softly.

Theo forced his gaze back to the window, where Beacon Hills blurred past in shades of winter gray.

Stiles, naturally, filled the silence. “Okay, rules of the mission. Rule one: no one, no one, complains about the cold. Rule two: we pick the biggest tree we can fit in the Jeep. Rule three: Liam, you are never allowed to choose trees by yourself again.”

Liam huffed. “I like the one I picked.”

“It’s sad,” Stiles said bluntly. “Like, if Charlie Brown’s tree had a cousin no one invited to dinner, that’s your tree.”

“You already mentioned Charlie Brown’s tree,” Theo muttered, but Stiles ignored him.

Scott chuckled quietly. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Yes, it was,” Stiles insisted, pointing a dramatic finger toward Scott’s chest. “Do not enable him.”

Theo snorted.

The sound slipped out before Theo could stop it — sharp, quiet, a snort that wasn’t quite a laugh but close enough to draw every pair of eyes in the Jeep straight to him.

Theo stiffened, jaw snapping shut, heat prickling up the back of his neck. He hadn’t meant to give anything away, hadn’t meant to sound amused.

Stiles’s grin widened like he’d just won a prize. “Oh my God. Was that—did you just laugh?”

Theo scowled. “No.”

“Yes,” Stiles crowed, turning fully in his seat despite Scott muttering something about keeping his eyes on the road. “That was laughter. I heard it. Scott, you heard it too, right?”

Scott’s lips twitched. “Sounded like it.”

Theo sank lower against the seat, glaring out the window like the winter streets would swallow him whole. “You people are insufferable.”

“Correction,” Stiles said, pointing finger guns at him. “I’m insufferable. Scott’s a saint. Liam’s…Liam. And you—” He waved a hand in Theo’s direction. “You’re just cranky because deep down, you’re actually having fun, and it’s terrifying you.”

Theo’s head snapped back, glare sharp. “I’m not—”

“Don’t deny it,” Stiles interrupted, smug. “It’s written all over your face.”

“It’s not,” Theo bit out.

Theo stayed rigid against the back of the seat, chest tight, as if any movement might betray him further. He didn’t glance at Liam, didn’t allow himself the comfort of noticing how calm and unbothered the beta looked beside him, thumb absently scrolling across his phone screen. He could feel Liam’s presence, feel the warmth of the denim brushing his arm, and he wanted to shove it off, wanted to deny it, wanted to convince himself he was still untouchable.

Stiles, of course, was oblivious — or perhaps deliberately ignoring Theo’s discomfort — his hands tight on the wheel, commentary unrelenting. “Okay, so next rule of Christmas Tree Acquisition,” he said, voice full of gravitas and caffeine jitters, “is that there will be no whining. No complaining about the tree lot, and absolutely no complaining about me being right at all times. Violators will be—” He paused, grinning like he was unveiling a secret weapon. “—subject to public embarrassment. Guaranteed.”

Theo ground his jaw, letting the sound of the engine fill the silence between Stiles’s words. “You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath.

“‘Insane’?” Stiles shot back without missing a beat. “That’s what we’re calling me now? I prefer ‘genius,’ but sure. Whatever makes you sleep better at night, grumpy backseat passenger.”

Theo clenched his fists in his lap, staring out the frost-speckled window. Scott, meanwhile, was quiet beside Stiles, hands folded over his lap, a faint amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he glanced at Theo every so often. Scott didn’t say much; Scott didn’t need to. Theo could feel the weight of Scott’s approval without a single word. And that—God, that unsettled him more than Stiles’s relentless chatter.

“You’re not even looking out the window,” Stiles accused suddenly, pointing at Theo with the kind of flourish reserved for courtrooms or game shows. “You’re brooding. Like, next-level brooding. And it’s terrifying. I didn’t sign up to babysit your emotional mess, but apparently I did.”

Theo exhaled sharply, ignoring him. “I’m not brooding.”

“You are,” Stiles said flatly. “I can see the furrow in your forehead. And the subtle pout. And—” He paused, squinting. “—the twitch of your lip? That’s classic brooding. Top tier, actually.”

Theo muttered something under his breath that might have been a curse, might have been a warning, and then stiffened as Liam shifted again, nudging closer in the seat without saying anything. That casual proximity, effortless and unassuming, made Theo’s chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

“You okay?” Liam murmured again, quieter this time, almost tentative.

Theo blinked, swallowing hard. “…Fine,” he rasped, because he couldn’t do more. He couldn’t tell Liam that his heart was thumping like a jackhammer and that the warmth radiating from the beta beside him made his entire body feel like it was melting through the seat.

The Jeep hit a bump in the road, and Theo’s shoulder brushed against Liam’s again. He froze, barely breathing, feeling the warmth radiate under his hoodie. Stiles, of course, noticed instantly.

Stiles, of course, didn’t miss a beat. His head snapped toward the back seat, eyes narrowing theatrically. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—did I just witness a physical contact moment? Are you two—”

“Stiles!” Liam cut in sharply, voice surprisingly firm. The kind of firmness Theo wasn’t used to hearing from him. “Can you please just—stop?”

Stiles froze mid-gesture, hands still in the air like a cartoon villain caught in a trap. “Stop? Stop what? Observing obvious developments? I’m a concerned citizen!”

Theo’s chest tightened, half in relief, half in disbelief. Liam’s hand brushed against his again, this time intentionally resting lightly against his thigh. Theo wanted to panic, wanted to shove it off, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Liam’s voice softened, calm and steady, cutting through Stiles’s chaos. “I said enough. You’ve been driving him crazy for five minutes, and that’s enough commentary. Let’s just focus on getting a tree, okay?”

Stiles blinked, caught off-guard by Liam’s sudden authority. “…Wow,” he said, mock-awed, slowly lowering his hands. “The mighty Liam finally throws down the law. Impressive.”

Theo stayed frozen in the back seat, shoulders stiff, as the Jeep rattled over the icy streets, the faint smell of pine already drifting from the lot ahead. Stiles muttered under his breath but sat back, still clearly simmering with commentary ideas he’d been denied.

Scott, hands resting casually in his lap, glanced at Theo and gave a small, reassuring smile. Liam’s hand still rested lightly on his thigh, grounding, unassuming. Theo hadn’t realized how much he craved a touch that simple until now.

Stiles, of course, couldn’t stay silent for long. “…Fine. Fine. But I’m warning you—one wrong move, one awkward glance, and I’m narrating the entire emotional arc to the entire town. Or at least to anyone who will listen. Which is basically Scott. And me. And…” He waved vaguely toward Theo and Liam, “…you two.”

“Stiles,” Liam said again, voice firm but calm, “I’m serious. No commentary. Focus on the tree.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles muttered, though the grin never left his face. “I get it. You’re the boss. But this is historical, people. Historical.”

Theo exhaled sharply and leaned back into the seat, letting the heat from Liam seep through his body. He didn’t move closer — he wanted too — but he didn’t pull away either.

The Jeep turned off the main road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as Stiles maneuvered into the Christmas tree lot. The lot was smaller than Theo expected, full of rows of pine trees, their green needles dusted with snow. Strings of colorful lights were strung haphazardly along the fence, and the smell of fresh pine hit Theo immediately.

“Okay,” Stiles announced, throwing the Jeep into park with a flourish, “mission officially underway. Operation: Christmas Tree Redemption begins. And I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care if Liam cries over a tree. I don’t care if Theo here attempts to bolt back into the car in denial of the holiday spirit. We. Are. Getting. A. Tree.”

Theo’s eyes flicked to Liam, who stepped out of the Jeep casually, brushing snow off his hoodie. He glanced back at Theo with that smile, the one that made him want to stay forever and never leave.. “…You coming?”

Theo hesitated, gaze flicking back to the Jeep where Stiles was already bouncing on his heels like he’d had ten cups of coffee. “…I—yeah,” he muttered finally, shoving his hands into the pockets of Liam’s hoodie.

Scott followed Liam out, hands in his pockets, calm as ever. “You’re doing fine,” he said softly, glancing at Theo. “Just…don’t run away on us again.”

Theo nodded stiffly, glancing down at the ground as he followed Liam across the snow-crusted lot. His boots sank slightly with each step, crunching against the frozen dirt.

Stiles was already marching ahead, hands waving like a general commanding troops. “Alright! Everyone spread out. Theo, you’re with me. Liam, Scott, you handle getting real decorations. No one touches my route to the perfect tree, understand?”

Theo froze mid-step. “…I’m…with you?”

“Yes,” Stiles said sharply. “You. Me. We’re a team. Unless you plan on running back to the Jeep, in which case I’ll make sure to hum ‘Jingle Bells’ at maximum volume until you return.”

Theo gritted his teeth, but didn’t say anything.

They walked past rows of small saplings and scraggly pines, Stiles talking nonstop about how none of these trees could possibly meet his standard of perfection. “No, no, no,” he muttered, shaking his head. “This is pathetic. This one’s lopsided. This one’s too wide. This one looks like it’s dying. And that one—don’t even get me started.”

Theo kept his hands in his pockets, glancing at every single tree that Stiles dismissed. “I don’t know…some of these aren’t too bad.”

“No,” Stiles insisted, shaking his head violently. “They are. Bad. Every single one of them.” He spun to Theo suddenly, finger wagging. “And you—you’re observing quietly, too quiet. What are you thinking, broody backseat passenger?”

Theo’s cheeks heated. “I’m not thinking anything,” he muttered, shoving his hands deeper into the hoodie pockets.

“You’re thinking,” Stiles said firmly, narrowing his eyes like he could see into Theo’s soul, “that this is insane. That you don’t belong in plaid pajamas, in Liam’s hoodie, out in the freezing snow buying a Christmas tree with me. And maybe…” He leaned closer dramatically, whispering, “maybe you like it more than you want to admit.”

Theo froze. “…I don’t—”

“Exactly,” Stiles interrupted, spinning away to inspect a scraggly fir. “We’ll come back to that later. Priorities: the tree. It has to be perfect. And large. Not like your pathetic little attempt of wooing Liam.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, and he shot Stiles a glare. “I am not ‘wooing’ Liam, and I don’t even like him like that,” he snapped, voice low.

Stiles froze mid-step, hand hovering over a particularly sad-looking pine, and slowly turned toward him, eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hairline. “Oh. Ohhhhhh, I see. So it’s…not…that. Got it. Totally platonic. I’m…capturing the full non-romantic essence of this operation. Right. Because nothing says platonic bonding like freezing your butt off buying a giant pine in someone else’s hoodie while said someone had their hand on your thigh. Right. Platonic.”

Theo bristled at the words. “I said I’m not—look, just focus on the tree, Stiles.”

“Ah, yes,” Stiles said, spreading his arms like he was presenting a grand stage. “The tree. You’d rather talk about the trees than your nonexistent feelings for a certain angry beta.”

Theo’s jaw tightened, nails digging into the palm of his hands. “Shut up, Stiles,” he growled, voice low, his jaw tight. “Just leave it alone. I don’t—“

"Don't even start," Stiles interrupted, wagging a finger like a judge about to deliver a death sentence. "You came back five days before Liam's favorite holiday, agreed to stay in his house, wore his damn clothes, let him feed you breakfast, and now you're helping me pick a tree for him?
And you claim you don't have feelings for him?"

Theo’s chest tightened, the cold air doing nothing to dull the heat rising up in his ears. “I don’t have feelings for him,” he said, voice low, almost frantic. “I’m here because it’s…Christmas. And he made me stay. That’s it. That’s the only reason.”

Stiles paused mid-step, head cocked like he was genuinely weighing the words. “Uh-huh,” he said slowly, smirk tugging at his lips. “Sure, okay. Totally believable. You’re just here for the weather and the snow, not because some big, strong, ridiculously good-looking beta made your heart flutter.”

“I don’t,” Theo says sharply, “have feelings for him. None. Zero. Stop saying it.”

Stiles, of course, didn’t stop. He just tilted his head, grin widening, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You keep saying that like the universe will believe you if you repeat it enough. Newsflash: repetition doesn’t make it true. Especially when every action screams otherwise.”

Theo’s chest tightened. “I—look, I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask him to feed me, or to—” He swallowed hard, throat tightening. “—I didn’t ask for any of this. I’m here because I stayed. That’s it.”

“Sure,” Stiles said lightly, though the sharp edge in his voice softened just a touch. “Stay for Christmas. Stay because it’s cold. Stay because the world is slowly turning into a snow globe. Stay because you totally don’t like him.”

Theo’s chest tightened, breath coming in uneven little pulls. His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he just stared at the snow-dusted lot ahead, trying to focus on the endless rows of potential trees instead of the mess in his chest. Then, in a rush of frustration he couldn’t contain, he spat it out, voice sharp enough to make Stiles flinch.

“I like him,” he snapped, the words almost cracking with emotion. His hands curled into fists in the hoodie pockets, knuckles white. “There, happy? I like Liam! I like him, okay?! And it doesn’t matter because—because he doesn’t like me back! He wouldn’t. Not the way I…well, not ever! So shut up about it, okay?! Just shut up.”

Stiles froze, eyebrows shooting. “Whoa,” he said slowly, almost reverent. “That was…wow. That came out like a cannon. Okay. Okay, deep breaths, Theo. I get it. Big feelings. Mega-crush. Totally understandable. Very valid.”

Theo’s chest heaved, heat and cold mixing in his veins. “…And I can’t. I can’t do anything. I’m…me. My past—what I’ve done—it…he’d never look at me that way. And even if he did…even if by some miracle he…he doesn’t. It’s just…” He trailed off, teeth clenched, staring at the ground. “…It’s impossible.”

Stiles blinked for a second, then slowly, deliberately, let his lips pull into a grin, something softening into something warmer, gentler, almost conspiratorial. “Okay. Okay, first thing: deep, agonizing pasts don’t make you unworthy. That’s rule number one. Rule number two: feelings don’t have to be reciprocated to be valid. And rule number three? You’re allowed to feel exactly what you feel, no shame, no guilt. Got it?”

Theo blinked at him, stunned, the words settling into him like snow on frozen ground. “You’re not mocking me?”

“Mocking you?” Stiles made a face, hands out like he was weighing something. “Do you think I’m that low? Seriously, Theo, I’m hurt. But honestly? That’s brave, Theo. Confessing that…that’s big. That’s huge. And, look, I know Liam’s…well, he’s Liam, but you’re allowed to like him. You’re allowed to care. You are allowed to care.”

Theo was silent for a moment, before nodding. “Thanks, I guess.”

Stiles gave a little nod, still grinning, though it was softer now. “Anytime, broody backseat passenger. Anytime. Now, feel better? Good. Mission continues. Tree, Theo. The perfect tree waits for no one.”

Theo let out a shaky breath and followed him, scanning the rows of trees with new eyes. Then, almost like fate—or maybe Stiles’s ridiculous luck—they rounded a corner and froze.

There it was.

Tall, symmetrical, dense, branches stretching proudly to the sky like it belonged there. Not a single needle out of place, not a single branch crooked. It was…perfect.

Theo’s eyes widened slightly, breath catching in his chest. “…That one,” he said softly.

Stiles spun toward him, eyes sparkling with triumph. “Yes! Yes! Yes! That’s it! That’s the tree! We did it! We picked the perfect tree, Theo!”

Theo crossed his arms, trying to hide the flush creeping up his neck, the little twist of pride that crept into his chest despite himself.

Stiles practically vibrated with excitement, spinning on his heel to face Theo. “Okay, stay put,” he commanded, wagging a finger like a drill sergeant. “You—right here. Guard the perfect tree with your life. No wandering, no brooding, no disappearing into the snow, understood?”

Theo stared at him, jaw tight, arms crossed, trying to keep the heat from creeping up his neck. “Fine,” he muttered.

he declared, clapping Theo once on the shoulder with enough force to make him scowl. “Now don’t move. I’m going to retrieve the others and present our prize. This will be the stuff of legends.”

He spun away, boots crunching dramatically in the snow, his voice already carrying across the lot as he yelled, “Scott! Liam! Found it! The chosen one!”

Theo rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath, “Idiot.” Still, he stayed exactly where he was.

Yet his chest was still tight, too full from what he’d just admitted to Stiles, the words still burning on his tongue.

I like him.

He hated that saying it out loud had made it real, more real than he wanted it to be.

The snow fell steady and soft, flakes catching in his hair, melting against the warmth of his skin. Around him, the lot had quieted—families chattering in the distance, the sound of a saw buzzing faintly a few rows over. For once, he was alone. And it was…unnerving.

Theo shoved his hands deeper into the hoodie pocket, hunching slightly against the cold, when he heard footsteps approaching. Not Stiles’s frantic, uneven stomp. These were steadier, lighter. Familiar.

Liam.

Theo straightened instinctively, gaze darting up just as Liam rounded the row of trees. Sure enough, the beta’s expression lit the moment he spotted him, and without hesitation, Liam closed the space between them until he was right there, shoulder brushing Theo’s as if he’d never considered stopping short.

“Hey,” Liam said, his voice warm in a way that cut straight through the winter air. He held up a cardboard box, half-open, and tilted it so Theo could see. “Look what I found.”

Theo blinked down. Inside was a mess of ornaments — some shiny red and gold spheres, others shaped like little woodland animals, even a glass snowflake that caught the weak sunlight and glittered faintly.

“They’re…ornaments,” Theo said dryly, because his throat was too tight to manage anything else.

“Not just ornaments,” Liam corrected, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “These are the good ones. Look—” He dug past the tangle of hooks and tissue paper until he pulled out a small wolf ornament, carved from wood and painted silver. He held it out like it was some rare treasure. “Tell me this isn’t perfect.”

Theo’s breath caught. Not because of the ornament — thought it was nice, sure — but at the way Liam was looking at him as he said it. Bright-eyed, earnest, like Theo’s opinion mattered. Like he’d been waiting to show him, specifically.

Theo cleared his throat, forcing his voice steady. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

Liam’s smile widened, and he gently set the wolf back in the box before fishing out another — this one a ridiculous-looking Santa wearing sunglasses. He held it up between them, grin edging into something more mischievous. “Okay, this one’s not perfect, but it’s hilarious. He kind of looks like Stiles, don’t you think?”

Theo snorted before he could stop himself, the sound muffled but undeniable. Liam’s grin only grew, pleased.

“That’s what I thought,” Liam said softly, slipping the ornament back in the box. His shoulder pressed more firmly against Theo’s, casual and close, as if he didn’t notice. “Stiles said you guys found a tree?”

Theo nodded toward the towering fir beside them. “…This one.”

Liam turned, eyes sweeping over it, and his breath left him in a visible puff of white. “Wow,” he murmured. “You actually picked a good one.” He glanced back at Theo, smile tugging at his lips again. “I’m impressed.”

Theo’s chest tightened all over again, but he forced a shrug. “Stiles did most of the work.”

“Right,” Liam said, though the look he gave Theo suggested he didn’t believe that for a second. “Well. Stiles has no taste, so I’m gonna go ahead and say you’re the reason we’re not taking home something sad and crooked.”

Theo huffed under his breath, pretending to brush snow off his sleeve so Liam wouldn’t notice the way his hands shook. “You give me too much credit,” he muttered, but Liam only grinned.

The grin softened, though, as Liam’s gaze flicked back to the tree, then to Theo again. For a second, Theo forgot about the cold, forgot about the sting in his chest, forgot about everything except that closeness.

“You know,” Liam said, voice dropping, “this might actually feel…normal. Like we’re just—” He broke off with a little laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. Like a new family tradition or something.”

Theo’s throat tightened. The word family always hit a strange, raw place inside him. He didn’t know what to do with it, not when Liam said it so easily, like the idea wasn’t impossible.

“Don’t get used to it,” Theo said quietly, though the edge in his voice had dulled, worn down by the softness in Liam’s eyes.

“I think I already have,” Liam says, smiling softly.

Theo looked away quickly, pretending to study the snow-dusted branches overhead, but his ears burned hot. It was unfair, how easily Liam could disarm him.

Before he could fumble for something else to say, Liam shifted the ornament box in his hands and nodded toward the parking lot. “Come on,” he said, nudging Theo’s arm with his elbow. “Scott and Stiles can handle the tree. Let’s head back to the Jeep before Stiles makes us do manual labor.”

Theo blinked. “You’re just gonna leave them?”

“Absolutely,” Liam said without hesitation, his grin tugging wide again.

And before Theo could argue, Liam hooked two fingers around his sleeve, tugging him gently in the direction of the path. The touch wasn’t forceful, but Theo followed without thinking, boots crunching over the snow-packed ground as Liam led the way.

It was ridiculous — stupid, even — that something as small as Liam tugging at his sleeve could make Theo’s chest feel so full. Like his ribs couldn’t contain it. Like he was going to crack open if he let himself think about it too much.

He didn’t say anything, though. Just walked beside Liam, shoulder brushing his now and again, the quiet between them comfortable in a way Theo wasn’t used to.

The Jeep came into view through the haze of snow, its windshield already dusted white. Liam stopped just short of it, setting the ornament box on the hood to dig through it again.

Theo leaned against the passenger door, watching, arms crossed, trying not to look too curious.

Liam pulled out another ornament — this one shaped like a reindeer with googly eyes — and shook his head with a little laugh. “Okay, this one’s definitely Stiles’s.” He put it aside, reaching back in, rummaging through until something small and green caught at the edge of his fingers.

Theo saw it a second later. A tiny sprig of plastic mistletoe, the berries painted an almost comically bright red.

Liam held it up between them, blinking at it in surprise. “Huh. Didn’t even notice this was in there.”

Theo’s breath hitched, and he fought to keep his face impassive, though his pulse had jumped.

“Mistletoe,” Theo said flatly, like stating the obvious would make it less dangerous.

“Yeah.” Liam turned it over in his fingers, studying it with the same earnestness he’d given the carved wolf. “Guess whoever donated this box wanted to cover all the bases.”

Theo swallowed hard, trying to focus on the snow sliding off the Jeep’s roof, on anything but the fact that Liam was holding mistletoe between them like it wasn’t the most unfair thing in the world.

For a second, Liam’s eyes flicked up, just long enough that Theo’s heart stuttered. Then, mercifully, he dropped the sprig back in the box, tucking it beneath the other ornaments with a casualness that Theo knew had to be deliberate.

“Anyway,” Liam said lightly, dusting snow off his hands. “Scott’ll help Stiles carry the tree. We’ll be warm by the heater before they’re even halfway done.”

Theo exhaled slowly, his chest loosening enough to let him move. He nodded, tugging the passenger door open and climbing inside before Liam could notice the flush still high on his cheeks.

The heater rattled to life a moment later, the windows fogging faintly as Liam slid in beside him, shaking snow from his hair. Theo turned his head toward the window, watching the snow fall in steady curtains, and tried not to think about mistletoe.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

The living room smelled like pine and sugar by the time they hauled the tree inside. Snow still clung to the branches, scattering across the hardwood as Scott and Liam wrangled it upright. Theo hung back near the couch, arms folded, watching the chaos unfold like he wasn’t part of it.

“You’re tilting it!” Liam barked, bracing his shoulder against the trunk.

“It’s straight,” Scott insisted, grunting as he shoved the base into the stand.

“It’s not straight,” Stiles cut in from the sidelines, chewing on a candy cane like he was coaching a sport. “It’s crooked. Leaning three degrees to the left. No one likes a crooked tree, Scott.”

Scott groaned. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Liam muttered, glaring up at the tree like it had personally offended him.

Theo resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Just turn it.”

Three heads snapped toward him at once. Theo stiffened, instantly regretting opening his mouth. But before he could backpedal, Liam’s expression softened.

“…You think?”

Theo shrugged, forcing indifference into his voice. “Yeah. Rotate it. Counter-clockwise. It’ll even out.”

Liam nodded immediately, like Theo’s word carried more weight than gravity itself. “Okay, Scott, counter-clockwise. Just a little.”

Scott gave him a flat look but shifted the trunk anyway. The tree slid against the stand, groaning in protest before settling again.

“There,” Liam said, stepping back. He tilted his head, then grinned. “Perfect.”

“Perfect,” Stiles echoed dryly, shooting Theo a look so knowing that Theo wanted to knock the candy cane out of his mouth.

They strung the lights first, Liam weaving carefully around the branches while Scott held the tangled mess of cords. Stiles narrated every step like it was a reality show, and Theo somehow got roped into handing over replacement bulbs when a strand went dark.

“Good teamwork,” Scott said once the last strand blinked to life, the warm glow bathing the room in gold.

Theo kept his eyes on the lights, refusing to meet Liam’s beaming expression.

Then came the ornaments. Stiles dumped the rescued box onto the coffee table with a dramatic flourish. “Behold: holiday greatness.”

Liam immediately reached for the carved wolf, cradling it with both hands before turning toward Theo. “Here. You should hang the first one.”

Theo blinked. “What? Liam, no.”

“Yes, Theo,” Liam said firmly, stepping closer, holding it out like an offering. “You helped pick the tree. It’s only fair.”

Theo stared at the ornament, then at Liam’s face — bright-eyed, hopeful, so damn earnest it made his throat tight. Slowly, reluctantly, he took it.

The wood was smooth beneath his fingers, the silver paint catching the light. He stepped toward the tree, heart hammering, and hung it near the middle branch. It caught the glow perfectly, shimmering like it belonged there.

Liam’s grin widened. “Looks good.”

Theo muttered something under his breath, but his chest felt too warm to keep up the scowl.

They kept decorating, the box growing lighter as shiny red baubles, glass snowflakes, and mismatched figurines filled the branches. Scott disappeared halfway through with a muttered promise of cider, leaving Stiles sprawled on the couch like a king surveying his kingdom.

It didn’t take long for Stiles to start in.

“So,” he said casually, twirling an ornament string around his finger. “You two make quite the team.”

Theo stiffened where he stood. Liam, oblivious, reached for another ornament. “Uh…thanks?”

“Not just with trees,” Stiles went on, his grin lazy but sharp. “Breakfast this morning, now decorations. Pretty soon you’ll be one of those couples who wear matching sweaters.”

Theo choked, nearly dropping the glass icicle he was holding.

“Stiles,” Liam groaned, cheeks pink. “Don’t.”

“What?” Stiles asked innocently. “I’m just saying. The chemistry is undeniable. Look at you two, hanging ornaments like it’s a Hallmark movie.”

Theo’s jaw clenched, but Liam was laughing now, ducking his head as color flushed higher in his face. “You’re ridiculous, Stiles.”

“Ridiculously accurate,” Stiles shot back. His eyes flicked to Theo, gleaming with mischief. “Don’t worry, broody. Your secret’s safe with me.”

Theo’s glare could’ve melted ice. “I don’t have a secret.”

“Sure you don’t,” Stiles said, unconcerned, popping the candy cane back in his mouth.

Theo turned back to the tree, shoving an ornament onto the nearest branch with more force than necessary. His ears burned, but Liam’s quiet laugh beside him softened the sting.

They worked in silence after that, the only sounds the rustle of branches and the faint hum of holiday music drifting from Scott’s speaker. By the time Scott reappeared with steaming mugs of apple cider, the tree was nearly finished — glittering, full, alive.

Scott paused in the doorway, smiling. “Looks amazing.”

Liam stepped back to admire their work, eyes shining. “Yeah. It does.”

Theo didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t look away from Liam’s smile.

Stiles noticed, of course. He always noticed. He hid his grin behind the rim of his cider, but Theo caught it anyway.

Scott handed out the mugs like some benevolent host, the scent of cinnamon and clove rising with the steam. The warmth of it seeped into Theo’s fingers immediately, almost startling after the chill that had lived in his skin since the tree lot.

“Careful,” Scott warned, setting his own mug down on the mantle. “It’s hot.”

“Hot cider’s supposed to be hot,” Stiles muttered around the rim of his drink, already half-drained. “Besides, if it burns your tongue, that’s your own fault. No sympathy here.”

Theo rolled his eyes and took a tentative sip. Sweet, sharp, warm — it slipped down his throat and pooled in his chest in a way that felt…dangerous. Comfort was dangerous. He wasn’t supposed to like this. He wasn’t supposed to want to stay.

But then Liam dropped onto the couch beside him, close enough that Theo could feel the brush of his arm when their elbows bumped, and suddenly danger was the least of his problems.

“You like it?” Liam asked, voice quiet, almost hopeful.

Theo hesitated. His instinct was to scowl, to deflect, but Liam’s gaze was steady, his expression open in a way that left no room for evasion. “…Yeah. It’s good.”

Liam’s smile spread, slow and warm. “Scott makes the best cider. Melissa’s recipe.”

“Damn right it is,” Scott said proudly, settling cross-legged on the floor with his own mug.

Stiles, meanwhile, was rummaging through the now mostly-empty ornament box, humming under his breath. “Let’s see…we’ve got Santas, reindeer, sparkly stars, snowflakes—oh ho ho.” His voice shot up a notch, triumphant.

Stiles straightened from the ornament box like he’d just struck gold. His grin was wide, wicked, entirely too knowing.

“Well, well, well,” he said, holding something aloft between two fingers. The plastic leaves dangled under a tiny red ribbon, fake berries glinting in the glow of the Christmas lights. “What do we have here?”

Theo nearly inhaled his cider. He coughed hard, heat rushing to his throat as liquid went down wrong. “Are you—” he hacked, thumping his chest. “Are you serious right now?”

Liam’s head shot up, eyes wide, and the flush that spread across his cheeks was instant, betraying every thought he was desperately trying not to have. “Stiles—” he started, voice tight.

“Oh, don’t you ‘Stiles’ me,” Stiles said, triumphant. He shook the sprig for emphasis, the little berries bobbing. “This—this right here—is a game-changer. Plastic destiny, people. Tradition demands sacrifice.”

Scott groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Stiles…”

“What?!” Stiles gestured wildly with the mistletoe, nearly smacking Scott in the shoulder. “You can’t just pretend this doesn’t exist. It’s a cultural cornerstone. People have literally kissed under this stuff for centuries.”

“Not under plastic from Target,” Theo muttered, glaring. His ears were burning, and he hated it.

“Details, details,” Stiles said dismissively. His gaze zeroed in on Theo, sharp and gleeful. “Oh my God. Look at you. You’re panicking. You’re actually panicking.”

“I’m not,” Theo snapped, though his death grip on the cider mug said otherwise.

Liam shifted beside him, and Theo could feel the warmth radiating off him like a furnace. He didn’t have to look to know Liam’s ears were as red as his cheeks, that his shoulders were curling in like he wanted to vanish into the couch cushions.

“Stiles,” Liam tried again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Put it away.”

But Stiles wasn’t listening. He was circling like a shark now, holding the mistletoe above his head like a crown. “Do you two realize what’s happening here? This is the part in the movie where the audience screams at the screen because the leads are denying the obvious. You’re living the trope, guys. This is prime rom-com material.”

Theo’s jaw clenched so tight it ached. “We are not—”

“Say it,” Stiles interrupted, eyes sparkling. “Say you’re not tempted.”

Theo’s throat went dry. His instinct was to snap, to deny, but the weight of Liam sitting so close made it impossible to spit the words out. He didn’t have to glance sideways to know Liam was looking at him, to feel the way the beta’s energy shifted — nervous, tense, but…waiting.

Theo’s heart kicked against his ribs, and he hated that Stiles could see it, hated that Scott was probably picking up every uneven beat.

“Stiles,” Scott said firmly, finally stepping in. “Enough.”

But Stiles only grinned wider. “Fine. Fine. I’ll stop.” He dropped the sprig back into the ornament box with an exaggerated flourish, then collapsed onto the armchair, sipping his cider like he hadn’t just lit a bomb in the room.

The silence left in his wake was unbearable.

Theo forced another swallow of cider, though it tasted too sweet now, too heavy. His skin was hot despite the winter air still clinging to the windows. And Liam — God, Liam was right there, close enough that Theo’s knee brushed his when he shifted, close enough that if he leaned an inch, just an inch—

“Sorry,” Liam mumbled suddenly, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo blinked, startled. “What?”

Liam ducked his head, staring into his mug. “I…uh. I should have tossed it, not—“ He cut himself off, cheeks flaming. “Not…put it back in the box.”

Across the room, Stiles made a noise suspiciously like a squeal but tried to cover it with a cough. Scott gave him a look sharp enough to cut glass.

Theo forced his voice steady. “It’s fine,” he said flatly. Too flat. His pulse was thrumming in his ears, drowning out the carol playing faintly on Scott’s speaker. “Doesn’t matter.”

Liam glanced at him then, quick and nervous, like he wanted to say something more but couldn’t find the words.

Theo looked away first. He focused on the tree, on the shimmer of the lights reflecting off the silver wolf ornament he’d hung earlier. His chest felt too full, too raw, and he hated that something as stupid as a plastic sprig could unravel him like this.

Stiles, of course, couldn’t leave well enough alone. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and conspiratorial. “You know, you don’t actually have to wait for mistletoe.”

“Stiles,” Scott warned again, sharper.

“What?!” Stiles threw his hands up, grinning. “I’m just saying! Traditions are fun, but, y’know, timing is everything.” His gaze flicked between Theo and Liam like he was physically willing something to happen.

Theo set his empty mug on the coffee table with more force than necessary. “I’m done.” He stood, shoving his hands into his pockets, desperate for distance. His chest ached, tight and conflicted, and he needed air.

But before he could move away, Liam’s hand brushed his wrist — tentative, soft, barely there. Enough to make him freeze.

“Theo,” Liam said quietly. Just his name. But it rooted him in place, pulled the air right out of his lungs.

Theo turned, slowly, and found Liam looking up at him with something raw in his expression. Nervous, yes. Shy, yes. But not running. Not pushing away.

Theo swallowed hard. He couldn’t do this. Not here. Not with Stiles practically bouncing in the corner and Scott pretending not to listen.

“Not now,” Theo muttered.

Liam’s face fell, just slightly — not enough for Stiles to stop grinning, but enough for Theo to notice. Enough to twist something deep inside him.

Not now. That’s what he’d said. Not never, not no — but it still hit like rejection.

Theo didn’t let himself linger. He tugged his wrist back gently, ignoring the flicker of hurt in Liam’s eyes, and turned on his heel. His chest was too tight, his skin buzzing like static. He couldn’t sit there, not with Stiles practically vibrating with smug delight, not with Scott’s steady gaze like he was waiting for Theo to admit something he didn’t dare.

“I’m—” Theo started, voice rough, but the words jammed in his throat. He shook his head instead, muttered, “I’ll be in the guest room,” and left before anyone could stop him.

The sound of his retreat echoed — the creak of the stairs, the muffled thud of the door closing behind him.

Only then did he breathe.

The room was small but warm, a quilt draped over the bed, the faint glow of the Christmas lights from outside leaking in through the curtains. It should’ve been comforting, but Theo felt caged, like the walls pressed too close.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His pulse was still racing, cider sour in his stomach.

Stupid. Stupid to think you could handle this. Stupid to want it.

The knock came softly, a few minutes later. Not Stiles’s impatient rap, not Liam’s hesitant shuffle.

Scott.

“Theo?” The voice was gentle, low. “Can I come in?”

Theo groaned under his breath. “You’re not gonna leave me alone, are you?”

A pause, then a small huff of amusement. “Not really, no.”

Theo didn’t answer, but the silence stretched long enough that Scott eased the door open anyway. He stepped inside, careful, like he was approaching a wild animal that might bolt. He didn’t close the door behind him — a kindness, Theo realized. Not trapping him.

Scott leaned against the dresser, arms crossed, studying him quietly. He didn’t say anything at first, just gave Theo the space to speak.

Theo hated it. Hated how patient Scott could be. Hated that it worked.

Finally, he muttered, “What do you want?”

Scott tilted his head. “To make sure you’re okay.”

Theo barked out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “Since when do you care if I’m okay?”

“Since Liam does,” Scott said simply. His tone wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t soft either. Just…honest. Theo hated it.

Theo looked away, throat tight.

Scott pushed off the dresser, stepping closer but still keeping a careful distance. “You know, you didn’t have to run. Stiles would’ve backed off eventually.”

Theo snorted. “Doubt it.”

“Okay, fair,” Scott conceded with a small smile. “But…you could’ve just ignored him. Instead, you looked like you were gonna combust.”

Theo clenched his jaw. He hated how transparent he must’ve been.

Scott’s voice gentled. “Theo. No one’s asking you to do anything you don’t want to. But…you don’t have to act like you don’t care, either.”

Theo’s hands curled into fists. “You don’t get it.”

“Then explain it.”

The words slipped out before Theo could stop them. “If I let myself want it, I’ll ruin it.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he bit down hard, hating the weakness. “That’s what I do. I ruin things.”

Scott’s expression softened. He sat down on the chair across from the bed, leaning forward slightly. “You really think Liam doesn’t know who you are? After everything?”

Theo swallowed hard, staring at the floor.

Scott went on, quieter now. “He knows. And he still looks at you like…” He trailed off, searching for the words. “Like you’re worth it. You scare the hell out of him, but not because he’s afraid of you. Because he cares.”

Theo’s chest ached, tight and aching in a way that felt unbearable. He wanted to believe it. God, he wanted to.

But wanting was dangerous.

“Why are you even telling me this?” Theo muttered. “Shouldn’t you be telling him to stay away?”

Scott shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You really don’t get it, do you? He’s happier with you around. And as much as I hate admitting it…you’re better when he’s around, too.”

Theo froze, breath caught in his throat.

Scott stood then, giving him one last steady look. “I’m not here to push you. Just…don’t run so fast you miss what’s right in front of you.”

And with that, he left, quiet as he came, leaving the door cracked behind him.

Theo sat there, staring at the faint line of light spilling through the gap. His chest was still tight, but beneath the sharp edges, something warmer flickered. Something fragile.

He let out a shaky breath and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

The house had gone quiet.

Stiles had left with Scott a little while ago, still buzzing with way too much energy for someone who’d had three mugs of cider. Scott’s calm presence had been the only thing keeping him from harassing Theo more, and once they’d stepped out into the cold night, the silence had settled in like a blanket.

Theo should’ve been relieved. But he wasn’t.

He lay on the guest bed, staring at the ceiling, the soft glow of the Christmas lights outside leaking through the curtains. The faint tick of the heater filled the silence. His chest was still tight from earlier — from Stiles’s teasing, from Liam’s wide-eyed look, from Scott’s quiet words that dug deeper than Theo wanted to admit.

He wasn’t good at this. Being wanted. Being close. Every instinct told him to get up, to walk out into the snow, to disappear before he ruined the fragile peace he’d somehow stumbled into.

The creak of the floorboards in the hallway made him tense. He sat up quickly, muscles coiled, but relaxed just slightly when the soft knock came at the door.

“Theo?”

Liam.

Theo’s throat went dry. He debated not answering, but Liam knocked again, gentler this time. “Can I come in?”

Theo swallowed, then forced his voice steady. “Yeah.”

The door eased open. Liam stood there in sweatpants and a t-shirt, his hair a little messy, like he’d run a hand through it a dozen times. He looked…soft. Less like the angry beta Theo had first met and more like the boy who’d smiled at him over a box of ornaments earlier.

“Hey,” Liam said quietly.

Theo cleared his throat. “Hey.”

For a second, Liam just hovered in the doorway, shifting his weight like he wasn’t sure if he should actually step inside. Then he did, closing the door partway behind him but not all the way. He didn’t ask for permission to sit — he just crossed the room and perched at the edge of the bed, close but not too close.

Silence stretched, awkward and fragile.

Theo hated it. “What do you want, Dunbar?”

Liam flinched slightly at the sharpness, but didn’t move away. “I wanted to…check on you. You kinda bolted earlier.”

Theo scoffed, looking away. “I didn’t bolt.”

“You did,” Liam said gently, no bite in his voice. “Stiles pushed too far, and…I’m sorry. I should’ve stopped him sooner.”

Theo frowned at the floor. “It’s not your job to protect me.”

“No,” Liam agreed, voice firm. “But I wanted to.”

That made Theo’s chest ache. He hated it. He hated how easily Liam could cut through his defenses without even realizing.

“Why?” Theo asked before he could stop himself. The word came out low, rough. “Why would you want to?”

Liam blinked at him, confusion flickering into something steadier. “Because you matter,” he said simply.

Theo wanted to laugh, to push it away, to deny it — but Liam’s expression didn’t waver. He meant it. He meant every word.

Theo lay back on the bed, partly to escape Liam’s too-honest gaze, partly because his chest felt too heavy to stay upright. He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. “You should go to bed.”

The mattress dipped a little beside him. “This is a bed.”

Theo’s eyes snapped open. Liam was lying down now, on top of the covers, close enough that their shoulders brushed. He looked up at the ceiling, hands folded on his stomach like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Theo stared. “What are you doing?”

“Keeping you company,” Liam said simply. Then, softer, “Unless you want me to leave.”

Theo should’ve said yes. He should’ve told Liam to get out, to stop hovering, to stop making this harder than it already was.

But he didn’t. His throat tightened, and he muttered, “Do whatever you want.”

Liam smiled faintly. “Okay.”

They lay in silence for awhile. Theo could hear the steady rhythm of Liam’s breathing, could feel the warmth radiating off him even through the layers of blankets and clothes. It was grounding, unsettling, addictive all at once.

At some point, Liam shifted, turning on his side to face him. Theo felt the weight of his gaze and reluctantly turned his head. Their eyes met, and for a moment, neither looked away.

“You don’t have to keep running,” Liam said quietly.

Theo’s chest ached. “I don’t know how to stop.”

Liam’s gaze softened. “I’ll stay until you figure it out.”

Theo’s heart hammered against his ribs, but he didn’t move away. He should — every instinct told him to shove distance between them, to retreat into the safety of solitude. But he couldn’t.

Liam shifted a little closer, just enough that their knees brushed. Theo tensed at the contact, but the tension wasn’t sharp — it was oddly comforting, like the warmth of a fire brushing cold skin. He let out a slow breath, heavy, and felt the rhythm of Liam’s chest against his own, subtle but grounding.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Liam whispered, voice soft enough to make Theo’s chest ache. “You don’t have to say anything. Just…don’t leave again. Please.”

Theo’s eyes flickered to Liam’s hand, resting casually on the edge of the mattress, not quite touching him. The warmth radiating off the beta was impossible to ignore. His fingers itched with an urge he hadn’t let himself feel in years — the desperate desire to reach out, to connect, even in the smallest way.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, Theo stretched a hand toward Liam’s. His fingers hovered, then brushed against the back of Liam’s hand. It was feather-light, tentative, a test.

Liam didn’t pull away. Instead, he shifted slightly, angling his hand so their fingers could interlace naturally. Theo froze for a heartbeat, the simple contact sending heat up his arm and into his chest.

“You’re warm,” Theo murmured, almost to himself.

Liam’s lips quirked in a soft smile. “Not as warm as you,” he said quietly, voice gentle but teasing enough to make Theo’s heart flip.

Theo just smiled, letting himself sink a little lower into the mattress, letting Liam’s hand hold his. His other hand curled against the sheets, tensing as his pulse thudded in his ears.

“You don’t have to stay awake,” Liam whispered after a while, voice soft, soothing. “We don’t have to talk. Just…be.”

Theo blinked, his throat tight. “Be?”

“Yeah,” Liam said simply, moving a fraction closer so their shoulders were fully touching now. “Be here. With me. I don’t care about talking or explaining or…anything else. Just…stay.”

Theo’s chest felt like it was both collapsing and expanding all at once. The warmth from Liam pressed into him, grounding him in a way he didn’t know he needed. Slowly, carefully, he shifted closer, letting the beta’s shoulder press against his.

Liam didn’t move. He just let Theo lean in, resting a hand lightly against Theo’s upper arm, not smothering, just…there.

Theo’s heartbeat slowed slightly, though the thrum of emotion underneath never fully quieted. His fingers tightened gently around Liam’s, as if holding onto proof that this closeness was real. That it wasn’t a dream he would wake from in the cold, lonely dark.

“You’re okay with this?” Theo asked quietly, voice rough.

“Of course,” Liam said. “If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be out in the living room, letting Stiles tell us embarrassing stories again.”

Theo let out a quiet chuckle, the first genuine sound he’d made in hours. Liam’s presence made it easier than he expected. Safer.

They stayed like that for a while, the only sounds the faint hum of the heater and the slow, synchronized rhythm of their breathing. Theo’s head drifted slightly against Liam’s shoulder, tentative, careful, but Liam didn’t pull away. He wrapped an arm loosely around Theo’s waist, a protective, gentle gesture that sent warmth through Theo’s chest and legs alike.

“You can sleep,” Liam murmured softly, brushing his thumb along the back of Theo’s hand. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Theo’s lips pressed into a thin line, trying not to betray the sudden spike of emotion. But the weight of the day — the tree lot, Stiles, the mistletoe, the cider, the quiet moments — all of it caught up with him. Slowly, reluctantly, he let himself melt into the warmth, letting his eyes close.

“You’re…really persistent,” Theo murmured, his voice muffled against Liam’s shoulder.

“And you’re surprisingly soft,” Liam countered, smile in his voice even though Theo couldn’t see it. “I like this side of you.”

Theo didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His chest pressed against Liam’s, fingers intertwined, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could breathe without fighting the urge to escape. The world outside — the cold, the past, the mistakes — didn’t matter right now. There was only this quiet, intimate space, the gentle heat of the bed, and the steady, grounding warmth of Liam’s body next to his.

Theo’s breathing evened, the tension in his shoulders slowly melting. Liam’s presence was constant, not demanding, not overwhelming, just…safe.

Eventually, Theo shifted slightly, nudging closer until his temple rested lightly against Liam’s chest. Liam’s arm tightened just a fraction around him, bringing him even closer.

“You’re heavy,” Liam whispered teasingly, though the softness in his voice betrayed the lie.

Theo let out a quiet, exhausted laugh. “You mean comforting.”

“That too,” Liam murmured. “Sleep, then.”

Theo didn’t argue. He let the warmth of Liam’s body, the gentle grip of his hand, and the steady beat of his heart lull him into something he hadn’t felt in a long time: safe. Wanted.

⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅. ⋆⁺₊❅.☃︎⋆⁺₊❅.

The morning sun filtered weakly through the frost-speckled windows, casting pale stripes across the room. The soft glow caught the faint dusting of snow still clinging to the edges of the roof outside, making the whole house feel like it was wrapped in quiet winter magic.

Theo stirred first, eyelids fluttering open to the muted light. At first, he was disoriented, the bed beneath him too warm, too heavy with the presence he’d grown accustomed to over the last two days. He blinked slowly, taking stock of the situation: Liam, curled almost instinctively against his chest, arm draped across his torso.

For a brief, fragile moment, Theo panicked. Not the normal panic of danger or discomfort, but something entirely different — an emotional vertigo. Two days of gentle, unspoken routines had settled over them, but the weight of Liam’s closeness still made his chest squeeze in ways he wasn’t entirely ready to name.

The first day had been quiet, almost painfully so. They’d woken together, tentative and awkward, and spent most of it holding hands in the living room while watching old Christmas specials. They hadn’t spoken much about the previous night, and neither had dared bring up feelings or intentions. Still, there was progress in the silences: in the way Liam sought Theo out at meals, the way their hands brushed and then intertwined without words, the way they had learned to navigate each other’s space without anxiety.

Day two had been similar. A snowstorm had rolled in overnight, blanketing Beacon Hills in pale white, which had given them the perfect excuse to stay inside. Theo had found himself cooking breakfast while Liam sat on the counter, legs dangling, and in that small domestic scene, Theo realized he hadn’t noticed how naturally he fit into someone else’s rhythm in a long time. Liam had made coffee for both of them, fumbling a little with the mugs but smiling through it, and Theo had offered a small, rare laugh that felt as real as anything he’d done in weeks.

And now, here they were on Christmas Eve morning, the quiet settled so completely around them that even the faint hum of the heater felt like a lullaby. Theo’s hand moved automatically, brushing a strand of hair from Liam’s forehead. Liam’s eyes half-opened in response, soft and slow, never pushing away. He murmured something unintelligible and nuzzled closer, pressing into Theo’s chest.

Theo’s chest constricted, a mix of something protective and possessive he didn’t entirely want to name. “Morning,” he muttered, voice rough with sleep, and Liam hummed in response, a soft vibration that Theo could feel against his own skin.

They didn’t move to get up, didn’t speak past a few low murmurs. It wasn’t necessary. The quiet, the small touches, the slow rhythm of breathing together — it was all enough. Theo could feel Liam’s warmth seeping through his layers of clothes, filling the spaces in his chest that had been empty for too long.

At some point, Liam shifted slightly, curling more tightly, letting his head rest on Theo’s shoulder instead of his chest. Theo’s hand instinctively went to his back, fingers tangling in the fabric of Liam’s hoodie. The gesture was automatic, intimate, and when Liam’s thumb brushed against Theo’s hand, Theo’s throat went dry.

Liam’s eyelids fluttered open fully, and he blinked slowly up at Theo, his head still resting against Theo’s shoulder. The soft curl of his lips, the way his hair fell over his forehead — it was all disarming in a way Theo still wasn’t used to.

“Is it…Christmas yet?” Liam murmured, voice thick with sleep, barely more than a whisper.

Theo let out a small, quiet laugh, warm and unguarded. “Not yet,” he said, fingers brushing again through Liam’s hair. “Still a little early.”

Liam sighed, curling closer, pressing a little more weight into Theo’s chest. “I want it to be Christmas,” he said softly, eyes closing again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I like Christmas.”

Theo felt heat rise into his cheeks, the familiar constriction in his chest threatening to take over. He wasn’t supposed to feel this protective, this tethered, this — whatever this was. “I know,” he muttered. He rested his chin lightly on the top of Liam’s head, savoring the warmth and the quiet for just a moment longer. “We’ve still got a few hours, though. Patience, little wolf.”

Liam made a small noise that was part sigh, part groan, half of it deliberate protest and half still sleepy contentment. “I hate patience,” he mumbled, nuzzling against Theo again. “I like being…like this.”

Theo’s chest tightened in a way he hated — hated because he knew it wasn’t simple, hated because he couldn’t name it, hated because the feeling was both grounding and terrifying. “Me too,” he admitted quietly, the words nearly lost in the soft static of the heater and the hum of the winter world outside.

Liam’s hand shifted, brushing against Theo’s side, small, hesitant, but enough to make Theo’s pulse spike. “Do we have to…get up?” Liam asked, voice tentative, almost fragile.

Theo tried not to smile too widely, tried to maintain the veneer of stern practicality. “Yeah,” he said, though the word sounded rough in his throat, too slow and hesitant. “I should probably get up. Make some breakfast, you know, coffee, maybe eggs.”

Liam groaned, flopping slightly against Theo’s chest. “I don’t wanna,” he whined. “Stay here. Please.”

Theo’s lips twitched, but he pressed them together, feigning seriousness. “You can’t stay in bed all day, little wolf. Even if it’s Christmas Eve.”

“I don’t care,” Liam mumbled, voice muffled against Theo’s chest, fingers clutching at the hem of his hoodie. “I like it here. I like being with you.”

The words — simple, unguarded, soft — made Theo’s chest constrict in a way that wasn’t fair. He cleared his throat, trying to sound firmer than he felt. “You’re going to ruin the perfect morning if you don’t get up soon. Coffee won’t make itself, you know.”

Liam lifted his head just enough to give him a small, stubborn grin. “I like mornings ruined with you,” he whispered. Then, as if realizing he’d admitted too much, he nuzzled back into Theo’s shoulder, hiding his face.

Theo exhaled slowly, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His fingers tightened slightly in Liam’s hair before loosening again, almost reluctantly. “Fine,” he muttered, softening in spite of himself. “Stay a little longer. But don’t get used to it, got it?”

Liam hummed happily, a soft vibration against Theo’s chest, and Theo felt warmth bloom across his chest and down his arms. He was going to regret this later, he knew — the heat behind his cheeks, the way his heart thrummed — but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

They lay together like that for a long moment, unhurried. Liam’s breaths were even, slow, and content, and Theo felt the faint weight of him as grounding and disarming all at once. His fingers idly traced patterns along Liam’s shoulder, brushing over the soft fabric of the hoodie and the curve of his back. Liam twitched slightly at the touch, murmuring something that Theo couldn’t understand, but it was enough.

“I could get used to this,” Liam said softly, voice almost a sigh.

Theo froze. His chest tightened again, but he didn’t pull away. “Mm,” he muttered instead of replying, because anything else would betray how much he already liked this — how much he liked Liam, though neither of them had named it.

After a while, Liam shifted again, moving so that his head was tucked fully under Theo’s chin, and Theo’s arms instinctively wrapped around him. The motion was gentle, careful, as if he was holding something fragile.

“Promise me something,” Liam murmured after a few minutes, voice muffled against Theo’s chest.

Theo tilted his head, pressing a kiss to the top of Liam’s head. “Anything,” he said softly.

Liam’s fingers tightened just slightly in Theo’s hoodie. “Promise me…we’ll stay like this today. Just us. No…no talking about feelings or Stiles or Scott. Just…here. With each other.”

Theo’s chest felt like it might burst. He had never been good at this kind of softness, had never been good at admitting when he wanted to linger, to stay, to care without reservation. But the sight of Liam curled against him, the sound of his soft voice, the warmth he radiated — it was impossible to resist.

“I promise,” Theo said, voice soft.

Liam hummed happily in response, pressing closer, stretching slightly along Theo’s chest until they were almost molded together. Theo’s hand drifted down, tangling with Liam’s at his side. He wasn’t sure who needed the comfort more — him or Liam — but he didn’t care.

They stayed like that for a long while, letting the quiet stretch, letting the winter sun inch higher across the room. Theo found himself tracking Liam’s tiny movements — the way he shifted when he settled more comfortably, the way his hand flexed lazily in Theo’s, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. Every detail rooted him, made him feel tethered in a way he hadn’t realized he wanted until now.

Eventually, Liam shifted again, mumbling softly, “Breakfast yet?”

Theo let out a small laugh, the warmth in his chest spreading. “Not yet. But I will make it. You’ve got five more minutes in bed, and then you’re helping me.”

“Helping?” Liam lifted his head just enough to peek at him, eyes bright but heavy with sleep. “I thought I was staying here forever.”

Theo smiled, pressing another kiss to his hair. “Forever can wait. Breakfast cannot. Plus…you need to practice pouring coffee without spilling it on yourself.”

Liam groaned dramatically but didn’t protest further, settling back down, head again resting against Theo’s chest. Theo let his fingers trace lazy patterns along Liam’s back, feeling the steady warmth beneath his hands.

For a moment, Theo allowed himself to imagine a whole day like this — no rushing, no expectations, just quiet and soft domesticity. Liam curled against him, the two of them moving in slow, unspoken rhythm, connected without words. The thought made his chest ache in the best way, like it might burst if he let himself linger too long in the fantasy.

When breakfast time finally did arrive — much later than it should have — Theo shifted reluctantly, pulling back just enough to sit up and stretch. Liam whined softly at the movement, reaching for Theo’s hand and pressing it against his cheek.

“You’re leaving me,” he murmured, voice heavy with mock accusation, but the faintest smile tugged at his lips.

“I’m not leaving,” Theo said softly, leaning down to brush a gentle kiss across Liam’s temple. “I’m making breakfast. You’ll come help.”

Liam huffed, eyes half-lidded and still pink from sleep, but he followed, trailing slightly behind Theo into the kitchen. Theo’s hands moved deftly, grabbing mugs, boiling water, whisking eggs, while Liam hovered nearby, occasionally handing him utensils or ingredients.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward; it was comfortable, intimate. Every small gesture — the brush of hands reaching for the same utensil, the soft laughter at minor kitchen mishaps, the shared sips of coffee — was another step in the quiet, unspoken conversation they were having.

By the time the food was ready, the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and coffee, the kind of scent that wrapped around them as easily as the morning sunlight. Theo set the plates down on the table, glancing over to find Liam already sliding into the chair across from him, hair messy, hoodie hanging loose at the collar.

It should have looked careless, unpolished — but Theo thought it might be the most perfect sight he’d ever seen.

They ate quietly, comfortable in the kind of silence that didn’t demand to be filled.

The rest of breakfast passed like that, until the last of the coffee was gone and the plates sat empty between them. Theo leaned back in his chair, watching as Liam tilted his head, eyes bright with something unspoken.

“What?” Theo asked, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite himself.

“Nothing,” Liam said quickly, though his cheeks flushed pink. Then, quieter, more certain: “Just…thank you. For staying.”

Theo’s chest ached in that way it always did around him, but this time he didn’t fight it. Instead, he reached across the table, taking Liam’s hand in his own, thumb brushing lightly across his knuckles. “I told you,” he said softly. “I’m not leaving. Not anymore.”

“You mean that?” Liam asked finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Theo met his gaze, steady despite the ache in his chest. “Yeah,” he said, simple and sure. “I mean it.”

The smile that bloomed across Liam’s face was quiet but radiant, the kind of smile that reached his eyes and stayed there. He leaned forward slightly, hesitant, almost shy, until the distance between them narrowed to almost nothing. Theo didn’t move away.

Theo didn’t move away. He couldn’t. The look in Liam’s eyes rooted him in place, steady and unshakable, and for once in his life, Theo didn’t feel the need to run.

Liam’s breath brushed against his skin, faint and trembling, before his lips finally touched Theo’s — soft, tentative, careful, like he was afraid of breaking something. Theo’s hand tightened gently around his.

It wasn’t a hungry kiss, not rushed or desperate. It was quiet, like the mornings they’d shared, like the silence between them that had been saying more than either of them dared to.

When they pulled apart, just a fraction, Liam’s cheeks were flushed, his smile small but dazzling. “Merry Christmas, Theo,” he whispered, like the words themselves were a gift.

Theo huffed out the barest laugh, his thumb brushing along Liam’s knuckles again. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning in to steal another soft kiss. “Merry Christmas.”