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the history of you and me

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Stiles is not in love, thank you very much.

Okay, yes, there was that whole Lydia thing where he obsessed over her for years and she ignored his existence and everything was simple and not murder-y.

Then of course Stiles dragged his best into the woods and got him bitten by a thrice damned werewolf. The rest is, as they say, history.

Stiles is not quite sure when it began. Maybe it had been the night when he and Scott went to the forest to look for a dead body, which in retrospect was a spectacularly bad idea, or maybe it was long before that. Maybe it started when they met, two children playing in the sandbox together and pretending to be superheroes. The point is, Stiles is in love with his best friend and he has no idea how to deal with it.

So, he does what any self-respecting teenage boy would do: he quietly freaks out and then promptly ignores his feelings.

It doesn’t really work out in his favour.

Once upon a time, it had been Scott and Stiles against the world. Then they grew up. Scott became something out of a horror movie and Stiles adapted along with him. Scott wasn’t a monster, he could never be with a heart too big and too soft, but he wouldn’t see himself the way Stiles did. So, Stiles became his armour, shielding him from his own doubts and insecurities. Allison did her part as best as she could, but she was still an outsider. She hadn’t been here when Scott broke his arm climbing a tree when he was five. She hadn’t been here to hold his hand when his bastard of a father left him and his mom when he was nine. She hadn’t seen him laugh, seen him cry, and everything in between, the way Stiles had. These are the parts of Scott that Stiles likes to keep just to himself, tucking it away into a corner of his heart like something precious. Allison may have Scott’s kisses, but she will never have his heart the way Stiles does.

Most days, it’s enough.


*  * *


If their lives were a television show, they would have a new monster of the week that they would defeat with awesome ass-kicking skills and research that is found in an unrealistic time frame. But the sad truth is, they are just teenagers who stumbled onto the supernatural and now can’t get rid of it. They do not have a monster of the week. Their monsters take months to die because research takes time, no matter what Buffy and her scooby gang have led them to believe.

“Why do you have that pissed off look on your face?”

Stiles sighs. He has long since given up on being startled when Scott climbs in through his window. He leaves it open for him anyway. 

Stiles spins around on his fun office chair, almost falls off because he forgot to push himself away from his desk, and rights himself to a somewhat awkward position that will probably leave his back feeling twisted, again , through his awesome ninja skills. He could totally be a ninja someday, no matter what Lydia says.

“This is my face, Scotty boy.”

Scott gives him a smile that is probably supposed to look exasperated but comes off looking unbearably fond, and Stiles’s heart gives a lurch. He is way too young to be having heart problems.

“What’s up?” Stiles says, ignoring his samba dancing heart, and points at Scott to take a seat on the bed when the big dumb werewolf does nothing but rub his hair sheepishly. “Oh, for the love of, just sit down . Mi casa es su casa and all that.”

Scott sits down on his bed, hands carefully clasped together and resting on his knees. “I think Allison and I are going to break up.”

Stiles’s elbow slides off the arm of the chair and he does fall off. Picking himself up with absolutely no grace and not even caring about it for once, all he can say is, “What ?”

Scott gives him a patient look. There is no heartbreak or pain or anguish on his face, which is shocking considering the words he just said, and Stiles feels like his entire world feels off-kilter. 

“It happens, Stiles,” Scott tells him gently, as if he is the one in need of comfort, “People grow up, people grow apart.”

“We haven’t,” Stiles says stupidly and then curses his mouth for having no filter. This is Scott going through his first breakup, this is no time to bring out his insecurities about Scott outgrowing him someday and leaving him behind. 

“You and me, long after the world ends,” Scott says, “I read that somewhere, but seems appropriate for us, doesn’t it? It feels like the world is ending every other Tuesday.”

Oh, this boy. The world can try to take Scott away from him, but he will cling to him with all his strength and everything he has. The world can fuck off, for all Stiles cares. 

A hesitant “Stiles?” reminds him that Scott is waiting for him to say something, as if Stiles will deny him anything, and laughs, sounding strangled even to his own years. “Right you are. You and me.”

Scott nods, as if he was honestly worried Stiles would say anything to the contrary, as if Stiles could ever, and it is such a preposterous thought that Stiles pushes down his bubbling and inconvenient feelings and takes a seat beside his best friend. Wrapping his arms around Scott’s shoulders and rubbing at his skin with fingers moving in soothing circles, Stiles says, “So, break up?”

Scott sighs, the motion making his shoulder rise and almost dislodging Stiles’ arms around him but he holds on for dear life. It might just be his imagination but he can feel Scott lean towards him. “Yeah, we love each other, but we are not in love with each other. Took us a while to figure that out.”

“You two were good together,” Stiles tells him for lack of anything else to say, because what else is he supposed to say in response to that?

“Maybe,” Scott says, “But we can be better with people we are in love with.”

Stiles’s heart stops. Or feels like it stops, anyway. If his heart actually did stop, he would probably be dead, and then who would make Scott laugh with witty banter and hilarious jokes and sarcastic comments and jesus fucking christ Stilinski get your shit together.

“So, there’s someone?” Stiles says, swallowing the lump in his throat. Of course, there would be someone because who wouldn’t love Scott? Stiles has loved him since he was five and he still has not figured out a way to stop. 

“There’s always been someone, I think,” Scott tells him. 

“Do I know her?” He feels proud for managing to sound normal, or what normal passes for him anyway. Absurdly, he feels the urge to say, “I’m not like other boys.” Wouldn’t that be absolutely comical? If he was like the protagonist of every YA romance cliche, maybe then Scott would look at him and see him as something other than the boy who has always just been there.

“I would be worried you didn’t know them,” Scott smirks at him. Which is absolutely weird, because Scott rarely ever smirks. He is the type to smile that bleeds pure sunshine, but smirking surprisingly suits him. Kind of makes him look like the love interest of every YA romance cliche. Get a hold of yourself, Stilinski.

It takes him a moment to realize that his arms are now empty, hanging at his side like a sad sack of potatoes. Scott is up on his feet and has walked to his windows. He turns back to smile at Stiles again, the moonlight doing nothing to hide his ethereal beauty. He says, “Gotta go, mom will be worried,” and jumps out the window like the reckless werewolf he is.

He has been long gone when what he said finally registers. 

“Wait a minute, them ? Scott, them ?”