John walks in the front door with a plan. He's off early, something that hasn't happened in far too long, and he has a plan. He is going to relax in his comfortable recliner, enjoy a beer, and call it a night early. He has a plan.

But then he sees the glow from the TV screen. He doesn't hear anything as he shrugs off his jacket and steps into the living room. Approaching the couch, he expects to see his son sprawled out on it, fallen asleep while watching God knows what. But what he sees is certainly not what he expected. Typical. Stiles is never what he expects.

Stiles is sprawled out asleep, but rather than sprawled out on the couch he is sprawled out on someone. No, not someone. Lahey. Isaac Lahey.

And that's a surprise in and of itself.

He didn't even think they were friends. The only time Stiles seems to mention Isaac is when he is ranting and raving about something or other. He would have figured them to be something closer to enemies, the way Stiles complains about the other boy and his affinity for scarves. Of course he put Stiles's whining down to jealousy because of the blooming friendship between Scott and Isaac.

But this isn't what enemies do.

No, the way Stiles is cuddled up to Isaac's side, his head pillowed on Isaac's chest while drool seeps into Isaac's shirt, seems more like friends.

Actually, this seems like something decidedly more than friendship.

There is nothing, absolutely nothing platonic about the way Isaac has his arm wrapped tightly around his son's waist, hand resting on the exposed skin of Stiles's hip, finger fasted on Stiles's belt loop. His belt loop for Christ's sake.

Turning away with a shake of his head, he goes to the hall closet and yanks out a blanket to cover the two boys with. Partially because it's chilly in the house and he loves his son, but, admittedly, mostly because he does not want to see Isaac's thumb rubbing unconsciously above the waistband of his son's jeans. No, he really doesn't want to see that.

He heads to the fridge and grabs a beer before going back to the living room and stealing the remote from the coffee table. He sits in his recliner and flips through the channels, refusing to be chased from the room just because his son's decided to get affectionate with the Lahey kid.

No, he won't let his plan be ruined. Not tonight.

Stiles wakes when his father unmutes the TV and he looks around blearily, confused at the situation. And then it dawns on him.

"DAD!"

John looks over at him, eyebrows raised in amusement.

"Why are you even home? What are you doing?!" Stiles asks, clearly appalled by his father's presence.

"Son, I could ask you the same thing," he replies casually, gesturing with his beer to the still-sleeping Isaac.

"I – I can explain - " Stiles rushes out.

"Stiles, as much as I thoroughly enjoy listening to you talk circles around yourself, it's going to have to wait," John says coolly, finishing the last of his beer and standing up.

Stiles moves to pull away from Isaac when his dad's voice stops him.

"You're going to wake him." Stiles gapes up at him, frozen and unsure of what to do. "I'm going to bed, kid."

"Are you serious?" Stiles asks incredulously, confused that his father didn't kick Isaac out.

John just turns away and makes his way to the stairs.

"Just keep your pants on, son. Good night."

"Good night," Stiles grumbles back, embarrassment settling in as he lays his head back down on Isaac's chest. "I know you heard all of that you little shit."

Isaac just laughs.