Stiles did what he was told. For at least a solid two minutes, he did exactly as he was told. In his defense that was probably a record. He went to his room. During the longest two minutes ever, he looked out his window, paced, and even sat on his bed. Sure, his leg was bouncing nonstop for the time he was sitting, but he still sat waiting. His father hadn't told him to stay in his room. Imply it? Sure. His father had definitely implied it, but Stiles was worried about Jackson. He'd gotten increasingly weird the closer they'd gotten to the house.

When Jackson slapped his hand away on the porch, Stiles felt like Jackson had slapped him in the face. In the car he had smacked Stiles's hand away, but that had been playful. On the porch, it was like he didn't want Stiles touching him at all.

They had talked in Jackson's room the night before. Stiles had made his position perfectly… well mostly clear. He had said that he thought he was falling in love with Jackson. There was no fairy tale or romance novel response, Jackson just sort of asked him if he was serious and stared at him. Yeah, they'd kissed, and they'd done things… sex things, but Stiles tore open his chest, offered Jackson his heart, and Jackson had sort of just accepted that it was a thing Stiles felt.

Sometimes, maybe more often than he'd admit to himself, he talked so much that it wasn't until later that he realized he didn't give people a chance to respond. Stiles had begged for Jackson to not make him leave, had told him he was falling in love, and then they were making jokes. Stiles obsessively replayed the previous nights events, and then the car ride in his head. He didn't want to eavesdrop on their conversation, he just wanted to be ready in case he was needed. Maybe some monster would bust through the wall and attack them, his dad didn't have his gun. Stiles wanted to be ready just in case. He left his room and snuck towards the stairs.

Outside Jackson had said he was Stiles's lover. In the moment Stiles thought that meant like that they were together, they were a they. Jackson hadn't said that he was afraid that Stiles's dad would murder the dude fucking his son, he said lover. That meant something right?

One of the stairs creaked as his weight came down on it and he froze. He clapped his hand over his mouth afraid that he might accidently blurt something out. He strained to listen to see if they had heard him on the stairs.

"We're not dating," Jackson said. "I'm not gay."

Stiles closed his eyes, let those words wash over him. They were like a riptide pulling him out into dangerous waters. His brain was screaming something from above the water, but he couldn't hear it over the sounds of his heart choking. Stiles's father was saying something too, but he couldn't hear it either because he felt like he was drowning. He quietly retreated up the stairs to his room, didn't want to listen to the rest of the conversation.

What was he doing? What had he been thinking? Sure, Jackson was down to fuck, that was apparent, so he clearly wasn't repulsed by Stiles. After Jackson had locked himself in the bathroom they'd talked about this, about how Jackson was afraid of what other people would think about them. Stiles had thought they'd gotten past it, but maybe he'd only heard what he wanted to hear.

Jackson had asked him to stay the night, had agreed to spend the day with him. He'd even agreed to go camping if Stiles's dad was okay with it. When Stiles was close, and sex was on the table Jackson was willing to go along with it, but the moment things moved away from physical Jackson shut down. Was it that simple? Maybe they didn't want the same things. Stiles was falling in love and Jackson was interested in being friends with benefits, friends optional.

Stiles dropped down on his bed, face in his hands with elbows on his knees. He dug his nails into his scalp, his mind racing over everything they'd said and done in the past twenty-four hours. Unless they were naked, and sometimes even then Jackson had been emotionally withdrawn, and very clearly stated his hesitation about their situation. His mind raced, continued obsessing over every word, every breath, every time Jackson physically tensed or locked up. Stiles had just kept pushing, kept moving dragging Jackson along with him.

"You're overthinking it."

Stiles looked up to find his dad standing in the doorway to his room. Stiles leapt up from his bed, turning away from his father so that he wouldn't have to see his son in such a pathetic state. He shook his head, trying to calm down.

"No, no, no, no." Stiles knew where this was going. Jackson had either left, or asked Stiles's dad for a ride home, and now his father was here to tell him. Jackson could have at least given Stiles the dignity of being ghosted. He didn't need to send his father to deliver his message. Jackson could be a cold-blooded snake, but this was just too much. "No, no, no…"

"Stiles…"

"I should have seen it coming. You know?" Stiles turned to look at his father, eyes darting past him towards the walls, the ceilings, couldn't stay focused on his dad, couldn't see what was there in his face. "I'm me. You know, dad? I'm nobody. Jackson's popular, people always hanging around him. He's rich, he has a Porsche, and designer clothes. Shit, he was even dating the girl I've been in love with since like the second grade. I mean they haven't been dating since the second grade, but that I had been in love with her since then."

"Stiles…"

"He looks like a movie star, works out like he's a super hero. He's the captain of a team that I sit the bench for. What am I? I'm nothing. I'm a stupi—"

"Stiles!" His dad grabbed his arms, stopped him from pacing back and forth. "Stiles, stop! You were listening to us talking, weren't you? Did you hear the whole conversation?"

His dad's grip was tight on his arms, not anything close to painful, just solid. Stiles couldn't speak, couldn't repeat what he'd heard. He closed his eyes and shook his head.

"So, what if you dress like a slob?"

Stiles's eyes flew open, staring at his dad in disbelief.

"Who cares if you aren't a super hero? Who cares if you talk too much?"

Stiles tilted his head, mouth opening, unsure if he should be offended. Weren't parents supposed to talk you up, not down?

"You think that's what that boy down there needs? You think he's looking for that?"

"I never said I talked too much."

"He's looking for someone to do exactly the opposite of what you are doing right now."

Stiles had no idea what his dad was talking about. What was Stiles doing except coming to the realization that he wasn't good enough for Jackson? He'd probably never have even been on Jackson's radar if they hadn't got into their ridiculous snark off in the locker room. They'd known each other for years before that and Jackson hadn't once looked at Stiles as anything more than something that was in the way.

"What do you mean, dad? What am I doing?"

"You're deciding who he is."

"I'm not…" But Stiles was starting to doubt himself. "I'm not."

"You are, Stiles. You're deciding what he wants and why."

Stiles shook his head. He wasn't doing that. Stiles had heard Jackson, had seen him with his own eyes. He knew what was going on, didn't he?

"Dad…"

"Do you know why I came up here?"

Stiles started to nod but his father just kept on talking, not giving him a chance to respond. Stiles stubbornly refused to acknowledge that he did the exact same thing sometimes.

"I came up here to give him some time to collect himself. I shouldn't even be saying this, but he started crying, Stiles."

"You made him cr— ow." Stiles rubbed his head where his dad had smacked him. "What?"

"I think he's scared. And sure, he may be a little confused, but that's called being a teenager. I think he's not used to having someone so persistently pursue him."

"Persistent? Pursue him? I didn't…"

"You broke into his house."

"No, wait," Stiles held a hand up to stop his father. "I didn't break into his house. I showed up to apologize."

"He called 911."

"He's dramatic!"

Stiles's dad laughed right in his face. He tried to speak, but then just started laughing again. Stiles ground his teeth. That was uncalled for.

"He's dramatic? Stiles have you met yourself?"

"That's hurtful," Stiles mumbled. "I might rarely be excitable. Maybe."

"Stiles you're supposed to be the smart one, not me." His dad reached a hand out, taking Stiles by the shoulder. "I think Jackson is struggling to figure out who he really is while managing unreasonable expectations that he, and maybe everyone in his life, have for him."

"We're all struggling to figure out who we are," Stiles said.

"Then why would you think he was any different? Because he's a good-looking kid? Because his family has money? Maybe he's just looking for someone to give him a chance to be himself, not who they want him to be."

"I can be that," Stiles said. "I can so be that."

"You don't have to convince me, son. You have to convince him. Maybe you can do that while you guys are camping, or at least start trying."

Stiles nodded, mind racing again as his father pulled him into a brief hug and then started to walk away.

"Wait, so we can go camping? You're cool with that?"

Stiles's dad nodded, then hesitated, clearly trying to decide whether to say something else. Stiles waited patiently, well patiently for him anyway. He paced a little bit, like maybe a step, more like he shifted his weight back and forth patiently while waiting for his dad to continue.

"Yeah, I'm cool with it. Just…" He held his hands up, looked at the floor and took a step back, like he was backing away from a cobra. "Just make sure to take protection."

"You want me to bring a gun… Oh… oh… Dad. We promised to literally never talk about this again. I let you order a McMuffin. We had an arrangement."

"Abstinence only education doesn't work, and I know it's not like either of you are getting pregnant, but you nee—"

"I need to never have this conversation. I got it, Dad. I understand. Message loud and clear. Do you think we already went through that whole box of condoms?"

Oh god, what was he doing? He had just about as clearly as possible admitted that he and Jackson had had sex. This was the worst day of his life. His best friend, who was a werewolf, had once almost murdered him in a moon fueled rage and this was easily worse than that by several orders of magnitude. Probably.

"I-I don't need details, Stiles. I just want you to be safe."

There was a crash outside in the hall. Stiles and his father shared a quick look, both suddenly worried. They simultaneously rushed out into the hall. Jackson stood there, looking down at a picture frame that had fallen off the wall. Stiles and his dad shared another look, then looked at Jackson.

"I… uh… sorry I was… uhm," Jackson sort of just waved his hands at the broken picture frame, at the glass on the floor. "I-I'll clean it up, I'll pay for it." He reached into his back pocket fumbling for his wallet.

Jackson had been eavesdropping on their conversation. Stiles was both offended and horrified. How dare someone eavesdrop on someone else's private conversation. He was about to tell Jackson it wasn't nice to listen to other people's private conversations, but then the truth settled over him and blood rushed to his face. Jackson had to have heard… had to have heard Stiles's dad tell him to bring protection on their camping trip.

Any doubt that Stiles had regarding whether this was the worst day of his life evaporated as he watched Jackson try to make excuses and offer his dad money for breaking the picture.