School was just as bad, if not worse. Before, lacrosse was bearable. Fun, even! But now Stiles didn't want to do anything. He was questioning if life was worth it, and that scared him...all the monsters of the week...the pack...werewolves! They meant nothing in the face of his jokes and sarcasm, but not now. But now all he feared was himself and his mind left alone on a dark night.
Stiles gripped his bag, willing himself to steady his shaking fingers and strode out of school, thankfully, not to come back for the next two days. As he neared the parking lot, he spotted Peter, in the corner, leaning against his car, and a flurry of whispers and giggles could be heard...
"Who is he?"
"How old is he?"
"He looks rich..."
Stiles rolled his eyes, unsurprised by the jealous, petty and appreciative remarks, and looked over to see Lydia staring at Peter, her eyes wide. She was muttering to Jackson, who glared in the direction of the older wolf. They knew he was here.
Panic gripped Stiles, who stumbled backwards as Peter spotted him, he was close now to the sports car, and Peter opened the door, ignoring Lydia's distant figure and beckoned to Stiles. He practically jumped into the car, and hastily put his seatbelt on, ducking his head and busying himself with his bag.
Peter was concerned, Stiles' pallor had turned grey, and he stunk of fear and panic.
"Stiles, are you okay?"
"Can you drive? Please?" His desperate tone spurred Peter on, who reluctantly sped out of the school, and when the two had sat in silence for a few minutes he turned back to Stiles.
"So, what happened?" He was concerned, and he was sure it could be seen on his face.
Stiles blushed, awkwardly scratched his head, and went over the past events in his head. "Well, Lydia...she saw you...and then me again and I think she'll tell the rest of the pack I'm speaking to you and-" his breath caught in his throat and suddenly big, hot tears sprang down his cheeks, dripping down his neck as he started crying, shoulders heaving, racked with sobs, Stiles reached up to angrily swipe away the tears, but they wouldn't stop. Tilting his head back, he tried to stop them by some miraculous feat of gravity, but the water rolled down his cheeks, making his skin raw and red.
Peter stared, and slowed the car before pulling into a lay-by and stopping the car. Everything was silent other than Stiles quiet crying, who was trying furiously to wipe them away, before covering his face with trembling hands. Peter looked on, shocked and realising Stiles felt so much worse than he was letting on.
"I'm really sorry..." Stiles sniffled, peeking out of his hands, looking at Peter tearily, before blushing, obviously embarrassed at the outburst. Peter silently reached into a side pocket of the car, pulling out a pack of tissues and handing it to Stiles, who took it, giving a small smile to Peter.
As he wiped his eyes, self consciously bowing his head, Peter rummaged around in the side pocket of the car again, catching Stiles attention. After a few seconds, he sat back up, emerging with an elastic band. Stiles stared, confused, he cocked his head, squinting at the older man. Peter stretched it out absently, and snapped it back, making Stiles slightly jump. He saw the older man look up, as if he had been in a dream, and look back at Stiles, making him blush beet red.
"I'm so, so sorry for crying in your car dude...won't happen again..." He chuckled nervously, waiting for Peters approval.
"Don't worry about it." To Stiles surprise Peter smiled warmly at him, he shyly offered a small smile back.
"I...saw the cut on your arm."
Stiles froze. His heart hammered, a thumping rhythm threatening to beat right out of his chest. Peter looked down, seeming to gulp before barreling on:
"You don't have to tell me anything...or make anything up...but I wanted you to have this." He gave the younger boy the elastic band, avoiding his eye contact.
"You can put it around your wrist. Whenever you want to...harm yourself...snap it against your wrist and it helps. At least...it helped me." Peter gruffly coughed, as if moving on from the conversation entirely, but Stiles stared at Peter, temporarily speechless. He caught the older weres wrist, before he could turn away, and beamed at him. Peter looked surprised but smiled openly back.
He wasn't alone! Peter did it too. Shock coursed through him like adrenaline pumping through his head.
"You...you do that?"
Peter sighed. "I used to. I managed to stop."
"I only did it once. I won't do it again!"
Stiles smiled brightly, but the grin didn't quite reach his eyes. Peter smiled back, but it was equally as fake...as if he worried Stiles was wrong. Feeling his lower lip beginning to wobble again, Stiles lunged over the gearstick, catching an unsuspecting Peter in a voracious hug, after a few shocked seconds, he loosened his arms and wrapped them around Stiles, over the middle of the car.
They stayed like this for the next few minutes, Stiles slowly calming down and his breaths returning to a normal rate, whilst Peter thrived under the physical contact he missed so, so much. He shivered, smiling secretly into Stiles' shoulder, inhaling the scent of the boy he wanted to protect, to keep safe and happy. Rubbing his scent into the boy's neck, he rumbled happily, a deep, reassuring sound from deep within his diaphragm. Stiles giggled, a high pitched snort, turning his face to look in mirth at Peter.
"You're purring!"
Peter scowled playfully, turning red, and Stiles smiled contentedly until he realised what he was doing...he was cuddling with Peter Hale! Stiles sat bolt upright, staring at a bewildered Peter, who sat properly in the driver seat, a little frown on his face.
"Sorry..." Stiles murmured, but Peter looked at him, an understanding, lonely look.
"I didn't mind." He smiled shyly...out of character, Stiles thought. Peter turned on the car, before pulling out and settling back into a driving rhythm.
"Are you still up for coming to mine to talk?"
Stiles' eyes brightened, the opportunity to find out more about the Were overwhelming any fears he had the other night, he vigorously nodded his head.
"Yes! Yes. Definitely."
Peter chuckled and nodded his head towards a secluded turn-off, into a part of Beacon Hills Stiles seldom visited.
"You're not going to murder me, are you?" Stiles grinned, but still, his inquisitive eyes burrowed into Peters'.
"Hah. No. But if I was...why would I tell you?" Stiles gave him a look. "Sorry, maybe not the best thing to say..." Peter laughed, his eyes crinkling, and Stiles stared, awed by the older man. He caught himself, blushed and snorted, before pulling out his phone.
"I'd better text my dad. So he knows I'm alive." It went unspoken, but they both remembered their earlier talk, and Stiles traced the elastic band on his wrist, recognising the trust and respect it symbolised.
"Go ahead. We're five minutes away."
For the rest of the ride, Peter and Stiles talked freely, laughing and joking in a way neither of them ever had before, and without telling the other, they both realised they had found a friend.
After the five minutes Peter had promised flew by, the sports car purred to a languid stop in front of a modern yet rustic house. It was large, almost a mansion, causing Stiles to gape, astonished at the sheer size of the property Peter owned.
"How did you afford this?!" Stiles stared at the house, it looked like it would belong to a large, well-off family.
"From my part of the will. From the...the fire. It's our old holiday home, I renovated it. It's the very least I could do, y'know?"
Stiles exhaled slowly, quiet under the grief Peter was emanating "I'm...I think it's amazing." He smiled at the Were, trying to convey how amazing the property was, how amazing he was. Stiles internally frowned...what was he talking about? He didn't like Peter! He couldn't. The guy was amazing, he had already helped Stiles so much... but that's all Peter wanted. To help. Not to love.
Peter smiled, a sad, slowly healing smile, and Stiles' heart reached out to the man. He could empathise, he lost his mother and it broke every inch of his heart. He knew how he felt because he felt it too.
"Thank you, Stiles. I'm trying." With that, he suddenly got out of the car, round it with three long strides, and opened the door for Stiles, smirking and dramatically bowing at the younger boy, before guiding him up some stairs to the front door, a majestic, old, oak frame. Stiles snorted, excitedly rocking on the balls of his feet, waiting impatiently for it to open. When Peter unlocked and opened the door, inviting Stiles in, he wordlessly stepped over the threshold, taking in the life Peter had made for himself.
"Peter, it's amazing here...how long have you been working on this?"
"A few years." Stiles looked shocked, then hurt, wondering how long Peter had secretly been in Beacon Hills. "But I just got back!" Peter hurried to say, seeing the look on Stiles' face. "I've been watching it all come into place and now I'm here. For good." He gestured to a seating area further into the room, comfortable sofas situated around a fireplace, unlit, yet emitting a cosy, homely feel.
"Feel free to sit while I get us some drinks...is water okay? I've not stocked up yet..." Peter looked sheepish, frowning slightly at his feet. Stiles rushed to convince him everything he was doing was above and beyond anything Stiles felt he needed...
"No, no! Water is good! Waters nice, very...juicy!" He blushed, violently berating himself silently for his countless awkward remarks.
Peter chuckled and walked off, round a corner, presumably to the kitchen.
When the two were out of sight of the other, they wondered, they deliberated, they wished. They both felt doubts, they both secretly wished for something. What was that something? They weren't sure, but Stiles tried to banish all thoughts regarding Peter romantically and Peter felt feelings he hadn't felt in a long time. They were foreign, he couldn't place them, but butterflies swarmed his stomach, making him feel warm and loved. No, liked? But he felt that something good was blooming, a delicate, tentative something. But it was there, for sure, and they would be there for each other for as long as they could. He would be. Peter smiled, remembering the hug in the car fondly, the security of hugging someone, finally. Months of being paralysed brought loneliness, fear and doubt. But years of isolation? They brought nothing but pain. And Peter and Stiles were ready to change that.