Chapter Two
It Continues in the Apartment
Stiles doesn't find refuge in sleep that night.
He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it seemingly pressing down on him like fthe weight of Scott's hands on that man's throat. The quiet control of it. The patience.
For Stiles it's almost like he can feel it as a grip on his own throat, choking off his own air, as he looks into the dark of the ceiling.
The way he waited for Stiles to speak before letting go.
The way he listened.
The mugger is probably gone by now. Maybe out of town, maybe just pretending last night never happened. Stiles could do that too. Could write it off as an adrenaline rush, a bad situation handled badly.
But that's not what sticks.
What sticks is Scott knew.
Stiles look over towards the corner where Scott had sat dozing all night before he slipped out a while ago, how long ago was it ten minutes, thirty? Time had become elastic in the dark, in the crushing unnaturalness of it.
His mind is inevitably drawn back to the alley as it had been all night.
He didn't hear the mugger coming…didn't see him. But Scott knew. He'd been there, lurking somewhere out of sight.
Like he'd already decided Stiles wasn't allowed to be hurt.
Like it wasn't even a question.
His phone buzzes.
Scott: I made coffee. You should drink some before work.
Stiles exhales, scrubs a hand down his face.
He gets up.
—-
Scott is in the kitchen, his back to the Stiles as he walks in , already pouring out a cup of coffee at the stove, like that is total normal. Like he hadn't almost killed a man last night. Like he hadn't rented this place out without asking a question, like he hadn't sat in a chair in the bedroom all night.
Stiles stops. Watches.
Just a normal domestic scene, one guy making breakfast for another.
Natural simple, domestic… so why did it feel so weird?
His back is to Stiles, standing at the stove, already pouring a cup when Stiles walks in.
The way Scott moves, calm, efficient. Not stiff, not robotic, just… settled.
Stiles' brain flashes back to the expression on Scott's face as he gripped his hands around a guy's throat. An expression no more harried or agitated than he looked now.
That was wrong right?
A man should not look that calm when he held another's life in his hands, should they?
Scott turns, holding out the mug. "You didn't sleep."
Not a question.
Stiles takes it anyway. "Yeah, well. A little hard to sleep after—" He stops himself, takes a breath. "After last night."
Scott doesn't blink. "I kept you safe."
There it is.
Stiles grips the mug a little too tight searching for stability, for an anchor to reality. "That's not the point."
Scott tilts his head yet again, that new mannerism. With apparently al lthe patience in the world he says. "Then what is?"
Stiles just stares at him.
At the calm in his voice. The certainty.
Like there's no argument to be had.
Like there's nothing wrong.
Like almost killing a guy was no big deal.
Stiles exhales. "You almost killed that guy."
Scott watches him. "But I didn't did I?"
"That's not the point either!"
Scott steps closer. Not much, just a little.
Not threatening. Not looming. Just … near.
His voice is soft, almost gentle. "Then tell me what is."
Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it.
He doesn't know.
He does, but… he doesn't.
Because Scott did keep him safe.
And part of him…
A small, guilty, terrible part of him…
Liked it.
—-
Lydia watches him over her coffee.
It's not a normal look. Not her usual unimpressed, I-can-read-your-mind stare.
It's sharper. Quieter.
Yet Stiles still took comfort from a little taste of normality. From being sat in the same little coffee shop, the same chipped cups, the same woman sat opposite. At least one relationship that hasn't changed.
Stiles shifts in his seat, finally a bit unsettled by the look in her eyes. "What?"
Lydia sets her cup down. "You tell me."
Stiles huffs out a laugh. "Cryptic much?"
Lydia doesn't smile.
She tilts her head. Eyes him. "It's Scott, isn't it?"
His stomach drops.
"What? No." He forces out a scoff, too fast. "Why would it be Scott?"
Lydia just stares.
Too long. Too knowing.
Because of course it was always Scott wasn't it? Whenever something fucked up happened, whenever there was a reason to be quiet Scott was always rolled into it. It had been that way ever since they were children. Why would that change now?
Stiles grips his coffee like it's something solid. "He's just been…" He swallows. "…different lately."
Lydia hums. "And you like it, but also are unsettled by it."
It's not a question. She can always read people too well.
Stiles' jaw clenches.
Lydia leans forward, voice softer, caring. "Stiles."
He exhales. Looks away.
Lydia watches him a second longer. Then:
"If it's making you uncomfortable you need to fix it."
He looks up, confusion flickering over his face. "Fix what?"
Lydia's gaze sharpens. "Whatever this is."
Stiles swallows.
Nods.
He doesn't say he'll try.
Because he's not sure he wants to.
—-
It always comes back to the Preserve.
Scott is already there when Stiles arrives.
Of course he is.
He's standing in the clearing, watching the trees, arms loose at his sides like he's been waiting for hours. Maybe he has.
Stiles exhales. "We need to talk."
Scott turns. Smiles. It almost seems genuine this time, more like the ones Scott used to make. "Okay."
That's it. No hesitation. No pushback.
Just okay.
Though things don't seem ok, or maybe the do but not the ok Stiles had experienced before.
Stiles' stomach twists. "Look, man…" He rubs a hand over his face. "You're freaking me out a little."
Scott doesn't flinch, just gives that head tilt that Stiles was becoming more and more familiar with these days "Why?"
"Because you're not you!" Stiles' voice comes too sharp, too loud. Something forcing itself out that had been bottled up since that night in the Preserve. He forces himself to breathe.
"You're not arguing with me, not pushing back, you're not being… you! You're just… fucking waiting."
Scott's brow furrows slightly. "Waiting for what?"
"For me to need something, to be able to do something for me!"
Scott nods. "That's how it should be."
The words are so calm. So certain.
For a moment Stiles himself almost believes it.
Then Stiles' chest goes tight. "Scott…"
"I'm happy, Stiles."
The words land like a leaden weight.
Scott steps closer, unusually close though it felt more intimate than it did confrontational. He was quiet… Careful. "I don't feel angry. I don't feel tired. I don't feel like I have to make a choice every second just to stay in control."
He breathes in, soft. "I just am."
Stiles swallows.
Scott smiles and this time it was not anything like his old smiles, it was too calm, too resigned. "And I like it."
Stiles' hands shake.
Because it sounds like the truth.
And it shouldn't…. But something inside of him liked it, and that was… concerning.
—-
Time Passes
Stiles stops asking Scott for things.
It doesn't matter. Scott still does them regardless of being asked.
Coffee, rides, answers before Stiles even speaks. It's instinct now, like breathing, like knowing where to put his hands when they fight, when they run.
Like waiting.
Like watching.
Stiles tries to ignore it.
Tries to let it settle.
It doesn't.
Because it's not just coffee. Not just the apartment, the mugger, the careful way Scott moves through his whole life now.
It's the way Scott stays.
At the edge of things. Always just there.
At the station when Stiles works late. By the Jeep when he reaches for his keys.
Not quite stalking. Not simply hovering.
Just… present.
And it's too much.
Yet It's not enough.
Stiles doesn't know what he wants.
Doesn't know what he's afraid of.
But he does know this
Scott isn't waiting for orders.
He's following them.
The ones Stiles has not even spoken yet.
—-
As is now the normal evening routine, Scott and stiles are in their apartment. Scott changing his shirt, as he does Stiles sees his arm, sees the purple splotch that was still there from that night in the Preserve.
For a second he wonders surely that should have vanished by now, then dismisses it, there were silver shards that had had to be picked out, that had probably slowed the normal process.
As Stiles looks at Scott he can't resist putting words to his thoughts.
"Scott."
Scott looks up as he finishes pulling the shirt on.
Stiles grips the counter, exhales harshly. "Do you ever…" He stops, shakes his head. "Do you think about what's happening?"
Scott watches him, yet again that cursed tilt of the head. "What do you mean?"
"This. You. The way you…" Stiles roughly scrubs a hand through his hair. "You do things, man. Before I even ask. Like…like you know what I want before I do."
Scott nods. "Yeah. Course"
Stiles blinks now his turn to be confused. "Okay, what the hell does that mean?"
Scott steps forward. Not fast. Not threatening.
Just close. Intimate
"I know you."
The words hit too hard, too deep.
Scott holds his gaze, voice quiet. Certain. Unwavering.
"I know what you need."
The air in the room shifts. Tightens.
Stiles swallows. "Scott…"
"I know how to keep you safe."
The way he says it tender, sincere, heartfelt.
Scott doesn't blink. Doesn't look away.
And the worst part?
Stiles dosen't know if he hates it, or yearns for it.
—-
Stiles doesn't plan to go back to Lydia with this.
But it's either her or let the thoughts pile up in his head until they start making permanent dents.
So, same old coffee shop. Neutral ground. Two lattes in chipped mugs, one judgmental stare.
Old, familiar, constant. Comforting?
Lydia doesn't even sip hers before she says, "This is about Scott again."
Stiles huffs. "I hate that you do that."
She smirks. "You love that I do that."
Fair.
Stiles leans forward, elbows on the table. "Okay. So, listen. Scott's been, like… extra Scott lately."
Lydia tilts her head, for a second it reminds him of Scott's head tilt but no this is different…somehow. She simply says "Elaborate."
"You know, like, Scott Scott. But worse."
Lydia not satisfied with his response.
Stiles sighs. "He's…he's waiting on me. Not like a normal best-friend thing. Like a… weird thing."
"Weird how?"
Stiles chews the inside of his cheek. "Like… I don't have to ask for anything. He just does it. Before I even think about it."
Lydia hums. "That is interesting."
Stiles slumps. "See? Creepy, right?"
She shrugs nonchanlantly. "Or maybe he's just trying to be protective."
Stiles frowns. "What?"
Lydia sips her latte. "You two got ambushed by hunters. You almost got mugged. Maybe he's just compensating."
Stiles thinks. Compensating? Could that be it, could it all come from the terror of that night?
His mind flashes back to the Preserve, the haze, the smell of gunfire, the whistle of crossbow bolts. Him pushing, grappling with the hunter. The slick gun, the sound of the shot. The dark spreading stain where Scott had been hit.
Then the mugger, the knife pressed against his side. Ready to push in, to cut, until Scott was just… there.
He shakes his head to dispel the thoughts for now. "It's more than that."
Lydia watches him. "How much more?"
Stiles hesitates. Exhales. "He—he just… knows what I want. What I need. It's like he's tuned into my frequency and there's no static anymore."
Lydia arches a brow. "And?"
"And it's freaking me out!"
Lydia taps her nails against the table. "Or…"
Stiles narrows his eyes. "Or?"
She gives him the look. The one that makes his stomach twist, because it means she's already worked something out before he has.
"Maybe Scott's finally having his gay awakening."
Stiles makes a strangled noise. "Excuse me?"
Lydia shrugs. "He's obsessed with you. He hovers. He's waiting for direction. Maybe he's finally realizing he wants something more. After all you were always the other's person. All through childhood you two were inseparable. He has always valued you to most more than Allison or anyone else he has tried to be in a relationship with. Your relationship has always be the thread that runs through both your lives, maybe he's know coming to a realisation about why"
Stiles gapes.
"No," he says, shaking his head. "That's not… he's not… "
Lydia watches him with amusement. "Are you sure?"
"Yes!"
Lydia looks at him calmly. "Okay."
Stiles scowls. "Don't 'okay' me."
Lydia smirks. "You sound defensive."
"Because it's stupid!"
She sips her coffee. "Is it?"
Stiles exhales, dragging a hand down his face. "I…I don't know."
Lydia hums. "So find out, and while you do work out how you feel, as he'll want to know"
Stiles stares at her.
Could this be it? And if it is does HE want this new type of relationship.
Lydia doesn't even look up from her coffee as the silence stretches on for too long. The clinking of the door, the rustle of people moving too loud.
"So," she says, too casually, "how many bedrooms?"
Stiles blinks nonplussed. "Huh?"
"The apartment." She takes a sip, watching him over the rim of her cup. "The one Scott rented for you."
Stiles shrugs. "Two."
Lydia hums. "Two?"
"Yeah." He frowns. "Why?"
She tilts her head. "Because Scott's living there too, right?"
Stiles exhales, rubbing his face. "I guess? I mean, yeah, he…" He stops.
His stomach coils up.
He hasn't thought about it since they moved in.
Scott just is. In the apartment, in his space. Like it's his just as much as it is Stiles'.
Lydia taps her nails against her cup. "So, which room is his?"
Stiles opens his mouth. Closes it.
His chest tightens, how did she know? She'd never visited, they'd never talked about it, how was she this damn perceptive. How had she thought of this when he'd not even thought about it.
There's only one bedroom.
There was supposed to be two, but Scott made the second one a study….Stiles' study. His desk, his books, his stuff.
Like it was never an option. Like Scott had never even considered using it.
And now, Stiles realizes, really realizes…
Scott doesn't have a room.
Doesn't have a bed.
He sleeps in the chair.
The one in the corner of Stiles' room. Close enough to see him. Close enough to watch.
Not hovering. Never intruding.
Just waiting.
Lydia watches him, a slow smirk forming, as his thoughts must have been written on his face clearer than in any book.
Stiles swallows hard. "Well he has a chair, it's not like, we ughh, share, a, you know bed…"
"There it is," she says.
Stiles scowls and growls out a simple response. "Shut up."
She sips her coffee. "So when are you letting your boyfriend in the bed?"
Stiles groans, dragging his hands over his face. "It's not…"
But the words stick.
Because Scott never asked.
Never expected anything.
Just… waited.
Like he'd wait forever.
Lydia doesn't let it go. Of course she doesn't, it's simply not in her nature.
She rests her chin on one hand, smirking over the rim of her cup. "So," she says, "does he just sit there all night? Watching you sleep?"
Stiles exhales sharply. "It's not like that."
Lydia's brows lift. "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it sounds exactly like that."
Stiles shakes his head, looking away. He shouldn't be talking about this. Shouldn't be thinking about this.
But now he is.
His thoughts tapdancing around his head, clattering loud, drawing everything else out. The coffee shop fading away as he thinks of what happens each night.
Scott. In the chair.
Not doing anything in particular
Just there.
Stiles isn't sure if he's ever seen Scott asleep since the apartment. He just… stays. Through the night, through the morning, through everything.
Waiting.
Is that even possible, even for a wolf? He must sleep at some point right? How had he allowed this situation to develop, how had such an abnormal situation just… become normal, natural, just the way things are…
Lydia muses, almost absentmindedly. "What happens when you wake up?"
Stiles grips his cup a little too tight. "What do you mean?"
She shrugs. "Does he pretend he wasn't sitting there all night? Get up, stretch, act like a normal person? Or does he just… stay?"
Stiles doesn't answer. He dosen't need to because she already doesn't pretend.
He just looks at him, like it's normal. Like it's expected. Like everything is taking place in just the way it's always has. Like Stiles is supposed to wake up and see him there.
Lydia leans back, crossing her arms. "And you're fine with that?"
"I…" Stiles swallows, forcing out a laugh. "I mean, it's weird, but…"
"But you let him."
Stiles exhales through his nose.
Lydia watches him. "Do you ever tell him to go to bed?"
Silence. Simple, despite all the noise in the coffee shop, to Stiles it felt like you could hear a pin drop.
A muscle ticks in Stiles' jaw. Lydia nods slowly, like she's just proven a point. "Why not?"
Stiles doesn't have an answer. Because the truth is… He never does, and worse…
Scott never asks, not for the bed. Not for space. Not for anything.
Because Scott doesn't want, he just waits, never getting impatient. Never asking for anything, just a constant presence.
Scott obeys what he thinks Stiles wants, what Stiles needs..
Stiles shivers like someone had just walked over his grave. Lydia notices her eyes kind, understanding. Her voice softens. "Stiles."
He doesn't look at her. Doesn't look at anything. Because suddenly, he feels it… The weight of it. The power. Yet it dosen't feel feels just right. Comfortable, warm and safe. Like this was how things were supposed to be.
Stiles doesn't let's the silence lengthen again, stretching out, long and thin.
Because there's nothing to say. Because Lydia's right. Fuck why is she always right? Always so damn perceptive!
Because Scott waits—for implied orders, for permission, for direction… and Stiles just lets him.
Lydia watches him carefully. "You know what this is, don't you?"
Stiles swallows. "No."
Shegives his a firm yet soft look . "Lying to me? Bold choice."
Stiles plays with the sugar packets on the table twirling them around his fingers, exhaling sharply. "It's not… it's not what you think."
Lydia's lips twitch seemingly amused. "What do I think?"
Stiles glares. "That I'm controlling him."
Lydia shrugs as if it did not matter in the slightest. "Aren't you?"
His foot taps harder on the ground, a sugar packet splits open onto the table as he plays with it, spilling sugar across the old table, though neither of them pay any attention to it. "No. He…he does it all on his own."
"And you let him."
The words land hard like punch in his stomach. "I never asked for this."
Lydia's eyes narrow, sharp, dissecting. "But have you ever told him to stop?"
His throat goes dry. Lydia leans forward, voice quieter. "Do you ever tell him no?"
Silence. Too long yet again, intruding itself again into the conversation.
The weight of the question pushes on him
Because he hasn't. Not once, because Scott never pushes, because Scott never asks.
Because it's just easy, it's just… nice… uncomplicatedly simple.
Because waking up and knowing Scott is there, will always be there, makes something inside him settle. And that's the real problem. Not Scott.
Him.
Stiles grips the edge of the table. "I should fix this."
Lydia watches him. "Will you?"
He swallows, despite how dry his mouth feels in the moment. "Yeah."
Lydia yet again disects him with her eyes. "Then why do you look like you don't want to?"
Stiles exhales sharply, pushing away from the table. "I gotta go."
Lydia doesn't stop him. Maybe she even expected how this whole conversation would plan out from the very beginning.
She just sips her coffee and says,
"When you finally admit you like it, let me know."
Stiles walks out before he can admit it to himself. Before he is forced to look at in the face.
—-
Scott is already home when Stiles gets back. Of course he is, what else would he be doing,
He's just there sat in the Sitting in the chair.
Waiting.
Like always, just there, a constant, almost natural presence,
Stiles' pulse kicks up, thrumming in his ears, as his heart pounds.
Scott looks up. Smiles, Stiles feels a warmth grow in the pit of his stomach.
"Hey."
A single word just cutting through all his barriers. Stiles swallows hard. He should tell him to go to bed. Tell him to stop waiting. Tell him no.
Instead, he stands there. He just looks, gazing deep into Scott's eyes. He can't move, can't break that soft gaze. Like in that moment it's everything.
Scott watches. Waits. Just sits there, just gives Stiles that look. Caring, tender, something… else.
And Stiles doesn't say a damn thing.
A/N well there we go Chapter two, that conversation turned into a mammoth, it just kept going! I hope it worked well and everyone likes it.