If the bond between alpha and beta is as strong as parent and child then that means that derek was a fucking deadbeat given how he abandoned jackson when his transformation "failed" and went off to bite other teenagers.
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♙Pairing: Stackson
♙Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Jackson Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Danny Mahealani, Brett Talbot,
♙Warnings: [I tried] None
♙Words: 5139
♙ Stiles Rarepair Week Day 5: future/post-canon exploration
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for @voidstilesplease, I really hope you like it. I tried, I really did 😂
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“So,” Lydia’s dark red lips curl into a dangerous smile, “how was your date?”
Stiles slumps onto the chair next to her, gesturing for a drink. “She was… nice.”
Lydia grimaces. “That bad?”
“It wasn’t that bad.” Not at all. The girl is gorgeous and smart and such a sweetheart. They talked the whole night, Stiles yet again lied about his job while she swooned about being a kindergarten teacher. They even had the same humor and adoration for Star Wars. It should have been perfect. They should’ve been perfect. And yet, halfway through the date, Stiles found himself to be utterly bored. As nice as she is, that’s the problem.
“Sweetheart, if you describe a girl as ‘nice’ after a date, it was exactly that bad.”
Groaning, Stiles puts his head on his arms. “I’m doomed to die alone.”
Lydia pats his shoulder comfortingly. “No, no. You just need to be less picky.” Less picky. Stiles isn’t picky at all. “Or you gotta look somewhere you never thought you’d find someone.”
Squinting, Stiles lifts his head again and studies her expression. She looks so perfectly innocent behind her Martini glass, Stiles knows for a fact that there’s evil brewing behind that pretty face of hers. “What?”
“Nothing.” Lydia raises her free hand defensively. “I’m just saying that maybe dating apps aren’t your thing. Maybe you should look at those around you.” She raises one of her perfectly plucked brows. It doesn’t matter how innocent she pretends to be, she’s planning some shit. If she’s in a mood like that, Lydia cannot be trusted.
Stiles straightens again, thanking the barkeeper for his drink. Befriending Ryan was one of the best choices they could’ve made because the guy makes the best cocktails, and for some reason, he always seems to know exactly how strong his drink needs to be. Today’s cocktail concoction has enough vodka to make his Polish genes more than a little happy. He sighs and turns to Lydia. “I’m not dating anybody from my team.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t talking about your team. There are more people in your life than your team.”
“Well…” Stiles drums his fingers onto the bar, tipping his glass this way and that, “sure, there are a lot of people working at HQ.” But from another team. It’s hard enough that Stiles is working all over the country more often than not. If his partner were to work at the FBI as well, their relationship would be a tragedy before it even begins. “And there are the various people making sure I don’t starve to death or am under-caffeinated.” None of them really sticks out if he’s perfectly honest. “And then there’s you and Ryan, which…” he trails off, waving his hand around a little. Lydia and he dated for a month until admitting to each other that it feels like dating their sibling.
Lydia studies him over the edge of her glass. “Nobody else? What about deputies? Or lawyers?”
“Not since Jackson specialized in supernatural cases.”
“Jackson?” Lydia almost sounds as if that’s some kind of surprise to her… which it is not. She’s friends with Jackson and Danny. Stiles knows for a fact that they’re seeing each other on a regular basis. For her to act surprised makes zero sense.
“Speaking of Jackson,” Stiles says, running his fingers along his glass, “I have the questionable honor to spend tomorrow evening with him. Any tips?”
Lydia’s eyes widen. So does her smile. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing spectacular, it’s just a work date. We gotta go over some files.”
“What top do you want then?”
Stiles shrugs. “On how to keep him tolerable for a few hours.”
Lydia chuckles. “He’s not that bad, you know?”
Oh, Stiles knows. Jackson is not like he used to be; well, mostly. He’s still a spoiled piece of shit, but he’s not acting like a dick every second of every day. Stiles does not want to smack him either. However, it’s the first time he’s completely alone with Jackson. Stiles suggested his office, but Jackson insisted they meet at his penthouse. As if Stiles needs a reminder that Jackson is getting richer every single day. Stiles is still living in the same flat he’s lived in during his studies. It’s not that he couldn’t afford something better, but he’s almost never home anyway.
“I don’t wanna talk about work any longer.”
“Jackson does not have to be ‘just work’,” Lydia says, quirking a brow. “He can be fun too.”
Stiles furrows his brow. “You mean a friend.” He’s just making sure because her definition of fun usually involves no clothes and lots of moaning. So, Stiles isn’t entirely sure what Lydia is insinuating. “Right?”
“Yes.” Lydia looks at him, smiling a little too innocently. “What did I say?”
“How many Martinis did you have?”
She grins and sips on her drink. Oh, this is going to be a long night.
—————
"That's not enough proof."
"How is this not enough proof?" Stiles slams his right hand on the file, narrowing his eyes. "Dude had fourteen bodies in his basement's built-in freezer." He taps on the papers aggressively, as if that's going to change anything. "Fourteen, Jackson. Two of those bodies are those of missing girls." What more do they need to get this wendigo behind bars? No judge or jury would consider this guy innocent… unless his defense attorney is better than Jackson and the evidence they do have. That shouldn’t be possible. He was a fantastic defense attorney and a fucking pain in Stiles’ ass on more than one occasion.
Jackson crosses his arms, sinking deeper in his designer armchair. "And five of those bodies come from the morgue. Including papers."
"That's five against nine unaccounted bodies." Stiles crosses his arms over his thighs.
"I know that," Jackson says, now leaning forward to do the same. "But the defense is going to argue that everything he did was legal." He quirks a brow and reaches for his bottle of beer.
Stiles has the urge to bang his head against the wall. Instead, he props his chin on his hand and studies Jackson. To be perfectly honest, Stiles is glad that Jackson is finally on his team. Hopefully, he’s going to do an even better job now that he’s a state attorney. After all, they’re sitting on a powder keg. It’s only going to be a matter of time until the supernatural will be known everywhere, and when that happens, they need to prove to the humans that they don’t have to be afraid, that everything is under control and the supernaturals are treated just as strictly as any human would. Jackson as an attorney can make this happen even if working with him is going to drive Stiles up the wall.
“We haven’t found anything for the other bodies.”
“That doesn’t mean the evidence doesn’t exist.”
Stiles licks his lips. “You think he met the girls online.” It’s not impossible. Stiles knows about message boards from cannibals for cannibals. If someone offers themselves up to be eaten, Stiles doubts they’ll be bothered if it’s a wendigo instead of a human. “If that’s the case—”
“You think he’s guilty?” Jackson sets the bottle down and leans closer.
“What does that matter?”
“Do you think he’s guilty?”
“Yes.” Stiles pushes the files away from him and slumps back on the couch. “Yes, he’s fucking guilty, okay? But that doesn’t make evidence magically appear.”
Jackson chuckles even though there’s absolutely nothing funny happening right now. “Good.”
“Good?” Scoffing, Stiles reaches for his own beer and takes a swig. He’d rather drink his beer before he says something stupid. The last fucking thing he needs is getting into an argument with Jackson. After all, they’re on the same team now. They need to get along. Arguing is only going to make things so much more complicated.
“Yes, good.” Jackson taps a finger against the bottle in his hand. “Because that means the guy is guilty.”
Stiles snaps his gaze back to Jackson. “What?” What? Did he hear that right? Sure, they’ve been getting along better than they did in high school — even though they haven’t really been enemies back then either — but this kind of niceness, this trust is new. Jackson doesn’t hand it out, and he especially doesn’t hand it to him. It’s a big jump from being something like colleagues to basically saying ‘I trust that your instinct is right even though we don’t have any evidence’.
“If you think this guy belongs behind bars, that’s where he’ll end up.” Jackson shrugs and leans back again.
If Stiles hadn’t known him before, judging by the way he sits in his expensive leather armchair, he would’ve pegged him as a supervillain straight out of a James Bond movie. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Stiles runs a hand through his hair then drinks the rest of his beer in one go. “But what if we don’t find anything?”
“Then that’s the evidence we need.” Jackson crosses his legs. “If we can prove he did not exchange any previous messages with the victims or received any other form of written consent, he broke the law. Simple as that.” Simple as that coming from the guy who’s only having to ask questions and present the evidence, Stiles and his team have to gather within twenty-four hours unless Jackson manages to convince the judge to decide that there is probable cause for the charge. But that should be the least of their problems. Locking him up for the rest of his pathetic life, that’s the problem.
Sighing, Stiles puts the empty bottle back on the table and hides his face in his hands. Tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day. He’s so glad Stiles managed to convince his boss and Danny to join his team. There is nobody else who could get through a workload like that as effectively as Danny Mahealani. Stiles would throw himself out of the window of Jackson’s penthouse. He still might, especially if this job is not going the way he wants it to.
This is more than a little tiring. Catching the guy has already been an exhausting mess, but making sure he stays locked up? That’s a whole other story.
“Come on, Stilinski.” God, Jackson hasn’t called him that since their early High School years. Is that how much time has passed? They’re adults. They’re fucking adults, and they’re both in charge of the safety of humanity by making sure the nutjobs in the supernatural world will be trialed and locked up. “You caught the guy. If you cannot lock him up, nobody else can.”
Stiles rubs his cheeks then lowers his hands and squints at Jackson. “How come you’ve been so abnormally nice to me all of the sudden?”
Jackson quirks a brow, studying him over the rim of the bottle of beer. “What do you mean?”
Did the guy not hear himself talk? All these little compliments, his reassuring Stiles. That’s not Jackson. “You just seem nicer than usual is all.”
With a chuckle, Jackson empties his beer. “I can come up with a couple of insults really quick.” He puts the bottle on the table and folds his arms over his thighs. The shirt tightens around his shoulders and upper arms. He works out. Those biceps are definitely new. Stiles would’ve noticed them before. Right? Right. “Or punch you in the face if you want.”
“Okay, that’s a little excessive, don’t you think?” Stiles presses his lips together, trying his best not to smile. “You never punched me.”
“No,” Jackson agrees, nodding slowly, “but you punched me. Hard.”
“To be fair, you called my dad useless, and Scott expected me to throw my dad to the wolves. Literally.” Stiles bounces his left leg and sighs, running a hand over the nape of his neck. “Still, sorry about that. I should’ve handled that better.” He really should’ve. His anger issues have followed him around for a lot longer than he’d like to admit, but his teenage years really were the worst. “And if it makes you feel better, you’re not the only supernatural creature I’ve punched in the face.” He wriggles his fingers then lowers his hands.
Jackson shrugs. “I did deserve it.”
“Not really.” Shaking his head, Stiles gets to his feet. Nobody deserves to be punched that night. They were all stressed to the max, being hunted by Peter. “Anyway, I should get going.” Jackson being nice and talking about the past makes him feel nostalgic, and he really doesn’t need that right now. He needs a clear head.
“You don’t have to go.”
Stiles hugs the file to his chest, feeling strangely lost as he looks down at Jackson. Part of him doesn’t want to leave. At all. “Tomorrow’s gonna be a long day.” He brushes his finger along the side of the file, swallowing heavily. “I’ll call you the second we’ll find something.”
Jackson nods slowly, following him to the elevator. “I’ll keep you updated on the judge.”
“Great.”
“Good.”
They stand there for a moment, and Stiles feels even more lost now. So much more than only a second ago. Maybe he should stay? Just for an hour. Not too long. It’s still early after all. No. No. Stiles hits the button for the elevator. “See you soon.” Why did that come out like a question? “Oh, and thanks for the beer.” The elevator doors slide open with a quiet ding.
“Hey,” Jackson says when the elevator doors slide open, “I can swing by the office… tomorrow? Judge McLoughlin should make his decision before lunch.”
Stiles nods, feeling strangely — what? — hopeful? “That sounds nice.“ He presses the button for the ground floor, suddenly wanting tomorrow to come sooner.
“Great. I should be there around twelve.” Jackson smiles.
Fuck, Stiles really forgot how handsome he is. “It’s a date.” The elevator doors slide shut. It’s a date. Groaning, Stiles smacks the folder against his forehead. What the hell?
———
"Someone didn’t get laid last night, huh?" Brett crosses his ankles on Isaac's empty chair. "I tol—"
"You are about one stupid comment away from ending up in the obituaries, so proceed with caution." Stiles quirks a brow. “Now, get your shoes off that chair and make yourself useful.” Being in a leading position is nothing Stiles enjoys a lot. It’s especially weird to be the leader of a team that consists of his high school buddies — and then there’s Brett. Usually, working with the guy is easy, but Stiles really isn’t up for his humor today.
Brett huffs out a breath. “I’m better in the field.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Then why didn’t you send me with Isaac?”
“Because we need to gain the girls’ trust, not their phone numbers.” As amazing as Brett has been at his jobs for the last three years, Stiles is not about to send him to a few cute college girls in order to get information. He may be a fool, but he’s certainly not a fucking idiot. Besides, they both know that Kira and Isaac are the best people to convince others that they can be trusted.
Danny isn’t even trying to hide his amusement. They’re all getting along wonderfully, but schadenfreude is still written in capital letters here. Mostly because they’re all assholes. Well, everyone aside from Kira. Stiles has no clue how she’s handling all of them, day in and day out. The poor girl really doesn’t have it easy.
Stiles runs his fingers through his hair. “Any news, Danny?”
“Not since the last time you asked me—” Danny leans back to check the clock on the wall “— seven minutes ago.”
Stiles huffs out a breath and folds his arms over his chest. They’ve been at it for two hours, and so far they haven’t found anything. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. But having something in his hand is better than trying to prove nothing is exactly the evidence they need. There’s gotta be something. A picture. A text message. Stiles would sell his soul for something to prove that this fucker belongs behind bars. Maybe he’s missed something in the files. Maybe the evidence has been sitting right in front of them all along.
Biting his bottom lip, Stiles glances back at the clock. Jackson should be here any second. Hopefully, he’s coming with good news. At this point, Stiles cannot handle any more negative news, or he is going to lose his fucking shit. "Yo, Stiles?"
Stiles looks up from the file, massaging his temples. "Yeah?"
"What car's our guy driving?" Brett leans back in his chair, looking at Stiles with raised brows.
That's a good question. Drawing his eyebrows together, he flicks through the file and scans the personal information. "A light-blue 2012 Honda Accord." He gets to his feet, anticipation making it impossible to sit down. "Please, please, tell me you got something."
“Oh, Babe, you're gonna love this,” Brett smirks way too confidently.
Stiles flicks the side of his head. They talked about his lack of professionalism multiple times in the very beginning, but nobody else seems really bothered by Brett’s love for pet names, and as long as he only does it while they’re alone, it’s hard to argue against. Still, Stiles wouldn’t mind a better pet name than ‘Baby’. It doesn’t exactly show a lot of creativity. Well, it’s still better than Sugarplum. Poor Isaac.
“So,” Stiles says, propping his hands on the edge of Brett’s desk, “what do you got for me?”
“I noticed it in the last story before she disappeared.” Brett pulls up a short little video and points at the right corner of the screen. “Look here.” He hits play, finger still pressed against the corner of the screen.
And Stiles saw it. Just for a second. A light blue 2012 Honda Accord. The license plate is impossible to decipher like this, and there is no way to see who is sitting in the car. Still, it is the car they are looking for, and it happened only a day before she disappeared. Also, Brett probably would not have called him over if this was the only instance of spotting this car. In fact, Brett showed him two more stories and three pictures spread out over the last three weeks. Chances are that’s the same car with the same fucking driver. Chances are this is their guy.
Grinning, Stiles ruffles Brett’s hair. “I could kiss you right now.”
“Not at the office.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Send them to Danny.” He pushes away from the desk. “Danny, I need you on this ASAP. Try to get a clear image of the car. We need to know if that’s him.” Because if that is him, they got him. There’s no way out of this one. “Brett, text Isaac. Maybe her friends noticed something about the car. I’ll try to get a hang of Jackson, maybe—”
“Jackson just texted me.” Danny leans back in his chair, frowning at his phone. “Something came up… and he wants me to tell you that the judge is on our side. Dude’s gonna stay locked up for the time being.”
Stiles should be thrilled about the news. That’s what he wanted, isn’t it? He wanted the wendigo to stay behind bars until they found proof. Now, they found proof, and he will not be released. Ever. Period. But… but. He’s not as excited as he thought he’d be. Stiles would’ve preferred if Jackson told him directly. They were supposed to go to lunch too. “That’s great news.”
Brett snorts. “You couldn’t have said that with a bit more enthusiasm?”
For the peace of his own mind, Stiles decides to ignore him. However, looking at Danny doesn’t make this thing any easier because the look Danny is giving him is making his skin crawl. It’s not fun. “I’m starving,” he says, turning away from Danny and his searching look, and grabs his jacket. “I’ll be back in ten.” Without waiting for an answer, Stiles rushes out of the room.
—————
“You look like you’re ready to consider if the hangover is worth it.”
Stiles draws his eyebrows together and looks up at the man sitting down next to him. Oh no, he’s really not up for small talk right now. He still tries to be polite, knowing all too well how easily pissed-off intoxicated people can be. “You know how it is.” He certainly does not, but Stiles isn’t about to elaborate. Sighing, he checks his phone again.
Isaac and Brett insisted they needed to celebrate their success. Which, okay, it’s something they’re always doing, but today is one of the days he’s rather have stayed home and watched a stupid Netflix show to drown out whatever the fuck is going on with him. He wishes he could say that it has absolutely nothing to do with Jackson basically ghosting him. The guy has really left him on read for two days now. Stiles even invited him for tonight, remembering Lydia’s words, but nothing. No text, no call. Zero. Zilch. Stiles is almost a hundred percent sure he did something to piss Jackson off. Not just because he’s completely ignoring him. Danny has been giving him weird looks as well ever since Jackson didn’t show up for lunch.
Oh god.
Is it because of the date comment? It can’t be because of the date comment. Please, let it not be because of that stupid fucking date comment. Jackson should know by now that his mouth doesn't always work properly. He didn’t mean date date. Did Jackson really think it’s a date, and that’s why he didn’t come?
Stiles swallows and drops his phone. Fuck. It’s not like they were flirting or anything. Sure, their meetings became progressively easier, but they were never too friendly, right? Right? Scrunching up his face, Stiles downs the contents of his whiskey.
The guy next to him chuckles. “I don’t think I know how that feels.”
“I really don’t need a running commentary on my life, Buddy.”
“I wasn’t trying to intrude.”
Stiles raises a brow and finally turns to look at the guy next to him. He’s quite handsome, probably in his mid-to-late-thirties. His suit costs undoubtedly more than Stiles makes in six months. It’s also not his unless he’s got a terrible tailor. The shoulders are just a little too loose. The suit jacket doesn’t fit properly around his waist either. The perfectly trimmed three o’clock shadow doesn’t help his case. Neither does wearing a suit like that in a bar that’s filled with people in comfortable clothes. The dude either used to be rich, or he’s got some serious self-esteem issues he thinks he can cover up with his best friend’s suit.
“Okay.” The guy grabs Stiles’ glass and shakes it at the barkeeper. “Let me buy you a drink.”
“I really don’t—”
“I insist. As an apology.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Listen, I’m waiting for someone.” Actually, he’s waiting for four someones, but clearly, his team isn’t in the mood for being on time today. Then again, Stiles arrived very early as well. Because he was sitting in his flat, staring at his phone and the last message that went unanswered.
“They’re not here yet, aren’t they?”
Ryan places a drink on him, and, judging by the look on his face, it’s none alcoholic. “You good, Mate?”
Even though Ryan is staring at the guy, Stiles is highly aware that he’s talking to him. “I’m good, thanks.” It’s not the first douche he’s had to deal with, and it probably won’t be the last; especially in his line of work. “Thanks though.” Smiling, Stiles grabs the drink and gets to his feet. His team should arrive shortly, hopefully, and he’d prefer to have already saved them a booth by then. He turns around, not paying the guy any more attention.
Who clearly is not done with him. “Hey,” he says, loud enough that the people closest to them turn around. “I got you that drink.”
Ryan chuckles and props himself onto his elbows. “It’s on the house.”
The guy shoots him a glare then turns back to Stiles. His neck flushes. Oh, someone’s not handling being turned down very well. And mocked. And stared at. This has to be his worst nightmare.
Stiles loves it. He probably shouldn’t, but he does. So much. Trying his best to keep his expression under control, Stiles turns and faces him again. “You wanna say something to me?” He quirks a brow then leans a little closer, lowering his voice. “Like, I don’t know, that I owe you because you took time out of your evening to talk to me? Or because you tried to buy me a drink I didn’t want?”
He’s gnashing his teeth now, shoulders going rigid.
“Come on,” Stiles urges, fingers itching for a fight for the first in a very long time, “be that guy. You know you want to.”
“Or just move along.”
Stiles steps aside, whipping his head around. Jackson is standing next to him, arms folded tightly over his chest. His white button-down and black jeans make him look extra attractive, and Stiles cannot believe that thought just crossed his mind. He’s been thinking a lot about Jackson… which isn’t much better now that he thinks about that.
The guy narrows his eyes. “And why would I?”
“Because I just asked you politely, and I only do that once.” Jackson’s expression remains firmly neutral, probably because he’s more than used to people doing whatever he wants.
Much to Stiles’ relief and dismay, the dickhead actually does move away. It’s good. It really is because Stiles probably would’ve provoked him until he stepped out of line. Still. “You know, I could’ve handled that myself.”
Jackson rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you did a stellar job.”
Like he needs anyone to judge his methods. Stiles huffs out a breath and walks over to one of the empty tables in the corner. “What are you even doing here?”
“You invited me, remember?” Jackson slips into the booth, motioning Stiles to sit down next to him. Which, seriously? First, the guy ghosts him and now he’s expecting Stiles to pretend like nothing happened and sit down next to him?
Narrowing his eyes, Stiles collapses onto the bench, bumping his leg against Jackson. He crosses his arms. Fine, maybe he sits down next to him, but he’s not gonna be happy about it. “I didn’t expect you’d show up after not replying to any of the texts I’ve sent you in the past 48 hours.”
Jackson nudges a napkin with his index finger. “It was a misunderstanding.”
Stiles stares at him. “We didn’t talk?!”
Jackson shoots him a look then returns his attention to poking the napkin. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh no. No way, Sir.” Stiles is so not going to let him get away with this. Seriously. “First, we agreed on meeting during lunch, then you tell Danny that you’re not coming, who then proceeded to look at me as if I insulted his grandmother, and you fucking leave me on read for two fucking days.” He turns around, swatting Jackson’s upper arm. “I think you owe me a fucking explanation.”
“I think you can chill with the expletives.”
“I don’t think I fucking will.” Stiles narrows his eyes. “It’s not fucking fun to have Danny glare at you from across the room every two seconds.”
Jackson lets out a breath and finally looks at him. “You really don’t know.” It’s not a question, and for some reason, Jackson seems to be amused about his own realization. “Can’t believe Lydia’s right.”
“Right about what?” What the hell is he talking about now? Is he trying to confuse him on purpose?
With yet another sigh, Jackson leans back, studying Stiles’ face for a few seconds. He’s still smiling a little. “That you wouldn’t notice that I like you until I spell it out for you.”
“I wouldn’t have agreed to meet you alone if I thought you’d hate me.”
“No, Stiles…” Jackson trails off. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. “I’m talking about the ‘I booked a table at your favorite restaurant and ordered a bouquet of flowers for our lunch date’ kind of like.”
Stiles opens his mouth then closes it again, squinting a little. “Wha— oh.” Oh god. Jackson thought it was a date date. He wanted it to be an actual date? Jackson Whittemore… the Jackson Whittemore booked a table and bought him a bouquet of flowers because he thought Stiles meant a date date. He can’t believe it. That’s gotta be a joke. “Wait… you like me?”
Jackson nods very slowly.
“For my personality?”
“Nobody was as surprised as me.”
“Rude.” Stiles boxes Jackson’s upper arm very lightly, unable to hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Wait… then why did you cancel everything?” That doesn’t make any sense. If Jackson thought Stiles was talking about a date date, and he wanted it to be a date date… then why drop everything and run? It doesn’t make a lot of sense.
Jackson shifts on the bench, left leg now pressing against Stiles’. “I heard Talbot call you babe.”
“He has pet names for all of us.”
“Danny told me as much.” Jackson nods and runs a hand over the nape of his neck. “Then Lydia reminded me that you’re stupid and that I need to get my head out of my ass if I wanted to go on a date with you, so… here I am.”
Stiles bounces his leg, feeling stupidly giddy all of the sudden — giddy enough that he decides to ignore Lydia’s comment. “You… still wanna go on a date with me?”
“I would like that, yeah.”
His heart did not just flutter. Nope. Never. Stiles clears his throat and grins. Oh god, this… he didn’t expect this at all. “I don’t have an expensive suit, so…”
Jackson puts a hand on his thigh, and Stiles’ pulse goes sky-high within the flicker of a second. “We could rent a movie. Order in.”
Stiles likes that idea so much more than going out. He places his hand on Jackson’s, running his thumb over the side of his index finger. “And no flowers, I can’t even keep a cactus alive.”
Unexpectedly, Jackson lifts their hands and kisses the back of Stiles’, just above his wrist. Fuck. He’s never going to admit what this small little gesture is doing to him. “That works for me.”
It seems you're doing well for your self over in England? I thought it was just right to share you a view of my campus -- I really appreciated your postcard.
I really hope this trip is giving you time to think and process everything. I can tell you I'm not angry any more, but you better come back a new and improved person.
I will do my best to go see you. There's a conference I'm hoping to go, so I'll keep you posted.
Do not be a stranger.
Lydia xx
PS: Scott is well aware that Isaac's gone to France. Don't get me started on that. Teenage boys are such drama queens
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