Chapter Text
Peter knocked on the Stilinski front door impatiently. In his left hand, he held his phone with an opened dialogue with Stiles which only showed him that his 27 messages were unseen. He was worried on his way to the house, but when he got in the close vicinity and heard his boyfriend`s steady heartbeat he calmed down. And then he heard the phone vibrate near Stiles on the desk but it was clearly left unattended as he did not make a move to get it, nor even pay the slightest attention that it was actually there and had an incoming message.
Peter rang the doorbell. Still nothing. He banged on the door with his fist. Stile`s breath hitched as if he might have noticed somewhere in his periphery that someone was calling him.
“Stiles!” Peter shouted and gave a powerful series of knocks one more time. He heard an uptick in boy`s heart and could imagine him flinch. Then he heard cursing and running down the stairs.
When the door opened, Peter was greeted with a face with dark bags under the glass-covered eyes. He frowned.
“Peter!” Stiles exclaimed in his lost unsure yet somewhat happy wow-you-are-here voice and leant in with a quick peck on the lips. “Back so soon? I thought you`d be gone for two days, at least. Negotiations, shmegotiations. You know, you were there. Anyway, emmm”, he trailed.
Peter delicately smelled the air – the boy was not drunk, but his hands gave off a distinctive smell of ink.
“Today is Monday”, Peter said gloomily. “And I was gone for a weekend,” he lifted an eyebrow accusingly and said, “in case you didn`t notice.”
Stiles flailed a bit. “Of course, of course, I did,” his heart gave out his total lie, “sure, yep, I did, I so did, notice that my boyfriend was gone for two long days, God, did I notice”. What an exaggerated lie, which brought Peter even in the more foul mood.
Peter strode into the house, stopped in the middle of the living room and looked around.
“What were you doing, Stiles?”
Stiles looked away guiltily and clasped his hands behind him.
“I was studying,” he said nonchalantly.
Half-lie. Well, maybe he started with studying.
“And If I walk into your room,” Stiles pursed his lips at that, “what will I find there?”
Stiles shuffled his feet, then stopped as if in a totally different mood with new thoughts bugging his head, and with furrowed brows he asked, “What are you doing here anyway?”
Peter sighed and shook his head in disappointment. Here we go again, he thought.
“We had a date scheduled, or did you forget?”
Stiles` face was completely blank, but Peter knew, that somewhere deep in that brilliant head, Stiles was looking for the exact moment when they had planned their date, for that little notification that was blaring in alarm, offended for being forgotten.
Peter`s shoulders slumped and in a slightly hushed voice he said, “This is the fourth time you forget,” he could see the younger man flinch in guilt and continued mockingly, “and let me guess why.”
And Peter knew exactly why, yet he could not understand. Was he not enough? Did he not provide enough informational thrill for Stiles? Did his knowledge lack in any sphere? Had he read not enough books? Had he not seen much in his life? Was he boring Stiles? The last thing he knew, Stiles could keep up with him, but that`s about it. Yes, they complemented each other while Stiles was trivia master – his random knowledge of facts in different spheres was astounding, – Peter was well versed in folklore, history and art.
Were their conversations not stimulating for Stiles enough? They could talk for hours, and yet Stiles never forgot himself with him like with those damned papers.
“You have a crossword on your desk in your room,” was a statement of solid fact.
Stiles scrunched up his nose and gave a slothful shrug, hands still clasped behind him.
“Maybe,” he murmured.
“But it`s not just one, is it?”Peter started derisively, because, in all honesty, he was sick and tired of being forgotten and overlooked. He started pacing. “I can bet you have a whole stack of them!”
Stiles flinched. So he was right, it was more than one. It was like an addiction.
Stiles huffed and relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides.
“What`s the big deal anyway? Peter, if you want to go on a date like you said we were supposed to, then just say so, I’ll change and we’ll be on our way to, em, another restaurant, café, whatever. Do you really have to interrogate me?” Stiles looked as if the only one who was posing problems was Peter.
The nerve of that boy. It would drive him insane someday. For the second time.
“Is this a fucking joke to you?” Peter sneered. “I am saying,” he emphasised through his teeth,” that you missed another of our dates and didn`t even notice I was gone for two bloody days and all I get in return is wondering what fucking big deal it is? Are you fucking kidding me?”
“Peter,” Stiles sighed as if he was explaining basic notions to a child, “yes, I was solving some crosswords, yes I lost some time, and yes I forgot about you for a bit, you know I get distracted easily, and I am sorry for all the dates I`ve missed.” He came closer to Peter so that they had one single tiny step between them. He tilted his head and looked up into Peter's eyes apologetically. He took his hand and interweaved Peter`s inert fingers with his.
“I`m sorry, ok?” He peered into his eyes pleadingly. “I`ll make sure it won`t happen again.”
His boyfriend looked so earnest. Peter almost gave in, but his mercy was replaced with a frown and a step back with the loss of connection via hands. Stiles looked forlornly at Peter’s hand.
“This is what you are saying every damn time, Stiles! And I always fall for that and forgive you, and I know this is a problem for you, and I fucking know you didn`t mean to!” he trailed. “But do I?” he stared questionably at him.
“Do you what?” Stiles looked lost.
“Do I really know that you didn`t mean to?”
Stiles looked perplexed.
“Are you serious?” he asked in disbelief. “Do you think I do this on purpose? Blow you off because I`d rather have a crossword in my hand?”
Peter`s stare was intense.
“You do, don`t you? You think I prefer a piece of paper over you? Is this some kind of new form of twisted jealousy to inanimate objects? What the fuck, Peter?”
“I sometimes wonder whether you listen to me at all,” Peter murmured. With a deep humble sigh, Peter freed the resolution that was cooking for a while already.
“I am tired,” he peered meaningfully into his boyfriend's eyes. “Do you understand?” Judging by Stiles` shocked face he did understand, unfortunately for him.
Stiles gave a nervous laugh.
“Is this an ultimatum?” he asked in disbelief. “Are you making me chose? Peter, this is ridiculous!”
“Oh, is it?” Peter questioned dryly. “What is truly ridiculous is when I worry what happened to you when you don`t answer my or anyone’s calls for two days straight and I race back to make sure you are alright, or when I wait for two hours for you only to find out you were so engrossed in your fucking crosswords that you forgot!” Peter gave a half-crazed chuckle. “Or how about when I made dinner for just the two of us in my apartment with all the romantic bullshit you always complain we don`t have and you just didn’t come. Again!”
Peter really and truly seethed. If he was a dragon, he`d breathe fire now. “Should I go on?” he asked angrily.
Stiles with eyes round shook his head in silent “no”.
“Then yes, Stiles, I am making you choose. Your legitimate boyfriend,” he pointed at himself, “or your affair.” He spat out that word as if something filthy.
Stiles pursed his lips. Peter decided to write off the minute of silence in favour of the utter shock of what was happening and not count it as if it was hesitation.
Stiles turned his head to the side and slightly nodded.
“Fine,” he said and with a deep sigh as if preparing to go into battle, “the book is on the desk. You may take it now.”
Peter clenched and unclenched his fists. A whole fucking book, no wonder. He couldn`t help but spit in malice, “I hope it wasn`t a hardship to choose.”
He decisively walked to the stairs to take that book full of crosswords and fucking burn it but was halted by, “For fuck sake`s, Peter! I chose you!” He turned back to face his boyfriend, blood boiling, eyebrows pulled together by the force of strong emotions shocking his body, “I apologised! I promised not to do it again! I`m giving the entire fucking book for you!” he was gesticulating wildly, “What else do you want from me?”
Every day Peter felt an uncomfortable gut-wrenching tug in his heart.
“A token of your love, goddammit!” he roared.
He looked downward in despair, turned around and quickly climbed the stairs. For the first time since the fire, he would love to watch something burn.