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“Stiles, I said it doesn’t matter.”
Scott keeps putting away the groceries he just brought in, not making eye contact, but Stiles can just barely see the fond look on his face as he turns from the bags on the counter to the open fridge.
“Yeah um, I already played out this confrontation like 10 times in my head so if you could just stick to the script i imagined for you, that’d be great, thanks.” Scott lets a chuckle escape and Stiles just barely manages not to boil over.
He leans over and snatches the carton of raspberries before they make it to the fridge, cracking the plastic open and immediately scoops half of them in his mouth, not bothering to chew before continuing. “Ehh? Anything to say now? I bet you were looking forward to eating these…” Stiles still hasn’t swallowed but picks up another berry, waves it in front of his best friend’s face, and pops it in his mouth anyway.
“Actually they were on sale.” Scott closes the fridge and turns around to smile at his room mate, leaning his hip on the counter next to Stiles. “They’re usually too sour for me this early in the season but I thought you would like them.”
Stiles can feel his face morph with comical levels of disbelief. “You bought these for me? Why?” He tosses the container on the counter next to them with a bit too much force, jostling a few berries free of the wide open lid. “I eat your food, I borrow your clothes… I’ve never taken out the trash and I don’t think I’ve done dishes in two weeks! I am the worst room mate!”
“You’re being too hard on yours—”
Stiles makes a strangled noise and pinwheels his arms in front of Scott. “Stop!! Being!! So!! Fucking!! Nice!! I literally come home in the middle of the night, drunk off my ass, only to vomit on the fucking coffee table, and pass out on your bedroom floor. And what do you do?! You tuck me in—to your bed!—clean up the bodily fluids I so kindly left in the living room, and leave a waterbottle with tylenol on the dresser next to me??” Stiles meets Scott’s eyes for the first time since he started rambling but there’s a tug of concern in his brow that Stiles can’t quite handle so he turns and begins to pace. “I mean I know we’ve been planning to share our first apartment since middle school, and we still have like eight months left on the lease, but I could totally find someone on campus who sorts their recycling and knows where the broom is kept.”
“Come on, you know it’s in the front closet.” Scott reaches for Stiles’ shoulder but when he scrubs a hand over his face and rattles out a sigh, Scott hesitates.
“Scotty…”
“Stiles,” Scott says with enough force to draw his gaze. When Stiles looks up, Scott’s no longer leaning and each of his hands are hovering close enough to Stiles’ arms that he can feel the warmth radiating from Scott’s palms. He has that look on his face he uses on aggressive (read: scared) puppies at Deaton’s and seems intent on making Stiles hear what he has to say.
“Hey,” he murmurs, dipping his head just a bit to search Stiles’ face, “You deserve it.”
Normally, Stiles would balk, turn away and laugh it off. If they hadn’t been fighting, if it wasn’t in the broad daylight of a Saturday afternoon, if Scott wasn’t still staring at him like it wasn’t a joke. Instead he freezes up, trying to find another meaning in Scott’s words that would make more sense than the obvious.
Scott gently closes the distance between his palms and Stiles’ upper arms, immediately beginning a slow path up to his shoulders and back down again. Stiles closes his eyes and looks embarrassed, so Scott continues, “Do you really think I would put up with it if you were that bad of a room mate?” Stiles takes a breath but Scott just squeezes his arms gently. “Just because we don’t do the same chores doesn’t mean you don’t contribute. You’re thoughtful. You always save me leftovers for when I have to work late. You bought me all of those sticky note dividers and highlighters when I thought I was gonna fail my midterms, and then sat up with me to make sure I looked through all my notes and used them. And you say you haven’t done dishes but you totally did them after lasagna night last week and you always put them away.”
When Stiles still won’t open his eyes Scott leans their foreheads together and feels more than sees Stiles scrunch up his face.
“You cleaned up my vomit, Scotty.”
Scott lets out a chuckle and brings his hands up to either side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles lets their noses slot side-by-side and lets out a laugh of his own, putting his hands on Scott’s hips one at a time. They both breathe the same air for a moment before Scott pulls back, darting a glance to Stiles’ lips before meeting his eyes again with a mischievous smirk.
“What if I told you I delivered it in a paper bag to Harris’ doorstep on my run this morning?”
Stiles’ whole face lights up before he leans in and gets one solid kiss before having to alternate fits of laughter with each press of lips.
“Oh, Scotty, you always know what I want to hear.”