Scott had no idea what to do, so he didn't do anything. Stiles swallowed loudly enough that Scott could hear it in the dead silence of the room. He was paralyzed in fear, or anticipation maybe, he wasn't sure. One of them needed to say something, to break the silence. There was so much tension in the air that Scott wondered if Stiles was having as much trouble breathing as he was.

"Sc—" Stiles's voice was horse, he cleared his throat and tried again. "—Scott are you okay?"

Scott nodded. Probably anyway. He definitely moved his neck minutely. It was a nod. He was sure of it.

"Scott?"

Okay maybe not. Maybe he hadn't moved enough to be seen in the dark, or for Stiles to feel the bed shift. Should he try again?

"Scott, man. I'm dying here."

The bed shifted. The springs in the mattress creaking as Stiles adjusted his position. Scott felt like his entire body was covered in goosebumps, especially his exposed back. His back that maybe Stiles was looking at.

"Sc—"

"Y-yeah," Scott said. "I'm okay. I'm just…" But Scott didn't really know what he was. How could he tell Stiles what he didn't know?

"You're shaking."

Was he shaking? He was trembling maybe. Was there a difference? What made you shiver, or tremble, or shake? Could you do all those things due to fear, or nervousness, or anticipation? Were some of those words partners to others? Were they pairs that were meant to go together like peanut butter and jelly? Or ham and cheese? Or best friends?

"You're freaking me out a little, or maybe a lot. Like I don't know if I should be worried, scrambling for your inhaler? Are you having an asthma attack? A panic attack? Am I having a panic attack?"

Stiles's rambling actually started calming Scott down. The rapid-fire cadence of Stiles's words almost tripping over themselves to get out of his mouth before his brain could analyze them was so familiar that it chipped away at the force gripped around Scott's heart. Part of him wanted to roll on his back, or sit up to pull his t-shirt back into place, or to just be moving so he wasn't trapped in the horrible paralysis of overanalyzing ever single detail of what was happening. Except that his dick was still being… well still being a dick. If he rolled onto his back, there would be no way that Stiles wouldn't notice the tent in his boxers. If he tried to use his hands to hide his situation it was just going to draw more attention.

"You need to say something, Scott, or I'm just going to keep rambling until I say something I shouldn't. You know I talk when I'm nervous, or scared, or you know, awake. I just keep going until I mess things up and I don't want to say something to mess things up because, you know… You and me, we're like… we're us you know? And I don't want to say something that suddenly makes it so that there's not an us, buds, best friends, peanut butter and jelly or—"

"Ham and cheese," Scott whispered.

"Yeah," Stiles said, letting out a sigh of relief. "Yeah, like ham and cheese. Or bacon and eggs."

"Pineapple and pizza," Scott said, knowing what was going to happen next.

"Okay, first off, I understand the concept of the sweetness countering the saltiness and the sauce, but I'm a simple man, Scott. I don't have some refined pizza palette, like I'm not going to be able to detect the subtle undercurrents of citrus, or the bouquet of robust tomato sauce. I'm just a boy who likes pizza and doesn't need to be impressed by something exotic."

Scott smiled, his nerves let go of the charge they'd been holding for what felt like hours. Keeping his back to Stiles he shifted his legs off the side of the bed, so he could get to a sitting position. He shrugged his shoulders and wiggled a bit so that his shirt would fall back into place. His dick was settling down, being lulled back to sleep by the familiarity of an argument they'd had for years.

"There's more to life than meat, Stiles. It wouldn't hurt you to branch out."

"I like what I like."

"Do you like me?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth Scott regretted it. Was this about to be the moment where they became not an us? Were they not going to be Scott and Stiles anymore? What if Stiles said no, that he didn't like Scott? What if he said yes? How had this one day, this one night caused so much confusion?

"Yeah, of course I like you, dude. We're b-buddies. Best friends."

"T-that's not what I'm asking you," Scott said. "I'm asking if you like me."

Silence descended on them thicker than a dense fog. Scott's heart was hammering so hard he was afraid it was going to come out of his chest. His blood sounded like waves crashing in his ears. It wasn't fair for him to ask Stiles when he wasn't even sure how he felt. Like a coward he threw Stiles under the bus of a question he never should have asked, one that he couldn't answer himself.

"It's late," Stiles whispered. "My head's a little turned around I think, maybe starting a hangover or something from all the whiskey we had earlier."

"Yeah…" Scott tried to swallow but it felt like there were tiny needles in his throat. "M-me too."

Stiles had tossed out the alcohol excuse again. Was it the life raft they needed or the sinking ship that was going to destroy the years they'd spent together becoming best friends?

"We're friends," Stiles said, choking on the words a little bit.

"Yeah," Scott nodded in the darkness. "We're friends."

A week later…

"Stiles what the hell are you doing!"

Scott's heart almost leapt out of his throat when Stiles fell into view hanging upside down. He wasn't even sure how Stiles could be hanging like that.

"You weren't answering your phone! Why do you have a bat?"

They both turned their heads to look at the wooden bat Scott was holding. Scott turned back towards Stiles.

"I thought you were a predator."

"A pred—" Stiles snorted with laughter, "—I know it's late, but you got to hear this. I saw my dad leave twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called. They're bringing in every officer from the Beacon Department and even State Police."

"For what?" Scott asked. He didn't really like where this was going, but he'd spent the last week not really talking to Stiles. Things had been awkward ever since he'd left Stiles's house early in the morning the day after Valentine's Day.

"Two joggers found a body in the woods," Stiles said. He pulled himself up, spun around and dropped to the ground.

"A dead body?" Scott couldn't believe it. A dead body in Beacon Hills?

Stiles stood up, a look of disbelief on his face as he dropped his arms onto the wooden railing of the porch.

"No, a body of water. Yes, dumbass, a dead body." Stiles climbed up over the railing.

Scott leaned on the bat he'd almost hit Stiles with. "What? You mean like murdered?"

Stiles shook his head. "Nobody knows yet, just that it was a girl, probably in her twenties."

"Hold on," Scott said. "If they found the body then what are they looking for?"

Stiles could barely contain his excitement. Scott was getting caught up in his energy. Maybe things were going to be okay after all.

"That's the best part," Stiles said. "They only found haaallf." Stiles's voice went up an octave as he said the last word.

Scott stared at him in disbelief.

"We're going," Stiles said, nodding at him.

Scott was sure he was going to regret agreeing, but he wanted to go back to Stiles and him being best friends, being an us. Like peanut butter and jelly.

Author's Notes:

Well, we've reached the end. It only took about six years. I'm sure that this is probably not the ending that people might have wanted, but I want to stress that it's not really an ending. Going forward from here I'm going to add some additional stories that examine and alter moments from the show to progress the relationship of these two characters. Hopefully everyone who enjoyed this story will let me know about specific scenes from the show they'd like filtered through the lens of this series. I might not be able to deliver things exactly as people want, but hopefully it'll end up being an enjoyable ride.