Scott McCall oneshots

My Girl (Sciles)

Scott let out a soft breath as he smoothed down the skirt against his thighs. He balanced carefully on the edge of the tub in his bathroom so he could be level with his mirror. He used his hand to prop himself up against the wall so he wouldn't slip as he moved. He watched in the small mirror above the sink as the skirt swayed with his motions.

He had found it accidentally. He was clearing out some boxes from the attic, looking for old things to sell to make a bit of extra cash for the bills. The skirt had been in a box of old clothes, presumably belonging to his mother when she was his age. It had caught his eye almost instantly.

Scott didn't know why he kept it, didn't know why he had shoved it under his bed. But he had. And he had thought about it every day since for the past week. About how it would feel to wear it, to be someone else. He blamed his curiosity. He couldn't get his mind off of it. His hands itched to reach underneath his bed and pull it out. After a week, he finally did.

The skirt was short and grey, falling just less than halfway down his thighs. His mother had been shorter than him when it had belonged to her. He bit his lip and stepped off the tub carefully and onto the floor. He wandered into his room, feeling the skirt moving with him.

He shuffled over to his bedside locker and opened the sock drawer with shaky hands. He pulled out a pair of his lacrosse socks and sat on his bed.

He made sure to smooth the skirt down before he sat. He crossed one leg over the other and carefully pulled the white sock on and up until it reached halfway up his calf. He repeated the process with his other foot just as slowly.

He leaned back on his elbows and lifted his leg. He tilted his head as he stared. He moved his legs in a bicycle motion, watching and feeling. He stood up and spun around, looking down at himself happily.

He took a few steps forward and then backwards and twirled again. The short material flared out a little and his socks slid against the wood floor, allowing him to spin easily. He was hyperaware of the materials rubbing against his legs. It made him feel bubbly inside. He didn't know why he felt this way, why he felt slightly breathless but in a good way. Why he felt so... pretty.

Scott smiled, a genuine lob-sided grin as he let out a laugh of disbelief. He twirled around again happily, glad his mother wasn't home for once.

A sudden bang outside his window caused him to jump and scream mid-twirl. His wide eyes snapped over to the window, making eye contact with a similarly shocked Stiles through the glass.

Scott fell over in his attempt to hide himself, his socks slipping and knocking him backwards. He gasped as his head hit the floor and he quickly tried to pick himself up.

Warm hands were suddenly on him, helping him sit up and cradling his head.

"Stiles, what the hell?!" Scott moved away quickly. He uselessly tried to cover his skirt with his arms as he pulled the socks down to a normal length.

He could feel the tears welling in his eyes, he didn't know if it was from shame or the knock he had taken to his head.

"Get out. Get out!" Scott yelled, moving away from his best friends helping hands. He pointed uselessly to the door. 

"Scott-"

His tears began to fall, the panic setting deep in his chest causing his throat to swell. He gasped helplessly, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest and throat.

"Go 'way!" Scott gasped out a sob. He could only see movement in front of him, all details blurred by his free flowing tears.

A piece of plastic was suddenly pressed against his lips. He could barely hear Stiles' frantic words, as though he was underwater, as he wrapped his lips around the plastic. He breathed in as Stiles pushed down on the inhaler. He held the medicine in his lungs for awhile, counting in his head to calm down.