Two new members in the FBI (Rewritten)

Chapter 51

Previously on Two new members in the FBI

Stiles hums, something soft and content, and relaxes again, already drifting.

I lie there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the last remnants of that quiet settle into something steadier inside me.

Not the kind that feels fragile.

The kind that holds.

And this time, when I close my eyes, it isn't because everything has finally gone still—it's because I know it doesn't have to for things to be okay.

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October 18th, 2024

Morning in Beacon Hills settles in gradually, like the house itself is waking up in layers. The light filters through the curtains in soft gold, catching on dust in the air, stretching across the floor in quiet lines that shift as the sun climbs. There's a steadiness to it here, something older than routine, something that doesn't rush you even when the day technically starts.

I'm already awake when it happens.

Boston is stretched across my chest, his body warm and solid in a way that still surprises me sometimes. He's not sleeping anymore—hasn't been for a while—but he's not upset either. Just... present. His fingers open and close slowly against my shirt, like he's testing how they work today, like he's cataloging something new about himself in real time. Every now and then, he makes a small sound, something soft and thoughtful, and I swear it feels less like noise and more like observation.

Twelve weeks.

The number sits differently now than it did before. It's not just time passing—it's change, layered and visible. He's more aware, more deliberate. Even the way he moves feels more controlled, like his body is catching up to something his mind already understands.

"You're thinking," I murmur quietly, brushing my hand over his back in a slow, steady motion. "I can tell."

He makes a small sound in response, not quite a coo, not quite anything definable, but enough that I catch myself smiling anyway.

The door opens a few minutes later with a soft creak, and Stiles leans in, already dressed for the day. His hair is still doing whatever it wants, and his eyes aren't fully awake yet, but he's moving, which is usually a good sign.

"You've been up for a while," he says, stepping inside and lowering his voice automatically.

"Yeah," I reply, shifting slightly so Boston doesn't slide. "He decided sleep was optional."

Stiles hums, crossing the room and pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head before looking down at Boston. His expression changes immediately, softening in that way it only ever does around him.

"Morning, chaos gremlin," he murmurs. "You planning on being reasonable today, or should we prepare for emotional warfare?"

Boston blinks up at him, completely neutral.

"Wow," Stiles mutters. "The judgment. I can feel it."

I let out a quiet breath that almost counts as a laugh and adjust Boston slightly, making sure he's comfortable. "He's been like this for a while. Just... awake."

"That's somehow worse," Stiles says, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "At least when he's crying, we know what he wants."

"He wanted to exist, apparently."