Skin Deep (Are the Secrets I Keep)

CHAPTER 15

A/N: This will be the last part for a while.

-0-0-0-

The next several months pass like that. They meet up for at least a couple hours on most days now, more on weekends, and they don't spend all that time just swimming. Stiles is smart but he's not so smart that he doesn't have to actually sit down and crack his textbooks open and do his homework. On those days, Stiles usually crashes at Peter's apartment. The place is tiny and old and not anything like how Stiles imagines Peter's ideal living space would be, but it's clean and looks lived in, and there's no chance of the Sheriff suddenly turning up, which is rare even at the Stilinski household but it has happened a couple times when the man wanted a change of clothes or was off-shift, and Peter was forced to vacate out the window.

At Peter's, there's only the two of them, and he likes how Peter leaves him to his work when he's in the middle of something, never interrupting him when he's focused on absorbing pages of information or researching for his essays unless it's to eat. Peter just occupies himself with other things, devouring more of the books from Claudia's chest that Stiles now gives him free access to, drawing up lists of what he wants to bring with him and what else he might need to buy, or working on yet another letter to Talysse because they are apparently now best pen-pals or something.

It's March when Peter is finally able to touch Stiles' pelt without Stiles freaking out. They're not actually out at the lake this time. Instead, they're on Peter's couch with The Force Awakens rolling credits up the screen of Stiles' laptop.

Peter is asleep. Stiles would be miffed but he's long since noticed that Peter has bouts of... drowsiness on occasion, although when Stiles asked about it, Peter assured him he would be fine, even gave him a book on it, that it's just a side-effect of adjusting to his anchor as well as finally breaking what little was left of the familial bond between him and Derek that Peter's been using as something of a crutch even back when he was still Alpha. Stiles is pretty sure he isn't lying, the book on packs and how they affect a werewolf's health corroborates it, and it's true that these episodes have steadily lessened since January, so whenever Peter gets like this, Stiles just makes sure he's comfortable.

He shuts off his laptop instead, then glances over at Peter again. The werewolf is slumped to his left where the couch is slightly curved inward, providing a convenient headrest. His arms are crossed loosely in front of him, he's in simple sweats and a shirt today since they haven't even left the apartment, and Stiles slept over last night because it was past midnight by the time they looked up from the map of the Waterways they'd been poring over. The Sheriff's house would've been empty anyway, Peter pointed out reasonably, and Stiles – refusing to take the single narrow bed – ended up on the floor in a surprisingly cushy sleeping bag for the night. Apparently, it was what Peter had been sleeping in before he could afford a mattress.

It's moments like that that makes Stiles consider going over to Derek's loft and slashing up his stupid Camaro's leather seats and tires.

He shakes away those thoughts and sets aside his laptop instead before looking over at Peter again. Absently, he tugs at his right sleeve, an idea forming in his head. Maybe... Maybe it would be easier this way.

He dithers over it for several minutes before finally pulling up his sleeve and unravelling the pelt underneath, spreading what he can across his lap and letting the rest spill to the floor, silvery soft on one side, craggy and disgusting on the other. His hands flutter over it before curling around one edge and checking Peter again.

Still asleep. Good.

He takes a deep breath, then leans over and carefully drapes his pelt over Peter's body, good side around his shoulders, ugly side at shin-level. He makes himself let go, stomping down hard on the urge to snatch his skin back.