Stiles knew something was wrong when Peter came home unusually quiet. Not that the man was the chatterbox of the two of them, but the older wolf usually made at least two sarcastic remarks in the first five minutes home. However it's now been almost five hours and the most that Stiles received was a hum of acknowledgment when he had asked what Peter wanted for dinner.
"Peter," Stiles called out, attempting again to talk, "you okay?"
From the kitchen the spark watched as his boyfriend finally turned away from the book he'd been reading (staring at blankly) and gave a small smile. Though his eyes blink slowly as if he were just coming out of a dazed dream.
"Yeah," he replies, setting the book down and getting up," I am."
Stiles returns the smile with one of his own, although lips closed and eyebrows scrunched in worry, and begins working on making pasta. But he listens still, to the sound of Peter shuffling into the kitchen and settling on the chair in front of him. And he listens to the sigh that the wolf releases and the drum of his fingers.
"Can you help me with mashing the potatoes?" At the question, Peter gives a slow nod before reaching for the bowl and metal masher utilencle.
The sounds of the two of them cooking fill the kitchen as they both focus on what they each are doing. Stiles however also has Peter on his mind, and Peter was lost on his own. It wasn't until the ding of the stove going off- signalling that it was finally hot enough for the pie- that Stiles spoke up once again.
"You know you can always talk to me if you need to right?" he questioned, "I love you Peter. And I'm always here if you need an ear to listen or a shoulder to cry."
The young hazeled eyed boy watches as Peter suddenly stops moving, dropping the masher into the bowl of potatoes carelessly. When he looks up at Stiles his eyes are filled with a gleam of unshed tears. Stiles rushes around the island to pull Peter into his arms, the action causing the older man to let out a muffled sob.
"Peter- "
"I can't do it," Peter says in one breath.
"Can't do what Peter?" confusion coloring Stiles tone as he tries to figure out what it is.
But Peter pulls back suddenly, his hands going up to cradle Stiles' face. A smile tugs his lips as he looks at Stiles, but it's filled with sadness and deep regret. This look is what causes Stiles bubbling panic. A mix of dread of a breakup and fear of Peter doing something to hurt himself swirling inside the pit of his stomach.
"I love you Stiles," Peter says quietly, "But I can't spend Christmas with you..."
YOU ARE READING
Simply Steter
FanfictionA collection of Steter short stories. Some are happy, some are sad, but all of them are about love.
