Stiles is the best character

The black metal band on his finger was clear as day. You could see it from nearly across the room, glinting in the hanging lights where his weathered hand wrapped around his lowball tumbler. She must have been able to see it with how intently she gazed at him, drinking him in as if she’d never seen a man before. 

That made it all the worse. Accidents happened, a stumble turning into brushed shoulders that could be laughed off, but this, this, was purposeful. It was a choice she was making, to cozy up to Jack, to not look at his wedding band as if it would merely poof out of existence.

Fuck that.

You were storming over before you realized it.

Jack’s face lit up as he spotted you, still a few feet away.

“There’s my girl,” he greeted warmly. His arm was outstretched, welcoming you against his side, the spot by your stool still occupied by the pretty brunette woman who’d had her hands all over him.

“Hi, baby,” you said sweetly, stepping into his embrace and leaning even closer, one hand cupping his cheek to steady him as you kissed him deeply. He made a small sound of surprise in the back of his throat, but kissed you back without hesitation, his arm wrapping further around you to hold you close. His eyes were dark when you parted, a faint questioning look passing behind them as you grinned at him coyly, bottom lip caught between your teeth. 

“Making friends?” you asked lightly, settling yourself sideways on his lap, making sure to favor his good leg before you pressed one more kiss to his temple, your fingers combing through the thick curls at the back of his head. When you turned to face the woman, smiling overly sweetly at her, you felt a sick twinge of satisfaction to see the way her lips pursed together tightly.

“Sweetheart, this is Jessie,” Jack introduced, gesturing to the woman. His words lilted with faint humor, like he was watching his favorite reality show and the drama had just gotten good. “She was just complimenting my shirt.”

You laughed weakly. Of course she was. Just the thick flannel, surely it had nothing to do with the way he filled it out with his broad shoulders and thick, bulging biceps. 

“It looks like really good quality,” Jessie said, desperately trying to sound neutral. “What is it, cotton?”

Jack hummed, looking to you with a faint smirk. “I wouldn’t know,” he admitted. “This one bought it for me.” His arm tightened around you for a moment, giving you a slight squeeze. 

You frowned, your hand running up and down his chest to feel the fabric as you thought. She wasn’t wrong, it really was a good shirt. You’d always loved the soft feel of it under your hands when you ran your hands over his shoulders, sometimes bunching the fabric in your fists when he caught you off guard with an especially deep kiss. 

“I don’t remember.” You chuckled, giving her an easy smile. “Guess I’ll have to check later when he takes it off.”

Jessie nodded once in silent understanding, swallowing thickly before she picked up her drink from the counter. It was so close to the one you’d left Jack to look over for you that it had left a ring of condensation on the edge of the napkin you used as a coaster. 

“Right, well, I guess I’ll leave you to it,” she said, doing her best to paste on a cheerful smile to match her overly chipper tone. Her words sounded hollow, her finger tracing the rim of her glass as her eyes moved between you and Jack.

You only nodded, giving her an almost sympathetic smile to watch her go from your perch on Jack’s lap, fingers still twirling through his curls in a way you knew from countless hours curled up together that he loved. You picked up your own glass to sip, and Jack had to duck his head into the crook of your neck to muffle the sudden laugh he let slip at the way her eyes widened when she saw your wedding ring. 

A flicker of pride went through him, glad that even after so long together, he had made the right choice that day. Hours of designing had gone into your set of rings, months spent deliberating every curve of the band and cut of the stone before he finally showed you, wanting to make every detail perfect for you, to give you something as beautiful as you were that you would never want to take off. And you never did. 

“Have a good night, Jessie!” you called as she retreated. 

Jack gave you a warm look when she was out of earshot, dark hazel eyes trailing over your face like he wanted to catch every detail of it.

“You handled that mildly,” he drawled, amusement curling at the corner of his mouth. His eyes glimmered, the corners creasing the way they always did, bearing the weight of his hidden smile for him. 

You laughed, adjusting your position on his lap to wrap both arms behind his neck. 

“Careful, Jack,” you teased. “I might think you liked seeing me all possessive.”

He only hummed, the deep vibration carrying through his chest and into your side pressed against it, lifting one shoulder before letting it down into a small shrug. 

“You expect me to be upset to have you all over me, playing with my hair?” He gave you a cocky smirk, gaze lowering for just a moment to your lips before flicking back up. Your breath caught, and he noticed, head tilting slightly as he looked up at you through his lashes that had no business being so thick. 

“Thought for a moment you might smash a bottle over her head,” he continued, though his voice had dropped. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you higher up his lap as he adjusted how he sat on the barstool. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him, but he was far from complaining. “That what you want, honey? Me having to stitch her up?”

The thought of his hands on her made you angry enough to bite your tongue. 

“That’s exactly why I didn’t,” you pointed out smugly, nestling even closer until the tip of your nose brushed the bridge of his. “I’d much rather keep you as my private doctor, Jack.”

He laughed through his nose, his unblinking gaze meeting yours without dropping. “I’ll be your anything, baby, but I don’t think I should be your doctor.”

You rolled your eyes, giving his scruffy cheek a kiss before fully melting against him, nuzzling into the side of his neck.

“Have it your way then. I’ll just make Robby my emergency contact.”

A sharp laugh left Jack before he could stop it. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands rest heavy on his knees, fingers perfectly still. His eyes are wide, unblinking, fixed entirely on the curtains. He’s sinking, trapped in a gray fog where past regrets and future dread blur together into absolute nothingness.

Outside the open bedroom door, small sneakers squeak against the hallway tile.

Your five year old daughter stops in her tracks. She carries a stuffed dog by its ear, her eyes peeking into the bedroom. She watches her dad for a long moment.

He doesn't move.

He doesn't even seem to breathe.

She’s seen this look before.

She turns on her heel and runs back to the kitchen, where you’re leaning against the counter. She tugs sharply on the hem of your shirt, her brow furrowed.

"Mama," she whispers urgently, pointing a finger back down the hall. "Dada is doing it again."

Your heart aches slightly, but you don't let it show. You know exactly what she means.

You set down your mug, offering her a reassuring smile. "Is he? Well, let's go, sweet girl."

You scoop her up into your arms, settling her against your hip. She wraps her arms around your neck, burying her face for a second before looking toward the bedroom.

When you enter the bedroom, Andrew hasn't moved an inch. He looks entirely detached from his own body, a ghost sitting in a room he built.

You position her on Andrew's right, and you sit down quietly on the other side. The bed shifts, but he doesn't react.

"Hey," you say softly. "Look who found you."

Andrew doesn't turn, but a microscopic twitch in his jaw tells you he’s trying to fight his way back through the fog.

"Okay, careful, on three, babygirl," you whisper, leaning close to Andrew's side. She mimics you perfectly, leaning her small frame against his right side, her face inches from his cheek.

"One... two... three."

Simultaneously, you press a kiss to his left cheek while your daughter plants a loud and sloppy kiss on his right.

The physical contact snaps through him.

Andrew blinks rapidly, the dull film clearing from his eyes as a sharp breath hitches in his chest. His gaze lands on his babygirl's hopeful smile, and then at you.

The tension in his shoulders visibly melts away.

"There you are," you murmur, reaching up to gently cup the back of his neck, your thumb smoothing over his hairline.

Andrew swallows hard, his hand coming up to cover yours, pressing your palm firmly against his skin as if to convince himself you're actually there. He reaches out with his other arm, wrapping it securely around his daughter's waist and pulling her tightly into his chest. He buries his face in her curls, breathing her in, baby shampoo and sunshine, before looking back at you, his eyes clear and entirely present.

"I'm here," he rasps, feeling grounded.

Andrew shifts the toddler so she’s sitting right on his lap, her back pressed against his chest. His arms wrap around her.

She looks up at him. "You were gone, Dada."

"I was," Andrew murmurs, his voice softening. He gently tucks a stray curl behind her ear, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "But you brought me back."

She beams, entirely proud of her mission. She reaches up, her small hands grabbing both sides of his face, squishing his cheeks together. "Mama said we have to kiss the monsters away."

A smile breaks across Andrew’s face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. "Did she?" he asks, glancing up at you with softness.

"Mmhmm!" She nods solemnly, releasing his face to pat his nose. "Are they gone?"

Andrew catches her tiny hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss right into her palm. "Every single one. Thank you, bug."

She giggles, the sound bright and musical, and immediately squirms until she can bury her face in his neck, hugging him tightly.

“I’m fine, I used to run marathons. I just scrambled upstairs. Are you ready to go? Wanna take a bath” you grin, standing up slightly and opening the car door as you slip your bag onto the floor, “I’m fine Brendon, really”

His shoulders don’t relax, his face still looks like he’s trying not to say something that he wants to say, “okay” you settle back in the car as he starts the engine, checking both ways before pulling out of the reserved parking spot, “did you have a good shift?” He asks, a hand gingerly touching over the bump of your stomach

You nod, “a mom told dad not to look as she was pushing and, he looked and he passed out. So we had to manage that” You shrug, “you promise you won’t look when I have baby?”

Brendon’s frown softens, “I promise, but I’ve seen this all before? I did my time in the pink scrubs” He comments, “but I’ll stay with you”

You smile, “oh- and if I poop on the table. I don’t wanna know. Don’t tell me. My coworkers are already going to see my vagina, I don’t need to know if they saw me poop”

Brendon laughs softly, “m’sorry. I won’t tell you. I promise. You think I’m gonna pass out during it?”

You turn to look at him, his face turned to the road as he merges onto the highway, “I hope not. I think you’re gonna cry though”

He’d roll his eyes if he thought it wouldn’t be true, but he cried when you told him you were pregnant, cried during the honeymoon, and the wedding, and the day he proposed, the day he bought that fat diamond that now sits on your left hand.

“How was your shift, good bone breaks?” You ask, sleepily closing your eyes as he goes on about his day, it’s just words to fill the time before he has you undressing and taking your jewelry off and stepping into the warm bath.

Warm, not hot water, which irritates you as you dip in. Brendon helps you forward, just so he can sit you between his thighs, his chest against your back. Hands rubbing softly against your bump, “how do you feel? Too warm?”

You shake your head, “not warm enough, I know it can’t be over 100 degrees but, bren I like to be boiling”

You know his response, the fact it’s unsafe. You can’t overheat, they the baby doesn’t overheat.

You lean back against him, sighing softly as you relax, “my boobs hurt”

Brendon hums, “I’m sorry baby, you want me to massage them?”

You shake your head, “no. I’m hungry, what are you making your baby mama for dinner?”

Brendon wraps his arms round you, “you’re my wife, not my baby mama”

You’re still smiling, “didn’t answer my question”

“I haven’t done the grocery shopping, I’ll bring you a pizza” he kisses your cheek as your timer pings.

“It’s not been fifteen minutes” you complain, “please Brendon”

He shakes his head, and helps you out of the tub, drying you off, letting you use his shoulders to balance on as you out your underwear back on, you make him feed you pizza in bed.

Settled underneath the plush cushions and covers of your bed, plate in your hands as the TV plays some silly comedy Brendon had picked out for you.

He lays next to you, his head against your thigh, only getting up to bring your plate back to the kitchen.

Brendon cuddles next to you, you curled into his side. Leg tossed over his side, his hand wrapped around your thigh, “I love you” you whisper in his ear, palm flat against his sternum.