#anoffering

appreciation post for my new top <3

❝ how was practice, babe? ❞ how fionn aches for the days, not that long ago, where scott would leap over the back of the sofa to lie on top of him. now, fionn's still healing (even if he's mostly there, now), the memory of him being in that hospital lingering in both their minds, and scott walks around, instead. fionn is stretched out on the couch, tv switched to football in the background, snuggled inside an admirals sweatshirt. it was probably scott's to begin with, but he finds himself frequently commandeering his clothes.

he wonders if he looks as small as he feels. and his residual arm is fucking killing him; he's refused anything stronger than ibuprofen since climbing back onto the wagon, and he should probably find his tens machine, but he's reluctant to move. (reluctant to get out of the sweatshirt, too, despite the inside temperature. it's armour; he's hiding.)

he does, however, shift so that there's room for scott to sit down. ❝ i got fired today. well, not fired, they're not allowed to do that. told i wouldn't ever be medically cleared for what i do. did. they're, uh, looking at other things i could do with the department. ❞

it's only taken her three years to perfect the art of rolling a joint. (which, yes, is a fairly long time.) in her defense, though — joints and blunts are saved for special occasions. this, by all standards, was a special occasion. there weren't many people in emma's life who didn't smoke weed. all of her friends and family did, the only exception being stiles. (and marie when they'd first met, but marie didn't know anything about anything when they'd met.) licking the glued edge, she seals the joint and ghosts the flame of her lighter over the seam twice for good measure. enough to dry and moisture without igniting the paper itself. once pleased with her work of art, a grin spreads across her lips as she moves to extend it in stiles' direction, lighter included — only, she stops.

it feels like an entire weight lifted off of her shoulders, to mingle amongst a crowd like this without having to twist herself into knots trying to avoid questions or lingering gazes. ella has now spent a majority of her career in this league, she is hardly a stranger to anyone in this room; and for once, that doesn't make her feel so trapped between these walls. she gets to enjoy this moment as just ella, the thrill of an upcoming post-season on the horizon, and how incredibly special it is to share such an important moment with someone she loves.

pity is the first thing they feel. a deep, understanding sense of pity that nearly makes them ill. breath is held, fingers tighten, and it passes with the blink of the eyes. filling the space is a fragile smile.

“ can any of us ? ” because even the strongest warrior would crumble beneath this weight, but what else can they do but endure? this thought is shared when florence says, “ what can we do but keep going ? turning back now would mean it was all for nothing, doesn’t it ? ”

this has been an exercise in restraint—and fionn only has himself to blame. when he'd invited @anoffering to the climbing centre, his motivations had been twofold. first, he wanted to share something he enjoys with the man he likes; he was a little tired of calling going for a run together a date. and he'd wanted to show off, just a little. his persuasive argument had been a couple of videos, after all, fionn from the ground in a tank top and shorts as he worked through a bouldering problem; he knows he looked good, that they showed off his arms. and scott's an athlete; its nice to be good at something physical, around him.

but god, it's hard not to touch him. and it hurts a little, too, that this is all that they get. doesn't scott want more? fionn wants dinners in actual restaurants, and to hold his hand, and to be able to kiss him in public. not to call him man and be limited to fucking high fives. is this all it's ever going to be?

❝ yeah, use your legs for momentum! ❞ he calls up, watching scott work through a slightly harder route—and if that mostly means staring at his ass, so what? nobody's going to know. he's given scott equal opportunity to do the same to him. once scott's made his way back to the ground, fionn claps him on the shoulder (platonic, platonic, platonic; don't leave it there too long, don't let your thumb stroke, don't linger), gaze caught on the chalky outline of his hand on his shirt. ❝ good job, man. you had enough? ❞ he smiles, pushing his hair off his forehead. ❝ or if you're good with going higher, we could race a couple of times before heading out? ❞ he gestures over to the speed climbing area, with its leads and tall walls. ❝ promise i'd go easy on you. ❞