[txt: scott mccall] omg youre good dw about it
[txt: scott mccall] ill see you on saturday ok?
Stiles’ attention seems to drift away from texting, there, but at least he doesn’t actually seem mad or like he’s judging Scott. He’s just easily distracted.
Time ticks on, and eventually the time for the company picnic that Stiles has invited Scott to rolls around. The house that the address leads Scott to is a brownstone in the heart of Brooklyn, and parking nearby is abysmal, which might explain why Stiles takes the subway everywhere and why he has a dog small enough to fit in a backpack. The house itself, however, is clean and nicely appointed, and smells like a variety of different barbeque staples.
The front door is unlocked, festooned with balloons to indicate the right one for the party. Scott is not greeted by any humans, but he is greeted by two little dogs running up to the opening door, tails wagging at high velocity. One of them, he might recognize as Buddy Stilinski, from the pictures. The other is a little white dog with an underbite. They both look like they are in desperate need of pets.
Straight across the open concept first floor is the kitchenette and the door to the back yard. Stiles is standing at the stove, cooking something, while there is a woman at the island behind him, fussing with looks like hors d’oeuvres. Stiles looks up and beams at Scott, calling out a, “Heyyyy, Scott, glad you could make it!”
The woman standing behind Stiles leans over to him and whispers sotto-voce, “Is that the hot rookie?!”
Stiles’ response is mostly to threaten his friend with his spatula.
Thanks to Scott’s busy schedule, he doesn’t have a ton of time leftover to wonder if Stiles is regretting all his life choices or not, so that’s nice. Of course, also thanks to that busyness, he almost misses that the day of the party arrives when it does.
Almost. He luckily thought to set an alarm for the day before, which gives him enough time to swing by his favorite paletería and fill a cooler with paletas in a variety of flavors. That seems like a good choice for a sunny barbecue thing, right?
Anyway. When he gets to Stiles’s place, he’s a little nervous to just let himself in, but the sound of barking helps move him along. Instantly, he’s kneeling to greet two small dogs, making sure they stay out of the cooler but giving them tons of attention in pats and friendly words.
He looks up when he hears his new friend’s voice, opens his mouth just to shut it again. Instead, he takes the time to push himself back up to standing, looking down to hide the way he’s slightly warm in the face by the woman’s not-quiet-enough words. Also the weird smile he has from it, amused and touched and kind of embarrassed all at once.
Clearing his throat, he heads on over. “Hey! Uh. You got a place we can put these so they don’t melt?”
A beat, then he rushes to add, “thanks for inviting me, man!”