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“Theo. Theo.”
Theo barely hums at the sound of Liam’s voice from the bed.
“Theo. Hey. Theooo.”
Theo grunts this time. His eyes still trained on the graphing paper in front of him, he angles his body away from the desk and toward the bed. Finally he bites out, “What?”
“I’m reading this article and it’s really interesting. Here, you should take a look—” Liam finishes his own thought by hooking his ankle around the leg of the office chair and wheeling Theo over to the edge of the bed, and then shoving his phone under Theo’s nose. Theo growls as he’s ripped away from his homework, mechanical pencil still in hand, and is momentarily blinded by the glare of Liam’s screen.
“Liam!” he snaps.
“Just read it.” Liam wiggles the phone again under Theo’s chin. The chimera graces the screen with a glare, then furrows his brow and slowly takes the device from Liam as he catches sight of the stock photo of a father and son hugging on the steps of a porch.
“Is this related to your paper on Moby Dick?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Why aren’t you working on your paper for Moby Dick?”
“I’m taking a break!” Liam says defensively. “It’s not relevant to the paper, per se, but it’s relevant to you.”
Theo scoffs but grudgingly starts to read. He thumbs through the article’s lengthy exposition, the author’s personal anecdotes about their relationship with physical affection with their family, and then—he abruptly realizes that he’s reading an article on hugs.
“Eight hugs a day?” Theo reads aloud as he finally stumbles on the writer’s thesis statement, buried atrociously somewhere in there after four paragraphs.
“Yup.” Liam shoves his laptop and notebook away and scoots closer to Theo at the edge of the bed, his knees knocking against the chimera’s. “She’s saying that human beings essentially need an average of eight hugs or displays of physical affection per day in order to develop a healthy sense of affirmation.”
“Eight hugs a day,” Theo repeats skeptically. “Sounds…excessive.”
“Sounds just about right to me,” Liam chirps. “If not actually a bit of a conservative estimate.”
Theo leans back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest, smirking. “I didn’t get eight stupid hugs a day, but I sure as hell came out feeling affirmed just fine.”
Liam squints at him. “Okay, but did you?” At Theo’s scoff, Liam kicks him softly in the shin with a socked foot. “Well, did you?”
“I know I have super strength and I’m pretty easy on the eyes, too,” Theo assures him with a lazy grin.
Liam rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Yeah, you can feel hot as shit, but what good is that if you don’t, like, believe you have inherent value or whatever?”
Theo frowns at that. “I do have inherent value or…whatever.”
Liam rolls him a very particular look. “Your inherent value is not as the pack errand boy or sacrificial lamb, just FYI.”
“I am neither of those things,” Theo insists. “Why are you showing me this, anyway? Go back to psychoanalyzing Ishmael and shit. I got my calc problem set to finish.”
“Deflection,” Liam singsongs under his breath. “It sounds like you haven’t realized your inherent value. You know what that means? You need a hug.”
“Nope. No. I do not need a hug.” Theo attempts to wheel away, but Liam’s faster, shooting out to trap Theo’s knees between his and pin him there, or else end up sliding off the office chair onto his butt on the bedroom floor. “Liam.”
“You need a hug,” Liam insists. He leans forward with his arms out. Theo leans back, his crossed arms growing tighter over his chest, and he screws his eyes shut as he presses as far back as he can into the chair.
“Or…a friendly pat?” Liam amends. A second later, the soft warmth of his palm presses against Theo’s shoulder. Theo tentatively blinks his eyes open.
“Sorry,” Liam says with a lopsided little smile. “We can probably work you up to the hug.”
Theo really, really would rather not, but he doesn’t say this. He also doesn’t mention that the gentle pressure of Liam’s hand on his shoulder wasn’t totally unwelcome. He doesn’t think it’s very relevant to this conversation.
“We do need to work on your sense of affirmation, though,” Liam goes on. “You know you matter, right?”
Theo glowers at him. “What do you think I am, five?”
“You matter,” Liam stresses. “Despite what you might have grown up thinking about yourself. You’re your own person with your own valid feelings and hopes and dreams and—”
“Stop,” Theo mutters.
“I’m serious. I don’t think you ever developed a sense of having personal aspirations.”
“My personal aspirations were to maim everybody and steal your pack,” Theo snaps. “Now my personal aspiration is to get you to shut up.”
“Your personal aspirations,” Liam goes on, unperturbed, “are about who and what you want to be. Not what everybody else expects you to be. And you can and should have those personal aspirations. Theo, you deserve to have these things in li—”
“Liam. Stop.” Theo slides his hands over his face. He’s not having trouble breathing. He’s not.
“I’m not gonna stop until you believe me. You’re smart, and you have value and worth—”
“I need a fucking safe word,” Theo chokes out behind his hands.
He doesn’t need to peek through his fingers to know Liam’s mouth is upturned now in that smug, totally unadorable grin of his. He can already smell it on Liam’s scent, thick with pride and amusement and—fondness?
“Theo…”
“I’m not playing around,” Theo growls. “Seriously. I’d rather take the stupid hug over this.”
“…Really?”
“Don’t wag your tail about it. I only said yes this once.” Theo drops his hands from his face, and yep, Liam’s face is split in two with a radiant and blinding grin. Christ, how did Theo end up like this, getting so easily manipulated by Liam of all people into choosing a hug over cheesy verbal affirmations?
Liam nudges Theo’s thigh with his knee and pats the space on the bedspread next to him. Reluctantly, but deciding it would be better for all parties involved to just get this over with as soon as possible, Theo slides out of the office chair and onto the mattress to Liam’s side. Liam immediately leans over and wraps his arms around Theo’s torso, pinning the chimera’s own arms in place in the process, and practically scoops Theo closer so he’s forced to lean forward against the solidness of Liam’s shoulder in order to regain his balance. Theo’s breath catches in his throat. He didn’t realize until now that his heart rate has kicked up a notch, and he struggles to wrangle it back down, focusing on breathing in and out, inhaling and exhaling deeply enough to return to some sense of normalcy. Except that his deep breathing fills his lungs then with the tender scent of Liam’s (frankly inexplicable) affection, and it has Theo choking just a little bit.
Jesus, just how long are normal hugs supposed to last?
Liam gives him a final squeeze and pulls back with a noisy inhale. The ends of his overgrown hair tickle the side of Theo’s jaw as he leans away. “Good?”
Theo takes a moment to breathe before answering. “Yeah,” he replies in a rasp.
“Good,” Liam murmurs. He seems reluctant to let go, but he finally does. Then the corners of his lips upturn in another impish smirk. “Just so you know, you’re not off the hook. I am gonna work you up to eight hugs a day. Doesn’t matter how long it takes.”
“Liam,” Theo says tiredly. He can’t look the younger boy in the eye.
“Doesn’t matter how long it takes,” Liam reiterates.
Theo has no choice, then, but to melt a little and reciprocate with a flicker of a smile of his own. “Okay,” he relents on a gusty exhale. “Okay.”
---
Truth be told, half of Theo secretly hopes and wishes that Liam will forget about his silly agreement to get him to eight hugs a day, amid the stress and hubbub of mid-year exams and intense lacrosse games. But the other half of Theo just as secretly yearns to feel the warmth and weight of Liam’s arms around him again, the gentle pressure surrounding him and holding him up, that tender promise that he can just sink into it and—let go.
Thanksgiving comes and goes in a whirl. Some of the older pack members make it back to Beacon Hills to celebrate at the McCall house, and Liam drags him along to the pack dinner with a particular look that brooks no argument. (The point is kind of moot, anyway, considering that Liam still doesn’t have a new car after the Bronco broke down and he is not riding together with Mason and Corey, no matter how much he loves either of them. So Theo’s truck it is for the foreseeable future.) Everybody exchanges an easy variety of bro handshakes and shoulder pats and full-body slams, but when they get to Theo, they thankfully switch it up with soft, fleeting smiles and one-armed squeezes. Only Malia seems intent on getting him into a headlock, since her idea of affection seems to be a two-minute wrestle as they bare their teeth at each other and yip playfully.
(It’s a coyote thing. Don’t look at him.)
Liam corners him by the kitchen island as Theo’s stacking up the used dessert plates that he gathered from one side of the dining table. Theo absolutely does not trust the mischievous glint in his eyes.
“What?” says Theo.
“Don’t think I forgot to give you your hug for the day.”
Theo sighs, moving to plop the stack of plates into the sink. “I thought you were done with that nonsense long ago.”
“Oh, no, that’s a separate hug,” Liam says, much to Theo’s horror. “I meant your hug for the holiday.” And without further ado, he presses up against Theo’s side from behind, his arms winding around the front and back of the chimera’s torso.
“Liam,” Theo says, harried. “I’m washing the dishes.”
“Fuck the dishes,” Liam says cheerily. “I’m hugging you.”
“Not that I condone Liam’s language here, but I share his sentiment,” is Melissa’s amused interjection from the doorway. Theo jerks up and tries to twist around to see Melissa, but Liam makes a little grumbling sound and doesn’t let go, effectively cutting off Theo’s line of vision.
“Seriously, kiddo. Leave the dishes and have fun,” Melissa says with a demonstrative gesture of her spatula as she comes closer to drop it off in the sink. “And I mean fun, not sitting like a statue because you think playing Twister with everyone else is going to dock points in your imaginary ledger.”
Theo tells himself right then and there that he hates having a pack. Seriously, when and where did he even sign up for this shit?
“Liam needs to let go of me first,” Theo says, like that’s even slightly addressing his entire laundry list of issues that Melissa has just aired.
Melissa’s amusement grows. “Liam, let go of Theo.”
“Not my mom,” Liam mumbles into Theo’s shoulder.
Melissa raises her voice and calls without turning her head, “Scott? Get your beta to let go of Theo!”
Scott’s voice drifts into the kitchen, muffled by the material of the couch he’s slouched in against Malia. “Is he murdering Theo?”
“No,” says Melissa.
“That’s debatable,” Theo mutters.
“Then he’s fine,” says Scott in response to his mother.
“We just opened the box of ginger snaps,” Malia hollers.
“Oh. Well. In that case.” Liam unwinds himself from around Theo at lightning speed and books it for the living room.
Theo rubs his bicep as he watches Liam go, as if silently complaining at the lack of circulation from the tightness of the werewolf’s embrace. “Should’ve known I could just toss a treat down the hallway and distract him like an actual puppy,” he muses.
Melissa snorts and points a finger in his direction. “You. Go get some ginger snaps, too. And participate.”
Theo just barely refrains from muttering yes, Mom under his breath because he thinks that’s reaching a little too far into Liam’s repertoire of juvenile comebacks, but that certainly doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it.
(He also does not mean to lean so hard into the second hug that Liam gives him that night on the porch of the Dunbar-Geyer house right before they enter. It’s just that Liam caught him when he was still halfway off the second step, and he needed to catch his balance.)
(It’s all Liam’s fault, is what Theo’s saying, like it usually is.)
---
“Incoming!” Liam says brightly as he bounds into the kitchen the next day.
Theo glances up from where he’s stirring the pancake batter while David tends to the pan and Jenna grates some orange rind for her drink. “Incoming what?”
Liam doesn’t respond, just weaves around his parents to beeline for Theo and wrap his arms very securely and very annoyingly around the chimera’s waist.
“Watch the spatula,” Theo grouses, just barely refraining from cussing in front of Liam’s parents.
“Morning, Mom. Morning, Dad,” Liam says, as if Theo hadn’t spoken at all.
Theo’s tempted to swat Liam on the head with the spatula. He’s point-three seconds away from doing it, too, except that he remembers that David would not appreciate having his son’s unwashed werewolf hair in the pancake batter, no matter how much he may love Liam.
“What are you doing?” Theo deadpans.
“It would appear he’s giving you a hug, Theo,” Jenna says dryly. She tops off the whipped cream in the first mug with the orange zest and moves on to the next one.
“I hear you,” says Theo through his teeth, “but why?”
“I got you up to two yesterday without you complaining,” is Liam’s explanation. “Well, without you complaining much. So we’ll see if we can get you to three.” He shrugs and, thankfully, pulls back to move over and pester David at the stove.
Theo exchanges a mortified look with David. “Please let me work in the garage today.”
“It’s Thanksgiving break, kid. You’re not tinkering with cars on your break.”
“Liam hates me in grease. David, I beg you.”
“I don’t hate you in grease,” Liam interjects, and then clarifies the point as if it’s an essential distinction: “I don’t hate the sight of you in grease, just the smell.”
“I’m okay with the smell,” Jenna says in a lilt after taking a long, loud slurp of her cocoa. “Just…thought you should know.”
Theo opens his mouth to say no, NO, but Liam’s already snapping his fingers excitedly. “Yes! You could hug him for me!”
“Great, now you’re delegating your torture to your parents.”
“I’m training to be an alpha,” Liam says sweetly. “Delegation’s one of the key skills of a good leader.”
“Just smother me now and get it over with.”
A spark lights up in Liam’s eyes like he’s choosing to interpret Theo’s choice of smother quite liberally, but has the judiciousness not to share with the class when his parents are present. Instead he says, “That’s not how family hugs work.”
“I’ve gotta agree with Liam on this one,” says David. “There’s got to be an organicness to it.”
Theo wants to full shift and just bolt out of the kitchen, honestly. The only thing holding him back is the amount of time he’s already spent helping David make the batter, and it’s only fair that he get to taste the damn pancakes.
“We’ll check in with you before hugging you,” Jenna assures him, shifting to a more serious tone. “If you really don’t want it, you let us know, and we’ll respect your boundaries.”
Theo eyes her warily. “Check in how?”
Jenna smirks askance at Liam before she says, “I’ll say things like, ‘I want to hug you now. Is that okay?’ Certainly a lot more and a lot clearer than ‘Incoming’.”
“Hey--!” Liam says, at which David cuffs him lightly upside the head.
“Why are we doing this again,” Theo groans rhetorically at his spatula.
---
Despite Jenna’s indirect admonition to Liam to be more verbal in checking in with Theo, the younger boy continues to holler “Incoming!” as his warning before wrapping himself around the chimera. Theo has come to not completely hate it. Liam does give him several seconds to decide whether he wants the touch or not, and so far, Theo hasn’t found himself refusing even once. It’s nice, too, that David and Jenna are in on the plan now, because there’s a variety of hugs from them: quick full-body hugs from David that end in a pat on the back of his head, one-armed shoulder rubs from Jenna when he wanders into the same room as her in search of the stapler, or casual elbow squeezes from David as he nudges past Theo to retrieve something from a drawer or reach for the remote. The difference between all the types of touches has Theo relaxing more whenever he’s around one of the Dunbar-Geyers, knowing more or less what to expect and being able to trust that they won’t overstep any boundaries. And though he may never admit it, they also make for an interesting contrast with the anticipated intensity and warmth of Liam’s hugs, which tend to last anywhere between three seconds and ten.
The thing about Liam’s hugs is that even though they tend to appear the same, Theo is able to remember each one distinctly and in detail. He’s not entirely sure why his brain fixates on this, but he finds himself perking up now each time Liam chirps, “Incoming!” and seeking out Liam’s scent to taste it, assess it. There’s always a different tinge to the warm tingle of joy at the base—fruity with excitement when Liam comes bearing good news along with the hug; sharp and woody with concern when Liam’s caught Theo staring off into space instead of enjoying the movie or podcast; muted like vanilla when Liam’s sleepy and wants to go in for a longer cuddle; and fresh like the pines of the Preserve when Liam’s thoughts are elsewhere and the hug will be brief, but just as purposeful as ever.
He starts to catalog the hugs in his head, then. The day Liam sends his first batch of college applications and sits with jitters in his knees before springing up to hug Theo when the chimera pops his head into the bedroom, Liam does this thing where he shifts one of his hands up to splay across the space between Theo’s shoulder blades. The contact makes Theo freeze and his brain short-circuits for a moment. Each finger pad is like a separate pressure point against his skin through the cotton of his hoodie, and he doesn’t know what to make of it, how to interpret the flare of--something aching inside his soul.
Then there’s the day before school gets out for Christmas break that Liam has Theo drive them over to the local café before heading home, and he buys the peppermint dark roast that Theo likes so much while Theo orders Liam’s favorite pumpkin caramel latte on a whim, and they take tentative sips of each other’s favorite drinks before Liam grins at the mint and Theo scowls at the caramel. Liam stumbles to his feet purportedly on his way to the bathroom, but not before wrapping Theo in an awkward, one-armed hug while leaning up a bit on his tiptoes to reach Theo on the high stool, and then whispers in his ear, “Be right back!” as he leaves Theo there drowning in the sweetness of Liam’s scent and wondering when he started being aware of the almost painful twinge of yearning in his heart.
Yearning. What a strange word, and a stranger feeling, and a wholly unfamiliar taste on his tongue.
It tastes like the zing of lemon in Liam’s scent when they’re arguing over the more efficient way to spoon out the sauce over the spaghetti and Liam decides the best way to win the debate is hug Theo, pinning his arms to his sides, and playfully snarl, “Shut up.”
It tastes like the burst of summer breeze in Liam’s scent when he gets off the phone with Mason and learns that his best friend and their family are staying in town for the holidays this year around, and Theo actually leans over halfway on instinct and Liam meets him with a clumsy and enthusiastic hug where his forearms wrap around Theo’s nape and anchor him there.
It tastes, too, like the soft drift of cotton when Theo ends up tearing up as they watch Home Alone 2 because the reunion between Kevin and his mom at the Rockefeller Center tree got to him, and Liam murmurs something unintelligible but comforting and reels him into a one-armed embrace on the couch with his fingers tenting and tracing patterns into the back of Theo’s hair.
So Theo stops complaining pretty soon after Liam and his family have worked him up to six hugs a day. They’re not always full hugs, but he counts them, starts looking forward to them in any shape or form. He stops leaning away—starts leaning in. One day, he works himself up for a minute in the hallway before stepping into the den and beelining for the letter opener in the empty Goya bean can on Jenna’s desk, and forces his fingers to be light, casual, casual, as he brushes them over the round of her shoulder on his way in and out. She brightens considerably and looks up at him with a fleeting smile.
He even manages to squeeze Liam’s shoulder for a second instead of punching it or pushing him away when Liam says something surprisingly helpful about Theo’s Common Application essay. It only happens once, but Liam beams, and something like a fire lights in Theo’s stomach and keeps him up for hours that night.
---
Butterflies war with dread in Theo’s gut, though, the nearer that Christmas draws. Not because he’s wholly unfamiliar with how to celebrate the holiday—after all, he does have some memories of his biological family having quiet get-togethers around the Christmas season, and some modest sparkles adorning a corner or two in his childhood home—but because the more hyped up Liam and Mason get about Christmas, the deeper Theo sinks under a wave of worthlessness.
He doesn’t belong, he knows. The Dunbar-Geyers opening their home to him was one thing, the extravagant inclusion in family dinners and game nights another; but here is a family that traditionally doesn’t invite others over for the actual celebration of Christmas eve and morning, or so Liam has told him. They might travel before or after the day to see extended family, and Liam would certainly dash off to hang out with Mason and Corey and the puppy pack once the private festivities are over, but the point is that Theo has the distinct feeling that if he sticks around, he’s intruding on something sacred.
He’s done enough desecration around Beacon Hills to know when to leave well enough alone.
So around five p.m. on Christmas Eve, after Theo has done his best to help Jenna and David out as efficiently as possible with the pies and turkey basting, he mutters an excuse about getting fresh air and slips out onto the rear deck with his sneakers hanging from one hand. He slips them on once his socked feet crunch over the stiffened, dried-up blades of grass beyond the porch steps, and then with a single backward glance at the house, he sets out on foot across the backyard and walks briskly down the street in the direction of nowhere in particular.
He stops by the gas station half a mile away first. He brought his wallet and phone with him, so he decides to splurge a little on a suspiciously neon-bright slushie from the churning dispensers against the back wall, then impulsively snags a twin pack of Ding Dongs from the shelf on his way to the counter. He then gathers his things in the rustling plastic bag and plods outside to plop down on one of the concrete parking markers at the side of the building and eat his snacks in peace.
His phone lights up with a text from Liam, asking him where he “hid the silver wrapping paper like a psychopath.”
Theo might be wrapped up in his own pity party right now, but he’s not a jerk. Not too much of one these days, at any rate, and especially not when it comes to Liam’s family. He shoots off a quick text to Liam to check under his bed again, and to not wait up for him because he has some private business to attend to.
There’s the burst of the three dots and Liam’s speech bubble as he types and backspaces and retypes. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again. Finally, the only message that comes in is: Mom and dad say please stay safe.
Theo assures him he will with a thumbs-up emoji.
---
Theo ends up strolling through the tiny downtown of Beacon Hills for three hours. The shops are closed for the evening, but it’s still rewarding for him to peer through the glass windows at the brightly lit displays, the stacks of children’s toys and smart holiday wear, the almost barren samples of popular console games, the antiques and Kinkade paintings and Precious Moments figurines and hand-woven scarves and throw pillows. For a moment he almost considered turning his steps toward the Preserve to sit out in the chill night on the bridge and speak to Tara, but he decided to give himself a bit of a break today, and now he’s glad.
He traces his fingers over the glass of one particular window where he sees a setup of pink hand-painted china and other household finery. One display catches his eye, tucked behind the fancy steak knife set. It’s a snow globe, larger than some of the others he’s seen, and glued to the center are two finely sculpted miniature wolves frolicking around a copse of pines. One of the trees has a twinkling silver star atop it, evidently representative of a Christmas tree.
Theo doesn’t hesitate. He may be a reformed chimera of death, but that doesn’t mean he has qualms about (gently) breaking in and entering to get what he wants. He makes quick work of jimmying the lock on the back door and slipping in, then heading straight for the window to grab the snow globe.
He shakes it and indulges in a little smile as the glittery snow slides around under the glass and cascades down on the wolves. He checks the price sticker on the bottom.
After pulling out a couple of tens from his wallet and slapping them down on the counter, he decides to tear off a strip of receipt paper and scribble out with the spare pen lying around: Sorry for picking your lock. Here’s forty dollars to make up for everything. I just really needed the perfect thing to give to the boy that I like, and I think the snow globe is it. At least I hope so. Really sorry again and I hope you have a nice holiday.
He grabs the pen canister and sticks it over the cash and the note as a paperweight. Then he turns and leaves, taking care to lock the door behind him, and very slowly starts on his way home.
---
Because Theo dallies by the park on his way back, getting lost in his thoughts kicking himself forward and backward on the swings, it’s past midnight by the time he slips back onto the rear deck of the Dunbar-Geyer house.
He winces when he spies a dim light still on in the kitchen. There’s no sound of voices, just Jenna and David’s quiet breathing from upstairs, so he can reasonably conclude that Liam stayed up while his parents went on ahead to bed.
He also hasn’t checked his phone in the last several hours on purpose. Cowardly, maybe, but he’s here now.
Theo pulls open the sliding door with a rasp and takes great care in toeing off his sneakers and arranging them in the corner by the pantry with the other wet shoes. When he can’t delay the inevitable anymore, he lifts his gaze to meet Liam’s wide eyes and thumping heartbeat, and he’s stunned to find the younger boy watching him without a word from his stool at the island. On the granite surface between them is the unmistakable shape of a plate, wrapped in foil.
“Where were you?” Liam says at last.
Theo swallows. He can’t find his voice.
“I wasn’t going to ask,” Liam rushes to say. “You said it’s private and I—I know I’m annoying as shit with my questions and everything, but you disappeared for hours and you didn’t take your truck so there were only two things I could think of that you could be doing…”
Theo glances away, his fists balling in the pockets of his jacket. He has a pretty good guess of what two things Liam means before Liam even says it.
Still, Liam gives voice to those thoughts. “You were either wolfed out in the Preserve, or…the alternative.”
“I’m fine,” Theo says, and it’s the first thing he’s said since coming back, and it’s also one of the least truthful.
He is fine, sort of, at least better than how he was when he first moved in and terrors plagued his sleep, and his head isn’t quite in that place tonight. Still, he and Liam haven’t talked about it--about Theo’s emotional struggles—for quite some time, so he doesn’t blame the other boy for leaping to conclusions.
Liam’s eyes rove over Theo’s face, searching. He pushes the plate across the counter toward Theo.
“We saved a bunch of everything for you.”
Theo pulls the plate the rest of the way toward himself with two fingers. He could microwave it, he knows, but as he peels back the foil and the sight of the slightly warm turkey and the congealed gravy in the mashed potatoes and the slice of pecan pie and cranberry sauce and casserole greets him, he’s suddenly famished. He starts tearing into the meal with the fork and knife that Liam hands him, without further consideration of how embarrassing his ravenous hunger must smell.
Liam sits quietly through it all, drumming his fingers softly on the island from time to time, cupping his chin in his other hand as he watches Theo eat. Once the chimera finishes, Liam gets up briefly to retrieve the apple cider from the fridge and two glasses, and returns to his previous seat to pour it all out.
“I’m sorry for…worrying you,” Theo speaks around a stiff tongue at last.
Liam shakes his head. “You’ll have to apologize to Mom and Dad in the morning, too.”
“I know.”
“Why did you leave?”
“Why should I have stayed?”
Something stricken bolts across Liam’s face. “Theo…I…”
Theo glances down and away.
“Why do you think we’ve been giving you hugs every day?”
“I still don’t know, to be honest,” Theo mutters to the floor. He rests his forehead against his thumb. “Figured I was your pet project.”
“You don’t have to be an asshole about this.”
“I’m not. That’s the thing, Liam, I’m not. I’m just being honest.”
“And so am I,” Liam returns, a little hotly. “I meant what I said. You deserve to be cared for. You deserve to have a home, this home, and a good meal every day and a safe bed to sleep in, and people to talk to you and ask you about your thoughts and dreams. You are not just a ‘pet project.’ I can’t believe that you would still think that, after all this time.”
Theo wonders, if he glowers hard enough at the tile below him, if it will finally open up and swallow him like he deserves.
“We hug you and we wanted you around for Christmas dinner because we love you. Because you’re family.”
Theo’s inhale catches in his throat and he ceases breathing.
“Theo?” Liam whispers.
Theo’s never had a harder time battling the uptick in his heartbeat than now. He’s been through torture by supernatural beings, all kinds of harrowing memories, but trying to breathe around Liam’s simple declaration of the truth has got to be one of the most difficult things he’s ever done.
He thinks he deserves an Olympic gold medal for not keeling over at this point, honestly.
“Theo, look at me.”
He does. Liam’s eyes are shining and not entirely dry. And to be honest, neither are Theo’s.
“I love you.”
“Stop,” says Theo.
“No,” says Liam. “I won’t.”
They lock eyes for an interminable moment. The battery-operated clock with the funny tick in the den lurches in the distance, in the silence.
“Okay,” Theo breathes out, shaky, unmoored, because there comes a time when he has to surrender and face the discomfort of everything he’s afraid of. “Okay. Okay. Liam, I—I love you too.”
This time, Liam’s heart lurches, beats for the hills.
For once in his life, he doesn’t say anything, just stares up at Theo in slack-jawed shock and breathes.
“Seven hugs,” Theo goes on, eyes blurring, and G-d dammit, he wasn’t supposed to cry when he said this but here he is. “I counted. You and David and Jenna gave me seven hugs today. I—I wanted to give you the eighth.”
He moves forward off the stool, doesn’t stop, doesn’t hesitate, because he knows he’ll lose his nerve if he pauses even for a second now. He just feels the tile radiate coolness under his feet and he leans forward and lifts his arms and wraps them around Liam sitting stock-still there on the stool.
It’s awkward at first, but only for a moment. Liam melts an instant later and he reciprocates the hug so tightly, so fiercely, that Theo gasps when the breath is squeezed right out of him.
“Theo,” Liam breathes in his ear.
“If you know what’s good for you,” Theo says with a wobble to his voice, “you’re gonna shut up.”
Liam’s answering laugh is watery. “Shutting up.”
They stand there, swaying, Theo slotted between Liam’s knees and Liam’s fingers running up and down Theo’s back, while Theo tentatively traces circles over Liam’s shoulder blades and drinks in the scent of warmth—coziness—relief—comfort--love.
When they pull back at last, Theo’s face is entirely and humiliatingly wet.
Liam makes a soft sound in the back of his throat almost like a coo, and he hooks his fingers in Theo’s belt loops to pull him closer and plant a feathery kiss on his forehead. Theo shudders once, then surrenders to Liam’s touch, to Liam’s next kiss on his brow, his eyelid, his cheekbone. The younger boy’s breath fans out over the stubbled skin of Theo’s jaw, and this time, this time Theo allows himself to revel in it.
“So,” Liam murmurs, hooking his chin over Theo’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around the chimera’s waist with no intention of letting go any time soon. “Where were you?”
Theo snorts at that. He shifts around to dip into his jacket pocket—Liam making a noise of confusion at the movement—and he pulls out the snow globe, shakes it, and sets it on the island beside them.
“Getting you this,” Theo says quietly. “Sorry it’s not, like, wrapped and shit.”
“There was no wrapper left, anyway,” is Liam’s absent reply, his eyes glued on the snow globe. “You liar. You lied about the silver paper.” And then he gives a short burst of a laugh, and then another one, and another, until he’s laughing so silently and intensely that he looks close to crying.
“What,” Theo grouses, “the fuck is so funny about this?”
Liam doesn’t answer, just shakes his head, still shaking with mirth, and peels off the stool to retrieve a gift bag from under the Christmas tree in the living room. He returns and sets it down on the counter. “Open it.”
Theo peers inside. He stares, uncomprehendingly, and then snorts so hard his nose hurts.
Inside is the exact same snow globe, with the two miniature wolves dancing beneath the pine trees.
“Great minds think alike,” Liam proclaims with a toothy smile.
“You wish,” Theo quips, and pulls out his snow globe from the bag with a gigantic grin on his face. His heart is so happy right now he thinks his chest will burst.
Liam pulls an exaggerated thinking face. “Oh, that’s right, I forgot I was the genius here and you’re the copycat.”
“I froze my ass off to get this for you.”
“Because nothing says Theo Raeken more clearly than having a crisis an hour before dinner and standing us all up, then coming home all wet and cold with an unwrapped snow globe.”
“Fuck you,” Theo says without any heat to it. If only he could wipe away this stupid grin.
Liam hums. “Maybe later. Gotta get to first base first.”
“You’ve been assaulting me with eight hugs a day and your stupid verbal affirmations. You can’t get a guy to be more vulnerable than that.”
Liam throws back his head and laughs. And the sight is so achingly beautiful, so candid, that Theo knows he has to have a taste of it. So he doesn’t think. He does. He curls his fingers around the hem of Liam’s sweater and pulls the younger boy into him, and presses his lips against Liam’s, swallowing his yelp, and kisses the living daylights out of him because—
Because he wants to, and because Liam’s so pretty like this, and because this is long overdue. And because Theo wants to.
Liam’s noise of surprise morphs quickly into a hum, and then a sigh, and then a contented little smile whose shape Theo can clearly trace against his lips. They break away an interminable amount of time later, and this time it’s Theo who makes a sound like he’s affronted that they even have to breathe.
They stay like that for a long moment, foreheads tilted against each other, tasting each other’s breath and scent between them, until finally Theo breaks the silence.
“You asked me what my hopes and aspirations were.”
Liam bites his lip and leans in even closer into Theo. “Mm. Yeah.”
“You. Ever since you showed me that article, my aspiration has always been to be with you.”
Liam flicks his eyes up to stare at Theo, and then he breathes out, “Theo,” and they wrap each other up again in another hug. The ninth, the tenth, the eleventh of the day. Theo doesn’t know. He’s lost count.
He’s lost count, because starting today, he won’t ever have to wait again for Liam to come up and hug him. Theo can scoop him up and hold him close to himself whenever and however long he wants, because this?
This is the love he could never have dreamed of having.