"Stiles," Scott gasped, seeming to come back to himself, staring into his best friend’s eyes, searching. "Stiles, I’m—,"
"It’s okay, Scott," He whispered, letting out a short, wet laugh as he ran his fingers through Scott’s hair, hand resting against his cheek. "Everything’s going to be okay."
Scott nearly fell forward, then, hands clutching onto the back of Stiles’ shirt for support, tears flowing from his eyes and he nearly shook with emotion, sobbing into Stiles’ chest.
He’d never felt so helpless. Never so alone and scared and he never needed Stiles more than he did at that moment. He never wanted to hold him so badly, never needed the soothing of his hands or to hear the sound of his voice so much in his life.
"Stiles," He mumbled, shaking and Stiles just tightened his grip, holding him up with hands roaming over his back, quietly shushing him, trying to keep him calm, keep him grounded.
And Scott just let everything go, every ounce of stress and pain, every burden that he had carried on his shoulder since he got the bite, this curse, and spiraled until he couldn’t feel much other than the warmth of his best friend pressed against him.
He wasn’t sure how long they stood there or when Stiles pealed off his ruined clothes and dressed him again, whether or not he went to sleep crying or if Stiles actually whispered I love you at some point, but he knew he said it back.
And he knew he meant it.