This is that fic I was talking about the other day, the one I wasn’t sure I wanted to post. I ended up writing TWO similar but distinct fics (different POV, different ending) based on the premise of this fic because I just kept tinkering with it, so this is the second version. The first one… idk, maybe I’ll toss it or maybe I’ll post it later for the curious among you. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Sterek high school AU, G, 1.7k words
Stiles thinks Scott is joking at first, mostly because he’s laughing so hard he can barely get the words out. “There’s a guy backstage asking for you by name. He’s got flowers.”
Stiles rolls his eyes and goes back to wiping the lipstick off his mouth. After four performances, he can get in and out of the dress and the wig in no time flat. He can even walk in heels without too much wobbling. But the lipstick? Bane of his existence. It still takes him a good five minutes of careful wiping and rubbing with petroleum jelly, and even then his mouth always has this odd orangish-coral tinge by the time he goes home for the night. By that point he’s usually too frustrated by the whole thing to even begin to bother with cleaning off the mascara.
Thank god this is closing night, and in a minute they can all go out for tacos and Stiles can set to work forgetting about lipstick for the rest of forever.
Scott’s still hovering at the door, anticipatory. “I think he likes you. Like, like-likes.”
“Ha ha,” Stiles says flatly. He tilts his head to the left and then to the right in front of the mirror, angling his face up into the lights. “Do you think I got it all?”
Scott gives him a careless glance. “Yeah, sure. Looks fine. But no, seriously, the girl who sells the tickets told me he’s shown up to every single performance.”
Scott isn’t joking. He’s laughing at Stiles (and okay, if their positions were reversed, Stiles would totally be laughing at Scott, too), but he isn’t joking. Fuck. Not even Stiles’ dad has come to every performance.