Prompt: Skittles: first actual date
Word Count: 429
It doesn't feel any different to date Stiles.
See, Scott's always known that when he sees Stiles, his day is going to get better. Stiles makes him smile and laugh. They've always slept in the same bed when they've had sleepovers. They've always skyped at night, even though they spent all day at school together. There's always been rumors that they're more than friends. Neither of them ever bothered to correct them, because, yeah, they were.
Soul mates, Scott liked to say when they were eight. Stiles liked it and would doodle it into his notebooks—"Scott and Stiles 4 lyf"—only to be one-upped by Scott's additions—"Scott and Stiles 4ever."
They kissed when they were thirteen. It was weird and not weird all at once, but they've never done it since. It was an experiment that Stiles wanted to solve, and after that, he never asked again.
Well, not seriously.
Scott was the one who kissed Stiles when they were 17, because the signs were there, had always been there, would always be there. He'd loved Allison, but he knew Stiles was always going to be in his life.
If Stiles was surprised, he didn't act like it, just ruffled Scott's hair when Scott nuzzled his neck.
"Food," Stiles suggested.
"Yeah," Scott agreed.
Even that wasn't different. Stiles pays for everything, but he does that a lot. He usually has money to spare. Scott does not. If he does, he pays, but otherwise, they pay for their own or Stiles covers it.
They eat burgers and talk about the new Avengers movie. Stiles gets ketchup on his shirt and they both laugh about it while Scott tries to rub it all off with a napkin, leaning across the table just so he can touch Stiles.
That's not even different.
"So how long have we been dating?" Scott asks.
(If they were in a cliched book or a movie, the waitress would have asked, as if waitresses ever asked those questions. But this is real life, and the waitress just gave them napkins. Scott still wants to know.)
"I'm pretty sure we're past that, my friend," Stiles says. "We got married by Jackson when we were five, remember?"
"That long?" Scott asks with a grin, hooking his foot around Stiles' under the table.
"Yeah," Stiles says, leaning forward with a grin. "The notebooks full of 'Mr. Stiles McCall' should have made that obvious."
"Why not Scott Stilinski?" Scott asks, smiling right back.
Stiles shrugs. "I guess we can figure that our when an actual minister performs our wedding."