The Moon Between Us

“Hello, 911?” Holland smirked as she positioned her phone to take the perfect photo, taking a step back to ensure she captured every detail. “I’d like to report a loser.”

The flash illuminated the scene in front of her, and it was difficult not to laugh. It always seemed to be Stiles that got himself into these situations, and this Friday evening was no different.

Stiles rolled his eyes from where he was, hanging upside down from the tree branch, rope wrapped tight around his ankle and clearly not meant for him. “Very funny, baby. Ha ha.”

Holland snapped another photo for safe keeping, biting her lip to try and push back her smile in a futile attempt. It would make excellent blackmail material. “It’s funny from where I’m standing.”

Stiles swung a little in the breeze, causing his brows to knit together, and he tried to reach his ankle with outstretched fingers and a grunt of effort - damn it, he knew he should have paid attention in gym class instead of hiding under the damn bleachers.

“Yeah, well, you’re a psychopath. Are you gonna get me down from here or what?” Stiles asked, cheeks tinted pink from the rush of blood to the head and the embarrassment of being caught in the most cartoonish hunters trap.

Holland thought for a moment as she watched Stiles struggle, and she slipped her phone back into the pocket of her jacket. “Nah, I’m enjoying this.” She let out a soft laugh as Stiles let out a string of expletives, most of them aimed at her. “You know, I can just turn around and…”

“Holland,” Stiles warned, his movement causing him to swing a little further away from the tree each time. “What do I have to say to convince you to get your cute little butt over here and get me down?”

Holland thought for a moment as she watched Stiles away, letting out a laugh as his plaid shirt fell over his head. It seemed with each passing moment, Stiles lost an equal amount of dignity and self respect, and it was beautiful.

“You know,” Holland started. “You’re in the perfect position to do the thing.”

“The thing?” Stiles asked, pausing his battle with his plaid overshirt, his mind trying to reel through things Holland had told him in the past. Thinking for a long moment, Stiles’ lips tugged into a somewhat smug grin as he came to realisation. “Ah. The thing.”

“You remember,” Holland breathed as she studied Stiles, a light blush decorating her cheeks, barely visible in the dim blue of the dusk.

“I remember everything you tell me, sweet girl.” Stiles promised, his attitude different now that he realised that this predicament could benefit himself and Holland. “Are you sure you didn’t trap me yourself?” He teased.

Holland rolled her eyes playfully as she approached Stiles, bringing her hands to gently cup his cheeks, her thumb running across the sharp edge of his jaw, sculpted by the Gods and designed by the universe itself. “I’m starting to wish I had,” she murmured, counting the freckles etched into his cheeks like constellations.

Stiles chuckled softly. “You’re such a nerd,” he murmured, though there was no malice behind his words. Hell, even the teasing tone fell flat as his breath hitched in his throat with the delicate touch of Holland’s gentle hands.

Instead, his words came out fond, came forward with no hidden intention or expression but love in its purest form.

“What are you waiting for?” Stiles asked softly as the breeze brushed between them once more. “I thought you’ve been wanting to do this forever.” He didn’t dare to bring his voice above a whisper, afraid of ruining the moment, the shift between them that happened without either of them noticing.

Holland studied Stiles as she caressed his jawline with a gentle touch of the pads of her thumbs. “I just want it to be perfect.” She murmured; wanting every second of the moment to be a memory she carried within her for the rest of her life. “I love you, Stiles.”

“I love you too, Hol.” He promised in return, forgetting the fact that his foot had begun to go numb, conveniently forgetting that his vertigo was starting to take hold, because despite the insanity that was their normality, these stolen moments were the centre of Stiles’ focus, vertigo be damned.

Holland leaned in then, gently pressing her lips to Stiles’. She kissed him every day, but this kiss was different, embedded with a deep set admiration and gratitude for the existence of one silly human boy she met completely by chance.

Stiles’ eyes closed as he gently returned Holland’s kiss, letting out a quiet sound of contentment as he brought a hand to rest at the back of her head, fingers curling gently into her hair as he guided her just that little bit closer, needing the moment to last.

Holland pulled away after a long moment, the taste of Stiles’ berry burst bubblegum lingering against her lips. “That was everything I’d ever wanted.” She whispered. “I think Spider-Man and Mary Jane had the right idea all along.”

Stiles smiled, eyes half closed and dazed after such a perfect moment. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Grinning with Stiles’ distraction, Holland withdrew her claws and carefully cut the rope that held Stiles in place; and with a thud, a yell of surprise and a harsh reminder of reality, Stiles was free.

“Thanks, babe.” Stiles groaned from the ground, offering Holland a thumbs up with no attempt to bring himself to his feet. “You really are my MJ. Can we watch Spider-Man when we get back?”