bakerstreet | ( under the night sky )

( under the night sky )

ＳＴＡＲＧＡＺＩＮＧ - whether you're on a picnic blanket in a field, laying on the beach, or in the bed of a truck, you're with someone you care about and you're looking at the stars.

ＣＡＭＰＦＩＲＥ - camping is the most fun when you're with someone else. roasting marshmallows, telling stories. nature's got it goin' on.

ＰＡＲＫＩＮＧ - you're at the lover's lane, parked at the peak overlooking the city, it's just you and someone else in the car. maybe it's time to steam up the glass or hey, you guys can just talk if you want.

ＦＩＲＥＷＯＲＫＳ - may it is the fourth of july, the new year, or just because, but there's fireworks shooting off and they're magical. or scary. it depends on what floats your boat.

ＬＡＴＥＮＩＧＨＴＳＷＩＭ - maybe you're at the beach or in the backyard pool or at the lake, maybe you're going to skinny dip or maybe you'll 'fall' in with all your clothes. either way, swimming at night is pretty much always fun.

ＳＫＹＬＡＮＴＥＲＮＳ - perhaps you've lost someone dear and you want to do something to remember them by, maybe you're making a wish for the future.

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Sticks found, Stiles came back over to sit himself on his sleeping bag, digging in his backpack for a Swiss Army knife to point the tips of the switches. "Unless you have a sudden new love for sushi, I think we can live with the processed junk food that comes in a convenient bag."

"It isn't terrible?" Scott said, sounding more like he was asking than telling. He shrugged. "I just prefer pizza." He watched as Stiles sharpened the sticks he found. "So processed junk it is."

"It's gross. It's raw fish. Food should be cooked. All food." He tossed one of the sticks over towards Scott, grinning. "Pizza is the food of the gods. Our world would crumble without it. Hey, you think they have good pizza at the piers?"

He chuckled, looking down for a moment and then back up just in time to catch the stick that Stiles threw him. He speared a marshmallow on the tip before tossing Stiles the bag. "I bet the pizza there is awesome."

Grabbing a puff of white from the bag, he stabbed it with the stick he'd made for himself before moving to let it hover above the flames. "I'll bet it's got like, five layers of cheese."

Scott did the same, watching as the flame singed the marshmallow and he could smell the burnt sugar way better as a wolf than he ever had as a human. Considering how hungry he suddenly felt he wasn't sure that was a great thing since they only had one bag of marshmallows. And now he wanted pizza, too. "And three layers of pepperoni."

Now he wanted pizza too... Way to go, Scott. But he watched as his marshmallow browned, pulling it off the fire before it did something stupid, like burst into flames. He never had liked the charred taste. "God, yes. And huge pieces that are bigger than my face." Which he would happily shove into his maw right now, just like he was with the marshmallow, picking it off the stick and tossing it quickly into his mouth because hot on his fingers.

...

And now hot in his mouth. Oooooooow.

Scott's stomach growled. Awesome. He plucked his marshmallow off the stick, and popped it into his mouth, glancing over to where Stiles was making a face because he'd eaten his own marshmallow while it was too hot. "Dude. Every time," he said, mouth full and distorting the words. He chuckled.

"So... worth it..." No regrets, bro. No regrets. The roof of his mouth was burned and would be for the rest of the night, but it was hard to care when he was already reaching for a new puff to spear.

"I need another one," he announced, holding his hands up. He didn't really care if Stiles threw him another marshmallow or the whole bag.

Stiles reached in and grabbed a handful, putting them in his lap before tossing the bag back over to Scott. At least this way he had enough to last a while without them having to play toss the bag. "Man, it's been ages since we've roasted marshmallows."

Scott speared two marshmallows at the same time and held them over the fire. "Since the last time we camped out, I think." Which had been at least two years ago if he wasn't mistaken. Kind of a depressing thought. "I should've stopped at the store and gotten graham crackers and Hershey's bars." Hindsight.

"Yes, you should have. I'm taking away three friend points because of it. Now I'm going to be craving pizza and s'mores until we get some." Oh yeah, it was going to be a long night.

But, they'd had worse lately, and Stiles knew he could handle it. Scott was here and no one was trying to kill them -- that they knew of.

"Only three? Really? I figured that would be an automatic five." He shrugged, grinning over at Stiles and then popping one of the marshmallows into his mouth. "There's always next time. Right?"

"I'm cutting you some slack. But I can totally make it five." He hung his marshmallow over the flames grinning over at Scott. It was good. This was good. He needed this. So did Scott. Neither of them probably realized just how much until they were out here, away from it all.

"Next time you better have a damn pizza in that bag."

"And the slack is appreciated." He peeled the second marshmallow off the spear, making a face as marshmallow stuck on his fingers and he wiped them on his jeans after eating the rest of the puffed sugar.

"Next time we'll bring a cooler and have a whole food fest. Maybe Mom will cook for us." He reached into the bag casually and plucked another marshmallow out of the bag. Instead of spearing it, though, he smirked and threw it over at his best friend.

He'd been blowing on his marshmallow when Scott's marshmallow missile came over and knocked his off his stick and into the dirt. There was a moment where his lip slid out, jutting out into a pat as he looked over at him. "I can't believe you just did that."

A laugh escaped Scott's mouth. "Sorry, man. I was aiming for your head," he admitted, chuckling again. He grabbed the bag of marshmallows and stood up, moving over to where Stiles was sitting and holding out his own stick. "Here. Don't pout."

Stiles grabbed a marshmallow, sticking his tongue out at Scott and impaling it onto his stick. "I can do it myself." Said every four year old ever. But he shifted over on his bag so that Scott could sit down next to him if he wanted.

Scott plopped down on Stiles' sleeping bag before grabbing another marshmallow from the bag. "Pretty sure I just had a flashback to when we were like, six, dude."

"If only it were that simple again, huh? Skinned knees and curfews and tracking mud in the house." God, take him back to those days.

"If only," Scott echoed, glancing at him sideways as he roasted his next marshmallow. "Although I don't know about you but I still struggle with those last two." He nudged him lightly.

"Yeah, well, that's because you're still scared of your mom and listen to curfews." Which he didn't do. Well, he might if Melissa turned that eye on him and gave him the voice, but she never did.

Except that one time when she'd grounded Scott from Stiles. His mom was kind of scary. "I only listen to curfews sometimes," he pointed out. Like when there was no crisis going on.

"Yeah, I think we get a veto then, though." Because really, neither of their parents seemed to be surprised to get a call from one of them in the middle of the woods at one am. Well, Scott's dad did, but Scott's dad was a douche and didn't count.

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