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Stiles isn’t good at keeping secrets.
When he’s six, he can’t help but blurt out to Lydia Martin that he’s in love with her. There are nervous smiles, and sweaty hands and lots of tears, but he feels good after confessing his dark secret. When he’s eight, he steals from Scott the new videogame Stiles’ mother refuses to buy and hides it in his back pack, but he can’t even walk out Scott’s door before he’s pushing the videogame in his best friend’s hand. Scott has laughed about it—Stiles has laughed about it—but he should have seen the signs. When he’s ten, Stiles ruins his father’s surprise birthday party because his mother has told him not to tell him. The worst thing is, he can’t control himself. The words come out without any input from his brain, his mouth starts moving and blurting out words that barely make sense, his head feels dizzy and it’s like a thousand ants are running up and down his body.
Telling the truth is the best and worst feeling in the world, all at the same time.
It’s not just a physical thing. When he has to keep a secret—when his life depends on it—he can’t sleep at night, he can’t eat like a decent human being, he can’t study or watch TV or help his dad with his cases. The only thing he can do is think about the secret. When Stiles is two weeks away from his nineteenth birthday, Derek stops him with a hand on his shoulder and forces Stiles to look at him.
“You look tired,” Derek says, eyeing him up and down. “It’s not finals week, yet.”
Stiles has to press his lips together before he blurts out the awful truth. He’s in love with Derek. He’s so in love with Derek that he can’t look at any other man or woman without comparing them to Derek. He’s so in love with the beautiful man that works for the Sheriff that Stiles has started drawing silly comics about him on his textbooks. He’s so in love that he’s starting to act like Scott.
“I’m just stressed.” Stiles can’t tell him the truth. There’s no chance Derek will like Stiles back. He did his fair share of love confessions with Lydia Martin back in first grade. Stiles sits in his father’s chair, looking around the old, familiar office, trying to distract himself from Derek.
“Stressed about what?”
“Life,” Stiles sighs. “I just—I—” He presses his lips together again because he can feel it, he’s about to say those three little words that could change his life forever. If he says I love you, Derek will stop hanging out with him, talking to him when Stiles needs someone to talk to, texting him in the middle of the night when he can’t sleep. “You don’t need to worry, it’ll pass soon. Where’s my dad, anyway?”
“He’s on his way,” Derek says. “Do you want coffee?”
*
Derek can’t tell the truth.
It’s not like he lies. He finds ways to deflect, he tells half-truths, he makes weird moves with his head to avoid answering with words. He talks with his eyebrows, with his mouth, with his body, but his mind is always telling him to avoid pouring his heart out to anybody.
The last time he did it, his whole family died in a fire.
When he sees Stiles for the first time, though, he feels true words coming up for the first time in years. Hi, he wants to say. How are you? You look beautiful today. Instead, he only nods at the Sheriff’s son and gives him a cup of coffee before leaving the room. Stiles is the first person in years who makes him willing to tell the truth.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Stiles asks, sitting on the edge of the sofa. They’re still getting used to this, hanging out in a place different than the police station. Stiles doesn’t exactly look comfortable in Derek’s loft, but he hasn’t run away, yet. He keeps biting his lips, pressing them together, licking them with the tip of his tongue. He’s driving Derek crazy.
“If you want,” Derek answers. He doesn’t want to watch a movie. He wants to pull Stiles to his chest and lie down on the couch, but he can’t tell him that. He’s so in love with the other boy that he’d watch the stupid movies Stiles likes…again.
Stiles smirks and snorts. “ I was just saying,” he says. “ We can do whatever you want. I actually brought a videogame if you want, or I—I could—I…” Stiles stops, putting a hand on his mouth.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, worried. “Are you okay?” God, Stiles comes to his house for the first time and he feels sick? Was it the pizza they had for dinner? Was it too much coke?
“Can I use the bathroom?” Stiles asks, and the he runs down the hallway.
*
“I love you, I love you, I love you.”
Stiles talks to his own reflection staring back at him from the mirror of Derek’s bathroom. Maybe if he says I love you enough times, if he whispers those words to himself, he won’t feel the burning need to confess his love to Derek when he comes out of the bathroom.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.”
He’d love to tell the truth. He’d finally get some sleep and he’d stop feeling so shitty.
“Stiles, are you okay?” Derek’s voice comes from just behind the door, tense and full of worry.
Stiles inhales ad exhales, looking for the last time at his reflection. He slowly opens the door and smiles at Derek. “Yeah, I’m fine. I think it was the pizza.”
“Still want to watch a movie?”
Stiles nods. Yes, maybe a movie will keep him from saying the truth.
*
It’s his father who makes Stiles open his eyes.
“You’re keeping a secret again, aren’t you?” He asks the question while Stiles is still half-asleep, munching on his breakfast just because he knows that his father would worry if he doesn’t eat at all. The Sheriff puts his coffee down and stares at his son.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says.
“We both know you’re the worst at keeping secrets,” the Sheriff says. “You should say it, Stiles. You’re barely holding up that spoon. Who are you keeping your secret from?”
“No one.”
“Stiles.”
Stiles holds his hands up. “Fine,” he says. “I don’t want another secret. It’s Derek, okay? You can’t tell him.”
The Sheriff’s face softens. “It’s not my place,” he says. “But…you know what? The worst kind of secret are the feelings we don’t allow ourselves to show.”
“Why are you talking about feelings? I never mentioned feelings. In fact, I don’t have any feeling at all.”
His father looks at Stiles with his eyebrows raised. “Fine, then. No feelings.”
“Great.”
“You should tell him anyway.”
*
Stiles is standing in the middle of Derek’s living room, tormenting his hands and messing up his hair. He’s sweating a little, his clothes are rustled and his eyes are bloodshot. Most importantly, it’s two in the morning.
“Stiles, what the hell—”
“I love you,” Stiles shouts. Then, he winces and lowers his voice. “I mean, I love you,” he whispers. “I love you so much, Derek, you have no idea. I know you probably think I’m crazy, or that I’m too young for you, or not attractive at all, but I just had to say it. God, it was driving me crazy. I don’t care if you don’t feel the same way—wait, that’s not true, I actually care, but I can’t do anything about it. The only thing I could do was tell you the truth.” Stiles slumps down on the couch, boneless. “Oh my god, I hate keeping secrets. I fell so good right now.” He yawns, blinks, ruffles his hair with one skinny hand.
Derek doesn’t know what to say. He can feel it, the burning need to open his heart to Stiles, all his walls crumbling down while he looks at the boy he’s in love with staring at him sleepily on the couch. His heart feels lighter in his chest, his smile is genuine for the first time in a long time.
Derek walks closer to Stiles. “I love you, too,” he says. Then he stops for a second, surprised, looking at Stiles’ shocked expression. Derek slumps down on the couch next to him. “Gosh, you were right.” Derek whispers before leaning down to kiss Stiles. “It does feel good.”