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“We need to talk.”
Stiles whips his head up from where he was engrossed in a game of Candy Crush. “Talk? You mean I’ll babble and you’ll respond in monosyllabic grunts. Also, would it kill you to knock on my door like a normal person? It’s not like I live at home with my dad anymore.”
Derek steps into the apartment off the metal balcony and leans against the windowsill. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving,” Stiles repeats, allowing himself to grasp the word. He sets his phone down when it sinks in. “You’re leaving?” he spits. “Again?”
“Yes.” He doesn’t even look the least bit sorry. He doesn’t look anything at all in Stiles’ opinion. Just his usual surly self.
Still, Stiles feels like his breath has been sucker punched right out of him “Wh-why?”
Derek’s eyes take on a peculiar glint in the dim light, almost glassy but not lifeless. More resigned, apathetic. “Beacon Hills isn’t my home anymore.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Stiles hisses. “It’s sure as fuck where your pack is.”
He’s not about to let Derek skip town again. The last time this happened Derek had almost died and then disappeared for four years. Four. Stiles was graduating college when Derek decided to mosey back into town, and when he did it felt like everything reset. All the animosity and distrust.
The wolf shrugs, embodying nonchalance. “Isaac has Scott now.”
The statement practically boils Stiles’ blood. After everything, Isaac is the only one he considers pack? No, Stiles thinks, he’s just trying to cut ties so everything hurts less.
Stiles stands abruptly and crosses the space between them. “And what about everyone else huh? Do they mean nothing to you?” Do I mean nothing to you? He mentally swats the intruding thought.
“It’s not about them, is it? It’s about me,” Derek responds, voice icy.
Stiles exhales sharp and fast. “Pack is more than you. Pack is – pack is a unit. It just doesn’t work when pieces go fucking off to Timbuktu, or wherever it is you disappear.”
Derek’s lip curls. “I don’t need you to tell me what pack is.”
“Yeah, you don’t need me at all!” Stiles freezes momentarily and then groans and turns to the couch.
“That’s not what I said.”
He flops back down onto the unforgiving cushions, says, “Whatever,” and grabs his phone. The screen lights up his face as he unlocks it to resume his game. “So what’s your excuse for running away this time?”
The wolf crosses his arms over his chest. “M’not running away. I’m leaving. Nothing is chasing me.”
“You sure act like it.”
He sneers in Stiles’ direction and rolls his eyes. “There’s nothing here for me. Nothing good. I want something better than this, I’m tired.”
It feels like another jab in the ribs. Stiles isn’t going to tell Derek he doesn’t deserve the best in life after the hell he’s been through, but he doesn’t want Derek to look back at this chapter of it thinking there was nothing of merit that came out of it. There had to have been some good times.
But right now he’s not feeling mature enough to say any of that. Right now he feels bitter. So instead he says, “You’re a dumbass.”
“Excuse me?”
Stiles lobs his phone across the couch and leans forward onto his knees. “You’ve got werewolf hearing, I know you heard me.”
Derek bares his teeth, “Why don’t you say it again then?”
He laughs, “Okay, fine. You. Are. A dumbass. A fucking idiot.”
The werewolf strides across the room, separated from Stiles by only a hand-me-down coffee table. “What’s really bothering you Stiles? Is it the fact that I’m leaving, or the fact that I’m right – that I’m justified this time?”
“You really are stupid if you think that’s why I’m mad,” Stiles mutters. Outside the sky catches and bursts in an electrical display. His eyes track up Derek’s illuminated body and waver right at his chin. Stiles looks away before he has to make eye contact, too disappointed, too hurt.
He runs his fingers through his hair and pulls. “God stop – stop trying to tell yourself that the grass is greener on the other side, because it’s not. It’s greener where you water it, Derek. So either you grab a fucking hose or have fun moving around for the rest of your life cause you’ll be seeing a lot of dead grass.”
Derek’s knuckles crack under the pressure of his clenched fists. “And what if there isn’t enough water to fix the grass here? What if it’s too late?”
Stiles looks up at him, shielded by the dim light of the room. “Then I think you and I are looking at very different fields and I have even less left to say than I thought.”
That seems to snap Derek out of whatever unfeeling stupor he was in. All at once his rugged posture collapses and his breath shudders out of him. “So that’s it.”
Stiles has long since picked up his phone and continued his game, yet again. A deep voice calls out Sweet and Stiles’ heart thunders in his ears. When he speaks his voice is far calmer than should be possible, “Why’d you even come here? Was it just afterthought? Did you leave something here – a shirt or sweater – or what?”
Derek stiffens in defense. “I came to say goodbye.”
Stiles snorts, already entering the zone of numbness. He can do this. He can deal with Derek being gone. It’ll be okay. The pack will be fine, they did it before. “What’d Scott make you?”
A long pause stretches out between them. The sky grumbles overhead, sure to cry out soon.
“I haven’t seen Scott.”
He hums. “Ah. Gonna climb in his window next then.”
Derek shifts closer to him. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
Stiles tilts his phone screen away from his face. “You weren’t.”
“No,” Derek confesses breathlessly. “I only planned on saying goodbye to you.”
Fuck. That kinda takes the wind out of Stiles’ sails.
He wiggles the phone in his hand silently. It’s not often he’s speechless, but it should say something that almost all the times he has been it was because of Derek. Fucking Derek.
His voice cracks when he finally manages to croak, “You should probably say goodbye to Scott. He’ll, uh, he’ll miss you.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Stiles echoes blankly. He looks up in time to see Derek crawling back out of his living room window. “Bye.”
The wolf only nods in response.
~
Stiles makes it about five minutes after he’s sure Derek is out of earshot before he lashes out. His phone ends up across the room, clanging as it hits the metal stand the TV rests on, and he buries his face in the couch to scream.
He hates Derek.
His eyes squeeze shut when they start to sting and he groans into the couch. He groans because he doesn’t hate Derek and he hasn’t in what feels like a really long time. He groans because Derek gave him the chance to say something, a proper goodbye, I love you, anything, and instead he used it to argue. As usual.
And yet, rather than be filled with regret, he’s only filled with resentment. He doesn’t get how Derek can just… leave. How he can pretend his pack is nothing, like this place was nothing to him.
Stiles almost wishes he had the balls to do the same.
“Ugh.” He rolls further into the couch and pulls the blanket that was resting on the side over his body.
Leaving Beacon Hills would be impossible for Stiles. It might not be a vibrant green, but it’s good enough for him, and he seems to have a thing for broken people and places. Plus the feeling of obligation, of connection to the land, would never dissipate no matter how far he got. Beacon Hills is a magnet.
Rain finally starts to hit the building after an hour of low level rumbling and flashes of lightning. With it Stiles’ emotional dam finally breaks. He pulls the blanket over his head and cries into the cushions. If you asked he’d tell you they were tears of frustration, and while that’s not a complete lie – it’s not completely true.
He isn’t exactly having a revelation either, there’s no aha moment going on, because Stiles already came to grips with how he felt – how he feels – about Derek. Not for the first time Stiles accepts how much he cares for him.
He cries because it’s scary. He cries because he failed to say something yet again.
The thin blanket does nothing to keep him from shivering so he shrugs it off and drags the big cushy comforter from his room, stopping back in to grab a sweater. His lips quiver as soon as his thumbs get caught in the special holes because – damn it he did leave a sweater here.
His body hits the couch with a loud thud and the covers get tangled in his legs. As he’s fighting the comforter, kicking angrily, a quiet knock sounds against his front door.
Stiles shoots up and wipes at his face with the backs of his hands, not quite covering up all the evidence of his sorry state. He shuffles out of the covers as another knock comes.
He’s hoping Scott doesn’t ask him why he’s so upset, that he can fool him into thinking Derek hadn’t visited his apartment. Probably not though.
He steels himself as he opens the door. “Hey Scott what’s – ” He stops short at the sight of Derek, drenched and out of breath. “You.”
But Derek doesn’t say anything. He surges forward and grabs Stiles, hauling him into his space for a bruising kiss that lacks any and all finesse. When Stiles is no longer paralyzed by confusion and shock he loosens up and grabs back just as hard.
He tilts his head to the side and opens up for Derek, allowing him to lick at his lips and the inside of his mouth. Just as his hands travel to Derek’s hair the wolf pulls back. For the twenty seconds of kissing his chest is heaving pretty hard as he asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Wait, what?” Stiles stutters, still a little out of it. His mind is on the fritz, and he’s out of breath too.
“About how you feel.” Derek licks the rainwater from his lips and brushes his thumbs across Stiles’ cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Me?” Stiles shoves at Derek. “Why didn’t you say anything? Did you really think I would tell you how I feel right when you were leaving?”
His eyes widen in horror. “Wait a minute, was that your plan?” He all but shrieks. “Were you just fucking with me?”
Derek grabs his wrists to keep him at bay. “No. No. I would never. I – I didn’t.” He huffs and drags Stiles forward again. “I didn’t know.”
Stiles tugs, wanting to create more space between them for once. “You – what?”
A few moments pass as Stiles tries to figure out what questions he needs to ask. Finally he settles on, “What made you come back to my apartment?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Derek,” Stiles whines, his eyes are open and pleading. “Why did you come back here? Why did you come here in the first place? You don’t even do goodbyes.”
The wolf tightens his grip on Stiles’ wrists momentarily. “Because of you,” he sighs. “I knew you never would have forgiven me if I didn’t say anything and – and I care what you think.”
“What?”
Derek works past the interruption. “I care what you think. I care about you. And I – I didn’t want leave on bad terms.”
Stiles sags against him, hands splayed out across Derek’s wet chest. “You’re still leaving.” It’s no question. He pulls away and extricates himself from Derek’s hold. “You’re leaving and you kissed me.”
He shakes his head. “No.”
“What?” Derek steps forward but Stiles holds out a hand.
“No, you don’t – you can’t just come back here and fucking kiss me before you leave because you – ugh I don’t even know why! I – it would have been better if you had just left without saying anything at all. At least then I could’ve pretended you didn’t give a shit about me.”
He takes another tentative step forward and tries, “Stiles, just let me –”
“Stop. Please, stop.” Stiles shrinks inward on himself and tries not to let his emotions get the best of him. His throat feels like it’s closing though and his heart might as well be humming the way it’s beating out of his chest.
For once Derek does stop, but he still closes the door behind himself. He takes off his jacket and hangs it up before pressing his back to the door. He stares Stiles down and eventually the human breaks, hissing out, “Fine.”
Derek pushes off the door to stand. “I kept thinking about something after I left your apartment.”
Stiles pulls at the sleeve of the sweater and takes another step back before he mumbles, “What?”
“Your stupid metaphors.”
He narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to berate Derek, tell him he can literally just leave, but Derek stops him. The wolf works himself up for the next part and Stiles can tell whatever he says is going to be big by the way his face closes off, completely unreadable.
“Do you remember when I finally got around to explaining what actually happened in the fire – what happened to me, what I had done?" he sighs. “You - I remember you telling me some random fact about forest fires helping the soil, how they made it stronger in the end.”
Derek looks up and lets out a dry laugh. “I thought you were an idiot.”
“I know,” Stiles grumbles.
The wolf frowns. “I just didn’t get it. It was pretty obvious, what you were saying, but I didn’t get how you could look at me and say that I was stronger because of everything that happened. I couldn’t see what you saw in me.”
Stiles pulls his hands into the sleeves and backtracks, “Derek I –”
“Let me finish.” He huffs as he walks steadily toward Stiles. “I still don’t like it here, and I don’t think there could ever be enough water in the world to make Beacon Hills ‘green’ for me ever again, but you’re right. I won’t find greener grass anywhere else and even if I did I wouldn’t be happy.”
Stiles lets out a plaintive sigh and waves his hands. “That’s not true, you totally would be. I only said that because I was angry.”
“You tend to be pretty accurate when you’re pissed off,” Derek admits with a rueful smile. “That’s not the point though. I meant,” he clears his throat and takes the last two steps to get to Stiles. “I meant I wouldn’t be happy without you.”
He turns away but Derek catches his chin. “Are you trying to get me to come with you?”
“There’s no way in hell you would.”
“You don’t know that,” Stiles mutters, just to be contrary.
“I do. You’d never leave your dad, or the pack.”
Stiles lets his head hit Derek’s chest. “I hate you sometimes.”
Derek’s arms slide around him and his hands move up and down Stiles’ back. His voice is barely above a whisper, “I love you sometimes.”
The remnants of a sob from earlier escape him. “Why are you telling me this?”
The wolf’s arms tighten around him. “You deserve to know. And, Scott told me I was an idiot too.”
He lets out a wet laugh. “What did you do that made him say that?”
“Told him what I told you – that I had nothing good here. He sighed and told me to go back to your apartment.” He pulls back and runs a hand through Stiles’ hair. “I guess he had the right idea.”
Stiles frowns, “You guess?”
“Well, I don’t know how you feel,” Derek teases.
He rolls his eyes, “I know you know, Derek. You just want me to say it.”
“And?”
“Fine,” Stiles groans. “Derek Hale, I love you. I love you and your stupid beautiful eyes and your awful stubble and–”
Derek kisses him again, deep and filled with longing. His tongue slides against the inside of Stiles’ mouth with a determined grace Stiles never could have gotten down in his wildest of dreams. His hands roam over Stiles' torso greedily before settling on the sides of his face where Derek tilts his head as he pleases. When he breaks away it’s only to nip at Stiles’ neck and suck a particularly harsh red spot onto it. He laves the mark and kisses it gently.
“Der – mmm – Derek, please,” Stiles moans as he’s backed into a corner.
The wolf leaves kiss after kiss along the neckline of the sweater, cold nose tracing a line, and hums. “Hmm?”
Stiles grabs at his damp shirt and pushes it up. “Off, off. Clothes off. You’re wet.”
He captures Stiles lips once more and licks across them before lifting his arms. “I suppose this means you want me to stay the night.”
The shirt ends up somewhere on the dining room table and so does the sweater Stiles was wearing.
Stiles groans as Derek bites his collar bone and ruts against him. “Un, god, I want you to stay forever, asshole.”
“Okay,” Derek breathes against his throat, deft fingers working to undo Stiles’ pants.
“Okay?” Stiles squawks. “Just like that.”
“Just like that,” Derek agrees. “Just for you.”
He lets his head hit the wall behind him as Derek shoves his pants down. “Fuck, you’re gonna ruin me.”
“Only if you want me to,” Derek smirks.
Stiles opens his eyes and bites his lip as he thinks then he pushes Derek back far enough to get his pants down too and grabs his length, stroking him through the fabric of his briefs once, twice, three times, only to whisper, “Bed, now.”
~
Stiles wakes up with a warm press of skin at his back and steady breaths at his throat. He only manages to turn a fraction of an inch before Derek is squeezing him even closer.
“Mmf, c’mon Sourwolf you gotta get up.”
“Uh uh.” Derek shoves his head further into the space between Stiles’ neck and shoulder to further emphasize the point that – no he doesn’t. “Too comfortable.”
Stiles sighs and leans into him. “Fine. But only because I am too.”
He feels Derek smile against his skin. “Not getting out of bed today then.”
“Probably not,” Stiles confesses to his pillow before letting his eyes slip shut again.
“Good.”