The Time We Wasted (We Can Get It Back) Part 1
They've been doing this dance for years. Or so it seems. Circling round one another till they're both dizzy and can't see straight. Even Jackson's notice, self absorbed Jackson who still looks at Stiles sometimes like he doesn't belong at the pack meetings, even though they've come to some semblance of a tentative friendship. Allison doesn't belong either, in Stiles's opinion, not that he doesn't like Allison, he does, she's kick ass with a crossbow after all, what's not to like? But she is part hunter. Neither does Lydia technically, although no one really argues with Lydia, even though they don’t really know what she is yet.
Anyway, they've been doing this dance is the point. They being him and Derek. And it's getting to breaking point for Stiles.
Stiles is your average everyday, run of the mill teenager heading into his twenties. Ok maybe not so average, seeing that his best friend is a werewolf who's going out with a werewolf hunter and his other two 'friends' are also both werewolves. And there's also the creepy older guy who keeps them all together. But apart from that he's pretty average. Except that he's come to the conclusion that he's got a big gay hard on for one Derek Hale. The aforementioned creepy older guy. The big gay hard on wasn't that much of a ground breaking conclusion to be honest, he kind of knew the second he saw Derek in the woods that day looking for Scott's inhaler, something flicked inside him. Didn't stop him from lusting after Lydia for the rest of high school though. He's starting to think that maybe it isn't such a big gay hard on, as much as a big Derek hard on. Anyway, he's pretty average, grew up in the house he still lives in now, average student, average looks, has a tendency to get into trouble, but that might just be because his best friend is a werewolf. He's never really been anything special. Not to anyone. Even to Scott, he's just always been Stiles but Derek looks at him sometimes like he's important. And it makes Stiles's big Derek hard on, all the more big.
The dance reached it crescendo one night, a few years back when Stiles was a few weeks shy of 18. Desperate to touch Derek in any way possible, desperate to touch anything really, especially when he had to live vicariously through Jackson and Lydia and Allison and Scott. Seemed he and Derek were the only ones not getting any. Unless Derek was off someone where else getting his wolf rocks off, but that seemed unlikely given Derek's permanent bad mood. But it came to head, the others had left and Stiles, desperate to make himself useful, to be anything apart from Mr Research had stayed behind, tidied up after wayward teenagers that thought fairies put trash into the trash can. He had sighed heavily and Derek's hand had closed around his in the sink.
“You don't have to do that,” he had muttered, whilst Stiles had tried desperately not to groan at the feel of Derek's skin sliding against his.
“I know, but I need to do something other than just be the sixth wheel all the time,” Stiles had said back and Derek had cocked his head to the side, looked confused at Stiles, “and I realise a sixth wheel would be useful given that its an even number and all but you don’t count…not that you don’t count but you can rock the lone wolf deal, you know?” Stiles flexed his fingers gently. Derek had snatched his hand away.
“You matter Stiles,” he had said and Stiles had felt the air going out of the room. Or some other poetic bullshit like that, but he had found it hard to breathe and briefly wondered if Asthma was contagious and he'd picked it up from Scott. He had shaken his head as Derek took a step back.
“I...”
“Go home,” Derek had turned away and the plate Stiles had been rinsing had clattered into the sink, making Derek jump slightly as he turned back around.
“I don't want to,” Stiles had know he sounded like a child, small and a little lost and Derek had taken half a step back, his fingers twitching by his sides.
“Stiles...don't,” and those two words had made Stiles realise that there was something other than pack leader, pack member-best-friend dynamics going on here.
“Derek...” Derek had shaken his head almost sadly and stepped away from Stiles.
“I said no Stiles.”
“Well actually you didn't say no, you said don't, which are different words with different meanings...” Stiles had been rambling, he usually did when he was nervous, and Derek usually bought the nerves out of him.
“Stiles...”
“I'm not a kid anymore Derek,” Stiles had protested and Derek’s eyes had darkened for a second, his whole body freezing as Stiles took another step forward.
“You're 17,” he had said quietly, resignation in his voice evident even to Stiles and he knew he had lost for that night.
“18 in three weeks,” even though he had lost, Stiles had never been known to give up easily, Derek had scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The very fact you said that makes my argument all the more valid,” he had replied, a small quirk in his lips like he found the whole thing amusing but was keeping a lid on his smile for Stiles’s benefit.
“Dammit Derek,” Stiles hand had made a satisfying slap as it hit the table and suddenly Stiles had found himself with his back up against the fridge and a furious Derek staring down at him, a brief flash of red and knuckles white where they had gripped at Stiles’s shirt.
“This Stiles? You want this?” Derek had growled and watched as Stiles’s throat bobbed as he swallowed around his dry tongue. “You make me do this Stiles, I lose control, you don’t want that,” Derek had dropped him suddenly, stepping back and running his hands through his hair and Stiles hadn’t failed to notice the way his fingernails were slightly longer than normal. “Go home.”
And for once in his life Stiles had done as he was told.
That had been years ago now, well two, but it had felt like a life time with Derek looking at him sideways every now and then, and Jackson wrinkling his nose whenever Derek did it. He had started to think that Derek hadn’t felt anything, was just trying to warn Stiles away from him, but occasionally Derek would let his hand slide across the back of Stiles’s neck, nails scratching slightly and Stiles would shudder. And Derek wouldn’t speak to him for days after that. And Stiles would be left wondering just what the hell went through the Alpha’s mind.
He’s moping around his house, like he always does after such moments, with his neck still tingling with the feel of Derek’s hot skin against it and his dad catches him drinking milk out of the carton again.
“Anything wrong kiddo?” he asks and Stiles swallows his mouthful of milk, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm. His dad leans against the kitchen door jamb, arms crossed, Sherriff look on his face and Stiles shakes his head.
“No, nothing, absolutely fine, why would you think otherwise?” Stiles asks and his dad raises an eyebrow.
“Well firstly, I’ve known you for nearly 20 years, secondly, you only mope after your Club House meetings,” Stiles snorts, puts the carton of milk back into the refrigerator.
“Club House meetings?” He grins at his dad, “Dad, we’re not 12, they’re just movie nights,” he says with a shrug and his dad smiles, but it fades quickly.
“With a much older guy who you once accused of murder,” he points out and Stiles rubs at the back of his neck at the mention of Derek.
“Derek’s fine dad, he’s…” Stiles pauses, at a loss for words to describe just what Derek is.
“What?”
“Fine. He’s fine.” Stiles shrugs again and settles for the perfectly non-descript word. His dad heads over to the cabinet where he stores the whiskey.
“Fine. Or fine,” he asks, curling his fingers of one hand above his head like quote marks and pouring himself a slug if the amber liquid with the other.
“Oh my God, you did not just do that,” Stiles groans, making to go past his dad. The Sherriff’s hand reaches out and touches his shoulder and Stiles stops at him name.
“Stiles…you know I’m proud of you no matter what right?” There’s such a sincere look in his dad’s eyes, one that Stiles hasn’t seen for years. They don’t do serious talking, they haven’t for years.
“Dad,” Stiles runs a hand over his short hair.
“I just….” His dad drops his hand from Stiles’s shoulder and shrugs, “don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me,” he says finally and Stiles smiles at him, feeling suddenly older and yet much younger than his 19 and three quarter years.
“Dad, I know I can,” he says gently and his dad nods, takes a sip of whiskey and nods again.
“Ok,” he says and Stiles lets out a small laugh.
“Ok,” Stiles replies and his dad smiles, claps Stiles on the shoulder and makes his way to the stairs.
“Well…g’night then,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I think I’m in love with Derek,” Stiles says, without thinking, the words falling from his mouth before he even knows what’s happening and he feels sick and his dad pauses mid step, fingers clutched around the glass and the hand rail of the stairs and he turns his head slowly to Stiles.
“Well that wasn’t what I was expecting,” he says and Stiles grimaces.
“I don’t know why I said that, ignore it, I must be running a fever,” Stiles puts his hand to his forehead, “yup, running a fever, delirious, talking rubbish, I…”
“Stiles,” his dad says, sounding resigned and tired suddenly and Stiles snaps his mouth shut, “you couldn’t have told me this when I wasn’t half way up the stairs to bed?” There’s a hint of a smile on his dad’s lips and Stiles bites on his own.
“You go to bed, I’m good,” Stiles says, forcing cheeriness into his tone that he knows his dad will hear a mile away, “just thought I’d let you know, is all,” Stiles shrugs and his dad narrows his eyes at him.
“You’re not getting away that easily young man, kitchen, now, and break out the beer,” the Sherriff grins at Stiles’s surprised expression but Stiles doesn’t argue when his dad makes a shooing motion with his hands. Hell, getting drunk with his dad can’t be that bad. Right?
…
“Shit,” Stiles mutters as he trips for the third time on the stairs.
“Language,” his dad replies, Stiles’s arm is slung over his dad’s shoulder and the ground pitches below his feet.
“You’re my best friend you know that dad?” Stiles slurs as his dad pushes open his bedroom door. The bed rises up to meet him and Stiles feels his stomach churn as his dad pulls off his shoes.
“I thought Scott was?” his dad asks and Stiles waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. Why is his dad sounding sober?
“No, you are. Scott sucks,” he giggles and his dad hauls his jeans down his legs. “Think I could tell Scott anything I told you?”
“Scott doesn’t know?”
“No, Scott wouldn’t like me dating his Alpha,” Stiles says, shifting, crawling, wriggling down under his duvet.
“His what?”
“Alpha,” Stiles mutters into his pillow, like its obvious. His eyes are tired.”Dad? Why doesn’t he want me?” he asks and there’s a hand on his head, fingers running through the short strands of his hair.
“He’s obviously an idiot,” his dad mutters quietly and that’s the last thing Stiles remembers until he wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and the sinking feeling that he’s done something incredibly stupid.
…
“Morning sunshine,” his dad is up, dressed, looking entirely too chipper for someone that got drunk with his newly out gay son last night. Then Stiles remembers that his father was sober last night and he glares through the haze of a headache. There’s coffee on the table and Stiles grabs a mug, pours it and gulps down a strong, black mouthful before putting cream and sugar in.
“Why did you get me drunk?” he asks, cradling his mug in his hands as he sits at the table.
“Because its easier to talk when you’re drunk,” his dad replies simply, getting up. Stiles puts his head into his hands and groans.
“You’re a cruel man, and you broke the law.”
“I’ll have myself arrested as soon as I get to work,” his dad replies from somewhere over his shoulder.
“Good,” Stiles mutters, head landing softly on the table. There’s a clunk of a plate in front of him and he looks up to see a pile of eggs and bacon and his stomach growls angrily at him. “Oh and by the way,” he says picking up his fork, “we’re never talking about what we talked about last night again.”
“Are you sure?” his dad asks, “because I am dying to hear just how ‘dreamy’ Derek Hale is again,” there’s a smirk on his dad’s lips and Stiles glares through a mouthful of bacon.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t, eat your breakfast.”
…
Despite the pounding behind his eyes, Stiles feels lighter as he makes his way to work. He decided not to go to college, despite his father’s disapproval, Scott had decided the same too. And Allison had been drafted into the family business. Only Lydia and Jackson had gone, but they were at State so they were around more often than not. Still going strong despite the happenings of High School, and more than one fumbling make out session with Stiles. Lydia that is, not Jackson.
He loves his job though, it gives him time to think, also gives him access to the Reference section of the library and to the unlimited WiFi. It’s where he does most of his Mr Research work. And when he’s not hiding out in the Reference section day dreaming about a hot make out session with Derek between the stalls, he’s reading to kids in the kids section, letting the stories over take him as he forgets about everything else other than the words in front of him.
The Library isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that he can hold hushed conversations with Scott over the phone without anyone over hearing. It’s got a high vaulted ceiling that’s decorated with murals, and sometimes Stiles likes to stand in the entrance hall and just stare up at it.
It’s where Derek finds him that morning, getting dizzy from looking up and he stumbles as Derek’s hand touches his shoulder gently.
“Oh hey,” Stiles shifts, feeling acutely embarrassed about his drunk confession to his dad last night, even though there is no way Derek would know about that.
“Ok?” Derek asks, confused look on his face as he cocks his head to the side.
“Yeah fine, little hungover, nothing a coke wont fix though,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and Derek frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Stiles answers shortly, trying to keep his heartbeat in check.
“You only get drunk when you have something on your mind,” and dammit Derek has a point, “or Scott’s been dumped…which he hasn’t. So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says again and Derek’s nostrils twitch like he’s trying to control anger.
“Stiles,” he says warningly.
“Derek,” Stiles mimics his tone, his own anger bubbling just below the surface. It’s not fair that Derek comes here now, when every single one of Stiles’s feelings is heightened by his chat with his dad and his thumping hangover.
“You’re lying, there’s something wrong.” Stiles sighs, he doesn’t have time for this.
“Think about it Derek, what the hell do you think is wrong?” Stiles demands before spinning on his heel and storming towards Reference, like the overly dramatic girl that he obviously is. His soles squeak across the tiled floor and he hears Derek’s faint footsteps follow him.
“You’re not still…” Derek asks as Stiles rounds one of the stalls, ducks out of eyesight of the Head Librarian’s disapproving look, as per usual.
“Yes, I’m still,” Stiles snaps in hushed tones and a frown flickers across Derek’s face.
“I thought you would have gotten over it,” Derek says and Stiles wants to punch him. Get over it? It’s not some school boy crush he can just turn on and off. No matter how much he wishes it is.
“Yeah? Me to, sadly no dice though so…” he shrugs angrily and pushes past Derek. Derek’s hand closes around his wrist.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says and Stiles shakes himself free.
“I have work to do Derek, so unless you want something…” he doesn’t wait for an answer.
…
Jackson and Lydia are back. Because Derek’s getting the feeling there is something hinky going on. Stiles’s word by the way, not Derek’s. Lydia gives him a kiss on the cheek, her small hand cupping the other one as Jackson glares at him. And much to his surprise, so does Derek. Stiles frowns briefly, but smiles down at Lydia.
“So what’s going on?” Jackson asks, tucking Lydia into his side. Lydia glares, elbows him in the ribs and he lets her go.
“Boarder dispute,” Scott answers and Jackson raises an eyebrow.
“Are we playing Modern Warfare or a real boarder dispute?” He asks and Derek steps up and takes the stand. He’s got his Alpha voice on, low and commanding and he sees the way all three of them, Scott, Jackson and Lydia can do nothing but listen.
“There’s a neighbouring pack, thinks that because I’m new to this, or new compared to their Alpha, they can encroach on our territory,” he says, his gaze flicking to Stiles. They haven’t spoken since the Library, a week ago, and Stiles, in his more maudlin moments, has felt the absence like a punch in the gut. When Jackson and Lydia are away, and Scott and Allison are pretending they are totally normal, Stiles more often than not finds himself with Derek, and even though he’s harbouring secret (or not so secret) feelings about the guy, it’s still an easy silence as Derek works putting the finishing touches to his refurbished house. It’s good now, more of a home, and Stiles feels more comfortable leaving Derek to sleep here than he did when they first starting these Clubhouse Meetings. Not that Stiles being uncomfortable about leaving Derek in a shell of a house would have made any difference to Derek.
“So…are we going to show them who’s boss around here?” Jackson asks and Lydia rolls her eyes as she tosses a lock of red hair over her shoulder.
“I need to know who they are first,” Derek says and looks at Stiles.
“What? You want me to act as bait again?” Stiles snaps at Derek and Scott frowns like he’s starting to figure something out.
“No,” Derek says softly enough that Stiles feels like a dick for snapping, “I want you out of the way.”
The whole group goes silent, Allison’s hand on Scott’s knee keeps him from moving as Stiles blinks at Derek.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want you out of the way,” Derek repeats, like he’s talking to a child and Stiles glares, feels anger bubble up to the surface.
“And what about what I want?” He demands and Derek blinks, then narrows his eyes and Stiles get the feeling he’s trying to tell him to shut the hell up. Yeah? Well not right now, sorry Derek, ole buddy, ole pal, no can do.
“Stiles,” Derek warns and Stiles shakes his head.
“No.”
“Ok, Jackson and I have to go,” Lydia stands suddenly, “we’ll come back tomorrow,” she looks pointedly at Jackson, then Allison, who stands up and tugs Scott out of his seat. Scott looks helplessly at Stiles but Stiles has got his glare trained at Derek.
Derek’s glaring back as son as the door slams.
“Don’t do that in front of them, this is between you and me,” he snaps and Stiles scoffs.
“I thought there wasn’t anything between you and me?” he grabs at his jacket and pulls it over his shoulders. Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You know what I mean,” he says and Stiles pulls his jacket back off and throws it over the back of the couch.
“No actually Derek, I don’t,” he’s just so tired of this, of this boring dance. He doesn’t care that Derek doesn’t feel the same, he can get over that, eventually. He just wants this whole thing to stop. For Derek to tell him once and for all he doesn’t feel anything.
“Does the fact that I want you out of the way mean nothing to you?” Derek asks and Stiles walks from the living room to the kitchen, remembers the way Derek’s fingers felt circled around his wrist all those years ago.
“I know I’m not a wolf, next to useless, but Derek, come on…” Stiles begins, whirling around as he hears Derek pad quietly after him. He briefly wonders when he became so aware of Derek. Scott can still sneak up on him when he feels like it but Stiles always knows when Derek is there.
“I don’t want you hurt Stiles,” Derek says quietly, like he’s talking to a spooked animal, he holds his hands out, palms upwards and takes a step towards him.
“Because I can’t heal as quickly as you I get it but…”
“Stiles, shut up and listen to me,” Derek snaps, moving fast and pressing Stiles up against the counter. Stiles feels his own heart skip a beat and Derek’s eyes flick down to his mouth briefly, “I don’t want you getting hurt,” Derek says, slowly, pointedly, then lifts his hands gently and runs his thumbs across the tops of Stiles’s arms. He’s still looking at Stiles, like he’s waiting for something, for Stiles to say no, push him away, but Stiles can’t move. Derek’s hands move higher, his thumbs brushing over Stiles’s neck.
“…oh…” Stiles breathes out and Derek’s lips curl at the corners slightly.
“Yeah…oh,” Derek answers, his smile getting a little bigger and suddenly Stiles is furious.
“You son of a bitch,” he pushes at Derek’s chest, and Derek stumbles backwards, his face falling and his eyes flash red for a second. “All this time?” Stiles demands and resists the urge to punch him. Derek looks confused for a second, gets himself under control and stands straight, looks right at Stiles and Stiles stares right back at him.
“Since Peter,” Derek says, “since he…touched you.” The memory of Peter makes Stiles shudder and Derek takes a step forward. Stiles ducks to the side.
“You never said,” he says and Derek frowns, clenches his hands at his sides and then shoves them into his pockets.
“I did you just didn’t listen,” Derek replies and Stiles scoffs again, ager draining back into his body and he storms past Derek into the living room.
“Oh well that’s convenient isn’t it?” he snaps, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
“Stiles,” Derek reaches out and curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, tugs him close and traps him flush against his body. Something surges inside Stiles as Derek lowers his head and presses their mouths together almost savagely, like he’s trying to demand calm from Stiles by kissing him. There is a small part of Stiles’s brain that is screaming at him, Derek’s kissing you, kiss back you idiot, but there’s the louder part, the part that’s angry that Derek never told him, the part that’s been hurt since Derek told him to go home two years ago, the part that mopes whenever Derek touches him and then doesn’t speak to him for a week. The part that thought Derek was disgusted with the reaction from Stiles whenever Derek touched him.
“Get off me,” Stiles pushes at him hard, pulls his hand back and strikes, his fist connecting with Derek’s jaw with a sickening crunch that he knows is going to hurt him more than it hurts Derek. Derek goes with the punch, turns his head with momentum but doesn’t stumble and looks back at Stiles with red in his eyes.
“Don’t make me angry Stiles,” there’s a warning in his voice and if Stiles’s wasn’t so angry right now he might be scared, but he’s so furious he can hardly think straight.
“Why? Because you’ll waste another two years of our lives?” he spits and Derek lets out a small growl from the back of his throat, stepping closer to Stiles.
“No because I take what I want when I’m angry,” he answers, his voice low and Stiles heads for the door.
“I’ve been wanting you to take it for four years you asshole,” he shouts, wrenches the door open and slams it shut, his hands shaking as he hears the unmistakable sound of wood splintering behind the closed door.
He makes it back to his home without crashing the jeep. And luckily his dad is working nights. There’s a message from Scott blinking on his computer but he ignores it, throws himself down onto his bed and tries to ignore the fact he can still feel Derek’s lips against his own.
…
“Dude what the hell was that last night?” Stiles blinks awake, Scott’s bouncing on his knees on the end of Stiles’s bed and Stiles groans, hauls his duvet over his head and tries to kick Scott off. “You know you want to tell me,” Scott sings, hauling the duvet off and Stiles glares at him.
“Did Allison tell you to come talk to me?” he asks and Scott has the grace to look embarrassed for a second.
“Ok, she did but I would have come anyway, because I may be a dumbass when it comes to our friendship most of the time but even I could see there was something up last night?”
“Yeah? What tipped you off? The shouting?” Stiles asks, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face.
“That,” Scott answers, “and the sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife,” he says, getting off the bed and throwing a pair of jeans at Stiles’s head.
“Allison?” Stiles asks, pulling the jeans off his face and glaring again and Scott rifles through his drawer to find a t-shirt.
“No that was actually all me, Allison just confirmed my suspicions,” Scott looks pleased with himself. “How long has it been going on?” Now he looks genuinely hurt and Stiles swallows down the slight stab of guilt.
“Nothing’s going on, or four years, depending on how you look at it,” Scott blinks.
“Huh?”
“Eloquent as ever Scott,” Stiles quips, snatching at the t-shirt that’s hanging loosely in Scott’s hand, “nothing has been going on for four years,” he says again and is still greeted with a blank expression from his best friend. He sighs and pulls on his jeans. “Really? I have to spell it out? Fine, but I need coffee first.”
…
“So you’re gay?” Stiles chokes on his coffee.
“No,” he answers automatically, then frowns to himself, “yes…maybe? I dunno,” he shrugs finally. It was easier to talk to his dad, although of course there had been a large amount of alcohol involved then, and now he’s stone cold sober in the cold light of day and Scott’s looking at him like he might have grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead, “does it matter?”
“I guess not,” Scott answers, shrugs, then grins at Stiles, “the girls will love it.”
“Shut up,” Stiles groans and Scott nudges his elbow into Stiles’s side.
“Come on man, it’s no big deal,” he says and Stiles wants to go back to bed, he wants to curl up and pretend nothing happened last night, wants to pretend that he’s not having this conversation with Scott right now, on an empty stomach.
“Yeah right, easy for you to say it’s no big deal, what about…hang on? It’s no big deal?” Scott grins at him and claps him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, no big deal. You’re my best friend and I love you,” Stiles gags and Scott pushes at his shoulder.
“I’m gay dude, not a girl.”
…
Stiles is thinking that this might be the most supportive Scott has even been, up to and including the time his mom died. He listens, when Stiles wants to talk that is, and he nods in the right places and doesn’t once mention Allison. And Stiles starts smiling back at him at around three in the afternoon.
“You do realise you should talk to him, right?” Scott says, legs crossed under him at the foot of the bed as he shoots the little computer generated Stiles in the head. Stiles winces, respawns, and throws a grenade at Scott.
“Doesn’t mean I will,” Stiles replies and Scott pauses the game and turns around to look reproachfully at him. Since when did Scott manage to become reproachful? “He…” Stiles starts and swallows, and Scott looks encouragingly at him, “kissed me last night.”
“Ewww,” Scott turns the noise into a cough at Stiles’s glare, “sorry. Sorry…please continue,” he waves his hands in front of Stiles.
“He’s waited four years Scott, I’m pissed at him,” he says sulkily.
“I thought patience was a virtue,” Scott answers, with a new and sudden sage like wisdom that has Stiles feeling very uncomfortable.
“Not when it means I have to live vicariously through you and Allison and Lydia and Jackson, and not when it means we could have been…”
“Ok I get it,” Scott interrupts, “I get it. Ok, so you’re pissed because he’s wasted time. Ever think that maybe he was scared?” Stiles snorts, “no seriously, like, maybe he wasn’t sure how you felt and ok…so…the last time he put himself out there with someone, his family got burned so, you can’t really blame him for not wanting to…put himself out there again, right?” Stiles closes his mouth that’s hanging open at Scott’s words. For once in his life he has a point, and it makes sense, and he looks ridiculously please with himself. Stiles narrows his eyes slightly.
“Did Allison tell you that?”
“No again, that one was all me,” he says and Stiles grins at his friend.
“Way to go dude,” he holds his hand out for a high five which Scott moves to reciprocate.
“Wait…does this mean you’ll go speak to him?” Scott asks, holding his hand up but out of Stiles’s reach. Stiles sighs, rolls his eyes, had ignores the flutter in his stomach at the thought of seeing Derek.
“Fine.”
“Good,” Scott grins, slapping his palm against Stiles’s.
Part Two
Anyway, they've been doing this dance is the point. They being him and Derek. And it's getting to breaking point for Stiles.
Stiles is your average everyday, run of the mill teenager heading into his twenties. Ok maybe not so average, seeing that his best friend is a werewolf who's going out with a werewolf hunter and his other two 'friends' are also both werewolves. And there's also the creepy older guy who keeps them all together. But apart from that he's pretty average. Except that he's come to the conclusion that he's got a big gay hard on for one Derek Hale. The aforementioned creepy older guy. The big gay hard on wasn't that much of a ground breaking conclusion to be honest, he kind of knew the second he saw Derek in the woods that day looking for Scott's inhaler, something flicked inside him. Didn't stop him from lusting after Lydia for the rest of high school though. He's starting to think that maybe it isn't such a big gay hard on, as much as a big Derek hard on. Anyway, he's pretty average, grew up in the house he still lives in now, average student, average looks, has a tendency to get into trouble, but that might just be because his best friend is a werewolf. He's never really been anything special. Not to anyone. Even to Scott, he's just always been Stiles but Derek looks at him sometimes like he's important. And it makes Stiles's big Derek hard on, all the more big.
The dance reached it crescendo one night, a few years back when Stiles was a few weeks shy of 18. Desperate to touch Derek in any way possible, desperate to touch anything really, especially when he had to live vicariously through Jackson and Lydia and Allison and Scott. Seemed he and Derek were the only ones not getting any. Unless Derek was off someone where else getting his wolf rocks off, but that seemed unlikely given Derek's permanent bad mood. But it came to head, the others had left and Stiles, desperate to make himself useful, to be anything apart from Mr Research had stayed behind, tidied up after wayward teenagers that thought fairies put trash into the trash can. He had sighed heavily and Derek's hand had closed around his in the sink.
“You don't have to do that,” he had muttered, whilst Stiles had tried desperately not to groan at the feel of Derek's skin sliding against his.
“I know, but I need to do something other than just be the sixth wheel all the time,” Stiles had said back and Derek had cocked his head to the side, looked confused at Stiles, “and I realise a sixth wheel would be useful given that its an even number and all but you don’t count…not that you don’t count but you can rock the lone wolf deal, you know?” Stiles flexed his fingers gently. Derek had snatched his hand away.
“You matter Stiles,” he had said and Stiles had felt the air going out of the room. Or some other poetic bullshit like that, but he had found it hard to breathe and briefly wondered if Asthma was contagious and he'd picked it up from Scott. He had shaken his head as Derek took a step back.
“I...”
“Go home,” Derek had turned away and the plate Stiles had been rinsing had clattered into the sink, making Derek jump slightly as he turned back around.
“I don't want to,” Stiles had know he sounded like a child, small and a little lost and Derek had taken half a step back, his fingers twitching by his sides.
“Stiles...don't,” and those two words had made Stiles realise that there was something other than pack leader, pack member-best-friend dynamics going on here.
“Derek...” Derek had shaken his head almost sadly and stepped away from Stiles.
“I said no Stiles.”
“Well actually you didn't say no, you said don't, which are different words with different meanings...” Stiles had been rambling, he usually did when he was nervous, and Derek usually bought the nerves out of him.
“Stiles...”
“I'm not a kid anymore Derek,” Stiles had protested and Derek’s eyes had darkened for a second, his whole body freezing as Stiles took another step forward.
“You're 17,” he had said quietly, resignation in his voice evident even to Stiles and he knew he had lost for that night.
“18 in three weeks,” even though he had lost, Stiles had never been known to give up easily, Derek had scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest.
“The very fact you said that makes my argument all the more valid,” he had replied, a small quirk in his lips like he found the whole thing amusing but was keeping a lid on his smile for Stiles’s benefit.
“Dammit Derek,” Stiles hand had made a satisfying slap as it hit the table and suddenly Stiles had found himself with his back up against the fridge and a furious Derek staring down at him, a brief flash of red and knuckles white where they had gripped at Stiles’s shirt.
“This Stiles? You want this?” Derek had growled and watched as Stiles’s throat bobbed as he swallowed around his dry tongue. “You make me do this Stiles, I lose control, you don’t want that,” Derek had dropped him suddenly, stepping back and running his hands through his hair and Stiles hadn’t failed to notice the way his fingernails were slightly longer than normal. “Go home.”
And for once in his life Stiles had done as he was told.
That had been years ago now, well two, but it had felt like a life time with Derek looking at him sideways every now and then, and Jackson wrinkling his nose whenever Derek did it. He had started to think that Derek hadn’t felt anything, was just trying to warn Stiles away from him, but occasionally Derek would let his hand slide across the back of Stiles’s neck, nails scratching slightly and Stiles would shudder. And Derek wouldn’t speak to him for days after that. And Stiles would be left wondering just what the hell went through the Alpha’s mind.
He’s moping around his house, like he always does after such moments, with his neck still tingling with the feel of Derek’s hot skin against it and his dad catches him drinking milk out of the carton again.
“Anything wrong kiddo?” he asks and Stiles swallows his mouthful of milk, wiping at his mouth with the back of his arm. His dad leans against the kitchen door jamb, arms crossed, Sherriff look on his face and Stiles shakes his head.
“No, nothing, absolutely fine, why would you think otherwise?” Stiles asks and his dad raises an eyebrow.
“Well firstly, I’ve known you for nearly 20 years, secondly, you only mope after your Club House meetings,” Stiles snorts, puts the carton of milk back into the refrigerator.
“Club House meetings?” He grins at his dad, “Dad, we’re not 12, they’re just movie nights,” he says with a shrug and his dad smiles, but it fades quickly.
“With a much older guy who you once accused of murder,” he points out and Stiles rubs at the back of his neck at the mention of Derek.
“Derek’s fine dad, he’s…” Stiles pauses, at a loss for words to describe just what Derek is.
“What?”
“Fine. He’s fine.” Stiles shrugs again and settles for the perfectly non-descript word. His dad heads over to the cabinet where he stores the whiskey.
“Fine. Or fine,” he asks, curling his fingers of one hand above his head like quote marks and pouring himself a slug if the amber liquid with the other.
“Oh my God, you did not just do that,” Stiles groans, making to go past his dad. The Sherriff’s hand reaches out and touches his shoulder and Stiles stops at him name.
“Stiles…you know I’m proud of you no matter what right?” There’s such a sincere look in his dad’s eyes, one that Stiles hasn’t seen for years. They don’t do serious talking, they haven’t for years.
“Dad,” Stiles runs a hand over his short hair.
“I just….” His dad drops his hand from Stiles’s shoulder and shrugs, “don’t want you to think you can’t talk to me,” he says finally and Stiles smiles at him, feeling suddenly older and yet much younger than his 19 and three quarter years.
“Dad, I know I can,” he says gently and his dad nods, takes a sip of whiskey and nods again.
“Ok,” he says and Stiles lets out a small laugh.
“Ok,” Stiles replies and his dad smiles, claps Stiles on the shoulder and makes his way to the stairs.
“Well…g’night then,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I think I’m in love with Derek,” Stiles says, without thinking, the words falling from his mouth before he even knows what’s happening and he feels sick and his dad pauses mid step, fingers clutched around the glass and the hand rail of the stairs and he turns his head slowly to Stiles.
“Well that wasn’t what I was expecting,” he says and Stiles grimaces.
“I don’t know why I said that, ignore it, I must be running a fever,” Stiles puts his hand to his forehead, “yup, running a fever, delirious, talking rubbish, I…”
“Stiles,” his dad says, sounding resigned and tired suddenly and Stiles snaps his mouth shut, “you couldn’t have told me this when I wasn’t half way up the stairs to bed?” There’s a hint of a smile on his dad’s lips and Stiles bites on his own.
“You go to bed, I’m good,” Stiles says, forcing cheeriness into his tone that he knows his dad will hear a mile away, “just thought I’d let you know, is all,” Stiles shrugs and his dad narrows his eyes at him.
“You’re not getting away that easily young man, kitchen, now, and break out the beer,” the Sherriff grins at Stiles’s surprised expression but Stiles doesn’t argue when his dad makes a shooing motion with his hands. Hell, getting drunk with his dad can’t be that bad. Right?
…
“Shit,” Stiles mutters as he trips for the third time on the stairs.
“Language,” his dad replies, Stiles’s arm is slung over his dad’s shoulder and the ground pitches below his feet.
“You’re my best friend you know that dad?” Stiles slurs as his dad pushes open his bedroom door. The bed rises up to meet him and Stiles feels his stomach churn as his dad pulls off his shoes.
“I thought Scott was?” his dad asks and Stiles waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. Why is his dad sounding sober?
“No, you are. Scott sucks,” he giggles and his dad hauls his jeans down his legs. “Think I could tell Scott anything I told you?”
“Scott doesn’t know?”
“No, Scott wouldn’t like me dating his Alpha,” Stiles says, shifting, crawling, wriggling down under his duvet.
“His what?”
“Alpha,” Stiles mutters into his pillow, like its obvious. His eyes are tired.”Dad? Why doesn’t he want me?” he asks and there’s a hand on his head, fingers running through the short strands of his hair.
“He’s obviously an idiot,” his dad mutters quietly and that’s the last thing Stiles remembers until he wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache and the sinking feeling that he’s done something incredibly stupid.
…
“Morning sunshine,” his dad is up, dressed, looking entirely too chipper for someone that got drunk with his newly out gay son last night. Then Stiles remembers that his father was sober last night and he glares through the haze of a headache. There’s coffee on the table and Stiles grabs a mug, pours it and gulps down a strong, black mouthful before putting cream and sugar in.
“Why did you get me drunk?” he asks, cradling his mug in his hands as he sits at the table.
“Because its easier to talk when you’re drunk,” his dad replies simply, getting up. Stiles puts his head into his hands and groans.
“You’re a cruel man, and you broke the law.”
“I’ll have myself arrested as soon as I get to work,” his dad replies from somewhere over his shoulder.
“Good,” Stiles mutters, head landing softly on the table. There’s a clunk of a plate in front of him and he looks up to see a pile of eggs and bacon and his stomach growls angrily at him. “Oh and by the way,” he says picking up his fork, “we’re never talking about what we talked about last night again.”
“Are you sure?” his dad asks, “because I am dying to hear just how ‘dreamy’ Derek Hale is again,” there’s a smirk on his dad’s lips and Stiles glares through a mouthful of bacon.
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t, eat your breakfast.”
…
Despite the pounding behind his eyes, Stiles feels lighter as he makes his way to work. He decided not to go to college, despite his father’s disapproval, Scott had decided the same too. And Allison had been drafted into the family business. Only Lydia and Jackson had gone, but they were at State so they were around more often than not. Still going strong despite the happenings of High School, and more than one fumbling make out session with Stiles. Lydia that is, not Jackson.
He loves his job though, it gives him time to think, also gives him access to the Reference section of the library and to the unlimited WiFi. It’s where he does most of his Mr Research work. And when he’s not hiding out in the Reference section day dreaming about a hot make out session with Derek between the stalls, he’s reading to kids in the kids section, letting the stories over take him as he forgets about everything else other than the words in front of him.
The Library isn’t huge, but it’s big enough that he can hold hushed conversations with Scott over the phone without anyone over hearing. It’s got a high vaulted ceiling that’s decorated with murals, and sometimes Stiles likes to stand in the entrance hall and just stare up at it.
It’s where Derek finds him that morning, getting dizzy from looking up and he stumbles as Derek’s hand touches his shoulder gently.
“Oh hey,” Stiles shifts, feeling acutely embarrassed about his drunk confession to his dad last night, even though there is no way Derek would know about that.
“Ok?” Derek asks, confused look on his face as he cocks his head to the side.
“Yeah fine, little hungover, nothing a coke wont fix though,” he mutters, shoving his hands into his pockets and Derek frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Stiles answers shortly, trying to keep his heartbeat in check.
“You only get drunk when you have something on your mind,” and dammit Derek has a point, “or Scott’s been dumped…which he hasn’t. So what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” he says again and Derek’s nostrils twitch like he’s trying to control anger.
“Stiles,” he says warningly.
“Derek,” Stiles mimics his tone, his own anger bubbling just below the surface. It’s not fair that Derek comes here now, when every single one of Stiles’s feelings is heightened by his chat with his dad and his thumping hangover.
“You’re lying, there’s something wrong.” Stiles sighs, he doesn’t have time for this.
“Think about it Derek, what the hell do you think is wrong?” Stiles demands before spinning on his heel and storming towards Reference, like the overly dramatic girl that he obviously is. His soles squeak across the tiled floor and he hears Derek’s faint footsteps follow him.
“You’re not still…” Derek asks as Stiles rounds one of the stalls, ducks out of eyesight of the Head Librarian’s disapproving look, as per usual.
“Yes, I’m still,” Stiles snaps in hushed tones and a frown flickers across Derek’s face.
“I thought you would have gotten over it,” Derek says and Stiles wants to punch him. Get over it? It’s not some school boy crush he can just turn on and off. No matter how much he wishes it is.
“Yeah? Me to, sadly no dice though so…” he shrugs angrily and pushes past Derek. Derek’s hand closes around his wrist.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he says and Stiles shakes himself free.
“I have work to do Derek, so unless you want something…” he doesn’t wait for an answer.
…
Jackson and Lydia are back. Because Derek’s getting the feeling there is something hinky going on. Stiles’s word by the way, not Derek’s. Lydia gives him a kiss on the cheek, her small hand cupping the other one as Jackson glares at him. And much to his surprise, so does Derek. Stiles frowns briefly, but smiles down at Lydia.
“So what’s going on?” Jackson asks, tucking Lydia into his side. Lydia glares, elbows him in the ribs and he lets her go.
“Boarder dispute,” Scott answers and Jackson raises an eyebrow.
“Are we playing Modern Warfare or a real boarder dispute?” He asks and Derek steps up and takes the stand. He’s got his Alpha voice on, low and commanding and he sees the way all three of them, Scott, Jackson and Lydia can do nothing but listen.
“There’s a neighbouring pack, thinks that because I’m new to this, or new compared to their Alpha, they can encroach on our territory,” he says, his gaze flicking to Stiles. They haven’t spoken since the Library, a week ago, and Stiles, in his more maudlin moments, has felt the absence like a punch in the gut. When Jackson and Lydia are away, and Scott and Allison are pretending they are totally normal, Stiles more often than not finds himself with Derek, and even though he’s harbouring secret (or not so secret) feelings about the guy, it’s still an easy silence as Derek works putting the finishing touches to his refurbished house. It’s good now, more of a home, and Stiles feels more comfortable leaving Derek to sleep here than he did when they first starting these Clubhouse Meetings. Not that Stiles being uncomfortable about leaving Derek in a shell of a house would have made any difference to Derek.
“So…are we going to show them who’s boss around here?” Jackson asks and Lydia rolls her eyes as she tosses a lock of red hair over her shoulder.
“I need to know who they are first,” Derek says and looks at Stiles.
“What? You want me to act as bait again?” Stiles snaps at Derek and Scott frowns like he’s starting to figure something out.
“No,” Derek says softly enough that Stiles feels like a dick for snapping, “I want you out of the way.”
The whole group goes silent, Allison’s hand on Scott’s knee keeps him from moving as Stiles blinks at Derek.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I want you out of the way,” Derek repeats, like he’s talking to a child and Stiles glares, feels anger bubble up to the surface.
“And what about what I want?” He demands and Derek blinks, then narrows his eyes and Stiles get the feeling he’s trying to tell him to shut the hell up. Yeah? Well not right now, sorry Derek, ole buddy, ole pal, no can do.
“Stiles,” Derek warns and Stiles shakes his head.
“No.”
“Ok, Jackson and I have to go,” Lydia stands suddenly, “we’ll come back tomorrow,” she looks pointedly at Jackson, then Allison, who stands up and tugs Scott out of his seat. Scott looks helplessly at Stiles but Stiles has got his glare trained at Derek.
Derek’s glaring back as son as the door slams.
“Don’t do that in front of them, this is between you and me,” he snaps and Stiles scoffs.
“I thought there wasn’t anything between you and me?” he grabs at his jacket and pulls it over his shoulders. Derek sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“You know what I mean,” he says and Stiles pulls his jacket back off and throws it over the back of the couch.
“No actually Derek, I don’t,” he’s just so tired of this, of this boring dance. He doesn’t care that Derek doesn’t feel the same, he can get over that, eventually. He just wants this whole thing to stop. For Derek to tell him once and for all he doesn’t feel anything.
“Does the fact that I want you out of the way mean nothing to you?” Derek asks and Stiles walks from the living room to the kitchen, remembers the way Derek’s fingers felt circled around his wrist all those years ago.
“I know I’m not a wolf, next to useless, but Derek, come on…” Stiles begins, whirling around as he hears Derek pad quietly after him. He briefly wonders when he became so aware of Derek. Scott can still sneak up on him when he feels like it but Stiles always knows when Derek is there.
“I don’t want you hurt Stiles,” Derek says quietly, like he’s talking to a spooked animal, he holds his hands out, palms upwards and takes a step towards him.
“Because I can’t heal as quickly as you I get it but…”
“Stiles, shut up and listen to me,” Derek snaps, moving fast and pressing Stiles up against the counter. Stiles feels his own heart skip a beat and Derek’s eyes flick down to his mouth briefly, “I don’t want you getting hurt,” Derek says, slowly, pointedly, then lifts his hands gently and runs his thumbs across the tops of Stiles’s arms. He’s still looking at Stiles, like he’s waiting for something, for Stiles to say no, push him away, but Stiles can’t move. Derek’s hands move higher, his thumbs brushing over Stiles’s neck.
“…oh…” Stiles breathes out and Derek’s lips curl at the corners slightly.
“Yeah…oh,” Derek answers, his smile getting a little bigger and suddenly Stiles is furious.
“You son of a bitch,” he pushes at Derek’s chest, and Derek stumbles backwards, his face falling and his eyes flash red for a second. “All this time?” Stiles demands and resists the urge to punch him. Derek looks confused for a second, gets himself under control and stands straight, looks right at Stiles and Stiles stares right back at him.
“Since Peter,” Derek says, “since he…touched you.” The memory of Peter makes Stiles shudder and Derek takes a step forward. Stiles ducks to the side.
“You never said,” he says and Derek frowns, clenches his hands at his sides and then shoves them into his pockets.
“I did you just didn’t listen,” Derek replies and Stiles scoffs again, ager draining back into his body and he storms past Derek into the living room.
“Oh well that’s convenient isn’t it?” he snaps, grabbing his jacket and heading for the door.
“Stiles,” Derek reaches out and curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist, tugs him close and traps him flush against his body. Something surges inside Stiles as Derek lowers his head and presses their mouths together almost savagely, like he’s trying to demand calm from Stiles by kissing him. There is a small part of Stiles’s brain that is screaming at him, Derek’s kissing you, kiss back you idiot, but there’s the louder part, the part that’s angry that Derek never told him, the part that’s been hurt since Derek told him to go home two years ago, the part that mopes whenever Derek touches him and then doesn’t speak to him for a week. The part that thought Derek was disgusted with the reaction from Stiles whenever Derek touched him.
“Get off me,” Stiles pushes at him hard, pulls his hand back and strikes, his fist connecting with Derek’s jaw with a sickening crunch that he knows is going to hurt him more than it hurts Derek. Derek goes with the punch, turns his head with momentum but doesn’t stumble and looks back at Stiles with red in his eyes.
“Don’t make me angry Stiles,” there’s a warning in his voice and if Stiles’s wasn’t so angry right now he might be scared, but he’s so furious he can hardly think straight.
“Why? Because you’ll waste another two years of our lives?” he spits and Derek lets out a small growl from the back of his throat, stepping closer to Stiles.
“No because I take what I want when I’m angry,” he answers, his voice low and Stiles heads for the door.
“I’ve been wanting you to take it for four years you asshole,” he shouts, wrenches the door open and slams it shut, his hands shaking as he hears the unmistakable sound of wood splintering behind the closed door.
He makes it back to his home without crashing the jeep. And luckily his dad is working nights. There’s a message from Scott blinking on his computer but he ignores it, throws himself down onto his bed and tries to ignore the fact he can still feel Derek’s lips against his own.
…
“Dude what the hell was that last night?” Stiles blinks awake, Scott’s bouncing on his knees on the end of Stiles’s bed and Stiles groans, hauls his duvet over his head and tries to kick Scott off. “You know you want to tell me,” Scott sings, hauling the duvet off and Stiles glares at him.
“Did Allison tell you to come talk to me?” he asks and Scott has the grace to look embarrassed for a second.
“Ok, she did but I would have come anyway, because I may be a dumbass when it comes to our friendship most of the time but even I could see there was something up last night?”
“Yeah? What tipped you off? The shouting?” Stiles asks, sitting up and rubbing his hands over his face.
“That,” Scott answers, “and the sexual tension so thick you could cut it with a knife,” he says, getting off the bed and throwing a pair of jeans at Stiles’s head.
“Allison?” Stiles asks, pulling the jeans off his face and glaring again and Scott rifles through his drawer to find a t-shirt.
“No that was actually all me, Allison just confirmed my suspicions,” Scott looks pleased with himself. “How long has it been going on?” Now he looks genuinely hurt and Stiles swallows down the slight stab of guilt.
“Nothing’s going on, or four years, depending on how you look at it,” Scott blinks.
“Huh?”
“Eloquent as ever Scott,” Stiles quips, snatching at the t-shirt that’s hanging loosely in Scott’s hand, “nothing has been going on for four years,” he says again and is still greeted with a blank expression from his best friend. He sighs and pulls on his jeans. “Really? I have to spell it out? Fine, but I need coffee first.”
…
“So you’re gay?” Stiles chokes on his coffee.
“No,” he answers automatically, then frowns to himself, “yes…maybe? I dunno,” he shrugs finally. It was easier to talk to his dad, although of course there had been a large amount of alcohol involved then, and now he’s stone cold sober in the cold light of day and Scott’s looking at him like he might have grown a third eye in the middle of his forehead, “does it matter?”
“I guess not,” Scott answers, shrugs, then grins at Stiles, “the girls will love it.”
“Shut up,” Stiles groans and Scott nudges his elbow into Stiles’s side.
“Come on man, it’s no big deal,” he says and Stiles wants to go back to bed, he wants to curl up and pretend nothing happened last night, wants to pretend that he’s not having this conversation with Scott right now, on an empty stomach.
“Yeah right, easy for you to say it’s no big deal, what about…hang on? It’s no big deal?” Scott grins at him and claps him on the shoulder.
“Yeah, no big deal. You’re my best friend and I love you,” Stiles gags and Scott pushes at his shoulder.
“I’m gay dude, not a girl.”
…
Stiles is thinking that this might be the most supportive Scott has even been, up to and including the time his mom died. He listens, when Stiles wants to talk that is, and he nods in the right places and doesn’t once mention Allison. And Stiles starts smiling back at him at around three in the afternoon.
“You do realise you should talk to him, right?” Scott says, legs crossed under him at the foot of the bed as he shoots the little computer generated Stiles in the head. Stiles winces, respawns, and throws a grenade at Scott.
“Doesn’t mean I will,” Stiles replies and Scott pauses the game and turns around to look reproachfully at him. Since when did Scott manage to become reproachful? “He…” Stiles starts and swallows, and Scott looks encouragingly at him, “kissed me last night.”
“Ewww,” Scott turns the noise into a cough at Stiles’s glare, “sorry. Sorry…please continue,” he waves his hands in front of Stiles.
“He’s waited four years Scott, I’m pissed at him,” he says sulkily.
“I thought patience was a virtue,” Scott answers, with a new and sudden sage like wisdom that has Stiles feeling very uncomfortable.
“Not when it means I have to live vicariously through you and Allison and Lydia and Jackson, and not when it means we could have been…”
“Ok I get it,” Scott interrupts, “I get it. Ok, so you’re pissed because he’s wasted time. Ever think that maybe he was scared?” Stiles snorts, “no seriously, like, maybe he wasn’t sure how you felt and ok…so…the last time he put himself out there with someone, his family got burned so, you can’t really blame him for not wanting to…put himself out there again, right?” Stiles closes his mouth that’s hanging open at Scott’s words. For once in his life he has a point, and it makes sense, and he looks ridiculously please with himself. Stiles narrows his eyes slightly.
“Did Allison tell you that?”
“No again, that one was all me,” he says and Stiles grins at his friend.
“Way to go dude,” he holds his hand out for a high five which Scott moves to reciprocate.
“Wait…does this mean you’ll go speak to him?” Scott asks, holding his hand up but out of Stiles’s reach. Stiles sighs, rolls his eyes, had ignores the flutter in his stomach at the thought of seeing Derek.
“Fine.”
“Good,” Scott grins, slapping his palm against Stiles’s.
Part Two