Home- Farmer Chords
Title: Farmer Chords
Length: ~830 words
Rating: PG
Warnings: Unbeta'd- isn't always?
Summary: Stiles had always planned on taking his guitar, leaving home, and never looking back, but he never made it very far, and though he's done a pretty good job at forgetting the past, seeing Derek Hale again brings up all kinds of abandoned feelings.
A/N:Woot! Check it out errybody- three days in and I haven't missed a day yet! I'm proud of myself even though I really shouldn't be. :P But we're already almost halfway there, which is crazy and exciting. :D So, lemmme know what you think, because I wanna hear from you- know matter how trivial! Even if you just wanna leave me a 'Hey!' Please R&R! Also- please keep listening before/after/during reading if for nothing else than the fact that this is coming from a really good album. ^^
color:black">They met when Derek was six and Stiles was four.
color:black">Stiles had gotten... distracted by a bird and followed it out into the forest surrounding the Hale property. It didn't take long before he was lost and afraid- and that's when a young Derek had found him crying alone in the woods.
color:black">They became friends instantly and were inseparable ever since. The tiny age gap had never mattered- in fact they'd never even given it a moment's thought, until high school.
color:black">That's when it was suddenly "uncool" for Derek to be hanging around a little kid all the time, and then two years later, even more mortifying for a junior to start dating a freshman.
color:black">Because Derek was attractive, and athletic, and because everyone loved his older sister they were willing to forgive his attitude to try and make him popular.
color:black">Stiles was gangly and awkward. He never knew when to shut up and he always tried too hard. He couldn't compete with all the other boys and girls that wanted Derek's attention and the fear that he would finally realize that, that he would leave Stiles behind grew with each year.
color:black">He had learned to play the guitar when he was in middle school- his parents always searching for something that would make him focus. And for once, something they tried worked. Fumbling over the chords and trying to unravel a melody in the pathways from his heart, to his brain, and eventually down to his fingers was challenging and exciting.
color:black">So he offered up these simple rhymes and tried to paint Derek with his words, and whether or not they work, the older boy stays. And when they were alone he’d sing back the tunes that Stiles penned for him, he’d hum them when he showered, and he’d whistle them when he worked.
color:black">Stiles wonders if he still does, or if they’ve all been long forgotten. All of this little, innate things are what fill his mind when he steps off the stage and starts packing up his things and trying frantically to wipe the sweat from his brow. He imagines that he’s probably gonna smell a bit, and he knows that his voice is going to be hoarse, but he can’t just walk out and ignore this.
color:black">He takes a few deep breaths and forces his hands to stop shaking before slinging his guitar case over his shoulder and walking out into the bar. The majority of the crowd has cleared out- moving on to the busier and more exciting joints to continue their night, but there’s a few stragglers- the heavy drinkers, the ones who enjoy the quiet, and on occasion someone who actually stuck around to talk to him about his music.
color:black">But tonight there’s no sifting through the faces, his eyes snapped and locked onto the person behind the bar. Derek’s face is as impassive and stony as ever, though he never used to be so muted around Stiles, and it still stings. In his eyes there’s a hint of electricity that Stiles has no idea how to interpret.
color:black">He makes it to the bar before his knees give out, but he thinks that he turns the collapsing into taking a seat pretty convincingly. He tries his best to smile, but his lips quiver and the corners of his mouth twitch. He probably looks like an addict in withdrawal. Derek goes to smile back, but his turns into more of a grimace and he shows far more teeth than any human should in a smile.
color:black">It takes several awkward seconds for their awful, almost-smiles to peter out and then for a moment there’s nothing but a tense silence. Then, a familiar mischievous glint passes through Derek’s eyes and the both of them start laughing. It’s not a gut-busting, red-faced, teary-eyed sort of laugh, but it feels good and it breaks the strain between them.
color:black">From there it’s easier, but they keep to light topics and never drift anywhere close to Beacon Hills. It makes Stiles a little sad, that they can’t talk to each other like they used to, but at the same time he can tell that the bridge hasn’t been burned. It’s run-down, rickety, and pretty damn decrepit, but there’s still something there.
color:black">It’s fragile, and the two of them spend the evening tip-toeing around each other, but by closing time, they’re still talking, and it’s still comfortable. At the door they exchange numbers and make a commitment to get together again sometimes next week, preferably when Derek isn’t working and Stiles can speak above a whisper.
color:black">Stiles isn’t sure how he feels about the whole thing just yet- after all it didn’t turn out so well the first time, and isn’t the definition of insanity doing the same the over and over again and expecting different results? He pulls his guitar a little tighter over his shoulder and resolves to think about it more- after a full night’s sleep and a long hot bath.
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