Chapter Text
Thanksgiving approaches quickly, after that.
Stiles books himself a seat on the same plane that Lydia plans to take and calls his Dad, who’s ecstatic when he hears the news.
After that, it’s all hour-long skype sessions with Erica, psyching himself up for the awkwardness to come and letting Lydia make all of his clothing decisions.
They only have to talk him out of bailing on the whole thing four times and Lydia is determined to count that as a win.
Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been this nervous to get on a plane in his life.
* * *
Allison picks him up at the airport when they land.
After they’ve said goodbye to Lydia who’s parting ways with them to spend the day at her parents’, Stiles slings the arm that’s not holding his bag around Allison’s shoulder and bumps her hip with his.
“Man, I’m so glad you’re here”, he tells her whole-heartedly.
Allison chuckles and flashes him her dimples.
“Scott wanted to come pick you up, originally.”
Stiles groans.
“Don’t get me wrong, you know I love that kid to death, but I’m so happy you’re here instead.”
“Yeah, Lydia instructed me not to let you get harassed before you even set a foot in the door and I figured trapping you inside a tiny car with Scott’s meddling for thirty minutes probably counts as such, so...here I am”, she winks at him and Stiles plants a wet kiss on her cheek.
“See? That’s why you’re my absolute favorite”, Stiles enthuses, squeezing her shoulder, “I’m so glad my future sister-in-law feels my pain, that’s like - the most important, I’m tellin’ ya.”
Allison elbows him in the side playfully as they make their way to the parking lot.
“Stop saying that, we’re not even engaged yet.”
“Pfft”, Stiles makes, waving her concerns away with a flail of his hands, “Semantics, shmemantics...” and gets an elbow to the ribs for his troubles.
* * *
Everyone is already there when Stiles arrives, chatting away excitedly in the foyer of Stiles’ childhood home. A slight hush settles over them as soon as Stiles steps through the door and Scott wastes no time in darting over and wrapping Stiles up in a tight hug.
“‘m so glad you’re here, man”, Scott sighs happily between enthusiastic pats to Stiles’ back, “Thanksgiving’s not the same without you.”
“Yeah, me too”, Stiles replies, patting Scott’s back absentmindedly, his eyes automatically seeking out Derek over Scott’s shoulder.
He’s standing off to the side somewhat, looking uncertain and shifty and Stiles’ heart throbs painfully with how much he wants to go over there and crack a joke just to watch him relax.
He untangles himself from Scott’s hold and makes his way around the room, purposefully avoids looking in Derek’s direction while hugging and kissing and greeting the rest of his extended family.
He feels it takes an extraordinary amount of focus to keep his eyes from wandering, the skin on the back of his neck prickling with it.
When Stiles finally comes to a stop in front of Derek, the last one in his round of hello, the room falls quiet around them.
Stiles can’t help but grimace at the awkwardness of it all, sees his own incredulity mirrored back at him in the way that Derek’s eyes flit around over Stiles’ shoulder, wide and disapproving.
Stiles leans in slightly and there seems to be a collective intake of breath from behind him.
“They all staring at us or what?” Stiles whispers.
Derek’s eyes flit to his for a second, making eye contact for the first time in weeks and already, Stiles feels like coming here was a bad idea.
With another quick glance over Stiles’ shoulder, Derek gives a sharp jerk of his head and Stiles rolls his eyes.
“Man, they’ve got to find some sort of chill, seriously”, Stiles murmurs, startling a chuckle out of Derek and Stiles watches, fascinated, as Derek’s shoulders sag into a soft-looking slope in the wake of it.
Taking advantage of the lighthearted moment between them, Stiles tips forward to wrap his arms around Derek’s shoulders, squeezing gently and breathing “Hi Derek” into the curve of his neck.
There’s a second of hesitation that Stiles feels in the pit of his stomach before Derek’s hands move and settle lightly against Stiles’ back in return, making Stiles’ lungs seize up uncomfortably and before Derek can do much more than reciprocate the greeting and squeeze briefly, Stiles is already halfway across the room again, slugging a grinning Scott in the shoulder.
* * *
Dinner is awkward, to say the least.
People seem to be divided on how to approach the elephant in the room that is DerekandStiles, with Boyd and Isaac resolutely sticking to discussing the latest in baseball while Erica tries to keep Stiles occupied with wedding talk and the Sheriff interjects pointed questions about Stiles’ plans for the future.
He’s only been home for two hours and already, Stiles can feel his patience wearing thin.
He wonders if this is what Derek has to deal with on a daily basis, wonders how he can possibly bear it, everyone always trying to butt in on his personal life all the time.
Wonders what they’ve been saying to him about Stiles in all the years he’s been away.
A glance across the table doesn’t reveal much in terms of answers - Derek mostly stares at his plate in silence and acts like he’s not being talked about in thinly veiled metaphors.
* * *
“Hey, so … have you guys thought about a date for the wedding yet?”
The main part of dinner is over, everyone slumped down in their chairs, filled up on food and drink and talk. There’s a slight lull in the conversation that comes with being too full to move and Stiles is quite determined to take matters into his own hands and make the next topic of conversation not about him.
John and Melissa exchange a quick look.
The Sheriff clears his throat.
“We’re, uhm… actually, we’re still waiting to see how some things, uh - develop before making any decisions, so…yeah.”
A tense silence has descended over the table and Melissa shifts uncomfortably in her seat, keeping her eyes fixed on her empty plate.
Stiles narrows his eyes suspiciously at his father.
“Like what?”
John huffs and makes a vague hand gesture. “Like … we don’t even know where you’re gonna be a year from now!”
Stiles flicks his eyes over to where Derek is still focused resolutely on his plate. Everyone else is staring at him.
He looks his father dead in the eyes.
“Yes you do”, he grits out between clenched teeth. “I’ll be in New York a year from now.”
John heaves a sigh and holds his palms out towards Stiles in a placating manner.
“Look, Stiles, you don’t have to -”
“No, Dad, there’s nothing to discuss”, he clarifies, rolling his eyes at him. “I only have two semesters of school left, I’m not gonna just … Whatever happens” - he cuts a quick glance over to Derek only to find he’s finally torn his eyes away from his plate and is already staring back at him, an unreadable expression on his face that makes Stiles’ stomach convulse uncomfortably - “No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere until I finish school.”
It’s suddenly become quite difficult to swallow, Stiles finds. Derek’s eyes are burning holes in the side of Stiles’ face.
He pushes back from the table in a hurry, the legs of his chair scraping obnoxiously over the hardwood floor and fixes his father with a pointed look.
“Quit stalling, Dad”, he says and without another glance at the table, leaves the room.
* * *
Derek finds him on the back porch, leaning against the railing and nursing a beer.
Stiles inclines his head in greeting when Derek leans next to him, otherwise keeping his eyes focused straight ahead.
“It’s a bit much in there, isn’t it?”, Derek muses, quietly.
Stiles takes a swig of his beer.
“Yeah, sorry”, Stiles sighs, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “They’re just - god, they’re so damn pushy.”
He thunks his bottle against the railing in frustration, startles slightly as some of the liquid spills over onto his hand, sticky and cold.
Derek chuckles warmly next to him.
“Yeah, tell me about it”, he says, tone fond and only slightly exasperated. “Did you know that after you left - ... um, here, I was presented with plane tickets to New York on no less than three separate occasions?”
Stiles turns his head to stare at the side of Derek’s face, relaxed and soft in the warm light streaming through the screen door.
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
Derek pops the ‘p’ and turns to smirk at Stiles.
“Wow”, Stiles makes and tears his eyes away from Derek’s after a moment, slides a finger through the condensation on the side of his bottle. “I didn’t know that, I’m sorry. That’s kinda awful.”
“Yeah, well”, Derek shrugs and when Stiles lifts his eyes again, he’s staring into the darkness of the Stilinski’s backyard, seemingly unaware of Stiles’ gaze on him.
He looks good, Stiles thinks, not for the first time this evening. Relaxed, soft.
At peace, somehow.
It’s a stark contrast to how he looked when Stiles first walked through the door mere hours ago and Stiles can’t help but wonder what changed.
“Did you ever … you know. Think about using one of those?”
The words are out of Stiles’ mouth before he can make himself stop.
Derek seems to ponder the question for a minute.
“Not really?”, he finally says, shrugging again.
It stings more than Stiles would have imagined.
“I mean, I wanted to, don’t get me wrong”, Derek goes on, turning so his hip is propped up against the railing and his entire body is facing Stiles, “But I felt like you had made yourself pretty clear and I thought that if there was ever a chance that you and I could be … something again, in the future, friends maybe - I should respect your boundaries.”
Stiles’ mouth is suddenly very dry and he fumbles with the bottle a little, almost dropping it, skin gone numb with cold.
“Also”, Derek continues with a small smile playing on his lips, “and I know that’s not what it was all about, I know New York was where your scholarship was, but emotionally - egotistically - I always felt a little bit like you chose New York specifically because you knew I wouldn’t follow you there. So. I didn’t.”
Stiles hums thoughtfully, flicking his eyes up to meet Derek’s and smirking a little.
“I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind once or twice”, he says and watches, transfixed, as Derek throws his head back and laughs, freely, with his whole body.
Stiles wants to bottle it up and keep it for a rainy day.
“I knew it”, Derek chuckles and grins at Stiles.
“Still pretty egotistical, though.”
Derek hums.
“Oh yeah. My therapist says it’s a problem”, he muses and grins devilishly when Stiles chokes on his own spit and starts hacking up his lungs in loud, painful coughs.
He thumps Stiles on the back a few times, until his coughs turn into slow wheezes and he holds up a hand to signal he’ll be fine, tries to take deep, even breaths. He knows his face must be on fire.
“Derek Hale, making therapy jokes!” he exclaims once he feels like he’s got his breathing under control again, shaking his head in amazement, “You really have changed!”
“Is that what they say?”, Derek asks, leaning back on his elbows, “That I’ve changed?”
Stiles rubs a hand over his still heated face and goes to mirror Derek’s position.
“I mean … yeah”, he admits reluctantly, slightly afraid that might’ve been the exact wrong thing to say. “Change doesn’t always have to be bad, though, right?”
“I don’t know”, Derek replies, watching his shoe scratch at the old wooden planks on the floor, “you tell me.”
Stiles swallows tightly and chances a quick look at Derek’s face. His features are tense, gaze focused on the floor.
Stiles knows that look. And he can hear the implication behind Derek’s words, hanging in the air between them heavily, unspoken and dangerous.
After all, you used to love me once, before I changed.
Stiles fumbles his bottle, scratches at the corner of the label until the glue starts coming off.
“No, it’s definitely -”, he clears his throat when his voice comes out scratchy, “definitely good. Yeah.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he can feel Derek’s gaze on him.
“Yeah?”
Stiles gnaws at the inside of his cheek, slides his finger under the corner of the label and peels it off slowly.
“Yes”, he says, decisively, and glances up into Derek’s waiting eyes. “You’re still that same person, Derek, under all the therapy jokes and the talking about your feelings and stuff - you’re still you, only somewhat new and improved.”
Derek inclines his head in a tiny nod and gives him a shy smile.
“Okay”, he mumbles, tearing his eyes away from Stiles’ and facing the floor again and Stiles - Stiles thinks: Fuck this.
The words are there, they’re at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spoken and Derek still looks unsure of himself, vulnerable and quiet and small and Stiles can’t stand to watch it one more second.
“I never loved that there were all of these dark places you’d go to where I couldn’t follow”, he breathes out, in one single gust of air and the way Derek’s eyes snap up to meet his, all hopeful and wide and bright, makes it all worth it: the gnawing feeling in his stomach, the tightness of his chest, the butterflies.
Derek’s eyes drop down from Stiles’ for a second before flicking up again and Stiles licks his lips compulsively. Derek angles his body slightly more towards him and Stiles grips the neck of his beer bottle tightly.
“Stiles…”, Derek begins, voice low and raspy and Stiles’ heartbeat picks up in anticipation, his torso swaying forward almost involuntarily.
A loud crash from inside disrupts the growing tension, then, both of them jumping away from each other at the sound.
They look up to see a sheepish-looking Isaac and Scott standing next to an overturned armchair right inside the screen door to the living room, purposely avoiding looking into the direction of the back porch.
Stiles lets out a laugh that’s more air than sound and shakes his head at his friends.
“Idiots”, he chuckles, turning to share a fond smile with Derek.
Derek inclines his head in the direction of the living room.
“You wanna go back inside?”
Stiles chances a look inside the windows visible from where they’re standing, finds his Dad and Melissa whispering to each other in good view of the back porch, Boyd and Allison working in the kitchen, Isaac and Scott painstakingly rearranging the armchair into its designated place.
“Nah”, he sighs finally, tilting the neck of his bottle in the direction of the windows. “They’re circling like sharks, I can see them.”
Derek chuckles a little next to him but makes no move to contradict him.
“Alright”, he acquiesces, “Tell me about New York then.”
* * *
“...and there’s this barista, this sweet little columbian girl who keeps flirting with Lydia, every single time we go in there, without fail, and she just does it so confidently and so openly that Lydia gets all flustered and shy, it’s a joy to watch, man, I’m tellin’ ya”, Stiles rambles, cheeks flushed and hands flying, “And I think she might actually like it? Like, seriously. Lydia and the ladies - who would’ve thought, huh?”
Stiles chuckles to himself and shoots Derek a quick grin. They’re both leaning against the railing, facing out into the backyard, close enough that their arms brush together with every movement of Stiles’ hands.
“Just - don’t tell anyone I told you that, alright? I don’t think she’s ready to announce anything to the world just yet.”
Derek gives him a soft smile and mimes zipping his lips shut.
“My lips are sealed”, he says and instead of turning back to face the backyard again, he turns his body sideways, leaning his hip against the railing and keeping his eyes fixed on Stiles’.
It makes heat settle low in Stiles’ abdomen, heavy and promising.
Stiles flits his eyes away from Derek’s, focuses on where he’s picking on a splintering piece of wood with his fingernail.
“Anyway, where was I?”, he continues and makes himself ignore the feeling of Derek’s eyes roaming his face, still, tries to keep his voice from wavering, “Oh yeah - their pumpkin spice lattes. Oh. My. God. Derek, I kid you not, you would be in love with this place, their pumpkin lattes are to die for, seriously, I don’t think I’ve ever -”
“I love you”, Derek blurts.
All air is suddenly gone from Stiles’ lungs.
He turns slowly, shakily, to find Derek staring at him intently, face screwed up in desperation.
Stiles swallows against the heartbeat pounding in his throat.
“ … what?”, he croaks out, voice small.
Derek drags a rough hand down his face and throws a quick glance in the direction of the house, like plotting an escape route.
“I … look, I’m - that’s not -”, Derek rushes to begin, darting a hand out towards Stiles and taking it back almost instantly, eyes wide and round and earnest. “I’m really sorry, this is - the worst timing ever, but I just - and you were -”
He breaks off again, letting out a shuddering breath and pushing his hand through the hair flopping onto his forehead and Stiles sort of wants to hug him.
Stiles licks his lips. His fingertips are buzzing and he presses them against the rough wood under his hand, hard.
Derek looks like he’s about to start pacing any second.
“Derek”, Stiles says, softly, and then again, louder, when Derek doesn’t seem to hear him, “Slow down. You’re not making any sense.”
Every word feels like it’s being dragged through molasses, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth, sticking and unsticking itself from the roof of his mouth with every movement.
At Stiles’ words, Derek seems to straighten up, pushing his shoulders back and stilling his hands.
He nods vigorously.
“Yeah. Right”, he breathes out, seemingly to himself, and pushes the heels of his hands into both eyes for a moment.
The air is getting colder and colder around them with every passing minute.
Stiles feels like screaming.
With a big breath of air, Derek drops his hands to his sides and fixes his eyes on Stiles’.
“I know this is really bad timing, but I just … I wanted to tell you - just once - that I’m sorry for not making it clear, back then, before everything ... that even though I wasn’t sure about anything else - I was always sure about you.”
Without taking his eyes off Stiles’ face, Derek pushes a hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and Stiles’ hands start shaking.
When Derek pulls out a small grey jewellery box, Stiles can’t even say he’s all that surprised.
His stomach lurches into his throat at the sight nevertheless.
Derek turns the box over in his hands, smiling down at it sadly.
When he looks up again, his eyes are full of regret.
“And I’m sorry I didn’t give this to you when we still had time”, he continues in a soft voice, “but it’s yours regardless. I’m not gonna give it to anyone else.”
Without another word, Derek holds out the box, presenting it to Stiles on his open palm.
Stiles wants to slap it away from him.
His eyes are burning.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”, he half-laughs, half-croaks out after a minute, putting the back of his hand to an overheated cheek. “Jesus, get that thing away from me!”
Derek’s face falls when Stiles shoves at his hand for good measure, his eyes going big and round in the split of a second.
“Don’t you dare give that to me, you dumbass!” Stiles goes on, voice breaking as manic giggles threaten to overwhelm him, “You better hold onto that and fucking give it to me properly in a year or two, alright? God!”
Stiles’ nose is running and Derek is still looking at him like he hasn’t understood a word he was saying.
Derek lets the hand still holding the box drop down to his side. He licks his lips.
“But - what -”, he stammers, squinting at Stiles in confusion.
Stiles throws his arms out to the sides with a laugh that’s mostly snot and sniffles.
“We’re not finished, you idiot!” he exclaims. “Or, at least, like - we don’t have to be. Derek - that night - the night before you remembered and I left - you didn’t know the whole truth, but I did. Don’t you get that? I did!”
Stiles drags the arm of his sweater over his face, wiping away the moisture there and smiles at Derek’s dumbfounded face when he re-emerges.
He takes a tentative step closer. Derek watches Stiles’ foot closely.
“I do”, Stiles breathes when he’s close enough to lift a hand to Derek’s chest, hooks a finger into the pocket of his leather jacket. “It might not’ve been real for you, but it was for me. Everything I said that night - it’s still true.”
He lets his eyes roam over Derek’s face, trying to catch the moment Derek realizes - the moment Stiles’ words start to make sense in Derek’s head.
It’s a glorious sight, how Derek’s eyes widen with realization and instantly flit to Stiles’ for confirmation, how one side of his mouth ticks up half a second before the other, how color floods his cheeks and darkens his complexion.
“Oh”, Derek whispers on a shaky exhale, his lips forming a perfect round and Stiles can feel his lips split wide in a grin when Derek’s hand hesitantly comes up to curve around Stiles’ elbow.
“Yeah”, Stiles smiles, raising his other arm to touch his hand lightly to Derek’s waist, “Oh.”
Derek licks his lips, his eyes darting down to Stiles’ mouth for a second and his hand fluttering indecisively at Stiles’ hip.
There’s a confused little crease just above the ridge of his nose and Stiles wants to lick it.
“Does that - I mean, are we -”, Derek stammers out and winces, almost reflexively, his frown deepening.
Stiles grins at him and uses the finger still in Derek’s pocket to tug himself closer.
“That means”, Stiles breathes, “that I love you, too, you big awkward doofus. And that you’re really insanely dumb for trying to give me that ring like that.”
Derek exhales on a relieved laugh, warm air tickling Stiles’ chin, making his stomach come alive with butterflies.
He grips Derek’s waist tighter and unhooks his finger from Derek’s pocket, letting his hand slide up Derek’s chest and coming to rest at the curve of his neck.
Derek slides his hand around to press between Stiles’ shoulder blades, squeezes Stiles’ hip with the other.
They’re so close that all Stiles can see is Derek’ mouth and his left eye.
He grins.
“And now kiss me already”, he commands, gaze dropping down to fix on Derek’s lips, quirked up in a smile, “cause my Dad’s been watching us from the window for the last five minutes and I swear to god, if you don’t kiss me right now, I can guarantee he will come out here and make you.”
And on the tail end of Stiles’ giggles - Derek does.
* * *
Stiles wakes up to the sun shining in his face and his father yelling his name from downstairs.
It takes him a second to orient himself, to remember that he’s in his childhood bedroom instead of his tiny apartment in New York, that it’s the day after Thanksgiving, that Derek kissed him goodbye at the door last night, careful and shy and promising.
He presses his grin into the cool linen of his pillow for a second before reluctantly rolling out of bed and pulling on a pair of jeans.
He’s not sure what he was expecting to find when he comes downstairs, but somehow, it wasn’t his father and Derek in the open doorway, making light conversation.
The sight makes something slightly painful twist in his stomach.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” he says when neither of them seem to have noticed his presence. The smile that lights up Derek’s face as soon as his eyes find Stiles’ makes Stiles’ knees go weak.
It’s way too early in the morning for something like that.
“Hey you”, Derek replies, voice soft and eyes crinkled, and John throws Stiles a quick smile before nodding his head at Derek and turning away from the door and into the kitchen.
Stiles steps closer at the sight of Derek’s outstretched hand, hooks his fingers into Derek’s hesitantly.
“G’morning”, he says to Derek’s shoulder, swaying on the spot slightly, suddenly unsure of what’s appropriate, of where to go from here.
Last night was all confessions and big feelings and an overwhelming, all-encompassing sense of relief.
Today, in the bright light of morning, all Stiles can see are the things they haven’t yet talked about staring him in the face accusingly - the hurt feelings, the miscommunications, the disappointments.
It makes him unsure of whether he’s allowed to press his face into the curve of Derek’s shoulder and inhale, like he desperately wants to, and he hates it.
Derek squeezes Stiles’ fingers and swoops in to press a quick kiss to the corner of Stiles’ mouth.
“Come on”, he says, “I wanna show you the house.”
* * *
Stiles doesn’t remind Derek that he’s seen the house before, has lived in it for just over three months.
He doesn’t, but it’s a close thing.
* * *
“This one was Cora’s room, growing up.”
They’re standing in the doorway to an empty room, slightly on the smallish side, with a big bay window overlooking the backyard and to Stiles’ surprise, he’s actually never seen this room before.
“It’s green”, he states, slightly dumbfounded, staring at the light color painting the walls.
“Yeah.”
“Green!”
A tiny crease forms between Derek’s eyebrows and that’s not at all what Stiles wanted.
“You always said it was your favourite gender neutral colour, right?”
Stiles gulps, tearing his eyes away from the walls to stare at Derek who’s looking at the floor with a light touch of pink to his cheekbones, an embarrassed smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Stiles clears his throat and squeezes the hand that’s been leading him from room to room desperately, wills his voice not to come out too wobbly.
“Right”, he croaks, wobbly as all hell.
* * *
“See that corner over there, by the big oak tree? I’m planting gardenias there, and sunflowers. And tulips. Or - like, I’m trying to.”
“Gardenias were your Mum’s favourite, right?” Stiles asks, quiet and careful.
Derek nods.
“Yeah.”
His own mother loved sunflowers, Stiles thinks, but he isn’t too sure he’s ever told Derek about that.
He squints at the corner Derek indicated, at the sad little stems of green and brown.
“Didn’t Laura hate tulips? I feel like I vaguely remember you talking about that at one point…”
“Despised them”, Derek concurs, smirk evident in his voice. Stiles turns away from the backyard to stare at the grin splitting Derek’s face wide. “Went on and on about how they were nature’s biggest failure, such a sorry excuse for a flower.”
“You’re an idiot”, Stiles snorts, leaning into Derek’s side slightly, and it comes out so fond that he has to bury his face into Derek’s shoulder to hide the blush that’s rapidly spreading across his cheeks, making his skin burn and his heart ache.
* * *
The ring box sits on the mantle in the living room, right smack in the middle of it.
Awkward silence settles over them when they come to a stop in front of it and Stiles can’t help but reach a finger out to touch the soft velvet.
“So…”, Stiles begins, trailing off into nothingness almost as soon as he’s started and quirking an eyebrow at Derek.
“I’m not even sure if it still fits you”, Derek mumbles, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Oh, um. I - I wouldn’t worry too much about that, if I were you”, Stiles says, going for nonchalant and failing spectacularly when Derek’s eyes snap to his immediately.
“Yeah?” Derek breathes and heat creeps up Stiles’ neck at the naked hope in his eyes.
He drops his eyes and focuses intently on shuffling his socked feet across Derek’s beautiful hardwood floors.
“Yep. Mhm”, he mumbles, embarrassed smile tugging at his lips and, really, it’s not Stiles’ fault they end up on the floor mere seconds later.
It’s been a while since he’s had to brace for sneak attacks, is all.
* * *
It’s almost dark out when the topic finally comes up.
They’re sitting outside on the steps overlooking the frontyard, bundled up in thick sweaters against the chill of approaching darkness and cradling hot mugs of tea in their palms.
Stiles keeps sneaking glances at Derek, all soft and relaxed as he talks about coming up with the plans for the house and doing most of the construction work on his own with some help from Boyd and Scott and Isaac, and Stiles feels like he might burst from all the questions that keep bubbling up inside of him.
It’s been a nice day, seeing the house that Derek has rebuilt in his family’s memory and getting to hear all the little stories and memories that come with it, just being in each other’s presence again - quiet and calm and comfortable, even after everything that has happened between them and Stiles wouldn’t trade it, not for the world, but something doesn’t quite sit right.
Somehow, even though he feels so happy that at times he thinks he might burst from it, he also feels like they’re - cheating, almost.
“Hey, Der?” he interrupts Derek in the middle of some talk of tearing walls down, Stiles isn’t too sure, he hasn’t been paying very close attention, “Why aren’t you mad at me?”
Derek closes his mouth with an audible click, a deep crease forming between his eyebrows.
“What are you -”
“I’m not trying to start a fight or anything”, Stiles hurries to add, circling a reassuring hand around Derek’s wrist, “just, like - I kinda feel like we’ve gotten off way too easy, you know? Like we’ve tried to take a shortcut and jump to where everything’s fine and easy and I just … I feel like that’s gonna come back to haunt us one day or something. If that makes any sense?”
The frown on Derek’s face deepens.
“Oh god, that doesn’t make any sense, does it? Sorry, I swear I’m not trying to, like, kill the mood or any-”
“Hey, stop”, Derek interrupts, all calm and collected where Stiles is fidgety and nervous, and nudges Stiles’ thigh with his knee, “You’re right, we should probably talk about that stuff. Or, like, at least part of it? I don’t think Thanksgiving break is quite long enough to cover all of it at once, to be honest.”
Stiles sags a little against Derek’s shoulder in relief, lets out a weak laugh and presses his thigh up against Derek’s firmly.
“Yeah, we’ve accumulated a real mountain of fuck-ups between us, haven’t we?”
Derek chuckles and gives Stiles a warm smile that makes his insides all fluttery.
“That we have”, Derek agrees and he says it so warmly and fondly that Stiles can’t help but sway forward a little, just enough to close the distance between them and press a soft kiss to Derek’s lips.
“Go on then”, he breathes onto Derek’s lips when he goes to pull away, “tell me why you’re not mad at me when you have every right to be.”
Derek huffs out a laugh and shakes his head a little, colour darkening his cheeks slightly.
“It’s not that I’m not … mad at you. I am. Or I was, at least”, Derek begins, hesitantly, squinting out into the approaching darkness and picking at a loose thread at the seam of his jeans. “I was furious, actually. Not just at you, but at everyone. Everyone who called you and made you come here and thought that would be the best solution and … lied to me. Over and over and over again. I’m not gonna pretend like I’m not still resentful about that, at least a bit. And it wasn’t just anger. I was also just so...embarrassed, you know? To know that I kept throwing myself at you the way I did, to know that I’d made you uncomfortable, for weeks and weeks, when that wasn’t what we were doing anymore, at all, that was ... Hard.”
Stiles reaches a hand out to still Derek’s fidgeting fingers, enveloping his hand with both of his and holding tight.
“So it’s not like the feelings weren’t there. They definitely were. It’s been more a matter of … reevaluation, you know?” Derek goes on, using his thumb to trace patterns on the skin of Stiles’ ring finger. “I’ve been talking to my therapist about it a lot and she’s been a great help with this. She’s been encouraging me not to focus too much on what makes me angry and sad and who’s wronged me in which ways but more on what makes me happy. She’s always saying, like: sometimes you’ve gotta decide to let go of the heavy things in order to stop from drowning and that’s super cheesy, I know, but just…”
“I like it”, Stiles interjects, softly, when Derek breaks off and stares into the darkness for a moment, lost in thought.
He drags his eyes back to meet Stiles’, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah, me too”, he mumbles. “And as bad as everything about that accident was, I can’t help but think we probably wouldn’t be here without it, you know? It’s made you come home and no matter how mad I feel about everything else - I could never be mad about that. So I just … decided to let go, I guess. Focus more on trying to be happy.”
There’s a big lump in Stiles’ throat, blocking his air supply and he swallows against it roughly, squeezes Derek’s hand tightly.
“Wow”, he croaks out, clearing his throat against the raspiness in his voice, “that sounded…”
“Well rehearsed?”, Derek supplies, a cheeky grin tilting one corner of his mouth upwards and making his eyes glitter. “Yeah. I’ve been talking this through a lot. Trust me.”
Stiles barks out a breathless laugh almost against his will and nudges Derek with his elbow.
“No. I mean, yeah, totally, but that’s not… I’m just. So glad you’re happy.”
Derek’s smile is a bright, luminous thing in the near-darkness and Stiles just wants to kiss it.
“Me too”, Derek whispers, like he’s telling a secret, quiet and soft and lovely, and tips forward to capture Stiles’ lips with his.
They kiss lazily, without any urgency or destination, and Stiles’ head feels dizzy with it, light and fuzzy now that they’ve finally started sorting through the mess of issues still separating them.
They break apart after a few minutes, trading soft little pecks before snuggling into each other, with Stiles’ head tucked into the curve of Derek’s neck, Derek’s cheek resting on top of his head.
The air around them gets colder by the minute, darkness surrounding them almost completely now, and Stiles thinks he can probably part with a toe or two if it means he gets to stay here, in this moment, just a little while longer.
*
“So what now?” he asks after they’ve been quiet for what feels like forever, his feet gone numb with cold.
Derek shifts beside him, his arm tightening its hold on Stiles slightly.
“Well you’ll be here for Christmas, right?”
“Yeah, definitely.”
“And then for Erica and Boyd’s wedding. And your dad’s.”
“Totally.”
“And, I thought, you know, New York’s just a plane ride away.”
Stiles untangles himself from Derek’s embrace at his words, squeezes a hand around Derek’s knee and looks at his grinning face with big, hopeful eyes.
“Really?”, he asks, not even trying to hide his excitement one bit, “You wanna come visit?”
Derek folds a big hand over Stiles’ where it’s still squeezing his knee painfully and nods a little, smiling.
“Yeah.”
“In New York? You think you’re gonna be alright there?”
Stiles’ brows knot together in concern and Derek reaches out a thumb to smooth out the crease between his eyebrows.
“It’s not all bad memories, you know?” he says, tone soft and warm. “And I think maybe it’s time to make some new ones. Good ones, for a change. Also - I’ve really been craving a good hot dog lately, so … that’s as good a reason as any, right?”
Stiles huffs out a small chuckles and jabs Derek in the ribs with his pointer finger. “Also - your outrageously funny and very handsome boyfriend’s there. Just sayin'.”
Derek catches Stiles’ finger in his hand and makes a big show of shrugging his shoulders, puts on an unimpressed face.
“Meh”, he makes, barking out a laugh as Stiles charges at him with an indignant shriek. Derek lets himself topple over onto his back, using Stiles' momentum to take him down with him so he comes to rest on Derek’s chest, his hands planted onto the cold concrete on either side of Derek’s head to stop his fall and face adorably scrunched up in surprise.
Snickering lightly, Derek gets a hand into the hair on the nape of Stiles' neck and tugs, just enough that Derek only has to lift his head an inch or two to press a soft kiss to Stiles’ lips. “I love you.”
“Love you too, you big loser.”
* * *
And then, nine hundred and twenty-one days after Stiles leaves Beacon Hills with no intention of ever coming back, Derek is on a plane to New York.
* * *
Fin.