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It´s some stupid frat party.
It´s not the first of the semester, certainly not the last. Scott dragged him here, but Stiles only protested half-heartedly. He doesn´t like frats all that much, but they have booze and sometimes tolerable music. A long time ago he learned the nice side effects of dancing and just forgetting for a couple of hours.
He´s in the middle of grinding with some stoned guy in the middle of the ridiculously big living room, when Erica comes through the door.
And after that, everything kinda goes to shit.
x
Erica never liked him and Derek together. Said some shit about wounds and depression and bad coping. Boyd was always silently nodding next to her, though he never said something, and Stiles suspected he didn´t actually care that much.
Isaac never liked Stiles, so he didn´t even needed a reason for being against it.
x
Erica means that Boyd´s not far. Scott brought Isaac along, so Stiles already knows he´s here, they´re playing beer pong somewhere in the kitchen.
What he didn´t exactly expected was to see Derek walking in behind Erica in all his glory of murder brows, bitch face and leather.
And Stiles isn´t drunk enough in the least for this, feels himself paling, his heart pounding. He needs to- needs to get out of here. He can´t do it. Not now, not ever.
The stoned guy doesn´t really notice him go, and Stiles weaves through the crowd and past the makeshift karaoke stage, dodging arms and eyes, until he sees an empty corner next to the stairs and just slumps against the wall. Somebody puts a cup into his hand and he doesn´t ask. The beer is shale and disgusting, like his heart, like his thoughts, and god, he´s pathetic.
He can´t see Erica and Derek from here, but Boyd´s there, chatting with some people on the other side of the room.
He´s feeling sick.
x
Scott never was euphoric about Derek either, but at least he was somewhat friendly, tried his best, in the end finally.
He never told Stiles it wasn´t enough. Never told Stiles it wouldn´t work out.
But so didn´t Derek until the end.
x
Somehow he gets to the kitchen. Isaac and Scott are still playing, getting crushed hard by Kira and Allison to the cheering of quite a crowd. Kira smiles at him when he stumbles behind Scott to the counter and squeezes through the people.
He pours himself some vodka, more than half the glass, fills it up with orange juice and downs it in one go.
x
Stiles isn´t entirely sure anymore how they all ended up in the same city. Safe for Lydia everybody moved here, working or going to college. He skypes with Lydia every month, though, more or less.
It was gradual, probably. After high school they all somehow mingled in Beacon Hills, working summer jobs, Kira finishing school, fighting some rogue fairies and one evil elk. Except for Lydia and Allison everyone kind of took a gap year, living at home. They celebrated their birthdays, getting 19 one after the other, Derek refusing to do the same with his birthday.
Erica and Boyd were the first, attending college, working in some kind of wood shop. Isaac was not far behind with a job in a coffee shop or something. Scott got an internship at a vet not far from Beacon Hills, and after that he got in a vet program. Kira went with him and studied art then photography. Allison somehow ended up at UCLA, history and gender studies, a year later.
And Stiles- Well, Stiles, after fleeing from Beacon Hills, returned when his father got ill. In the end, he applied for his masters in the area to be near him again, healthy or not, monitoring his burger and fry intake with renewed vigor, and reluctantly moved to California nearly four years after leaving. He´s here for some months now.
And so the crew were together again.
Stiles hates it.
x
Kira stares at him as he drinks his second vodka-O. He must look worse than he thought.
She elbows Allison, who looks up and at him, her eyes getting wide. Geez.
“Stiles-,“ she mouths, but he shakes his head and grabs a nearly full bottle of some ominous red liquor from next to the toaster. She looks after him when he flees, Kira´s round face of confusion next to her.
Scott and Isaac turn around when he´s already out of the kitchen.
x
Derek hid things from him, Stiles knew. Many things, as did Stiles. But he had thought that maybe it would be enough in the end. That somewhere, sometime they could tell each other, and if not, it would be okay, too.
The time they had together had been quiet for the most part, but in a good way, comforting, sometimes even stable. It felt like the beginning of something, maybe even something great. There had always been something between them.
In the end, Stiles learned that only he saw it that way.
x
He stumbles back into the living room, scanning for any sign of the stubble of doom and cheek bones of the apocalypse. The bottle in his hand is heavy when he unscrews it. It gets lighter after the first three swigs.
Behind him he more feels than hears Allison approaching with her concerned looks. They´re still in the pack in some way, even with Stiles being away and her complicated relationship with Scott. He can still feel it sometimes, when he´s not cautious enough, when his walls are down, feels the bond seep in. Even more since he´s back in California.
They – Scott, Allison, Kira, Stiles, Lydia, and also Malia in a way – are a pack, and if Stiles likes it or not, he is and wants to be part of that. But sometimes he wishes he could do this pack thing like Malia and just live in the woods, on four paws and with no worries. Though he knows it´s not that easy for her either.
x
He misses Malia. Really does, more so than even Lydia maybe, or maybe just different.
x
Somehow he evades Allison and the rest in the crowd (seriously, how big is this house?). He dances through it, trying to slowly make his way to the front doors, breathes in the heavy air and the smoke of some joints going around. It must be impossible to smell anything in here. Stiles doesn´t know how any of the wolves can manage, it´s nearly too much for him. Right now though, he is thankful for it as he hides, knows that Derek wouldn´t be able to smell him, find him here.
He keeps his eyes open, keeps looking for any sign of him. Isaac will tell him sometime that Stiles is here. Or maybe he won´t; Stiles can´t really decipher Isaac´s deal.
He comes near the karaoke stage, where some girl and guy are butchering Ain´t No Mountain High Enough. The crowd is the thickest here and he hides, hides, hides; keeps drinking the liquor, smuggles through the throng of dancing people. The last glimpse of Derek and Erica he got was of them standing near the doors. He hopes they have moved since then.
Maybe the bathroom window is big enough to climb through.
x
They had nearly one and a half years together, not counting the weird phase in the beginning where they danced around each other like fighting cats. Stiles counts from their first kiss, Derek never said anything about a starting point.
If Stiles is honest – which he tries to be most days, at least with himself – he would say it started when he defended werewolves and Derek´s dead family in front of Argent´s stupid I´m-so-hardcore-with-my-stupid-guns face or when Derek cried over Laura´s grave one particular bad night much later.
Their first kiss happened five days before his 19th birthday, shortly after graduation. He can´t remember it all that much, there were too many kisses after, layered over one another like thin, colored veils.
x
He is caught too deep in his thoughts and suddenly he´s right beside the stage (which is really just some pallets on the ground and a mic attached to a ratty TV). Some stupid frat boy puts the mic into his free hand and Stiles takes it out of instinct. He gets pushed on the stage despite his protests. The people cheer around him.
He looks up, overwhelmed, the alcohol acid in his mouth, and right in this moment, because his luck always runs out in the worst possible moments, Derek sees him.
He's standing against the wall on the opposite side of the room, many people and sofas and stools and a yucca tree in between them, but it still isn´t enough. (Then again, the country Stiles had put between them hadn´t been, the Atlantic Ocean after that barely so.)
Stiles freezes and so does Derek, his eyes going wide and bright blue for just a second. He sees him scenting the air, as if trying to prove it´s really Stiles, like he pointlessly used to do right after the nogitsune.
And then, the next worst possible happens.
The stupid frat guy in charge of the karaoke must be some kind of psychic – which wouldn´t surprise Stiles at all -, because Happy Ending by Avril Lavigne starts playing.
x
Stiles likes to sing, mostly in the shower. He´s not that great, but decent. Derek commented on it that one time.
They were sitting in the loft on the brand new couch that Isaac had insisted on. It was late and lonely, the middle of a midnight snack and Stiles had gone to piss. He'd hummed quietly for himself and just lowly started singing some oldie, some version of Sitting On The Dock Of Bay. And when he´d come back Derek stared at him, surprised and somethings small, vulnerable in his eyes.
“You sing,” he asked tonelessly. It wasn´t exactly a question.
“Well, yeah. Sometimes,” Stiles had answered, a little embarrassed, because for a tiny moment he had forgotten about werewolf ears.
And without a word Derek stood up and did the only openly romantic thing he ever did.
He put on Sitting On The Dock Of A Bay, one of the scratchy old versions.
And then, he had taken Stiles´ hand when the song started, pulled him up into the big empty room, hands on his hip and shoulder, and started slowly, so sweetly slowly, to dance.
And Stiles had been tempted to say so many clever things. But he didn´t. Couldn´t. Not when Derek was this soft, as he barely ever was when nobody was dying.
So, they danced.
Never again Stiles had been so calmly happy.
x
The first chords fill the air. So much for my happy ending-
Stiles stares at Derek, Derek stares at Stiles.
The laugh bubbling up Stiles´ throat is an ugly, horrible one and it hurts. His life had mutated into a romcom cliché and he hates everything about it, this city, this pack, this song, these last years. Hates Derek a bit, but mostly himself.
The intro is nearly over and Stiles, Stiles feels weird, out of the situation, so, so angry and sad and- Derek´s still staring, not moving a muscle.
Stiles smiles at him, bitter, and thinks fuck this, fuck you, you know what-
And starts singing.
x
After the song had stopped, Derek had kissed him. A chaste, sad kiss that had left them both trembling.
He never kissed him like that again.
x
Let's talk this over-
His voice is rough and his words slightly slurred. He still stares at Derek.
On the word dead his voice breaks. They had been nearly dead so often, especially Derek. So often on the verge of losing each other.
Stiles sings on, these cheesy lines of truth, because what had he done? What had Derek said that he missed?
The pre-chorus is even worse, but Stiles grows more confident with every note. He sees Allison and Scott in the crowd somewhere to the right, heads spinning from Stiles to Derek.
And I thought we could be-
x
Stiles does still sing sometimes.
Under the shower, while doing laundry, sometimes even when Colin played his shitty guitar. Colin had loved it, had encouraged Stiles to sing more, dropped the word band more than once, but Stiles had always just laughed at him. He was decent, maybe, but he didn´t particularly like it. Colin had always pouted for a bit, but it was nothing Stiles couldn´t fix with a sloppy blow job and a lewd smile.
Colin had been a good guy. Bright, handsome and clueless. It was the easiest Stiles had kept another person in his bed and a part of his life.
x
You were everything, everything that I wanted-
And gods, isn’t that true. How ridiculous. Stiles swallows heavily, sickness coiling in his throat. The guitars are heavy and too loud.
Derek looks panicked, like a deer in the headlights, Erica´s on his left, fuming.
He´s beautiful, still the wet dream Stiles can´t seem to stop dreaming. His eyes are so dark, Stiles can´t see a color. He did that once, tried to decipher every different color in them, stared at him so long until Derek tackled him down and kissed him senseless.
When did they lose that?
When Derek stopped kissing him? When Stiles started asking why?
All this time you were pretending-
And that, isn´t that the nail to Stiles´ coffin. He had loved Derek, as deep and desperate as his little teenage heart had been able to, had been so happy and afraid to be loved back. And Derek- well Derek obviously hadn´t.
Or, how Derek had phrased it, “We were both just- lonely. You deserve a happy ending,” that asshole.
So much for my happy ending.
Stiles sounds bitter, even to himself. Knows his smile is probably even more sour. Scott looks pained next to Allison. He knows some of it, knows about New York and some about the amounts of angst and anxiety and self-hatred.
Derek just keeps staring.
x
“Scotty- scottyscottyscottyscotty-“
“Stiles?”
“Yesssss! Scotty, lemme tell you something about the glorious effects of Piña colada, you won´t believe it! It´s all kind of glorious, Lydia would love it.”
“What time is it over there?” There´s some rustling on the over end of the line, then, “Shit, dude, it´s five in the morning, ´re you wasted?” Scotty was the best, he even had bought another clock to see the time in New York. The best!
Stiles giggled. “Yessss.”
“Are you okay, buddy?”
“Why wouldn´t I be, Scottybro. ´m having Piña and Tina over here and,” he hickuped, “who needs the asshole anyway, right? Nobody needs the rainbow eyes and the muscles and the lil´ smile and-,“ he trailed of.
“Stiles?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you, buddy? Are you alone?”
“No, told you, Piña and Tina!”
“Is Tina a person?”
“Well, course she is!”
Tina cheered next to him and downed a shot of jelly vodka. She´s cute, with her unruly brown hair and glasses and loose T-shirts. They were spending a lot of time in the bed in her one-bed-dorm, smoking weed, drinking piña colada, fucking. She had just been out of a bad break-up and they were rebounding equally with each other. It was a match made in heaven.
“Tina from phi 102?”
“Yessss.” Tina gave him another shot, a big dopey smile on her face. He kissed her, licking into her mouth, and she moaned, deep and happy, like only high people really can.
“Oookay, buddy. I don´t need to hear this. You sure you okay over there?” Concern laced Scott´s voice. That wasn´t right.
“Yes, don´t worry, dude, I just love you so much. Even more than De- than everyone, you know? Nobody needs him anyway and his stupid hands and jokes and music and-“
He downed his shot, swallowing hard.
“Stiles-“
“No, Scott, I don´t get it, what- What did I do wrong?”
“Nothing, Stiles,” he sighed, “You did nothing wrong.”
Tina looked at him, sad but without pity, and that had been the greatest part about her; it is still. She took the phone from Stiles and gave him the joint.
“It´s alright, best friend of Stiles. I´m taking care of him.”
Stiles hadn´t heard Scott´s answer, deeply inhaling the smoke. When he opened his eyes again, Tina said “He´ll call you in the morning” and hung up.
Then she took away the joint and her shirt off. Stiles had lost himself between her warm boobs and her sweet whisper.
x
You've got your dumb friends, I know what they say-
Oh, and he knows what Erica said and did and thought about them, about Stiles. She maybe liked Stiles, but not for Derek, not with Derek. She said one memorable time that Stiles didn´t know what he was doing and fucking someone to make them love him is not the way to do it, of course only when Derek would be on the other side of town. That he shouldn´t be difficult - of all things to say she said difficult, who was she, his father? - and should just leave. He had nearly hit her. Still wants to, would do it right now, if she comes near him from where glares at him, all mighty knowing better.
How, exactly, does she know better? How, exactly, had she known better then.
And Isaac, god Isaac, the asshole. Had told Stiles, after, how maybe this was for the better, that maybe Derek would be better now and Stiles had a chance to live, away from the supernatural, this dump of city.
And Stiles hadn´t known what to say to that, because how exactly thought Isaac that would work? Yes, maybe Stiles was human for the most part, but how on earth should he just forget that he lives in a world with werewolves and kitsunes and water demon elks?
They tell you I'm difficult, But so are they-
Erica looks a little bit red on her cheeks at that, as if she has the decency to be ashamed. Yeah, that´s true, you fucking dipshit, Stiles thinks, smiling in her direction, all teeth and anger, you´re difficult, everybody´s difficult, that what makes people people. You are like me, Reyes, he thinks. All these inferiority complexes hidden behind biting fangs and claws and lipstick, like Stiles hides behind sarcasm and endless sentences.
His voice is sharp like the points of her immaculate eyeliner and he sings, because Avril really gets it, like the super teenager she was.
Derek stands like a mannequin.
Do they even know you? All the things you hide from me. All the shit that you do-
And the ever loving fuck, the shit Derek did.
x
“What do you mean, come get me?!” Stiles practically yelled into his phone. He had the suspicion what that was about and he wasn´t amused, he was fucking furious, righteously furious. He dressed in approximately five seconds and thundered down the stairs.
“Stiles- I´m only two block away from your house, but I can´t- come get me.”
“I can´t believe- what happened?” Stiles demanded to know, fear laced between every word, making his way over his driveway, already half way in the driver´s seat.
“Stiles!”
“No, Derek, seriously, what happened?” He drove like a lunatic through the night, but it wasn't very far. He could see Derek hiding in some bushes along the street already. That didn’t stop him from talking, though. “Did you run alone in the preserve and got maimed by a fucking moose again? Did you run patrol alone again and fall into a fae trap?” Derek looked pissed, what else was new, when Stiles stopped next to him, and ended the call. He talked on without pause, trying to block out the gaping wound on Derek's left side, the bloody shirt and jeans, the arrow sticking in his right shoulder. “Did you by any chance tracked some hunters alone, again, because you´re just that kind of stupid?”
Because thing was: they actually had a patrol system, with rule number one written in all caps on page one, saying no following leads alone with approximately forty exclamation points behind it.
Derek said nothing and that was as good as an answer.
Stiles stood above him, ice cold anger (so much fear) in his gut, when Derek just looked at him.
He heaved him in his backseat and drove back to his house without a word. Stitched him up, pulled the arrow and burned the mountain ash out, put him in not-torn clothes, gave him something to drink.
Every attempt of Derek to say something (which were exactly two, he was talkative this night) he answered with variations of no and dead silence, with tender hands caring for him, carefully not granting one inch of emotional comfort, not this time.
Then he put Derek into his bed and stood up.
“Where are you going?” Derek asked incredulously, halfway sitting, when Stiles took his car keys from the night stand and made his way to the door.
Stiles hesitated, just a second, because this was honest, this was Derek asking without asking for him to stay. He hated him for it.
He turned slightly, not looking at him. “Your puppies know you’re here, they should be here soon. I told them you run into some trap in the woods by accident. ” His voice sounded strange, raspy. “Pile up as long as you want, but leave before lunch tomorrow. Dad´s gonna be home by then.”
And with that he was out the door, ignoring Derek calling his name after him.
Then he drove, just drove through the night, trembling in anger and dread and helpless love.
x
Stiles wonders if the puppies know half the shit Derek had done back then. From hunters and throwing himself face first into arrows and bullets and blades like a freaking meat shield when nobody was even attacking any of the others, over not telling important information about the monster of the week right away, to jumping from a cliff into the sea in the middle of a storm (Nothing happened, Stiles, what´s your problem?).
He doesn´t know how they function as a pack now, hopes they are better then back in Beacon Hills. He meticulously avoids conversation about them with his own pack that’s still so interwoven with them, and they know better than to mention Derek and his business these days. Maybe they should though, just a heads up, like, hey, by the way, Derek goes to frat parties in ridiculously big villas, too. Would be helpful, really.
You were all the things I thought I knew-
Derek blinks and takes a step, a tiny step forwards, away from the wall. Stiles´ eyes widen and he takes a step back, like reflex, like he always put distance between them in the last years. The days where he sought Derek out, where he gained inch after inch into his territory are over. He wants to scream.
x
“Derek. God, Derek, don´t stop, don´t-,“ Stiles panted, writhing against Derek´s claws on his thighs, his dick spreading him open.
Derek´s hair was plastered against his forehead and his eyes nearly black. He thrusted faster, breathed heavily on Stiles´ neck.
It was heaven, sweaty heaven, pre and lube and full of prayer that certainly wouldn´t be heard in a church. Derek whispered his name against his skin, bit down, playfully, and Stiles just keened, pulling him even closer, his fingers fisting into his hair and shoulder, deeper into him, never wanting to let go.
It was never enough, never near enough, he wanted to be in Derek´s space, wanted him inside, wanted wanted wanted.
And Derek gave until they both couldn´t take it anymore.
x
The second refrain is somehow worse.
He sees them, remembers them, like he normally doesn´t allow himself to. The days in Derek´s bed lying in the sun, the walks through the forest, the awful fights, the arguments over dead creatures with their blood still warm on Stiles´ hands, the midnight dinners in Stiles´ kitchen, the silences in their cars.
Derek was everything he had wanted.
But he hadn´t been everything that Derek wanted, not even close. He was there to fill the loneliness, the bed, the spaces empty of emotion.
x
“This was never like this, Stiles, I thought- I thought you knew-,“ Derek said slowly, his hands in fists on his sides, his jeans still open with his dick falling halfway out.
Stiles stared at him. “Knew what.”
“I don´t- feel that way. This is just for now, just to-“
“To what.”
Stiles felt hollow, carved out. That wasn´t the answer he had hoped for, foolishly, naïve.
Derek shrugged. “To not be lonely.”
And Stiles had been speechless for once.
Derek looked at him, all sleep ruffled in the morning light of the loft. He was beautiful, but for the first time it was just wrong. Stiles felt naked, was naked, just the linen between them. He choked on nothing for a moment, desperate to fill the silence.
“Not be- How? How could you think that?” Stiles asked. “You knew, Derek, you knew how I felt, everyone knew, don´t tell me you didn’t knew that I lo- You knew and still let me think that-“
“I didn´t let you think anything-“
“Oh, is that so? You just slept in my bed, let me sleep in your bed, got me breakfast and cooked dinner for my dad, and, shit, let me fuck you, let me pick you up when hunters decided to slice you open, again, and you thought, what, that after a year and change of that, that we´re just not lonely?!”
“I-“
“You knew that I love you, Derek.” And his voice didn´t break over the word, it just didn´t. “How could you- how could you just-“
“I didn´t-“
“You did.”
Derek grinded his teeth. “If I had known I wouldn´t have let it go on for this long.”
x
And Stiles knows he´s exaggerating right now, knows he should have just left the party. Knows he reacted way to hard back then, running away too far, but he just couldn´t help it. Emotion had always been hard for him, regulating them sometimes impossible.
Handling the break-up (though if you wanted to talk semantics it hadn´t even been a break-up, because they never had been together in the first place, apparently) by cutting off all contact except to Scott, his dad and later Lydia and moving to the East Coast maybe had been a bit extreme.
Maybe he never stopped being like this. Maybe all the emotional growth he thought he did was just a farce.
So much for my happy ending-
He hates this stupid song.
x
His room looked strange without the usual mess and Stiles found himself staring at three parallel scratches right under the window sill.
His packed bags were on the bed, his favorite books in boxes, the last family photo with his mom carefully packed into an old shirt, all of it just waiting to be carried downstairs into the van. The rest was already on the way to New York.
He heard his dad rustling in the kitchen, putting together a last breakfast.
Stiles knew his dad was still hoping for him to change his mind about the early move, hoping for some weeks more, but Stiles felt the town like an itch under his skin, like a weight pulling him under water.
He tore his eyes away from the window.
Nobody would be coming through anyway.
x
The bridge starts and Stiles stops singing. The rest of the crowd bawls it out loud enough anyways.
He just- what is he doing?
Derek takes another step towards him across the room and Stiles can´t-
Maybe he ran too far, but it´s all he can do, all he will probably ever do. He never learned anything else.
He drops the microphone, shaking his head vehemently which does nothing to clear his head, and sidesteps into the crowd. He can see Scott moving in his direction, Allison right behind. He doesn´t want to face them, doesn´t want to talk about it, so he ducks behind people, moving fast towards the door, the liquor still in his hand a comforting weight. He needs to get out, now, should have done it right away when first he saw Derek.
He manages to get into the foyer, the front door wide open, people all across the front yard. Then a hand closes around his wrist.
Derek looks even better up close. His hair is longer, his beard fuller. He looks good, the asshole.
“Stiles-,“ he starts to say.
And just, no.
“No!” Stiles all but shouts, instinctively concentrating on his wrists, thinking of heat, of fire, believing-
Derek tears his hand off, cursing as if burned, no, actually burned, his palm bright red for a second. Stiles` tattoos are licking up his hands as if they were actual flames and not just comic-style ink. Thank god most of the people here are so high that this looks probably as normal as the abstract painting on the wall. (What kind of frat is this?)
He doesn´t wait for Derek to catch up and pushes on. He can´t outrun a werewolf, but he needs an exit strategy, needs to hide hide hide, but where-
He takes the stairs three at a times, hears Derek swearing behind him, actually following him, what the fuck, when did that happen to be a thing for Derek? He wrenches the bathroom door open, thanks all the deities that its empty and throws it close behind him, locking it.
The bathroom is big, with fancy green tiles and a painting of Mike Wazowksi above the toilet. The window facing the neighbors is wide open.
“Stiles-“
Derek sounds resigned, even through the door. Tired, maybe.
Stiles shakes his head, not that Derek can see it, pressing his hands against his eyes.
“No! Just-- go away!” he yells. God, now he even talks like a teenager again. Par of the course tonight, really, way to be a grown-up, Stiles.
“I just wanna-“
But Stiles stops listening, peering out the window. It´s not that high, he can totally jump that. He takes a swig from the bottle, two, three, and puts it on the floor.
“Stiles, please, I just wanna talk-“
Stiles pauses, one leg over the window sill. Did Derek Hale just say please?
“I´m not gonna talk to you!” he says, loudly, whispering a muffling spell over himself afterwards.
It´s a neat little thing, especially useful when hiding. He wishes he wouldn´t have to use it so often. It´s hard to concentrate right now, the vodka getting to him, but he had managed in worse circumstances. Not that Derek should be able to hear anything over the thumping bass anyway. Stiles just likes to be on the safe side of things.
“Then, just let me? Stiles-,“ and sure, why not, he thinks, and lets Derek talk to his heart's content, making no sound when he sits in the window, both feet dangling over the grass one floor down.
He barely feels it when his feet connect with the ground.
x
He lived nearly a year in New York City.
It taught him how to get lost, how to wind your way through the crowds, unseen, just another fish in this big ocean made by urbanization. And he liked it in a way he never though he would. He had feared it would make him feel small, insignificant maybe, and it did in a way, but for the first time he actually liked that. Nobody gave a shit about him, nobody expected him to be something he wasn´t, nobody looked at him funny when he was looking like shit or was talking to himself in a 7/11.
He was comfortable here, had a regular coffee shop, a bookshop, a jogging route. Tina took him to obscure movies and sometimes quiz nights in a pub near the library. It was easy and it was nearly good. The anonymity of the city was grounding him, making him feel safe.
So, naturally, he ran into Derek at his coffee shop on an unassuming Tuesday morning.
They both froze, standing in line. The most clever thing would have been to just ignore each other and go on with their lives. Instead, Stiles found himself waving. His response to weird situations was generally doing something incredible stupid, like searching for dead bodies in the middle of the night or loosing his virginity in the basement of a freaking asylum, so this was only to be expected. In this particular case, he awkwardly sat down opposite of his not-really-ex-boyfriend and sipped his coffee while looking everywhere but him. Derek looked about as comfortable as he had when he asked Stiles to chop off his arm. Good times.
“I´m sorry,” Derek said after minutes of tense silence.
Which was just- just wrong. He was sorry? He said sorry?
Derek looked blank, controlled. “I didn´t-“
“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked quickly, talking over him. He didn´t want to hear it.
Derek paused, but let it slide in the end. “I´m getting the last of Laura´s stuff.”
Apparently, Derek had never stopped owning their old apartment the last five years. (Owning an apartment in New York City, that rich asshole.) Go figure. Another thing to add to the ever growing pile of things Stiles didn´t know about. To top it off, the stupid apartment was only a block away from Stiles` own. Where else would he get a coffee but in Stiles´ coffee shop.
By the time his coffee was empty, they had managed both three full sentences (not counting I´m sorry) and Stiles was ready to buzz out of his skin.
“So, nice meeting you and all, but I kinda have something to do now,” he said in a rush, when Derek took a last sip, exhaled real hard and began to open his mouth looking very earnest and apologetic. Everything would´ve been better than this right then. Stiles would´ve rather skinned himself and rolled around in salt than listened to whatever Derek was about to say. “Maybe we see each other sometime, you never know, take care. Goodbye Derek!”
He started to slid out of the booth and grabbed his backpack. Derek´s hand on his wrist stopped him before he could stand up.
“Stiles-“
“Gonna miss you too, Derek. Such a shame I don´t have more time,” he said as cheerfully as he could, smiling with too many teeth.
“I´m sorry,” Derek confessed, fast, like the words tore themselves out from behind his lips, and oh my god, twice in under half an hour, what the fuck, “I never wanted to hurt you and I thought we were just- I was- You were safe and I thought it was the same for you.“
“I was safe?”, Stiles asked incredulously, couldn´t help it.
“You had nothing to gain from- ”
Sleeping with you, Stiles added for himself. Not like Jennifer, not like Kate.
Derek looked constipated, so uncomfortable in his skin it would have been funny if Stiles didn´t feel like putting a pencil through his own eardrum just to drown out the static inside his head.
Derek had fucked him because he had been safe. Because he already had been in the pack, the pack they´d tentatively tried to build that summer after graduation and which inevitably hadn´t worked out. Which had broken apart into its natural components in the end, Derek and his three betas vs. Scott-Allison-Kira-Lydia-Stiles-Malia.
(Stiles leaving had played a big part in that. They never chose sides or something, but if he believed Scott there had been quite some yelling.)
Derek had fucked him because he hadn´t been any kind of threat.
Stiles wasn´t sure if he should be flattered or insulted, because everything was a threat to Derek in some way. He didn´t know what to say to that. Thank you? Fuck you, too, asshole?
“You never said anything,” Derek said before Stiles could think of an answer. “I assumed it was the same for you.”
He sounded gruff, angry, the fingers still gripping Stiles´ wrist tightening.
“You assumed that I let you fuck me over the jeep in the middle of the woods because you were safe?”, Stiles said, maybe most definitely a bit loud.
That maybe wasn´t the best argument against Derek´s fuckbuddy perspective on their- thing, but Stiles wouldn´t acknowledge his feelings in front of him again if someone would held a gun against his head. Also, Derek had always hated it when Stiles had talked too loud in public spaces, especially when it was about anything related to fucking.
The guy behind Derek gave Stiles a look over his milkshake. Stiles sneered back.
“I assumed,” Derek gritted out, closing his eyes for a second as if he was praying for strength, “we were on the same page. That this was just a tool to not be-“
“Lonely,” Stiles finished, when Derek trailed off.
“Yes.”
Stiles pressed his lips together, looking out of the window. In hindsight, he should have left at least then. Should have stood up and left the shop to go home and eat a gallon of ice cream. Instead, he stayed for Derek to spit more bullshit.
“I thought you knew. I´m not somebody to- It wouldn´t have worked out.” He spoke nearly gently, as gentle as Derek ever allowed himself to be. “And you deserve better than that, better than-“
“If you say any variation of It´s not you, it´s me, I´m gonna barf all over this fucking table.”
The guy with the milkshake gave Stiles a sympathetic look. See, even he got it. Derek on the other hand sighed as if this conversation was hard for him.
“Look, we were both just- lonely. You deserve a happy ending.”
And then, the motherfucker let Stiles` wrist go and left. Had the audacity to squeeze Stiles` shoulder on his way out as if to console him.
Stiles was too stunned to do anything until he heard the store´s doorbell.
And then he was just furious.
x
The grass is wet and slippery thanks to the neighbor's sprinkler, but he manages to land safely on his feet. Thankfully, nobody is near this part of the house to notice him jumping out of the first floor like a drunken Jackie Chan wannabe. The alcohol churns in his stomach.
He jogs around to the front, waiting just behind the last corner, checking the perimeter for Scott and Allison. They are nowhere to be seen. Good. He doesn´t think he wants to try another hiding spell.
He walks across the front yard, trying to look a hundred times more calm than he feels. He is just leaving, just a normal guy leaving a party, nobody is making a fast exit at all. He doesn´t know why he bothers to be honest, like, this is a party, not a crime scene. People run around or leave all the time. He needs to get a grip, this isn´t enemy territory, for god´s sake.
He sees a dude from one of his lectures smoking with some people. He waves back at him when the dude lifts his hand. Being normal, waving goodbye. Unfortunately, the dude is also normal and does what dudes at parties do and exclaims, “Already leavin´, man?”
Stiles is just grateful he didn´t shout his name. Also, what was the dude´s name again? Neil or Jake? Ben?
He shrugs and manages an nearly easy smile when Neil-Jake-Ben strolls over to him, matching the relaxed pace Stiles forces himself to maintain. He is nearly by the gate.
“Yeah, you know how it is. Better booze at home.”
Neil-Jake-Ben grins and takes a drag of his smoke. “Want company?” he asks, surprisingly straightforward, making Stiles pause.
Normally, a smile like this combined with a pretty face like this would be the best outcome of a frat party. Even better, he remembers the guy saying something funny and intelligent in class last week. For a moment he is actually tempted. What´s better than company to get over some scabbed heartbreak?
But he is also drunk and miserable. He just embarrassed himself with a crazy karaoke number. He feels like shit, because Derek didn´t really do anything wrong back then. He just didn´t want to be with Stiles like that. Just because Stiles can´t handle rejection well, it is not all Derek´s fault. He just had wanted him so hard. And he had thought Derek wanted him back. He was so sure of it, he fucking told him. Derek, he told Derek. And maybe he hadn´t needed or wanted a response, no confessions of eternal love, not even a smile, because as mentioned, Derek. But he also didn´t expect the reaction he got.
So he wants to drown this clusterfuck of guilt and anger and shame in cigarettes and too much alcohol and maybe sleep for a week.
“Ask me again Monday,” he manages to say.
Neil-Jake-Ben doesn´t lose his smile and salutes mockingly, before sauntering away again. Stiles huffs a laugh.
Then, he turns around and steps on the side walk. He gets across the street. Nobody shouts his name, nobody grabs his wrist. He gets to the end of the street. Nobody runs after him.
He allows himself to finally breathe again when he is three blocks away. He stops for a second, two, three, to just do that. Breathes until he feels hollow and brittle, until his heart slows down a bit. Until he doesn´t feel like fleeing anymore.
Then he keeps walking.
Maybe he should get Chinese before crashing. He will probably forget to eat tomorrow.
//