Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tomorrow comes with sunlight streaming through the gaps in the blinds. Derek blinks himself into sluggish consciousness to find Stiles’ face turned towards him on the pillow, even less than an inch away, his eyes soft and sleepy, only half-open as he traces gentle fingers over the ridges of Derek’s cheekbone.

“Mornin’,” Derek mumbles, still not quite all the way awake as he shuffles closer with an arm looped around Stiles’ waist, palm resting at the small of his back. “How long have you been staring at me?”

Stiles smiles, small but radiant as he sways forward to press their mouths lightly together. The sheets are bunched up around their hips, pooling at the waistbands of the boxers they both wore to sleep, and Stiles hums against Derek’s lips, hitching a warm knee up and in between Derek’s thighs while his thumb comes to rest at the notch of Derek’s jaw.

“Not long enough,” he says quietly, so close their mouths brush together as he speaks. “You snore, by the way.”

“Well, you talk in your sleep,” Derek counters, letting a smirk crawl onto his face. “You were saying something about the best sex you’ve ever had…”

Stiles laughs, body vibrating against the bed as he wracks with it, bringing a hand up to shove gently at Derek’s shoulder. His touch lingers there afterwards, skimming down Derek’s arm with his knuckles until he can tangle their fingers together, joined hands resting together just at the jutting bone of his hip.

“S’cold in here,” he says, slinking a little nearer.

“But you’re warm,” Derek replies, thumb stroking back and forth over Stiles’ skin.

Stiles wrinkles his nose up. “You have morning breath.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Oh, because yours smells like roses.”

Using his hand at Stiles’ hip, he manhandles him until he’s flipped around, on his side and tucked tightly against the curve of Derek’s body as little spoon. The smooth expanse of his naked back is warm against Derek’s chest, and Derek tips forward to nose over the cluster of moles behind his ear, fitting an arm securely around his waist again to tug him as close as possible.

“Better?” Derek asks.

“Infinitely,” Stiles answers, the grin clear in his voice as he wriggles his ass back pointedly, rubbing up against Derek’s more than interested morning wood. “Ah, and good morning to you too, big guy.”

Derek huffs a laugh, shifting his hips to eagerly roll into Stiles’ grinding friction. He trails kisses at the edge of Stiles’ hairline, runs faint presses of lips up and down the side of Stiles’ neck, sweeping a hand up Stiles’ torso to reach his shallow breathing chest, fingers splayed against his sternum.

That patch of hair at the centre of Stiles’ chest catches beneath his nails as he crooks his fingers to drag through it for a few seconds. Stiles hums quietly, soft and appreciative as he arches into Derek’s touch, and Derek skates his hand down to Stiles’ taut stomach, stretching out around his navel, fingertips just glancing the hard line of his cock.

Stiles sucks in a quick, shaky breath, reaching back to clutch at Derek’s side. Derek lets his hand continue drifting low, lower, lower even still, moving to palm at the erection through the fabric of his underwear.

“That’s nice,” Stiles says huskily, tilting his head to expose more of his pale skin to Derek’s wandering mouth. “You should definitely keep doing that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Derek presses teasingly, grip tightening, just slightly, pulling a beautiful sound from between Stiles’ parted lips. “Even though it’s just nice?”

Stiles scoffs, a sound completely at odds with the insistent press of his body back into Derek’s.

“I didn’t deny the best sex ever thing, dude,” he says. “So quit fishing.”

Derek bites down at the juncture where Stiles’ neck meets his shoulder, grazing with the edge of his teeth while Stiles’ spine bows against him, gasping with it. He moves until he can settle his mouth at the base of Stiles’ throat, right on top of the heavy hammer of his pulse, where it rhythmically thud-thud-thuds away.

“Maybe I just want to hear you say it,” Derek says softly. “Maybe I just want to know how good I make you feel, baby.”

Derek feels the trip of Stiles’ beating pulse, an instant response to that murmured endearment, stuttering against his growing smile.

“God, you – jackass.” Stiles’ words come out tetchy and breathy in equal measure, and he drags his hand away from Derek’s torso to reach wildly out towards the nightstand, snatching up the lube from where they left it overnight. He tosses it over his shoulder and giggles into the sleepy morning air when it connects audibly with Derek’s chest. “How about making yourself useful back there, eh?”

Derek bites his retort into the nape of Stiles’ neck, flesh hot and supple beneath his teeth. He uses the hand not groping Stiles’ hard dick to pop the bottle open and get to work on slicking up a few fingers.

“Brat,” he accuses.

“Horny brat,” Stiles amends, “who would very much like to get fucked again, please.”

Well. Derek was never going to be able to deny such a sweet request like that.

It’s quick work to finger Stiles open this morning, pliant and yielding where he’s still a little stretched from the activities of the night before. He buries his moans into the pillows as Derek gets him ready, hitching his hips backwards as Derek litters every inch of his skin with sticky-wet kisses, murmuring gentle words of reverence around them.

Stiles holds a knee folded up towards his chest when Derek finally slides inside, sighing out a noise of pure pleasure when Derek buries himself to the root, hips pressing sharply against the soft curve of Stiles’ ass. Derek grunts and mouths over Stiles’ shoulder blade, keeping his thrusts shallow, slow and unhurried, like time itself doesn’t even exist within the confines of these four walls.

Tight heat clenches around him, and Stiles reaches back to thread his fingers through Derek’s hair, urging him on with the restless rolling of his hips, the breathy little pleas that tumble from his always open mouth. Derek holds him steady with a solid hand flat to his chest, elbow pressed firmly into his hip as he kisses his throat and nips at his earlobe, fucking him leisurely until he’s nothing more than an incoherent mess, almost sobbing as he squirms against the sheets.

They come together, so in sync that it’s within seconds of each other. Stiles cries out with his hand fisting needily over his own cock while Derek holds onto him by the chin, twisting his neck around so their mouths can meet, so they can kiss, messy and stupid and needing. They pant into each other’s mouths, their eyes screwed tightly shut, and they tip over that edge together, completely wrapped up in one another.

Afterwards, as they clean themselves up, they find themselves effortlessly drawn to one another, barely able to keep their hands from roaming the expanses of skin they can spy. It takes longer than it needs to, a lot longer than it needs to, simply because they keep pausing to kiss and laugh, clutching onto one another as they stumble into the adjoined bathroom to brush their teeth.

As much as Derek has fantasised and fantasised about ever getting the opportunity to just spend the day curled up in bed with Stiles – today, unfortunately, he has a flight to catch, and Stiles has a three-hour drive home and a dad who’s expecting him back for lunch.

So, they get dressed. Stiles climbs back into the clothes Derek lent him last night, and Derek throws something on just for decency’s sake, for now. Stiles picks his still switched off phone up from the floor beside the bed, tucking its black screen into his pocket just before he stalks closer to Derek, cupping Derek at both cheeks and leaning in for a slow, soft kiss.

A deep crease lines Derek’s forehead as they pull away; as he looks into Stiles’ big, brown eyes.

“You’re really sure you don’t want me to walk you to your car?” he asks.

It’s not the first time he’s posed the question this morning. The same words have spilled from him enough times as they’ve made themselves ready that Stiles scoffs lightly as they hit his ears, again, rolling his eyes as a fond smile plays around his mouth.

Neither of them has acknowledged it, but they both know why Derek keeps offering. Stiles already has all of his stuff for break packed into his blue Jeep, waiting, parked up and ready to go, in the student parking lot. They both know there’s a chance, a good chance, really, that Theo will catch him before he has a chance to jump in and get the hell out of there.

Derek could be – should be, in his opinion – there to help.

Stiles disagrees. So, he shakes his head, soft and not unkind.

“It’s fine,” Stiles says, a repeat of god knows how many times. “It’s only, like, a ten minute walk. I’ll be fine.”

Derek kind of wants to argue that, but Stiles is already pulling himself out of Derek’s arms and heading for the bedroom door before Derek can contest any further. He waits a beat with his fingers curled around the door handle, turning to look at Derek over his shoulder with a soft smile on his face and his arm extended for Derek to link their fingers together.

Letting himself be drawn close to Stiles’ side, Derek nudges his nose against Stiles’ temple, inhaling deeply. Stiles closes his eyes, humming his contentment as he presses the handle down and swings the door open.

A few steps into the open space of the apartment, and they both stop in their tracks.

“Stiles. Holy shit.” Isaac sits at the kitchen island, spoonful of cereal paused halfway to his slack mouth. His eyes dart back and forth between Derek and Stiles, widening as they catch on the hickey tucked beneath Stiles’ jaw, dropping down to their twined hands and snapping back up after a shocked second. “Holy shit.”

Stiles bows his head, leaning further into Derek so that their shoulders knock together. Derek squeezes his fingers in reassurance, and Stiles squeezes instantly back.

“Hey, Isaac,” Stiles greets, bending his elbow to offer a short wave.

Derek uses his grip on Stiles’ hand to lead him a little further into the room. Isaac sits halfway between Derek’s bedroom and the front door, meaning there’s no route to the exit that avoids him. They’re just going to have to go ahead, suck it up, and face off against his gaping jaw and eyebrows startled halfway up his forehead.

“I thought you were spending the night at Allison’s,” Derek says.

“I, uh. I did. I got home about half an hour ago.” Isaac pauses, a faint colour rising to his cheeks as his eyes flick knowingly to Derek’s open bedroom door. “I was… I was wondering who was in there with you, actually.”

“Oh, god,’ Stiles says sharply, grabbing too tightly onto Derek’s bicep with his free hand. “You didn’t, like, hear anything – did you?”

Isaac’s eyes turn the size of dinner plates, stuttering breaths choking in his throat.

“No, no, of course not!” he flounders, mouth gaping like a fish. “That’s – I – um. No?”

Stiles groans loudly, screwing his eyes shut and tipping his head to hide his red face against Derek’s shoulder. Derek has to bite his lip to keep back the laughter that threatens to escape him, meeting Isaac’s embarrassed eyes from across the room. He brings his free hand up to Stiles’ head to pet soothing fingers through his hair.

“Well, that’s fucking mortifying,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s shirt. “Please, for the love of god, do not ever tell me what you heard. I have absolutely no desire to learn what I sound like in the – in the throes.”

Derek does let himself laugh, then, relaxed and happy. He sweeps gentle fingers down the side of Stiles’ face to rest lightly against his blush-hot cheek, burning face still pressed firmly against Derek’s shoulder.

“I don’t know,” Derek says, not fighting the smirk on his face one bit. “I think you sound pretty good.”

That distracts Isaac from his shock long enough to turn and fake a retch into his shoulder. Stiles shifts his head to crack one eye open up at Derek, smiling bashfully, his nose all scrunched up.

“You would.” He probably means for it to come out as a grumbling complaint, but it only comes out entirely soft and fond instead. He smiles up at Derek for another second before drawing his shoulders back to stand up straight, nodding once in Isaac’s direction. “Anyway. I should probably get going. Hope you have a nice break, Isaac.”

“Sure, you too,” Isaac replies, still sounding a little dazed.

After grabbing Stiles’ clothes from the dryer, Derek follows him over to the front door. He doesn’t miss the pointed eyebrow that Isaac raises in his direction, but he does choose to ignore it for now in favour of joining Stiles under the archway. He leans his shoulder up against the doorjamb and immediately tangles their fingers back up together.

“Let me know when you get to your dad’s house?” Derek asks tentatively.

“Yeah, of course,” Stiles agrees instantly, thumb rubbing over Derek’s knuckles. “Hope your flight’s not too bad. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for no screaming babies for you.”

“Much appreciated,” Derek murmurs his reply.

He watches as Stiles’ eyes dip to his mouth, and he lets one corner tick up into a smile for a moment before he begins to close his eyes, leaning in for one last, lingering kiss. Stiles’ hand comes up to hold his jaw, and Derek’s fingers steal underneath the hem of Stiles’ borrowed t-shirt to trace faintly at his hip, and it still feels more than a little surreal that he’s able to do this now, that he’s allowed, even encouraged, to do this now.

The kiss goes on for a lot longer than either of them really has the time for. When they pull away from each other, they are both wearing matching, stupid grins.

“I’ll see you in January,” Stiles says.

“I’ll speak to you before then,” Derek replies.

“Well, duh,” Stiles teases, rolling his eyes. “I’ll message you in a few hours.”

Reluctantly, Derek lets go of Stiles’ hand. He cocks his head with a smile as Stiles begins to walk backwards down the hallway towards the stairs, waving and nearly tripping over his own feet as he goes. Derek laughs as he watches on and doesn’t move to close the door until Stiles is completely out of sight.

Even though he expected nothing else, Derek twitches slightly when he spins around to find Isaac standing directly behind him, his stance deliberate and not at all patient. Crossing his arms over his chest, Isaac lifts an expectant eyebrow. He rolls his hand in a go on gesture when the silence stretches and Derek doesn’t immediately take his cue to speak.

Derek draws in a breath and lets a ripple run through his shoulders.

“He broke up with Theo,” he opens with.

An unpleasant pang jolts suddenly through him as he realises that technically, technically, that’s not actually altogether true. Last night, on the couch, Stiles had said it was over, had said those exact, wonderful words to Derek. But the same sentiment hasn’t been spat in Theo’s horrible, smug face – not yet, anyway.

He pushes that technicality far, far from his mind and meets Isaac’s narrowed eyes head on.

“When?” Isaac presses suspiciously. “Literally the same day?”

Derek frowns, mirroring Isaac’s stance with a defensive arm fold. He squares his shoulders and lets a scowl sweep over his features.

“You know better than anyone that this… thing… between us has been building for a while now.” Derek lifts a hand to run through his still messy bedhead, pausing to pull in a deep breath. “It’s not… it’s not just a, a rebound. It means something. For both of us.”

With a sigh, Isaac drops his arms to either side of his torso. His mouth twists unhappily, his face a picture of consternation.

“Look, I’m not trying to…” Isaac starts, trailing off for a second to push a long, heavy breath through his nose. “I just – it’s a messy situation, is all I’m saying. And I can’t help but be reminded of… you know. I don’t want to see you getting hurt again.”

“He’s not Jennifer,” Derek says sharply. “He’s not like that.”

Isaac sighs again, tilting his head to the side and regarding Derek – almost sadly.

“I hope you’re right,” he says.

“I’m right,” Derek replies with finality. “And I need to pack, my flight’s in a few hours. I’ll see you after break.”

He doesn’t give Isaac a chance to respond to his face before he brushes past him, knocking their shoulders roughly together. The apartment floor shakes slightly beneath his stomping footsteps as he quickly makes his way towards his bedroom.

“I really do hope you’re right,” he hears Isaac repeat quietly.

Derek slams the door behind him.

*****

“Quit smiling so much. It’s unnatural.”

“Oh, so smiling’s unnatural now?”

Derek draws his gaze up from the phone in his lap to lift an eyebrow at Laura across the living room of her Manhattan apartment. She meets his eye through the mirror she stands in front of, fixing an earring to each lobe before picking up her mostly empty glass of wine. She brings it up to her mouth, barely trying and entirely failing to hide her obnoxiously wide grin behind it.

“It is when you do it,” she insists, spinning around on the ball of one foot to smirk directly at him. “It’s creepy. You’re creeping me out.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well. You’re annoying.”

She narrows her eyes and purses her lips, nodding at him, slow and sage, before leaning back against the wall beside her reflection. She crosses an arm over her stomach to curl fingers around an elbow, keeping the hand holding her drink steady and upright.

“Burn, bro,” she says drily, before baring even more teeth in a too-big smile. “Maybe I just need to get used to it, anyway, seeing as how you’re all in lo-o-o-ve now.”

Her beam turns into a loud cackle when his face instantly slips into a scowl. Huffing, he types out the final word of his message and hits send before sliding the phone into the pocket of his basketball shorts. He folds his arms across his chest and glares at her over the top of them.

“Weren’t you supposed to leave half an hour ago?” he asks with a sneer.

She scoffs and brings her free hand up to toss a perfect curl over her shoulder.

“This much beauty takes time, Der-Bear.” She presses her glass against her painted red lips, tipping it back to drain the last remaining sips before dropping it to the coaster beside her. “The invite’s still on the table, by the way. You don’t have to ring in the New Year sitting all alone in your bedroom if you don’t want.”

“You mean – the invite to go to a disgustingly crowded bar downtown where I can pay stupid amounts of money for watered-down drinks and probably get groped a hundred times before we even reach midnight?” He pauses, humming as he exaggerates gripping his chin contemplatively between thumb and forefinger. “I think I’ll pass on that, actually.”

Smirking, she pushes away from the wall, stalking closer to the couch as she coos at him.

“Aw, it’s okay,” she baby voices at him. “You’re just grouchy because you miss your boyfriend.”

“He’s not – I never said he was my boyfriend.” The tips of his ears burn as she laughs, reaching out to mess up his hair with careless fingers ruffling through it. He bats her away and does what he can to flatten it into normalcy once again when she finally backs off. “Don’t put words in my mouth.”

He regrets his choice of words the very second he sees her eyebrows jump up to her hairline.

“Oh, I know exactly what you want in your mouth, and it’s –“

“Shut up,” he hisses the sharp interruption, heat rising quickly up the back of his neck as she falls about laughing again. “God, you are the worst.”

Wiping tears from the corners of her eyes with a crooked index finger, she perches on the armrest of the couch, nudging her bent knee into his shoulder. She hiccups a few last laughs as she drops a hand into his hair, stroking softly through it as she bites her lip around a smile and faces down his glare.

“You know I’m only teasing, right?” she says softly, and his scowl melts, just a little. “I’m happy for you. Genuinely. He sounds nice and you deserve something good after all that bullshit with the bitch-who-shall-not-be-named.”

He shifts in his seat, vaguely uncomfortable in the face of her totally out of character earnestness. He twists his mouth as he glances up at her, scratching a thumb over the seam of his shorts until a fraying edge catches underneath his nail.

“Whatever,” he mutters. “Yeah. I know. Shut up.”

His tone is petulant and childish and every bit the little brother. She rolls her eyes at him, but still smiles indulgently as she drops a kiss to the crown of his head.

“Idiot,” she calls him fondly, before standing up and putting her hands on her hips. “Right. Last chance. You really don’t wanna come?”

“I really, really don’t want to come,” he confirms easily.

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug, heading for the kitchen and grabbing her empty glass on the way. “I’m going to finish getting ready. Tell Stiles his future sister-in-law says hi when you inevitably text him the second I’m out of the room.”

“Fuck off,” he shoots at her retreating back.

Without even turning around, she laughs and throws a middle finger up over her shoulder.

He glares after her exit… but does also immediately retrieve his phone from his pocket to open it straight back up to his chat with Stiles.

So how’s NYE in the big apple? Stiles’ latest message reads. You huddling with the diaper-wearing masses to watch the ball drop in Times Square?

Derek huffs a breath of laughter through his nose as he taps out his response.

Unfortunately, no. Just pissing in my bathroom at home like a shmuck.

Despite the minutes that elapsed between Stiles’ text and Derek’s reply, minutes filled by him being annoyed to distraction by his insufferable sister, Stiles’ next message chimes its presence within seconds.

Damn. Sucks to be you. I’ve heard that big ball is mighty impressive up close

Derek bites the inside of his cheek, thumbs still hovering over his phone screen when another message from Stiles comes through.

Not as impressive as a pair I saw up close recently though 😉

A laugh bursts from Derek’s chest, and he slaps a hand over his mouth to smother it. The very last thing he needs is Laura sprinting back in, demanding to know what exactly is getting that kind of reaction from him. He bites the meat of his thumb for a second before returning his hands to tap out his response.

Awful attempt at dirty talk, Derek accuses. Aren’t you with Scott right now?

Amazing attempt at dirty talk, Stiles counters. Nah, Scott’s skiing in Aspen with his gf

Derek blinks, both eyebrows raised for a second before they knit tightly together.

Are you trying to sext me while you’re with your DAD?

BARF. Fuck no. He’s working the night shift. It’s just me and some shitty TV tonight.

He frowns down at the words. Something inside of his chest clenches as his mind jumps to images of Stiles, sitting all alone in an empty room, a Christmas tree in the corner with no gifts left underneath it as parties rage on in the rows of houses all around him.

Which is stupid, because Derek is also going to be alone tonight – entirely by design and not at all unwelcome.

It still hits him right in the solar plexus to think of Stiles being alone, though.

Want some virtual company? he offers, fingers tapping out the tentative words. We could video chat, maybe?

Five seconds of radio silence follows. Five seconds of Derek chewing at his lower lip, of listening to the sounds of Laura puttering around in her bedroom, of blinking rapid-fire at his phone screen as panic coils in his stomach. It comes to an abrupt end when his phone begins to vibrate with an incoming call.

His heart skips a beat in his chest as he thumbs to answer it.

The video opens with a chiming noise, slowly filling his screen with a dimmed, slightly out of focus image of Stiles. As the camera adjusts, Derek lets his eyes roam to take him in.

Stiles is lying on what looks like an old, well-loved couch, mounds of pillows propping up his lax body where he stretches out lazily. The faint glow of the television lights and darkens his face every few seconds, and he has a forearm flung across his forehead while a crooked smile lifts up one corner of his mouth.

The collar of his shirt is dipped low enough, exposing the jutting bone of his clavicle. Derek’s eyes are drawn to the pale length of his throat, the underside of his jaw still holding onto the fading remnants of the purple bruise Derek had sucked there a little over a week ago.

Derek licks his lips and smiles back.

“Hey.” His voice is rough and gravelly and altogether embarrassing. He clears his throat and tries again. “Happy New Year.”

“Hey,” Stiles replies, nose scrunching up as his smile grows to flash his teeth. “Don’t forget I’m three hours behind you, east coast. It’s not even eight-thirty here.”

Derek brings up a teasing eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the time-worn holes and old, faded stains littering Stiles’ shirt.

“And don’t you look ready to party the night away any minute now,” Derek says drily.

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Stiles laughs. “You planning on wearing that tank top out to the bars in thirty degree weather?”

“I don’t plan on leaving this apartment.” Derek shrugs one shoulder at Stiles’ inquisitive head tilt. “Didn’t feel like getting incessantly hit on at a packed bar all night, to be honest.”

“But you’re cool with me hitting on you from the comfort of your own home?” Stiles smiles around his tongue, caught between two rows of white teeth. “Nice muscles, by the way. Been thinking about those bad boys a lot.”

Derek feels his next breath catch in his chest. His face burns red and hot and pleased.

“Yeah?” he says, voice dipping low. “Well, I’ve been thinking –“

“Is that lover boy?” Laura yells from her bedroom, shrill and obnoxiously loud.

“No,” Derek shouts frantically back. “Don’t –“

But it’s too late.

The click-clack-click-clack of her heels rings out against the wooden floors, pace quick as she practically sprints back into the living room. Her eyes are wide and her smile terrifying as she throws herself down onto the couch beside him, crowding into his space and thrusting herself into the frame of the camera.

Derek groans and drops his chin to his chest in defeat.

“Uh,” Stiles falters through the phone screen.

“Hi!” Laura’s voice is too loud and too eager, her smile exactly the same. “I’m Laura. Derek’s sister.”

“Um. H…i?” Stiles scratches nervously at his cheek. “I’m – Stiles.”

“Oh, I know that, silly,” Laura giggles, shouldering Derek roughly out of the way. “Derek talks about you, like, all the time.”

Stiles laughs; this trilling, startled noise bursting from his chest, as his eyes flick delightedly over to Derek. For his part, Derek just covers his bright red face with one broad palm and emits a noise that even he can admit is a full-blown whine.

“Oh my god, Laura, shut up,” he pleads.

“No, no, Laura, please, continue,” Stiles goads.

Cracking an eye open to peer between his spread fingers, he scowls – first at Stiles’ grinning face, then over to Laura’s returning beam. She leans in towards the camera conspiringly, cupping a hand around her mouth to shield her lips from Derek’s narrowed eyes.

“Isn’t he just so grumpy?” She cackles when Derek removes his hand from his face to shove roughly against her shoulder. “See what I mean!”

“I don’t know,” Stiles says, eyes soft and smile lopsided. “I think he can be pretty tolerable, if you catch him on a good day.”

Laura’s face takes on a salacious slant, smirking as she asks, “And I bet you know all about catching him on a good day, huh, lover boy?”

“No.” Derek slaps a hand against the armrest before holding a warning finger directly in front of her snickering face. “That is enough. I’m going to my room.”

She falls back into the couch cushions, laughing loudly as she kicks her heeled feet excitedly in front of her. Derek stands up with an eye roll, flushed and heated and holding the phone at arm’s length so he doesn’t have to hear Stiles laughing it up too. He immediately starts making his way towards his bedroom.

“It was nice to meet you, Stiles!” Laura calls after him.

“It was nice to meet you, too!” Stiles calls back.

“Traitor,” Derek mumbles. Stiles just grins.

He pulls the door to his bedroom shut behind him and takes up residence against the headboard of his bed, stretching his legs out in front of him and lighting up the lamp on his nightstand with a quickly flipped switch. He rests an elbow against his stomach, holding the phone in front of his face, and raises an unimpressed eyebrow.

Stiles’ smile turns sheepish through the phone screen. He sits himself up on his couch, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he ducks his head and peeks at Derek through one cracked eye.

“Your sister seems…” He trails off, squinting as he tries to find his words.

“Like a pain in the ass?” Derek says.

“I was going to say… invested.” Stiles tips his chin up, both eyes fluttering open as Derek huffs. “So, you… you told her about me, then.”

Derek freezes for a moment, eyes widening a little. He feels his mouth run dry and his palms clam up, sweat starting to pool at his lower back at Stiles’ intent, inquisitive gaze fixes him through the phone screen.

“Uh, I… Yeah,” he stumbles, breaking off to swallow thickly. “Did you… not…”

Want me to, he thinks. Tell your own family, he thinks.

It occurs to him, sudden and awful, that Stiles likely did not want him to, has not told his own family.

Up until barely a week ago, Stiles was in a fully committed relationship with his long-term boyfriend; his high school sweetheart, for god’s sake. Derek probably barely even registers into any kind of thought, verbalised or not, above that.

In the many, many messages they’ve exchanged over winter break so far, neither of them has brought up Theo even once. Derek has no idea whether Stiles has spoken to him; whether things have been officially ended. He hopes, oh god, of course he hopes. But he doesn’t know.

And now, he panics.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” he starts to urgently say.

“What? Don’t say sorry,” Stiles talks over him, a crease forming between his eyebrows as he frowns. “That’s not… I mean, I told people as well. Scott and Lydia know, and – and my dad, too.”

“Yeah?” Derek can do nothing to keep the overwhelming hope out of the word.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoes, mouth curving back up into another smile. “They were… Well. I probably don’t have to tell you that they were fucking ecstatic to hear the news Theo’s no longer in the picture.”

Derek feels a tension he didn’t even know he was holding leave his shoulders in an instant. He exhales a long breath of relief, biting at the inside of his cheek and smiling softly back.

Theo’s no longer in the picture.

And Derek is.

“I’m leaving now!” Laura shouts through his closed door, knocking once as punctuation. “Love you, Der-Bear.”

“Love you too,” Derek calls back, eyes drifting away from his phone for a second. “Don’t wake me up when you get home drunk. I won’t hesitate to fight you.”

She scoffs, loud and affronted, accompanied by the patter of her heels moving away from the room.

“Like you ever win those fights,” he just about hears her say, and then the front door slams behind her.

When his gaze snaps back to his phone, he finds Stiles grinning at him with one eyebrow raised.

“Der-Bear?” Stiles presses.

“Do not.” Derek shuts that line of questioning down firmly. “We are not getting into embarrassing family names when you won’t even tell me what your real name is.”

“Learning that is a privilege, Der-Bear. You haven’t earned it yet.”

“Oh, yeah? So the best sex of your life wasn’t enough to earn it?”

“Oh my god.” Stiles flushes instantly pink, running a hand through his hair and laughing his embarrassment. “You are really not letting that go, huh?”

Derek smirks, shrugging a nonchalant shoulder. He lifts one knee, bending his leg with the sole of his socked foot flat against the bed, leaning back a little more comfortably against the wooden frame of his bed; settling in for the long haul.

“It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me,” he replies mildly.

“And I didn’t even say it,” Stiles points out wryly. “You said it and I just didn’t disagree.”

“Because it’s the truth.” Derek grins when Stiles rolls his eyes, blushing an even deeper shade of pink. “Don’t be embarrassed. It’s the truth for me, too.”

At that, Stiles’ eyes light up, crinkling at the edges. He scrunches his nose and bites his bottom lip, mouth curved up into this huge smile. He looks beautiful. It’s not the first time Derek has thought it, and it certainly won’t be the last.

“Whatever,” Stiles mumbles, but there’s a distinctly pleased edge to it. “Must be nearly midnight where you are now, right?”

Derek’s eyes go to the glowing red digital clock on his nightstand. It does indeed blink just five minutes to go back at him.

“Shit, yeah,” he says, turning his attention back to the camera. “You know, I fully expected to be fast asleep by now.”

“Well, grandpa, I’m sorry for keeping you from your beauty rest.” Stiles pauses to wink lewdly. “Not that you need it, hot stuff.”

Derek huffs even as a warmth spreads right through him.

“What’s your New Year’s resolution going to be?” he changes the subject.

Stiles’ eyes drop to his lap. Derek tilts his head to one side and lets his eyes scan the phone screen, catching on where he can just about see the top of one of Stiles’ arms moving restlessly, as though he’s fidgeting with something, something like a fraying hem or a worn cushion.

“I don’t know,” Stiles says quietly, a few hushed seconds passing before his gaze drags back up to meet Derek’s. “Just… be happy, I guess.”

Derek blinks. “And… and do you think you will be, this year?”

Breathing a short, soft laugh, one corner of Stiles’ mouth lifts up into a smile.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think I will be.”

Derek can’t help the instant smile that spreads across his face. Just seconds later, the clock on this side of the country ticks over into next year.

“It’s midnight,” he announces.

“Otherwise known as nine p.m. for some of us,” Stiles says drily, before letting his eyes flutter half-closed. “Happy New Year, big guy. I… I wish I was there so I could kiss you.”

Stiles’ tongue darts out to swipe over his pink lips. Derek tracks the movement with his eyes.

“Happy New Year,” Derek echoes. “And… yeah. Me too.”

A heavy beat of silence passes between them as they stare into each other’s eyes through the grainy, dimmed camera lenses.

“How about,” Stiles starts, eventually, “we make up for it once we’re back at college?”

Derek’s face instantly softens. “I… I’d like that.”

“Awesome,” Stiles breathes. “Hey, maybe we could –“

His words are cut off by three, distinct knocks. Loud enough against wood that Derek hears them even through the crappy speakers of Stiles’ phone.

“Was that your front door?” Derek asks.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, already rolling his eyes. “My dad’s probably sent one of his deputies to check up on me. I’m his only kid. He worries.”

“Well, you are very precious,” Derek teases.

“Fuck off,” Stiles laughs, pushing himself into a standing position with a soft grunt. “Anyway. I should probably go put his mind at peace. And I think you should get yourself some sleep before you start withering away, old man.”

Derek rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. He’s been up since the crack of dawn, working out in the building’s gym and getting some practice in at the local batting cages. He’s been bone-tired since before even dinner.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Of course,” Stiles answers instantly. “Night, Der-Bear.”

A huff of laughter. “Goodnight, Stiles.”

The screen fades back to black when Derek hangs up, and he finds himself dropping his phone onto the bed beside him, listing back with his head tipped against the bedframe. His fingers clasp over his stomach and a smile won’t leave his face.

He blinks up at the off-white ceiling. It’s the very same one he used to stare up at for hours on end, wondering why Jennifer wouldn’t love him back. He thinks about his life, now, in comparison, and he doesn’t miss those days one bit.

*****

Derek wakes up on the first day of the new year to no new messages from Stiles on his phone. He falls to sleep that same day without a single response to any of his attempts, too.

The second day comes, and then the second day goes. He still hears nothing.

By the third day, the first message he tries to send fails to deliver completely. The same goes for every other message, every other day, for the week that follows.

“Something probably happened to his phone,” Derek rationalises over breakfast with his sister on the last day of break. “He’s… clumsy.”

Across the kitchen table, Laura nods fervently at him. She smiles, small and supportive, eyes flicking to his phone sitting face up on the table between them for a moment.

“Yeah,” she agrees, looking back to him. “Absolutely.”

“And it’s not like he has another way to contact me, if something has happened to his phone,” he carries on. “I don’t have social media or anything.”

Nodding again, she taps a manicured nail against the tabletop and keeps that same smile plastered on her face. He bites the inside of his cheek and drops his eyes to his barely touched plate of food.

“Totally,” she says. “You have nothing to worry about.”

He twists his mouth, folding his hands into his lap. He drags his gaze back up to her hopeful smile, offering one back to her, and he hopes it looks a lot more real than it feels.

“We’ll both be back at college tomorrow, anyway,” he says.

“Exactly,” she says. “You’ll see him then and it’ll clear everything up.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“Yeah,” she echoes more loudly. “It’s going to be okay.”

There’s nothing to worry about. Everything will get cleared up.

It’s going to be okay.

*****

Weather conditions end up delaying Derek’s flight back from New York to California. By the time he finally stumbles into his apartment, it’s well past midnight and he’s so exhausted that he almost passes out the second he steps over the threshold.

Back when he thought he would make it back at a more reasonable hour, he had a half-baked plan to head over to Stiles’ dorm right away so that they could talk, sort things out. Derek’s pretty sure that Stiles has probably been losing his mind over the lack of contact between them just as much as he has. There didn’t seem much point in dragging shit out.

It would go like this: Derek would show up, Stiles would have some winding, funny story to tell about how he managed to destroy his own phone, and then they would get to make good on that promise to be each other’s first kiss of the new year. It would all be okay.

The best laid plans, and all that.

When he wakes up the morning after his journey from hell, on the first day back of classes, he heads straight for a shower. Basking underneath the hot, soothing spray, he devises a new plan of action.

He knows that Stiles’ first class of the day is just before lunch. His own is around the same time on the complete other side of campus – but he can be a little late, for the right cause.

As long as he times it right, he can catch Stiles on his way into class. He can grab five minutes with him to clear the air and steal that kiss, make plans to spend some real time together as soon as they both can, and then he’ll head over to his own class and carry on with his day. It’s a pretty decent plan, as far as plan b’s go.

He emerges from his bedroom, dressed and prepared for the day, to find Isaac already gone. He had heard the guy moving around as he was getting ready, and he can maybe admit to himself that he purposefully waited until he heard the front door shut behind Isaac before he allowed himself to come out.

Isaac doesn’t know about Stiles’ radio silence over the last week of break, largely because Derek has opted not to tell him. He knows that Isaac would only be negative, pessimistic and glass-half-empty, about it all. He could do without that shit right about now, quite frankly.

It’s a brisk walk to make it to the building where Stiles’ class will be, and he shows up with fifteen minutes to spare to make absolutely certain he’ll catch him. The day isn’t too cold, especially not by the standards of someone who spent their formative winters on the east coast, so Derek takes his waiting spot up on the campus green, leaning up against a tree and keeping a watchful eye on the path he knows Stiles has to take to reach his class.

Wanting to pass the time with as little distraction as possible, he pulls his phone from the pocket of his pants and starts dicking around between a few different apps, never letting his focus stay in one place for too long. Minutes pass and people mill around him, time ticking by and by as he waits and waits.

He almost jumps out of his own skin when his phone buzzes with an incoming call.

Isaac’s name blinks up at him from the screen. He frowns down at it for a second before he thumbs to answer.

“Derek. Shit.” Isaac’s frantic voice comes down the line before Derek even has a chance to speak. “Where are you?”

“Huh? I’m just on the green.” Derek glances around but sees no one he recognises. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”

“Fuck, you don’t…” Isaac trails off with a choked noise. “Stay there. Wait, no, fuck, actually, come here. Shit, I don’t –“

“Are you all right?” Derek pauses to the sound of Isaac swearing under his breath through the phone. “Look, I’m just waiting to speak to Stiles for a minute and then I can come see you. Did something happen with Allison?”

“Come find me now,” Isaac says urgently, and he must be moving pretty damn fast, because the wind is almost whistling around his words and there’s barely even a light breeze in the air. “Right now, fuck, I have to, shit, I need to tell you something, it’s about –“

Derek doesn’t hear the end of that sentence over the roar of blood in his ears.

Because Stiles is here.

And so is Theo.

Stiles’ back is pressed against the wall of the university building. Theo is plastered all up along his front. Stiles’ eyes are closed and his cheeks are flushed and he has hands on Theo’s shoulders and Theo has hands on his face.

Theo is kissing him. Stiles is kissing back.

And Derek feels… numb. He feels cold right down to his brittle bones, feels all hollowed out and useless. It’s like he barely exists within the fleshy planes of his own pathetic body, unable to do anything but blink, and stare, and blink. His palms sweat and he bites so hard at the inside of his cheek that he tastes the metallic flash of blood.

“Oh shit,” Isaac says.

It’s not through the phone, though, not anymore. It comes from directly beside him, a wrecked expletive breathed right next to him as a gentle, careful hand lands on his arm. Derek doesn’t even look over to him. He can’t tear his gaze away from Stiles and Theo, still tangled up in each other like nobody else in the world exists.

A few seconds pass. They feel like an eternity. Theo starts kissing Stiles’ neck and Stiles tips his head back against the wall to let him.

“How did you find out?” Derek asks. His voice is flat.

A beat, before, “Allison saw them together. Derek, I’m so s–“

Derek cuts him off with a sharp, hysterical laugh.

“Don’t say sorry,” he says. “You warned me. Not your fault I never fucking listen.”

He glances over to Isaac briefly. Sees this intense, open pity written all across his face, the likes of which Derek hasn’t seen since last year, last Christmas, those early, awful days just after he found out that Jennifer had a fiancé.

Looking away, he turns back to where Theo has an arm snaked around Stiles’ waist to grab at his ass.

Between a rock and a hard place, he thinks.

“I can’t believe he’d do this,” Isaac says.

“Yeah,” Derek says, “you can.”

By the building, Stiles opens his eyes. There is a smile on his face, laughter in the scrunch of his nose, as Theo takes a step back. He still has his hands wrapped around the nape of Theo’s neck, and Theo still has hands curved around his waist.

Any joy dies a quick death when his gaze wanders and finds Derek, staring straight at him.

Instantly, his smile drops. His eyes go all wide and startled, like it’s such a shock that Derek could be there, in the middle of the campus where they both attend college, watching on as Stiles kisses the man who is quite clearly not his ex anything. He bends his neck to stare at his own feet as his arms fall to his sides.

Theo isn’t in any way similarly affected. He follows Stiles’ line of sight to meet Derek’s eyes, and when he does, his face splits into this huge, nasty smile, all teeth and unkindness. He keeps Derek’s eye contact as he presses forward to kiss all along Stiles’ jaw.

Derek watches as Stiles says something, his chin barely lifted from his chest. He watches as Theo replies, taking Stiles’ face between two palms to lift it up, pressing their mouths together firm and slow and pointed. Stiles’ eyes are screwed tightly shut as he kisses back with his arms hanging limply beside him.

Without even a second glance in Derek’s direction, Stiles keeps his head bowed as he slinks away, darting into the building and out of sight. As soon as he’s gone, Derek’s attention snaps back to Theo to find him already walking in their direction, a sharkish, toothy smile on his face.

“Derek,” Isaac says slowly, a warning as fingers curl around Derek’s elbow. “Let’s just go. Absolutely no fucking good will come from talking to him.”

But Derek stands his ground. He’s not feeling like looking for much good right now, in all honesty.

He shakes Isaac’s hand from his arm and squares his shoulders as Theo comes to a stop right in front of him.

“Hale,” Theo drawls, posture relaxed, smirk lazy. “How interesting to see you here. Come for any reason in particular?”

Derek grits his teeth. His hands ball into fists at his sides.

“You’re a real piece of shit, Raeken,” he spits. “Why can’t you just leave him the fuck alone?”

Theo laughs. A short, nasty sound as he rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Because he doesn’t want me to leave him alone.” He pauses, cocking his head to the side and narrowing his eyes. “I know what happened between you two. He broke down and begged for my forgiveness the second I showed up on his doorstep.”

Derek’s jaw goes slack as his blinks his disgust. Isaac makes a distressed noise beside him that barely registers.

“Forgive – you’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he practically yells, taking an instinctive step forward into Theo’s space. “You piece of fucking shit. You cheat on him, treat him like fucking dirt. He did nothing to be –“

“I’m a piece of shit?” Theo shouts, closing the gap between them even more with a step of his own. “What about you, huh? He was upset, he was vulnerable, and he came looking for a shoulder to cry on, and you used that to manipulate him into sleeping with you!”

“Hey, whoa,” Isaac says, trying to step in between them. “That’s not what –“

Derek just shoves him away.

“And why was he so fucking upset, huh? Why was he so vulnerable?” Derek goads. “Oh, that’s right! It was because he found out that his piece of shit boyfriend is a lying, cheating, scumbag.”

He doesn’t know what he looks like right now, but it’s probably nothing short of deeply unhinged, completely off the fucking rails. Because that’s exactly how he feels.

But in the face of Derek’s manic state, in the face of those words, Theo just… grins. He throws an arm out either side of him, looking like the cat that got the fucking cream while Derek seethes with rage in front of him.

“And guess what, asshole?” he says, drawing a hand back in front of his chest to hook a thumb at his chest. “He still fucking chose me.”

“Because you’re a manipulative piece of shit,” Derek bites back.

Theo laughs again, shoulders actually shaking with the force of it, hands clutching at his stomach. He wipes non-existent tears of humour from the corners of his eyes, and Derek feels his nails biting into his palms so fiercely, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’s drawing blood.

“Because,” Theo starts, voice low and pleased and cruel, “deep down, he’s still that same fifteen-year-old loser, desperate for any attention I’ll throw to him. All this proves is that I can get away with anything – I – fucking – want.”

Derek can feel a white-hot rage burning through his skin. His fist is tight and ready, his arm already starting to pull back, elbow bent and putting every ounce of strength behind winding up to smack that smug fucking look from Theo’s nasty fucking face.

A hand finds the centre of Derek’s chest. It pulls him out of it, just for a second; just enough.

Isaac is practically plastered against Derek’s side, his hand keeping Derek back. His forehead is tipped against Derek’s temple and his voice is low and intense when he speaks.

“Derek,” he says. “Walk away. He’s not worth it. Just – walk away.”

“Yeah, Derek,” Theo sneers, no sense of self-fucking-preservation. “Walk away like the little bitch you are.”

“Derek,” Isaac says again, fingers tightening into Derek’s shirt. “He is not fucking worth it. Let’s – let’s just go.”

Derek pauses. He breathes. Deep in, short out. He closes his eyes and drops his head, focuses on Isaac’s hand on him, Isaac’s words in his ears. The right thing to do is to walk away. Punching this piece of shit won’t help anyone or anything, and it could land him in the kind of trouble that would likely jeopardise his place on the team.

It’s not worth it. Theo Raeken is not fucking worth that.

“Okay,” Derek says quietly, eyes still closed as he takes an unsteady step back. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Isaac puts a hand on his shoulder, turning him quickly around and leading him away. Neither of them says a word as they walk, Isaac’s fingers tight on his arm and their pace fast and meaningful.

They only make it a few steps before Theo opens his big fucking mouth again.

“Hey, maybe it’ll be good for the team,” Theo calls after him. “The two best players can bond over what a fucking cockslut Stiles Stilinski really is.”

The distinct crack of Theo’s nose when Derek’s fist connects with it, is…

Well. It’s fucking satisfying, to say the least.

“Jesus Christ,” Isaac sighs as he buries his face in his hands.

“You – you fucking asshole!” Theo screams, words thick and wet, his ass on the grass and blood pouring over his knuckles where his hand is pressed against his face. “You broke my fucking nose.”

Derek lets himself grin down at Theo’s pathetic form for a long moment. His hand throbs with the pain of meeting Theo’s bones as hard as they did, his knuckles all cracked and red, ticklish trickles of red leaking into some of the webbing.

Theo screams at his feet and Isaac sighs at his side and, through it all, above any of it, he feels good. Like, really good.

He smiles; beams, really, at the way Theo is all curled up on the ground, bleeding profusely as tears well up in his eyes. He keeps on smiling at the pained curses slipping past Theo’s trembling lips, keeps on smiling at the barely hushed whispers of shock and interest from the crowd gathering around them.

The smile still sits, unflinching, on his face as he turns to look at Isaac’s deep frown.

“Okay,” Derek tells him. “Now we can go.”

*****

Team practice starts back up again the second week of the semester. Derek wants nothing more than to avoid it, stay as far away as humanly possible from anywhere Theo fucking Raeken might be, but the season starts in a little over a month, so he has no choice but to show up that first weekday afternoon, Isaac supportively at his side.

He shows up already dressed for the workout so there’s no chance of running into the guy in the locker room, or, worse yet, having to hear him brag about screwing Stiles to his stupid little groupies. The red jersey is stretched over Derek’s shoulders, the slight breeze blowing through the loose sleeves, and his cap sits low over his eyes to shield them from the winter sun, up there high in the sky.

They aren’t the first two to reach the field, but they also aren’t the last. There are a few guys tossing a ball back and forth in the centre of the diamond, a few more warming up on the outfield. Derek darts a quick, nervous glance around and realises with a silent breath of relief that Theo hasn’t made his appearance just yet, at least.

Regardless – it’s not exactly like the guy is going to be getting to play any time soon. Derek really did break his nose last week, he’s heard through the grapevine. Derek has the bruised-up knuckles and Theo has the bandaged-up nose to prove it.

Derek tries to not feel too pleased about it. Mostly, he fails.

Especially because, for whatever reason, Theo has evidently decided against going to the police to press charges. Derek has a few ideas on why that might be. His first school of thought is that – maybe the guy just isn’t a snitch; isn’t a fink.

The second idea is that maybe he simply doesn’t want to tell his story to the police, and the reason he doesn’t want to tell his story to the police, is because that same story would likely find its way back to Stiles’ ears. Which, upon hearing, would clue Stiles in to the fact that his lovely, doting boyfriend referred to him a cockslut to win what Theo clearly perceived to be some kind of bragging contest.

Whatever the reason – it’s a spot of good luck in the middle of a relentless shitstorm.

Coming to a stop on the edge of the field, Isaac puts two hands on his hips, craning his neck to look around them for a few seconds. He returns his focus to Derek once he’s done, shrugging slightly as he purses his mouth.

“Maybe he won’t show up,” he says optimistically.

“Please,” Derek scoffs disbelievingly. “Like that asshole would pass up any opportunity to rub my nose in his mere fucking existence.”

“I don’t know,” Isaac counters, a twist of his mouth as his eyes drift just past Derek’s head. “Maybe he – oh. Shit.”

Derek huffs a derisive laugh, not even bothering to turn around.

“Told you,” he says, lifting a hand to wave vaguely through the air. “Just ignore him.”

“Um,” from Isaac next, and it’s almost an honest to god squeak. “That’s… Ignoring Theo might not be the issue here.”

Derek frowns at him. “What the hell are you talki–“

His words choke off when he hears a distinctly familiar voice behind him say, “Derek.”

Heaving a laboured breath from his chest, he screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. When he opens them again, Isaac is glaring at the person behind Derek’s back. Derek throws him a quick, grateful smile just before he turns around.

“Stiles,” he says, flat and even as he folds his arms over his chest. “What the fuck do you want?”

Stiles looks how he always does. Messy brown hair, wide brown eyes, plaid shirt thrown over a plain t-shirt and his messenger bag slung across his torso, sitting just by his hip. His arms hang at his sides, fingers stretched and flexing, a pink colour high on his cheeks and a bizarre expression mixed somewhere between sheepish and furious on his face.

Just behind him is Theo, like a pathetic little boy cowering behind his parent’s leg. He is scowling, a severe frown affecting his features, though it’s not focused anywhere in particular. In fact, he seems to be pointedly avoiding Derek’s stare completely. He has deep, purple bruising beneath each of his eyes and a thick of white gauze taped over his ever so slightly crooked nose.

Derek glances over to Isaac to see him biting back a smile at the guy’s appearance. He finds himself having to do the same. He just about manages to suppress the instinct to indulge in something as ludicrous as a fist bump.

He might not be as successful in fighting his smile as he thinks, because when he looks back to Stiles, his expression is erring more on the side of outright rage.

“We need to talk,” Stiles says.

Derek laughs, sharp and loud and hollow.

“Good one,” he sneers, narrowing his eyes. “The only person on this planet that I want to speak to less than you, is your piece of shit boyfriend. Both of you can fuck off now.”

Isaac makes a noise of agreement at his side. Stiles grits his teeth.

“You fucking punched my boyfriend, Derek,” Stiles says, voice quiet and furious.

“Yeah, I fucking did,” Derek bites harshly. “And you fucked me just to get back at him. Would you call that even?”

He relishes cruelly in the way Stiles’ eyebrows startle up his forehead for a moment, just before his face crumples miserably. Derek simply looks back at him coolly, mouth pulled into a thin line.

“I… I don’t…” Stiles begins to stutter.

“You know, once upon a time you told me you’d thank me for hitting him,” Derek points out darkly. “Changed your mind on that one pretty quickly. Among other fucking things.”

Stiles closes his eyes, shaking his head back and forth. He breathes harshly, fingers curling into his palms at his sides as he weakly pushes out his next words.

“That’s not – I didn’t – I wasn’t –“

“Did he tell you what he said to deserve it?” Derek asks urgently.

His eyes jump over Stiles’ shoulder, meeting with Theo’s for a moment. Theo visibly shrinks underneath Derek’s dark, burning gaze, just like the fucking coward he is.

“It… it doesn’t matter,” Stiles replies quietly. “You can’t just –“

Derek shakes his own head, then, cutting Stiles off with a loud scoff as he rolls his eyes up towards the clear, blue sky.

“Right. Of fucking course you’d say that.” He smirks nastily when Stiles scowls. “He really has got you like a well-trained dog, huh?”

Long, drawn out moments of silence pass between them. Derek tips his head and regards Stiles callously, gaze raking over Stiles’ pathetically drooped shoulders, catching on the dark circles of sleepless nights underneath his eyes. He looks terrible, almost as bad as his injured piece of shit boyfriend.

Derek doesn’t care.

Won’t care. Can’t care.

Eventually, Stiles breaks the quiet with a small, broken exhale.

“Look,” he says, all low and intense as he runs a hand through his already wild hair. “I’m sorry that things happened between us the way that they did. That night… it was a –“

“Don’t fucking say it was a mistake,” Derek interrupts sharply, and Stiles’ eyes widen. “This is shitty enough for me without having to hear that one of the best nights of my life was a goddamn mistake to you.”

A deep crease forms between Stiles’ eyebrows. He drops his eyes to the floor and tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans, catching his bottom lip between his teeth and worrying it anxiously between the roll of his incisors. He blows out a long, shaking breath as he looks back up to Derek’s face.

“It was…” Stiles starts, cutting off for a second to wet his lips. “Do you… do you really mean that?”

Derek scoffs a mean-spirited laugh, letting a sneer take over his face.

“You don’t get to ask me that. You made your fucking choice here.” He grits his teeth. “You picked your cheating, scumbag boyfriend. I hope you make each other very happy. I’m sure he won’t cheat on you again the second he thinks he can get away with it.”

“You don’t have to be a fucking asshole about this,” Stiles snaps.

“I have every fucking right to be an asshole about this,” Derek snarls, volume rising with each furiously spat out word. “I didn’t come to you, Stiles! I didn’t show up on your doorstep, I didn’t climb into your lap and kiss you and spew all this bullshit about it meaning – fucking – anything at all.”

Stiles blinks. “I – I –“

“It was him at your door that night, right? On New Year’s?” Derek doesn’t need confirmation, not really, but the way Stiles swallows thickly gives it to him, anyway. “Jesus. So, precisely how many minutes actually passed between you making plans for the future with me and you dropping to your knees to suck your boyfriend’s pathetic little dick? Was it five, maybe as many as ten?”

Screwing his eyes shut, Stiles drops his head, a shaky inhale as his hands clench at his sides. It’s enough to let Derek know that he has hit the mark, one hundred percent, nail hammering right on the awful head of the truth. It’s enough to make a strong wave of nausea sweep right through him, bile almost rising in his throat, raw and acidic as he swallows roughly around it

He watches as Stiles shakes his head, short and tremulous, lifting it to dart nervous eyes at the space all around them. His face burns red, and Derek follows his gaze, neck twisting to see the entire team, Coach and all, staring at this furious, blow-out argument, listening intently in for the details of this sordid little love triangle, like it’s happening right there for their entertainment alone.

They’ll all have heard dribs and drabs by now, everyone must have. But today they get to see it in live, technicolour reality. How lucky for them.

Clenching his jaw, Derek fails to give a single fuck. Let them all know exactly what happened. Let them all know that Stiles is just as much of an asshole as his shitty, shitty boyfriend.

“You still have my clothes,” Derek spits the accusation. “I want them back.”

Stiles shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, hands clasping to wring in front of his stomach.

“I – I left them at my dad’s house,” he mumbles.

“Whatever.” Derek curls his lip. “I want them back. Get Scott to drop them to me next time he visits so I don’t have to fucking see you.”

He doesn’t miss the way that Stiles winces, flinching back like he’s been hit, at the simple mention of Scott’s name.

“Scott… Scott isn’t speaking to me right now,” Stiles confesses quietly.

Derek laughs nastily, tossing his arms into the space between them before letting them fall, palms slapping against his thighs.

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” he says flippantly. “You’re a pretty shitty friend. I can attest to that.”

Stiles swallows around what looks like a thick, horrible lump in his throat. His eyes turn glassy, dampening at the corners as they threaten to spill over, his chin wobbling when he tucks it down against his chest.

Derek uses every ounce of strength in him to not feel a thing about that.

“I’m done, all right?” he throws out, turning to look at Isaac and getting an encouraging nod in return. “All I fucking want is for you and your piece of shit boyfriend to leave me alone. I am, just – I am done.”

He takes a step backwards as Stiles’ head snaps up. He falters for a second when he sees the way that thick tears clump Stiles’ long, dark eyelashes together, already falling to stain stark tracks down his flushed cheeks.

Derek’s jaw clenches and his fists tighten and he feels nothing, he feels not a thing.

“Derek,” Stiles says, voice wet and choked and broken. “I’m sor–“

“You better make sure he wears a condom,” Derek speaks over another bullshit apology, already turning to walk away. “I can’t even imagine what kind of diseases that guy’s carrying around with him.”

It should feel like vindication when he storms away; victory when he glances back after a minute and both Stiles and Theo are nowhere to be seen.

But all that keeps running through his mind, over and over again, is the image of Stiles’ distraught, crying face. It plays in there right alongside the banked image of his soft eyes, his sleepy smile, all for Derek’s sight only that quiet, happy morning in his apartment.

Isaac’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Fuck him,” Isaac says.

“Yeah,” Derek lies. “Fuck him.”