Chapter Text
SPRING: Tuesday, April 8—New York City
“Happy birthday, dear Stiles. Happy birthday to you! ”
Stiles blows out the candles on the ugliest cake he’s ever seen, and everyone gathered around Laura’s dining table cheers, whooping and clapping obnoxiously.
James squeezes his shoulders from behind and ducks down to smack a kiss on Stiles’ cheek. They’ve been dating for a month now and Stiles was a little nervous to bring him here, to Laura’s place with all of Derek’s friends. But it’s Stiles’ birthday and he wasn’t going to not bring his boyfriend.
Besides, it’s not like Derek’s here. Laura had been very clear about that, assuring Stiles that she’d told Isaac, Boyd, and Erica that they were not, under any circumstances, to invite Derek.
Lydia and Danny cut up the cake and pass out pieces. Laura made the cake all by herself and she’s very anxious about everyone trying it.
Stiles looks up at her before he takes his first bite and she’s standing there over him, watching nervously.
“Mmm!” he hums, honestly a little surprised. “It’s good!”
“It’s good?” she asks.
“It’s good!”
“Oh, thank god. You don’t mind that it’s so ugly?”
Stiles gives her his sincerest delivery of “It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
“That’s what I keep telling Isaac.”
Isaac reaches over and flicks the side of her head. “I have gotten no complaints about my insides or my outsides, thank you.”
They eat all of Laura’s cake, save for the two pieces set aside and covered in saran wrap. One is for Jordan, who’s coming over after his shift ends, and nobody says it, but Stiles knows who the other one is for. It’s nice, though, he thinks. Derek should get to try Laura’s first successful solo baking endeavor.
After the cake, they make a big bowl of popcorn and pile in front of the TV for a movie night as has become a fairly regular thing for them. Stiles picks 10 Things I Hate About You and waxes poetic about Heath Ledger’s dark-haired bad boy appeal until everyone throws popcorn at him and tells him to shut up.
James just pulls Stiles closer under his arm and laughs into his hair. “Should I be investing in some hair dye?” he whispers into Stiles’ ear.
“Don’t you dare,” Stiles whispers back. “I love your surfer boy curls.”
“I hate to break it to you, but I do not know how to surf.”
“Ah, but I bet you look great lounging on the beach.”
“We’ll go back to Montauk in the summer when it’s warm.”
Stiles snuggles into him. “I’d like that.”
Summer. How long until Stiles doesn’t immediately think Derek when it comes to summer? How many Derek-less summers will it take to break that association? Not that he wants to forget San Francisco. He never wants to forget it. He just needs to learn how to keep it and carry on. Montauk in the summer might be just the thing.
SPRING: Monday, April 21—New York City
Stiles keeps his head down and doodles in his notebook. Derek’s talking about the tragedy of Antigone and he’s led the class into a discussion of emotion versus reason.
It’s not that Stiles has nothing to say. He has plenty of thoughts on the topic. But he’s gotten into the habit of just staying quiet and getting through each class period with Derek. He doesn’t think he’s said two words in class since the beginning of March. Some of his classmates have noticed and asked if he’s alright, if he’s falling behind in the reading, if there’s anything they can do to help.
He’s fine, though. He really is. In fact, he thinks he could even look up today if he wanted to. But class is almost over anyway, so what’s the point? Wednesday, maybe. He’ll look up on Wednesday.
When the hour is up, Stiles packs his stuff back into his bag and heads for the door. He glances over his shoulder on his way out. Derek’s watching him. They make eye contact. Stiles doesn’t stop moving, but the corner of his mouth does pull up just enough that Derek must notice because he smiles softly, almost sadly, in return.
SPRING: Friday, May 2—New York City
“How you doing, man?” Boyd asks, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding his to-go cup of tea.
Derek walks beside him with his own cup warming his palm through the cardboard sleeve. The spring sunshine is out today and he’s glad the weather’s turned enough to enjoy the park like this.
“You seem better,” Boyd continues.
“I am better,” Derek says. It’s been just over a month since he ended things with Jennifer, and he’s been seeing his therapist every week. It’s helped him work through a lot of the complicated feelings he’s been having, but it’s also made him aggressively aware of just how stupid he’s been. It hasn’t been the most pleasant reckoning, but he’s pretty sure it’s a necessary one.
“Good. That’s good.”
They walk in silence for a while, passing by Laura's favorite spot where she likes to read in the summer. Boyd’s ability to be comfortable with quiet is one of the things Derek loves most about him. Derek’s never been particularly extraverted and while he’s happy to just sit back and listen to everyone else talk, he appreciates the time he spends not talking with Boyd.
Maybe that’s why he often finds himself volunteering more information when he’s with Boyd, as opposed to when everyone else is around and he holds back until someone wheedles it out of him.
“I still really miss him, though,” he says, breaking the quiet of their walk.
Boyd nods. “Of course you do. You love him.”
Derek’s never actually said it out loud to anyone but Carmen. But it’s the truth. He fell in love with the half of Stiles he knew over the summer, and then fell harder for the full version of him he got to know here. And hell if Derek wasn’t fighting it the whole way down.
He doesn’t deny Boyd’s statement, but he doesn’t confirm it either. He doesn’t need to. Boyd already knows.
“I really messed it up though, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. Maybe you both did. You especially, though,” he chuckles. “But, Derek, man, it wasn’t ever going to be simple with him. Even if you never got back together with Jennifer, Stiles still would’ve been your student.”
What does it say that Derek thinks that doesn’t sound very complicated anymore?
“He’s been talking in class again,” he says.
Boyd smiles softly. “See, you didn’t ruin him. He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. Life goes on.”
“Do you think… You think he’d let me apologize?”
Boyd takes a slow breath, sips from his tea. “I think, before you try it, you should ask yourself who the apology is for.”
Derek looks over at Boyd, a smile pulling at his mouth. “I ever tell you you’re a damn good friend?”
“Once or twice.”
“Oof, that’s not a great record for fifteen years, is it? I’ll work on it.”
“Yeah, you got a lotta stuff to work on, man.”
SPRING: Friday, May 9—New York City
His final paper is all but finished, and Stiles can’t avoid Derek’s office hours any longer. He’d gone by Derek’s office yesterday when he knew Derek was teaching, and signed up for his usual Friday morning slot. He’d felt antsy about it at the time, but now, as he’s walking up to the door, he feels okay.
The last couple of weeks have been an upward trend in terms of his comfort with Derek. Not that they’ve had any real interactions, just class. But Stiles has found himself participating in class discussions again, and watching Derek in a nearly-normal way while he’s teaching up front.
And Derek has seemed… different. It’s not an overt change, but there’s something about the way he carries himself, the set of his shoulders. It’s familiar. Like Summer Derek.
Stiles knocks lightly and then pushes the door open the rest of the way. Derek’s there, at his desk, eyes on Stiles immediately, like he was waiting for him. He probably was.
“Hey,” Stiles says. It’s the first thing he’s said directly to Derek since February.
“Hi, Stiles,” Derek says, voice mild and teetering on cautious. “Come in.”
Stiles leaves the door open when he goes to sit down. He starts to hand over a copy of his draft, but Derek waves it off.
“I got the one you emailed me,” he says, picking up a set of pages from the desk in front of him. “I already looked it over. Didn’t want you to have to sit here and wait for me to read it.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“I think you’re done,” Derek says. “Or, I marked just a couple things for structure, sentence order that I think will be slightly more effective, but your argument is solid. Your thesis is well constructed and supported. It’s interesting and unique. It’s good.”
Stiles lets out a breath. He chuckles a little, relieved. “Ah man, thank god. I’m honestly so over looking at that fucking paper.”
Derek chuckles, too. “The end is in sight. You’ve got maybe thirty minutes of editing on this, and then you never have to look at it again.”
Stiles looks up, Derek’s last few words striking something achy in him. “Right. What a relief.” Derek doesn’t say anything to that, just takes a visible breath. “But,” Stiles swallows, “it’s not like I don’t like the subject. I mean, I spent all that time studying it because it’s… something I care about. So maybe, I don’t know, a while from now, I’ll want to revisit… the subject. Because you don’t have to be actively researching a topic to appreciate its… company.”
Derek’s expression opens ever so slightly. “Yeah,” he says, little more than a whisper. Then, with more levity, “Classic Greek Literature will always be around.”
SPRING: Wednesday, May 14—New York City
It’s just a few more days until the end of the semester, and this is the last time his Classic Greek Lit class is meeting. Despite this being his favorite class to teach, Derek cannot wait for it to be over. This year has been emotionally exhausting to say the least.
He spends most of the hour just letting his students talk about whatever they want, ask questions about the courses they might be taking from him next year. Assuming he comes back, that is. He hasn’t actually decided yet. He is going to miss this group, though. They’ve delivered some of the best papers he’s seen in his years teaching and they always have good discussions.
When the hour is nearly up, he tells them all that he’s grateful to have had them in class this year, and lets them go early. “Don’t forget to submit your final papers online before midnight tonight,” he says, “and you can hand me your hard copies on your way out.”
He gets a stream of “Thanks, Dr. Hale” and “See you next year” as they all file out, handing him their papers as they go.
Stiles’ paper lands on top of the stack in Derek’s hands and then it’s just the two of them, here at the front of this classroom, once again.
Stiles stands in front of Derek with his hands in his pockets, something close to a smile on his face. “It was a good class, Professor,” he says.
Derek sets the stack of papers on the desk behind him, then turns back to give Stiles his full attention. God, looking at him still makes Derek’s lungs clench up behind his sternum. Stiles has ditched the sweaters and flannels as the weather’s warmed up, and is back to his soft, relaxed t-shirts. His hair is as messy as ever, and he’s got the grad-student trademark shadows under his eyes. Derek thinks he’s the best thing he’s ever seen.
And then he’s talking before he really thinks it through. Although, as it’s happening, he makes no effort to stop himself. It’s what he wants.
“You’re done with my class,” he says. “I’m not your professor anymore.”
Stiles looks sweetly confused for hardly a second before his eyes widen in—what is that? Surprise? Nervousness? Anticipation? Derek can’t pin it down.
“You’re still faculty,” Stiles says.
“I’m taking a sabbatical, and I may be taking a break from teaching altogether for a while.”
“Derek—”
“I’m done with her, Stiles,” he pushes. “She was never right for me and I left her a while ago.”
“That’s great, I’m happy for you, man, but—”
“I want to try again. For real this time.”
“I’m seeing someone.”
Something pangs in Derek’s chest. Oh, god. Is this what Stiles felt when Derek turned him down at the beginning of the year? When he had to tell him that he didn’t leave Jennifer? He sort of feels like throwing up.
“Oh,” he chokes out. Stiles doesn’t say anything, just stands there in front of Derek with a small crease between his brows. “Okay.”
Stiles opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, and he closes it again.
Derek swallows and tries to school his features. “Have a good summer, Stiles.”
“You too.” Stiles sucks in a breath and then turns to leave the room. He doesn’t rush out, though, and he looks back just for a second. Then he’s gone and the door falls shut behind him.
SPRING: Tuesday, June 3—New York City
“Where are we?” Stiles asks, peering up at the tall building.
“This is Derek’s place,” Laura says, heading into the lobby with a friendly wave to the door man.
“What?” Stiles stops. “Laura, I can’t see Derek.”
“Of course not, come on.” She tugs him along by an elbow. “He’s not here. He’s with Cora in Chicago. I wouldn’t just spring it on you like this. We’re just watering his plants.”
Stiles lets Laura pull him onto the elevator. It’s one of those fancy buildings where the elevator goes directly into the nice apartments. Figures that Derek would live somewhere like this. He’s got all that family money. Maybe this is another one of his family homes, like the house in San Francisco.
He can’t help but study the place once they’re inside. He’s never been here before, never seen Derek’s real homespace.
It’s immediately clear why Derek asked Laura to water his plants while he’s gone. He doesn’t just have a couple pothos and a succulent; on first glance, Stiles spots a whole tiered shelf of varied, thriving plants in front of one of the oversized windows.
Laura grabs a watering can off the bottom shelf and heads toward the kitchen sink, so Stiles just trails along with her. It’s exactly the kitchen Stiles thought Derek would have. It’s spacious and open with a wide island for prepping. Laura fills the can as well as a pitcher that was sitting out, and then takes a rectangular planter box full of herbs off the kitchen window sill and sets it in the sink to water.
“Here,” she says, handing him the pitcher. “Take this and go water the ones by the window in the bedroom, and I think he’s got a few in the bathroom in there, too.”
He takes the pitcher and goes back through the living room. “Nice couch,” he says, eyeing the plush, green-upholstered sofa. It looks expensive. But it also looks like Derek.
Laura snorts. “He just got that. The last one was awful.”
Stiles stops by the first bathroom and waters the one plant in there before continuing down the short hallway to the bedroom. Derek’s bedroom. How strange to be in here. It hits Stiles that he’s never actually been in Derek’s room. The one in San Francisco wasn’t really his, not like this one. Stiles wonders if he’s changed anything about it since breaking up with Jennifer, if it used to have a woman’s touch, maybe one of the satin pillowcases like Lydia uses.
He waters the plants in the ensuite and then goes to find the ones by the bedroom window and waters those, too. Derek has a lot of plants.
Stiles doesn’t see any more in here, though, and he doesn’t want to linger in Derek’s space. It feels invasive. He doubts that Derek knows he’s here.
He turns to go, but something catches his eye and he stops. Turns back to look.
There, on the nightstand by Derek’s side of the bed, is the little Indian-painted elephant that Stiles gave him all those months ago.
Stiles takes the few steps toward the nightstand and looks at it. He reaches out, hand hovering over the trinket for a second before he picks it up. He wonders… He brings it up to his ear and shakes it gently. The quiet clink-clink of folded paper corners hitting porcelain makes his heart rate pick up a tick.
He shouldn’t look. He promised Derek he wouldn't snoop.
But, well, Stiles is a flawed man. He’s only human. So he sets the empty pitcher down on the nightstand and then unclasps the little elephant and tips the folded paper secret out into his palm. He’s nosy, so sue him. He unfolds the paper and smooths it out between his fingers.
And then his mouth goes dry and his breath catches.
I’m falling in love with him. 8/22/24.
He’s not sure how long he’s been standing there when Laura finds him, and he must be looking not right.
“Stiles? Are you okay?” she asks.
“Hm?” He snaps out of it and quickly refolds the piece of paper and tucks it back into the elephant. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he says, turning around. “Just. I gave this to him. You know, back then.”
“Oh.”
He’s quiet while they walk together until they reach his subway station. Laura gives him a hug and says she’ll call him later about making plans for their next movie night.
Back at his apartment, Stiles gets into bed and cries. He hasn’t cried over Derek in a while now. Not since the last day of class.
He never dared to think that Derek loved him. He knew there was an infatuation there, knew that Derek cared for him, wanted him. But love is something different. If Derek loved him, why wasn’t that enough? Why weren’t they together? Didn’t he know that Stiles loves—loved?—him, too?
Did he know?
He must lose track of time, or maybe he fell asleep, because the next thing Stiles knows, James is climbing into the bed behind him and pulling Stiles against him in strong, warm arms.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he says quietly with a kiss to Stiles’ shoulder.
“Hi,” Stiles answers, and wishes his voice didn’t sound like that, like he’s been crying.
“What’s going on?” James rearranges them so they’re facing each other, runs a thumb under Stiles’ eye.
Stiles has been fairly forthcoming about Derek with James. He’d sorta had to be before his birthday party. He couldn’t let James walk into that group of people without any context, and he would’ve wanted to know how Stiles met these friends. He’d also told James what happened on the last day of class, how Derek had told him he wanted to try again, how Stiles had turned him down and told him he was with James.
James has been far too understanding about it all. Sometimes, Stiles wonders if James is just pretending, if he’s actually mad or put off or annoyed by it all, but just acts like he’s not for Stiles’ sake.
But since he’s always been so good about these things so far, Stiles tells him the truth.
“Laura took me with her to water Derek’s plants and I found this little elephant thing I gave him last summer,” he says.
“Mhmm,” James answers, running his thumb back and forth over the skin of Stiles’ arm.
“And, when I gave it to him, he asked what he should put in it—it opens up, like a little container—and I told him to put a secret in there. So he wrote one down and put it in the elephant and told me not to look.”
James just hums to let Stiles know he’s still listening.
“And I know I shouldn’t have, but when I saw it today, I—” He cuts himself off, not sure if he can tell James the rest.
“What did it say?” he asks gently. “Do you want to tell me? It’s okay if you don’t.”
Stiles takes a breath, meaning to tell him, but when he opens his mouth, it’s just a broken sob that comes out.
James gathers him up and holds Stiles to his chest, just lets Stiles cry until he collects himself enough to choke out in a whisper, “He loved me.”
James just keeps holding him.
When Stiles’ breathing has evened out again, James pulls back a bit to look at him. “Stiles,” he starts, deep voice quiet, but solid. “Stiles, I like you so much. And I’ve been having a great time with you. I’m really glad I’ve gotten to know you.”
There’s something about his eyes when he says it that tips Stiles off. “Are you breaking up with me?” he asks quietly.
James swallows. He looks sad. “Yeah. I am.” He says it so gently.
Stiles nods, blinks away the moisture gathering in his eyes again. “I really, really like you,” he says. He wants James to know.
“I know you do, sweetheart.” James strokes a hand over the side of Stiles’ face. “But you’re in love with him. You’ve always been in love with him. I don’t think I can compete with that, and I can’t keep trying. It’s too hard for me.” God, he’s being so nice even now.
“I’m sorry.”
“I hope you get him. I hope he’s really good to you.”
Stiles can’t help it. The tears start up again, and James, too sweet for his own good, holds him for a while longer.
SPRING: Monday, June 16—New York City
The sun won’t set for a few more hours still when Derek finishes his therapy session with Carmen, so he takes the reading she gave him to the park. He wonders if he’ll be able to find Laura’s spot. He usually doesn’t find it on purpose, just realizes where he is when he’s walking by.
It takes him a good half an hour, but he does manage to find it. He walks out across the flat grassy lawn, heading for the shade of the trees. He’s not the only one in this part of the park, but it’s not crowded, just a couple other people. A woman with a little dog, just lying in the sun with a hat over her face, and a guy—
“Derek.” Stiles is startled, a bit wide-eyed as he starts to get up from the blanket he’d been reclining on with a book. Derek recognizes that book. Dhalgren.
“No, don’t get up,” Derek says. “I’ll go. It’s a big park.” He lets himself smile a little at the way Stiles fidgets, still endeared by him and his quirks, despite all that’s happened between them.
“You don’t have to go,” Stiles says. “It’s alright. There’s plenty of space here.”
“Okay. I’ll just… stay over here.” Derek starts to move away, toward the other edge of the shade.
“That’s right, on your side.” Stiles smiles at him for a second before going back to his book and that’s all it takes to make Derek’s stomach flip.
Maybe twenty minutes later, Derek hears a psst and looks up to find Stiles lying on his stomach, facing Derek, book flopped open in front of him. Derek raises his eyebrows at him in question.
“Dude,” Stiles says, “I think I might hate this book.”
Derek laughs. “Seriously?”
“Yes! It’s, I don’t know. Frustrating.”
“I didn’t say it was an easy read.”
“It’s very… cyclical. Maybe I’m bored? Like, it almost feels monotonous, and I just want it to—I don’t know.”
“Break?”
“Yeah. I want something to break the cycle and push forward to the next part, for the next thing to happen.”
“Do you think it’s okay if I text him?” Derek asks. He can feel the crease between his brows. He’s probably giving himself a permanent wrinkle at this rate.
“What are you gonna say?” Isaac asks, reaching for the fries. “Because one cordial encounter in the park does not a rekindled romance make.”
“No, no, I know. I just want him to know that I was happy to see him. Is that okay?”
Isaac shrugs. “I guess. Honestly, I don’t know. What do I know about relationships?”
“Are you fishing for me to tell you were right about Jennifer again?”
“Well. I was right.” Isaac winks and brings his beer up for a drink. “But seriously, I think it’s fine if you text him that, but you can’t expect him to respond and you have to be okay with it if he doesn’t.”
“Yeah, that’s fine. I just… want him to know.”
Derek takes out his phone and types out a simple message.
I’m glad I ran into you today. I hope the book gets better for you.
Then he sets his phone aside and listens to Isaac rant about the asshole parents of his middle-schoolers and the awful blind date Erica set him up on.
Derek’s phone buzzes.
Seems like this might be a turning point. Fingers crossed. If not, I’m throwing this book out the window.
“What’re you smiling at?” Isaac asks. “He text back?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, “he did.”
“Well don’t get weird on him, okay? You take what he offers and ask for nothing more.” Isaac points a finger at him, like he’s telling a dog to stay.
Derek nods. “I know.”
“Good. Because I’d like for the two of you to get to a place of social comfort. It’s really inconvenient for the rest of us to have to keep you guys separated.”
SUMMER: Monday, June 30—New York City
They’ve been texting. Since that day in the park and Derek’s text that evening, they’ve kept up a fairly steady flow of conversation. Nothing serious, just light banter, movie opinions and reading recommendations and stuff like that. Stiles is happy with it, though. He’s enjoying this very low-stakes interaction, where he gets to be cautious and only reveal what he means to, no facial expressions and body language to give him away, no proximity to make him rash and reckless.
It’s been good.
Derek finally responds to Stiles’ last text. He’d sent it like an hour ago. Not that he needs an immediate reply or anything, but Derek is usually pretty quick to text back.
Sorry, I was with my therapist. And no, I do not think that Anne Rice is solely responsible for society’s vampire fetish. That’s Carmilla and Dracula erasure.
Stiles reads the text and snorts at Derek’s response. He knew he was gonna say that. But also, that first part…
He doesn’t overthink it, just hits call .
“Hi,” Derek answers. His voice is sort of quiet, sounds surprised.
“You have a therapist?”
“Uh. Yeah.”
“Is she hot? Or is it, like, an old guy who wears a lot of tweed?”
“Stiles.”
“Sorry, I’m just trying to picture it,” he laughs. “But I think that’s great. Really.”
“It’s been good. Kind of hard,” Derek chuckles, “but she’s been helpful.”
“So are you gonna tell her about me?”
“Oh, yeah. With pictures.”
Stiles laughs and the conversation lapses for a beat.
Then Derek takes an audible breath and asks, “Stiles… Can we meet up, maybe? For lunch or coffee or something? I understand if that’s not something you want to do, but I thought I’d ask. ”
“Oh.” Stiles thinks about it. Really thinks about it. Does he want to be in the same space as Derek yet? Sit across from him at some restaurant and find out how that feels now? He could always leave if it sucks, right? “Okay,” he says. “As long as it’s not a bistro on the Upper East Side.”
SUMMER: Wednesday, July 2—New York City
Derek waits for Stiles outside of the pub. It’s a place that Laura and Jordan like and Stiles knew where it was when Derek suggested it. It’s also pretty empty this early in the afternoon, which is nice. Not too loud.
Stiles crosses the street and sees Derek, gives him a closed-lip smile and a little nod.
“Hey,” he says, eyes darting up and down Derek’s frame.
“Hi,” Derek answers. “Thanks. For meeting me here. I’m—I’m happy to see you.”
Stiles takes a breath, hands in the pockets of his cut-off shorts. “Let’s get a table, yeah?” he says, and tilts his head toward the door.
“Yeah.”
They take a booth in the back corner. The tabletop is tacky under Derek’s hands, but the place has a good, casual atmosphere. Warm and comfortable.
The waiter comes by right away, which gives Derek a moment to get himself together. He’s here for a reason, and not just to be near Stiles, as much as that appeals to him.
“Stiles,” he starts, “I want to apologize to you.”
Stiles eyebrows arch up his forehead. “Do you?”
“And you don’t have to say anything. I’m not looking for any kind of absolution here, I just really want you to know that I’m so sorry for what an ass I’ve been.”
Stiles snorts, but doesn’t interrupt.
So Derek continues, “I don’t have an excuse for it, and I wish I could articulate what was going on in my head better. I’m working on it. Maybe a few more months with Carmen and I’ll get there. But, for now, I just don’t want you to think that you were ever unimportant.”
Stiles studies him, his expression thoughtful. “You know,” he says, “for a smart guy, you sure are a whole idiot.”
Derek chuckles, relieved that Stiles is making jokes, even at his expense. “Strange, how that works, huh?”
Stiles laughs, too, just a small amused huff, really, but Derek’ll take it. “Can I ask you something?” Stiles says.
“Of course.”
“What the hell were you thinking? With Jennifer, I mean?” He sits back against the booth and wipes a hand over his mouth. “I don’t know if that’s fair for me to ask, but I’m just so confused. Like, at first, I thought I understood, but that was before I actually met her. She’s not nice, man.”
Derek shakes his head, mostly at himself. “I know. Yeah, I know.”
“Well. Can you explain it? Help me understand, because do you know how much it sucks to not only be rejected and jerked around, but for someone like that to have been the reason?” Stiles isn’t raising his voice, but there is an edge to his tone.
It breaks Derek’s heart to hear it, to know that Stiles felt bad about himself because of him. “I’ll try,” he says. Then, “She wasn’t always like that. When we first started dating, she was persistent, but she was sweet and seemed to really like me and she was easy to please, which may sound stupid, but it felt really good to be in a relationship like that. And then, over time, there were things that I didn’t notice about her, or didn’t want to notice. When we broke up, it was jarring for me, because I didn’t think I’d be the one to do it. I always expected her to get tired of me first.”
“So what happened after the summer? When you got back together?”
“She told me she was pregnant. I believed her. No one else did, but I guess I wanted it to be true, even if I didn’t really want it to be her.”
Stiles is frowning, but he doesn’t say anything, so Derek just keeps going.
“And then the wedding was already happening, she had all these plans, and announcements, and—” Derek swallows, “and I was having a really hard time looking at you as a student. And I thought, if I were with her, that would help. It would keep me from doing something I wasn’t supposed to do.” He clears his throat.
“What about after Valentines? You chose her again.”
“I tried to break up with her and she told me her mom was sick. Like, possibly dying.”
Stiles huffs a disbelieving laugh. “That’s so transparent. And you just, what, believed her?”
“Yeah. I did.”
“Why?”
“Would you ever lie to someone about your dad being sick?”
“What? No. Of course not.”
“Yeah, neither would I. It’s insane.”
“Oh.” Stiles settles into his seat a bit more. “I get it. It seems too crazy and too bad of a lie to not be true.” He shakes his head. “Jesus, man, she really worked you over.”
“Why do you think I’m in therapy?” They share an amused look that gives Derek some hope that Stiles won’t hate him after this conversation. “But I’m not trying to shift the blame or rationalize all my bullshit this last year. I know I wasn’t fair to you. I was—fucking crazy. And I’m sorry.”
Stiles looks out the window, arms folded loosely over his chest. Derek watches the way his jaw works, clenches and unclenches. His fingers tapping on his elbow. After what might be several minutes, Stiles turns and looks at Derek, expression soft, a little sad, a little wistful. “You know,” he says, voice quiet and even, “none of this would’ve happened if we hadn’t made those first ground rules back at the start. If we’d just talked about ourselves a little more. We would’ve known we’d both be in New York and we wouldn’t have had a set end-date.”
“You still would’ve been my student.”
“And we would’ve said screw the policy. Be serious, Derek. Like that would’ve stopped us.”
“No, it wouldn’t have.”
“Best summer of my life.”
“Mine, too.”
SUMMER: Friday, July 18, 2025—New York City
“You’re sure you wanna be here?” Laura checks for at least the third time.
“Yes, I’m sure,” Stiles answers. “I happen to love baseball. Huge fan.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
They head over to the bleachers and climb up to sit with their whole crew. Derek’s down on the field, warming up with his team.
Laura had mentioned that they were all going to Derek’s summer rec league baseball game today and asked if Stiles and his friends wanted to come along. She’d assured him that it was no pressure and that she totally gets it if he’s not interested. But Stiles immediately said yes. He didn’t even really think about it. The only real thought he’d had was a memory of Derek’s lesson at the batting cages and then the way his waist looked when he swung the bat.
Stiles watches Derek throw a ball back and forth with a teammate. They’ve been talking a lot more since that day at the pub. Not constantly, but regularly. Mostly texting. A few phone calls. It’s been nice.
The game starts and Derek jogs out to his spot on the infield, between second and third base. Stiles has never seen him play this side of the game, he’s only ever seen him bat, and that was just in the cages.
Turns out, it’s even more fun to watch a sport when you know someone on the field. Maybe he should’ve gone to see Jackson play at least once.
Stiles is cheering and shouting along with the others and he feels like he’s actually following the game, too. And then Derek’s up to bat and he gets a hit that goes flying way off into the outfield. He makes it all the way to third base before the other team gets the ball in. He looks up at the bleachers while he’s standing on the base, and Stiles grins when his gaze lands on them. Derek smiles back, big and happy, and Stiles is sure he’s got all the lines crinkling up around his eyes.
It’s not that Stiles came to this game with a plan, per se, but there has been a little growing thing in his chest lately. A bud of maybe that’s been steadily blooming. And now he’s here, watching Derek, and Stiles loves him. Loves the whole of him. The summer fling, the unavailable professor, the flawed and complex man he’s gotten to know over the last year. He loves him. And he knows Derek loves him back.
After the game, Stiles waits by the chain link fence while Derek gets his gear together. He thinks maybe the others have caught on to his intentions because they’ve wandered off a bit, giving him some space.
Derek comes over with a fresh t-shirt on and his bag slung over his shoulder.
“Hi,” he says, smiling down at Stiles.
“Hi,” Stiles says back.
“Thanks for coming.”
“Sure. I think I should come to more of these.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. I think we should spend more time together, actually.”
Derek tilts his head, studying Stiles for a moment. “Really?”
“Mhmm.” Stiles takes a small step closer. “A lot more.”
“I’d like that.” Derek starts to smile again. “I’d really, really like that.”
Stiles nods, stepping even closer. “Just one thing, though. A ground rule.”
“Okay.”
“We have to call this what it is.”
“What’s that?”
“A relationship. Not a fling, not seeing each other, not an arrangement.”
Derek lets his bag drop onto the ground, closing the last bit of distance between them and pulling Stiles in by the hips. “A relationship. For real this time.”
“Yeah. For real this time.”
Stiles barely gets the words out before Derek’s mouth is on his. It’s not a very good kiss, technically speaking, because they’re both smiling so wide they keep bumping teeth and they can hardly keep their lips together. But it is wonderful all the same. They break apart when they hear Isaac and Laura cheering loudly from a few yards away.
Derek laughs and squeezes Stiles around the middle, keeping him close.
“This is not what my therapist told me to do,” he says, still smiling.
“Oh, no,” Stiles laments. “She’s gonna be so disappointed.”
FALL: Thursday, October 16, 2025—New York City
Stiles just lies still with his eyes closed while Derek traces shapes on his bare back with a fingertip. It’s still fairly early, but he knows Derek has things to do today, so they can’t just stay in bed like they had so often over the last weeks of summer.
“What time do you have to leave?” Stiles mumbles, not bothering to turn over or open his eyes.
“About an hour,” Derek answers. “Laura’s coming here first and then we’ll go together.” They have a meeting with someone about something to do with the non-profit they’re starting. Laura’s so hyped on the project and Stiles has enjoyed watching Derek get into it with her.
There was a day about a month ago, right before the school year started, when Stiles had nervously asked if Derek was only doing this because of him, shifting his career path so that they could be together without having to hide it. And Derek had assured him that he was genuinely excited about doing this with Laura, but that he wasn’t going to pretend that Stiles wasn’t part of the decision. It was a good answer. Stiles hadn’t been sure what he wanted to hear, but apparently that was it, and then he’d made Derek late for a meeting with Laura.
This morning may be a repeat performance if Derek’s hand dips any lower.
“Don’t you have class today?” Derek asks.
“Yes, but I’m pretending that I don’t.” Stiles was eager to get back to school when fall semester started, but also reluctant to give up his wide open schedule, which he’d been filling mostly with Derek. They don’t spend every night together—a recycled ground rule of sorts—and they’re doing their best not to go too fast, but it’s hard sometimes to remember why.
Derek’s tracing wanders under the sheet, turning into warm caresses, and then full on groping. Stiles sighs and rolls onto his side, pressing his back against Derek’s chest, ass into his crotch.
Derek reaches around to stroke Stiles’ growing erection, saliva and precum slicking the way. After a couple minutes, he leans over and grabs the lube off the nightstand and then hooks a hand under Stiles’ knee, hitching it up in front so he can open Stiles up with his fingers.
“Mmm,” Stiles hums, enjoying the attention and the slight stretch.
When Derek pushes into him, he holds Stiles close with an arm tucked across his chest. He kisses and sucks at Stiles’ neck and shoulder, whispering praise and moaning in his ear.
After, they lie together in the messy sheets, trading lazy kisses.
Derek kisses Stiles softly. “I love you,” he says, and kisses him again.
“I love you, too,” Stiles answers, and adds another kiss for good measure.
It’s been almost three months since for real this time, almost as long since the first I love you, and a year and a half of knowing Derek Hale. Stiles doesn’t know what comes next, but he knows exactly what this is, and he’s happy with it.