Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

A/N: Really long and just...yeah. Flashbacks in italics.

Fool in Love

"I love you."

He said it before he could help himself. He covered his lips manically, shutting his eyes and willing the words back, hoping to suck them out of the air before Derek could hear. He knows it's useless though; there's no way he didn't hear it.

He sneaks a peek at him: he's curled over onto himself in what looks like slumber, but he knows better. Derek isn't asleep yet. If he'd said it ten, fifteen seconds later, he knows for sure Derek would be asleep. As it is, he knows Derek heard. Which makes it hurt all the more when he doesn't say anything in response.

Derek's gone when he wakes up. Nothing new. He'd be more surprised if he was there in the morning, because honestly he can count the number of times he's seen Derek in the morning on one hand. Their liaisons usually start somewhere after midnight, begun with a hasty text and lasting until they both collapse from exhaustion. There's few, if any, words spoken. Some days they hang out, order pizza and watch movies or study together, and Derek makes for good, quiet company, and Stiles likes to think if Derek didn't want him there he'd say so. But that's it. That's all they do. It's always been like that for as far back as they've been going together. And by 'going', Stiles of course means fucking, because they've never gone anywhere. Well, once they went out for Mexican at three in the morning, but that didn't count since they went through the drive-thru and then straight back to Derek's after.

It's been a running joke for a while, how none of Stiles' friends believe Derek exists. They've never met him; not even Scott, who drops over unannounced and stays for hours at a time because despite it being his idea for him and Allison to get their own place, sometimes he needs some guy time, to fart and play video games and scratch without worrying about his fiancée falling out of love with him for being gross. He looks around curiously, even goes through Stiles' phone when he gets a chance, and finds no pictures of Stiles' supposed 'boyfriend'. There's texts, which he barely gets a chance to read before Stiles rips the phone from his grasp, and he still has no fucking idea how the guy looks. When confronted, Stiles blushes and says that Derek's a very private person and hates pictures and he'll introduce him when he's ready. Yeah, his father doesn't like that excuse either.

It's not that he doesn't want to introduce Derek to his friends, or his dad, who is threatening to stop paying half of Stiles' rent if he doesn't at least tell him Derek's last name (to do a background check, no doubt). It's just that…he's not sure what he'd introduce him as.

Eight months. They've been doing this thing for eight months and Stiles still doesn't know if he's Derek's boyfriend, fuck buddy, or even his emfriend./em Stiles shudders when he thinks about it, because he's not sure he'd like the answer.

They don't talk. Derek thinks grunts and nods count as answers, except for when he's particularly chatty, which is when Stiles is lucky enough to get a monosyllabic Yes or No from him. Stiles, for his part, likes to fill the silence when they're not having sex. He has one-sided conversations, commentates through movies, or just makes casual observations about Derek, like how cute his eyebrows are when they're furrowed together, or how rough Derek's hands are, or how absolutely great he is at sex. All those compliments and Stiles has never once heard Derek praise him in return. Not that he was fishing for any, but still.

A couple days pass and Derek hasn't texted or come over. It's no cause for alarm. Stiles once went for a week without hearing from him. At that time, when Stiles was sure he'd moved on to someone new, Derek came over, Chinese in one hand and the entire second season of Parks and Rec in the other. Stiles almost said the words right then.

Almost. He didn't. He wonders what would have happened if he did. Would Derek have stopped coming by, stopped texting, without warning? Is that what he was doing now? Stiles braced himself, tearing himself away from his emFoundations of Modern French Democracy/em textbook to stare at his phone. It's only been two days, he told himself. He might call. He might. He nervously bit at his thumb, his leg jittering up and down as he set the phone down and willed it to vibrate.

Stiles looked up and realized he'd been staring at his phone for forty five minutes. He pushed away from the table in his tiny studio apartment and paced his living room/dining room/bedroom, praying to whatever God he'd pissed off that this thing with Derek wasn't over. He wasn't ready for it to be over.

By the ninth day he did the unthinkable. He texted Derek. It was a first. Usually Derek initiated everything.

Take Me Home

He came up to Stiles at the library, sat with him in the only available private study room, ignoring Stiles' incredulous looks as he made himself comfortable. After the initial shock of his sanctuary being disturbed, Stiles realized Derek was hot. Like, dangerously, caution-this-dude-may-burn-your-tongue hot. Stiles straightened up, tried to appear like a serious student, sliding his glasses further up his nose as he licked his lips to draw attention to his mouth. He looked up and Derek was buried behind his books. He sighed, realizing this would take some effort. He took off his hoodie, flexing what little muscles he had as he reached over the table to pick out a new highlighter. Still no eye movement. Stiles then snuck glances at Derek's books, quickly figuring out that he was a graduate student. He shrunk in on himself; he was a lowly undergrad. There was no way he would be into him, especially since Derek was off the charts gorgeous and Stiles was…well, he had a pulse, so he had that going for him.

He slipped his hoodie back on and tried to burrow into the chair, making himself invisible to Derek. It must have worked, because Derek didn't so much as look at him afterwards.

It became a thing. Stiles had long ago set claim to the private study room, but Derek would still show up every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday, for at least two hours, more if he had a lot of books with him. They never spoke. Stiles didn't even learn his name until he came in one day during midterms with a cup of coffee with 'Derek' written across the sleeve. When he slid one over to Stiles, he couldn't help but stare at the offering wordlessly, his earbuds still blasting music into his ears as he finally allowed himself to look up to Derek (whom he previously named Hottie McScowl-face in his head). Derek shrugged and said, "I didn't want to be a jerk and show up with just one."

"Th – thanks," Stiles stuttered out, sipping the drink and burning his tongue, making him spit little flecks of black liquid across his books. Apparently God hated him. He thought he saw the corners of Derek's mouth twitch up into an almost-smile, but no. Derek didn't look like the kind of person to smile at anything, like that girl he saw on TV who was born without smiling muscles.

Derek already had his wonderfully shaped head buried in his books when Stiles decided since Derek opened the door, he might as well peek his head through. "I'm Stiles, by the way. In case you – were wondering, about that."

"Stiles," Derek said, arching his brow. It was like he was tasting his name, and judging by how he didn't have a completely sour look on his face, it tasted just fine. "Derek."

Stiles tried to suppress his initial response ("Me, Tarzan. You, Jane.") and instead nodded, thanking him again for the coffee.

After that Derek would bring coffee for the both of them, and Stiles decided he needed to contribute somehow so he ended up baking scones. He even splurged on whole vanilla beans and free-range eggs, wanting to impress Derek. When he was right outside the library he realized he was overdoing it, and threw them away. He decided to buy a couple sandwiches from the student union instead, which neither of them finished since they tasted more like plastic than actual food. Still, no actual conversation.

Finally, one rainy day a couple of weeks before finals, Derek offered him a ride home. They stopped studying around the same time, the elevator ride down all the more awkward due to the silence. They came to the lobby and Stiles looked outside the glass doors and groaned. It was pouring, more than the light drizzle that had blanketed the campus earlier in the day. He held his laptop closely to his chest, deciding whether to wait it out in the lobby or sprint to the bus stop and hope neither his notes nor his laptop suffered. Derek hesitated on his way out, his hands on the door handle before asking if Stiles wanted a ride. He declined, of course, because his mother taught him courtesy and his father taught him not to trust strangers. Derek insisted, sighing as if it would be an inconvenience if he didn't give him a ride. Finally Stiles agreed. Derek left his jacket for Stiles, going to bring his car around. Stiles draped the musky, warm smelling leather jacket over his head as he ran for the car once Derek pulled up to the front.

"Where's home?" Derek asked as shifted into first.

"Um, off Lexington and 28th," he responded, the beads of water rolling off Derek's jacket onto his shirt.

Derek shot him a scowl. "You're not a drug dealer, are you?"

"No," Stiles said, frowning. Derek considered it for all of a second before taking a right on Cypress when he should have gone left. "You missed the turn."

"I'm not dropping you off in that neighborhood," Derek announced. "Especially not at night."

"It's not that bad," Stiles defended. "I mean, there's police everywhere."

"You know what everyone calls that place? Little Libya. If I pull up in this some punk kids will steal the rims before I even come to a complete stop."

Punk kids. "Okay, Grandpa. So where are you taking me?"

"My apartment." Stiles gulped. That…was unexpected. "What? Is that not okay?" Derek asked.

"No, no, of course it's – fine. Um, you're not like a serial killer, are you?"

Derek glared at him, his nostrils flaring before he turned back to navigate the slick roads.

"Cannibal?" Nostril flare, now with jaw clench.

"Human trafficker?" Nostril flare, jaw clench, and special guest star suppressed growl. Wow. Maybe he should go four for four.

"Republican?"

"Stiles!" Derek cried. Stiles grinned at his name coming out of Derek's mouth.

"Two minutes. New personal-annoyance record." Derek stepped on the brakes, sending Stiles' head flying to the dashboard with a loud thump. Stiles rubbed his forehead, sneering at Derek's smiling face.

"We're here." He got out and ran to the building door. Stiles hesitated for all of a minute before exiting the car as well, running through the unrelenting rain once again under Derek's jacket.

Derek was already in the elevator, and Stiles ran to catch it, just barely making it through the closing doors. He nearly slipped and fell on a puddle of water dripping from Derek, when he caught him.

"Thanks," Stiles said as Derek held him above the floor. Derek set him on his feet, Stiles hoping he ignored the way he blushed pink from his ears to his nose. They continued their ascent, Stiles whistling to fill the silence, earning another glare from Derek. That deflated the air right out of him.

Stiles trailed him out of the elevator, following him like a puppy as he unlocked the door and went inside. Derek never looked back to see if Stiles was behind him. Stiles was so busy taking in Derek's spacious place, the leather furniture and the art hung neatly on the walls, that he ran face-first into his back. Derek turned around and furrowed his brow, Stiles smiling sheepishly back.

"Sorry. It's just - this place is so…adult. Really adult. Subscribes to The New Yorker and drinks brandy and smokes cigars after dinner adult." Stiles stared at Derek suspiciously. "You sure you're not a Republican?"

Derek rolled his eyes and continued walking further in. They passed his pretty sleek looking kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, what he was pretty sure was an original Dali, before arriving at the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Stiles slowed his pace, falling behind Derek, allowing him to enter the bedroom well ahead of him. After a second of waiting in the hall Stiles heard him grunt, "You coming?" Stiles bit his lip, debating whether or not to enter. Finally, when he could practically hear Derek's impatient sighs seeping through the walls, he followed.

He shouldn't have followed. Derek was undressing, already half his clothing off as he rifled through his drawers for dry clothes. Stiles stuttered, nearly choking on his spit as he looked away. Derek approached him from behind, clad in nothing but his tight fitting boxer briefs. He sighed as he spun Stiles around and shoved some fresh clothes into his chest. Stiles pulled his hands away from his eyes, letting out a very unmanly shriek as he eyed Derek's body.

"Do you want to be wet all night?" Derek asked. Stiles tried not to scream "YES!" at the top of his lungs.

"Is there a – I mean, I can do it right here…"

"Bathroom's through there," Derek said, nodding to the door on the other side of the room. Stiles gulped. That was his bathroom. Not the guest bathroom, or the half a bathroom he was pretty sure penthouses came with (what is half a bathroom? Does he have to pee in the sink?), but Derek's personal bathroom. Where he's naked all the time. Cue the blush.

Stiles raced hunchbacked to the bathroom, making sure the door was locked before he began changing. He wasn't that wet – soaked – moist – okay, there was no way to say it without it sounding sexual. He wasn't that un-dry, but he realized he could have been a lot more un-dry if it weren't for Derek's wonderfully heady, musky, sweet smelling jacket. And of course, with his luck, he was now in Derek's bathroom, his cologne enveloping him, making him feel warm and protected. After dressing he did a little snooping, cautiously pulling open Derek's medicine cabinet: Tylenol and Claritin. Boring. He was hoping to at least find some bipolar medication, or something to help with erectile dysfunction, something to prove he wasn't perfect. His drawers turned up nosehair trimmers, floss, moisturizer, lipstick? He'd have to ask about that one. Nothing interesting in the cabinets, and apparently Derek had split ends, which explains the special conditioner. But all in all, nothing.

Seriously? If anyone went through Stiles' bathroom they'd come away with tons of damning stuff. His medicine cabinet alone would – okay, you know what? Not about him. This was about Derek. Stupid, human robot Derek.

Derek, as if on cue, knocked on the door. "Did you fall?" Stiles hurriedly finished up before opening the door, almost running into Derek who was leaning on the doorframe.

"Have fun snooping?" he asked.

Stiles winced. "Sorry," he said with a blush.

"Don't worry. I would have done the same thing," Derek shrugged. He led Stiles back out, going to the kitchen where very interesting smells were wafting through the air. Stiles took a seat on a stool in the center island, watching as Derek cooked. "Hungry?"

"Wow, that smells – amazing," Stiles said, quickly closing his mouth to suck up the drool that would have otherwise seeped out. "But seriously, you didn't have to go through any trouble."

"I know," Derek said, stirring the pan and sprinkling stuff into it. "But I was hungry, and it would have been rude of me to make something just for myself."

"Oh," Stiles said. He had gotten a little overexcited about Derek cooking for him, going out of his way just to impress Stiles. But he hadn't. He did it for himself, and Stiles was just an afterthought, because Stiles just wasn't that lucky.

"You're not allergic to any foods, are you?"

"Um – strawberries?"

"Well, there's none of that in here," Derek said, plating the food and sliding it over the island to Stiles. He grabbed a fork and dug in, eating the hot food before giving it a chance to cool. He groaned and rolled his eyes as he saw Derek staring at him. He hadn't even begun eating yet.

"Good?"

"Great," Stiles said. "What is this?" he asked between forkfuls.

"Lamb curry," Derek said, finally digging in.

"Well, it's awesome. Where did you learn - ."

"We don't have to fill the silence," Derek interrupted, slowly bringing the food up to his mouth. Stiles, meanwhile, was ravenously shoveling the food back, the clinking of his fork on the porcelain plate signaling that he'd finished.

"Thanks," Stiles said, cleaning up. "Do you want me to load the dishwasher or - ."

"Just leave it in the sink. I'll get to it later," Derek said.

Stiles wiped his hands off on a dishrag after having washed them. He swung his hands and clapped them awkwardly as he waited for Derek. "So, this was fun."

"You can watch TV if you want," Derek said, having finished as well.

"No, actually I think it's getting kind of late."

"The guest room is already made," Derek said, rinsing the plates off before loading up the dishwasher.

"Huh?" Stiles stopped clapping as he tried to gage Derek's seriousness.

"Or you can sleep on the couch if you prefer."

"You want me to sleep here?"

"Don't tell me you're one of those people who can't sleep alone," Derek sighed. "Look, you can sleep with me, but I'm telling you right now, I snore and hog the blankets and I wear nothing but socks to bed."

"Whoa," Stiles said, trying not to picture Derek naked because he was wearing tight pants and his boner would totally show. "I'm – I have my own apartment."

"I already told you I'm not dropping you off there," Derek said firmly.

"Dude," Stiles groaned.

"Don't call me that," Derek said. "I'm not a surfer living out of a VW van."

"Seriously, this is like kidnapping," Stiles whined.

"You're free to leave whenever you want," Derek said. Thunder boomed outside just as Derek announced that, making Stiles jump.

"Are you a wizard?" Stiles asked, staring suspiciously at him.

"I'm going to bed," Derek announced.

"Was that an invitation?" Stiles muttered to himself. He felt odd and out of place in the spacious kitchen, and with another clap of thunder Stiles jumped and raced towards Derek's bedroom. He jumped into bed with a shriek, burying himself under the covers. Though, when he saw what was waiting for him under the covers, he let out yet another, higher shriek.

Derek wasn't kidding about sleeping in only his socks.

Stiles burrowed out from under the blankets, sure his blushing face could be seen even in the darkness.

"You okay?" Derek asked, unconcerned with his own nudity.

"I – uh, I'm kind of afraid of, you know – ahh!" Stiles said, crying out when the thunder struck again.

"You're scared of thunder," Derek said, not really needing to question it now that Stiles was shivering in his bed. Stiles nodded, his head shifting underneath the blankets as he did so. "You don't have to be afraid," Derek said. "I'm here."

Stiles allowed Derek to coax him out from under the covers, although to be honest Stiles was kind of enjoying the view down under. Derek motioned for him to get comfortable on the other side of the bed, giving him more than enough blanket and asking, "You sure you want to sleep in your jeans?"

"I'll be fine," Stiles squeaked.

"Suit yourself," Derek shrugged. He turned on his back and faced away from him, seemingly succumbing to sleep.

Stiles couldn't even close his eyes because he was so anxious. He didn't know how he ended up in bed with the hottest guy he'd ever met (who was now the hottest naked guy he'd ever met). Every time he tried to close his eyes they'd snap open, and he'd be left staring at the ceiling for what felt like forever before he tried to close them again, only to repeat the process. Just when he was going to throw the blanket off him and leave, to the guest room or the couch or his own apartment, he didn't know, Derek shifted. He turned to Stiles, throwing a warm arm over the boy and holding him tightly.

Stiles stiffened. He tried not to breathe because he was afraid he'd wake up Derek, and then his arm would be gone, and he didn't want his arm to be gone. He wanted it to lay across his chest forever.

Then Derek spoke, and Stiles nearly fell off the bed.

"You're still awake," he said, the pillow muffling his voice.

"Can't sleep," Stiles said, keeping his eyes fixed on the ceiling.

"Close your eyes," he said. "It makes it harder to sleep when they're open."

"Thanks," Stiles said sarcastically. His arm moved up, his hand inching across Stiles' face, his fingers dragging his eyelids down. Stiles smiled, because he was nervous and Derek's hands were all over him, and he didn't know exactly how to react, so he smiled.

"Sleep," Derek instructed. Stiles tried to, but Derek's hand roamed over his body like he's blind and there's Braille written all over his skin. He wanted to ask him if he knows Braille, or tell him that those are goosebumps and not Braille, or ask him why he's caressing him all over, but he's afraid to break the silence. If he spoke or moved he's afraid Derek will pull away, and he'll be left without his warmth.

Derek didn't pull away, even when Stiles began laboriously breathing, even when he turned to him, his mouth slightly parted because Derek just ran his thumb over his nipple. Derek pulled him closer, and Stiles felt his breath on his cheek. Lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the room for a second, and Stiles could see that Derek is watching him intently.

"Are you okay?" Derek asked, his voice rough yet barely above a whisper. Stiles nodded.

"Tell me when this is too much," Derek said, still running his hand over Stiles' chest, though he was trailing deeper and deeper, almost to Stiles' waist. "Tell me when to stop." Stiles nodded again, gulping as he stared into Derek's eyes.

"Don't stop," Stiles whispered. Derek pulled Stiles closer again, this time both hands tracing invisible patterns over his body. He dipped underneath Stiles' shirt, feeling his warm, flushed skin. Stiles wanted to touch Derek so badly, but he's afraid he'll be reprimanded or Derek will pull away, so he doesn't.

Derek continued feeling Stiles in the darkness, Stiles biting his lip and allowing his body to slowly unravel as he let Derek pull off his shirt. He shirks off his own jeans in a moment of excitement, cursing as they tangle around his ankles before he kicks them off. Derek smirked and ran his hands over Stiles' near naked body, his fingertips practically leaving scorch marks across his skin, they burn so hot.

Stiles can't take it anymore. He thrust out his hand, feeling awkward as he grasped in the darkness for Derek. He grabbed him by the balls, Derek letting out a howl of pain as Stiles apologizes.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay," Derek said, trying to catch his breath. "Eager?"

Stiles blushed, wishing his body would spontaneously combust. Derek smirked and grabbed Stiles' hand and pulled it back under the covers. Stiles breath hitched as Derek led him to his dick, rock hard and a little slick with pre-cum. Stiles held it in his hand, feeling the thickness and weight of it, squeezing it tentatively. Derek shifted closer, spreading his legs so Stiles can really get into it. He never stopped touching Stiles, his hands always wandering, as Stiles pumped him slowly.

It's quiet again in the room, the only noise the relentless rain pounding against the windows and the soft creaking of the bed as they shift and move. Stiles jerks Derek to completion, and then it's Derek's turn to play with Stiles. He takes his time, maddeningly so, nearly driving Stiles insane as he slips his underwear off and rubs his member in all the right ways. Stiles cums embarrassingly fast and easily, arching up into Derek's hand. He spilled all over himself, and quickly, as if he planned it all along, Derek pulled a tissue from out of his nightstand and wiped them clean. He threw the tissue across the room and pulled the blankets over them again. This time as they ready for sleep, Stiles having ejaculated out all his worries and anxieties, Derek pulled Stiles close, allowing the smaller boy to burrow into his chest as he inhales the sharp scent of his hair. Stiles sighs, and allows sleep to envelop him.

It's not until the morning that he realizes they never kissed.

He hit send before he could help himself. Before it can even confirm its delivery he's already scrambling to undo it, delete it, bring it back from the tiny invisible waves it's traveling through back into the safety of his phone. It's too late, though. The message is sent.

Derek doesn't respond, and he spirals pretty quickly. He stops bathing and leaving the house, missing his classes and eating nothing but popsicles and stale Froot Loops as he stares down at his phone, willing it to ring. He's texted twice since then, both unassuming and casually asking when they're going to meet up again. Both go unanswered.

It's past noon and he's still in bed. He's been up since nine, but he doesn't have the will to face the day, so he's been in bed, closing his eyes and hoping sleep comes back to him, the only thing that will come back to him.

He hears his door open and he nearly rolls off the bed, covers and all, as he expects to be greeted by Derek and burgers and the first season of Downton Abbey. It's not Derek, though. It's Jackson, loudly talking on the phone, followed by Scott, who sighs and goes over to him.

"No, no, I'm inside already and he's fine. No, I'm not lying to you, Uncle John, Stiles is right – no, I said I'm not lying to you! When have I lied to you?" Jackson cried. "That was one time, and it was Stiles' idea! No, I'm not yelling at you. Yes, I remember about the traffic violations, and I am grateful you didn't tell my mom – okay." Jackson shoves the phone at Stiles, annoyed.

"Hello?" he says into the phone, his voice raspy from not having spoken for days. "No, Dad, I'm fine. I was going to call you back. It's only been four days," he says, his father talking over him. "Yes, I am aware of the growing number of young men sold into sexual slavery, I watched the documentary with you. No, I'm fine. Honestly. I promise, I'll call you every day from now on. Every hour? Dad, you're hovering. Are you sure you're all the way back in Beacon Hills, because I can hear the helicopter blades right over my head, the Blackhawk Stilinski hovering over me as always. Well, I don't know what they name helicopters, how would I know - ."

"See, Uncle John, I told you he's fine. Yes. Yes, sir. I promise. No, I was – I wasn't. Yes. Okay. Just, please don't tell my mom about the traffic violations? Okay. Yes. I love you, too." Jackson holds out the phone for Stiles, who echoes his sentiment. "Okay? Okay, bye." As soon as he hangs up, he punches Stiles on the arm.

"Ow!" Stiles whined, rubbing the sore spot.

"Don't ever ignore my calls again," Jackson warned. He sniffed the air and looked Stiles up and down. "When's the last time you showered?"

"Showers are for winners," Stiles said, throwing himself back on the bed. "Losers don't deserve showers."

"I can't talk to him when he's like this," Jackson said.

"Seriously, dude?" Scott says. "He's your cousin."

"Yeah, but not by choice," Jackson said, looking distastefully down to where Stiles is sprawled on the bed. "He's your friend, you guys did the whole blood brothers thing, you knew what you were signing up for. Handle this." Jackson went out into the hall, the door slamming behind him as he left Scott and Stiles alone.

"Stiles," Scott said, sitting next to him on the bed. "Dude, you have to get up."

"There's nothing for me out there," Stiles said, pulling the blanket over his whole body.

"Seriously? You're giving up on life because of a guy?"

"I'm not giving up," Stiles said. "I'm just reevaluating what living means to me right now."

"Dude, I know you guys were together for a long time, and I'm sure he meant a lot to you. I mean, I never really met him or saw you guys together, so I can't say how close you were - ."

"Laying a guilt trip on me now is just going to make me take a nosedive." Stiles saw the confused look on Scott's face and clarifies, "Not literally. I'm not flying a plane here. I'm speaking figuratively." To Stiles' annoyance, Scott still looks lost.

"Okay," Scott said slowly. "Look, I'm just saying, how important could the guy have been if you never introduced him to anyone?"

"He has a thing about meeting new people," Stiles explained. The blanket was draped over his body so he looked like a ghost, and Scott rolled his eyes before pulling it off his body.

"Stiles," Scott said softly. "It's not the end of the world."

"I know," Stiles said, scratching irritably at his hair, which was sticking up in every direction. "I just – I need time to mourn. I was with the guy for eight months. Eight months, Scott. That's a long fucking time."

"Yeah, it is," Scott agreed. "But, Stiles - ."

"I just want to lie down a little more, dude," Stiles said, curling up in the bed. "Just, one more day, and then I swear I'll be better." Scott sighed before following Stiles under the covers, curling up next to him in the dimness.

"Then I guess I'll be here with you for one more day, too," Scott said.

"Thanks," Stiles responded, letting his best friend cuddle up next to him.

They lay like that for a few minutes before the front door burst open. Jackson didn't have to guess where Scott was. He pulled the covers off and looked down on them, annoyed.

"You had one job, McCall," Jackson said irritably. He flicked Scott on the forehead before rifling through Stiles' wardrobe. He picked out a shirt and threw it at the pair. He kept throwing clothes at them, and soon enough they were buried in Stiles' shirts and pants.

"What's going on?" Scott asked.

"We're going out," Jackson announced. "All of us," he added pointedly.

"I don't feel like it," Stiles said, pulling some shirts over his face.

"Yes, you do," Jackson said, pulling him out of the mountain of clothes and off the bed. Stiles didn't even fight him; he just collapsed onto the floor when Jackson let him go. "Get up," Jackson cried, kicking him lightly.

"Meanest. Cousin. Ever," Stiles said, his voice muffled as his mouth was pressed into the carpet.

"Look, I just got off the phone with Lydia, and she and Allison thought it'd be a good idea for all of us to go out tonight to cheer you up," Jackson said, sorting through Stiles' clothes for something adequate. "And Danny suggested the Manhole, so - ." He was cut off by groans of disapproval and cries of excitement, from Stiles and Scott respectively.

"I love that place!" Scott said giddily.

"I hate that place," Stiles mumbled into the floor.

"Yeah, well, it's the only gay bar in town that has a really loose ID policy, so we're going," Jackson said.

"That place is the worst," Stiles moaned.

"No way," Scott said, practically bouncing around on the bed. "The guys there are the coolest."

"Yeah, because they buy you drinks for being adorable," he said, pointing to Scott, "and they buy you drinks for looking like you fell off a freaking Calvin Klein billboard," he said, now pointing to Jackson, "but they never, ever buy me a drink." He let his head loll back onto the floor pitifully. "No drinks for Stiles."

"You are pathetic," Jackson said. "I can't believe we share DNA."

"Come on, dude," Scott said, letting his head hang upside down off the side of the bed. "Gay guys grinding up against each other in their underwear, house music, drag queens, colorful drinks with fruit in them. Fun!"

"Then you guys go," Stiles said.

"Listen, Stilinski," Jackson said, grabbing his cousin by the ear and pulling him off the floor. "You're about six words away from me cutting you out of the family tree permanently. Your fuck buddy broke up with you, boo-hoo. Who cares? You're hot, you'll find someone new."

"You think I'm hot?" Stiles asked awkwardly.

"You're related to me," Jackson said, puffing his chest out a bit. "How can you not be?"

"There'll be plenty of gay guys to pick from tonight, Stiles," Scott said helpfully. "You'll have to fight them off with a stick."

"Or my dick," Stiles added with a laugh. It felt good to laugh again.

"Get up," Jackson instructed, "shower, twice. And put this on."

"Fine," Stiles said, retreating into the bathroom, his arms heavy with clothes. "But if I have awesome bathroom-club sex tonight and can't walk tomorrow, I want a wheelchair with racing stripes and pink streamers on the handles." Jackson rolled his eyes and began picking up after Stiles, throwing takeout containers and pizza boxes away before yelling at Scott to help him.

Stranger Danger

The club was louder than Stiles remembered. And darker. And hazier. Basically he didn't want to be there anymore, and yearned for the safety and familiarity of his apartment, with his comfy bed and streaming Netflix. He'd barely been there five minutes and he already wanted to leave.

"Watch out, bitches! Lydia has arrived!" She strode through the door, one arm around Jackson and the other around Stiles, leading them through the throngs of people by the bar to claim a table by the dance floor.

"She really is every crazy white girl in every romcom ever conceived, isn't she?" Stiles thought out loud.

"That's my girlfriend you're talking about," Jackson said, slapping Stiles in the gut.

"We'll see how long that lasts," Lydia said. "Because looking around, I am pretty sure I can find more than one hot boy to hook up with."

"All the guys here are gay, Lydia," Allison said, setting her clutch down on a chair.

"Gay-ish," she said, making eye contact with a topless brunette and winking at him. She would tell everyone later that he winked back, when in fact he turned away with a grimace on his face.

"Stop with the jealous-face, Jackson," Stiles said, pinching his cousin's arm. "Lydia isn't going to hook up with anyone."

"I know that," Jackson snapped, though he couldn't help but look worried.

"Drinks?" Scott asked, clapping his hands together excitedly.

"Mojito," Jackson said.

"Trashcan," Lydia said.

"Strawberry margarita," Allison said sweetly, scrunching up her face as Scott went in for a kiss.

"I'll go with you," Stiles said.

"Do not go anywhere," Allison warned. "You have to come straight back here so we can find you a new boyfriend. Right, Lydia?"

"Uh-huh, sure," Lydia said distractedly. "Oh my God, is that my pastor's son? I knew he got down on his knees for more than prayer," she said, pushing into the dance floor to investigate. Jackson waited for all of a second before following her.

"Is this okay, man?" Scott asked as they leaned on the bar. "You're not like, overwhelmed, are you?"

"You realize I'm not some precious newborn bird, right?" Stiles asked. "Dude, I'm going to be fine. I'm just worried about you."

"Why?" Scott asked.

"Last time we were here you got overheated during a Ke$ha remix and nearly had an asthma attack," Stiles said.

"Shit," Scott said, patting his pants worriedly.

"You forgot your inhaler," Stiles said smugly.

"I forgot my inhaler!" Scott groaned. "Now I can't dance!" He was leaning on the bar, pouting, when the bartender (shirtless, because apparently everyone's nipples needed to breathe in this place) slid over and asked them what they wanted. Stiles rattled off their order, including a rum and Coke for himself, and just when he was about to give Scott's (peach margarita, because deep down Scott was a teenage sorority girl who mimicked everything Allison did), another bartender came and slid a drink in front of him.

"This is from that slice of heaven down on the end," the bartender said, pointing to a waving blond. Scott waved back and the guy blushed before looking away happily. Scott took his drink and began sipping it in front of Stiles, smiling widely.

"Shut up," Stiles said, annoyed. He juggled their drinks back to the table, Scott practically skipping along behind him. Danny had arrived and was chatting with Allison while Stiles passed the drinks around.

"Are we going Dutch on the drinks?" Allison asked.

"Nah, I started a tab under Jackson's name," Stiles shrugged, making Danny chuckle. "Although Doe Eyes over here won't have to worry about buying any tonight. We were up at the bar for five seconds and he's already got drinks flying at him."

"Well who wouldn't want to buy this face a drink?" Allison said, squeezing Scott's face, making him blush.

"Too bad he forgot his inhaler," Stiles added deviously, "so he won't be able to burn off all those fruity calories on the dance floor."

"You forgot your inhaler?" Allison asked. Scott nodded and looked down ashamedly before Allison pulled it out of her purse with a smile.

"You brought it!" Scott said, practically spilling his drink in his excitement.

"Ugh, you two make me want to gouge my eyes out," Stiles said bitterly.

"Come on, Stiles," Danny said, knocking their shoulders together. "They're sweet." Scott and Allison were now making out, Stiles sticking his tongue out distastefully.

"Gag," Stiles muttered, fighting with his straw for control of his drink. "Heads up, the twink that bought you that drink is coming over."

"Hey," the blond guy said awkwardly to Scott. "Um, sorry about that back at the bar. I had no idea you were straight," he said, gesturing to where Scott had his arm draped over Allison.

"Oh, dude, no. It was totally my fault. I shouldn't have waved back and led you on," Scott said. "My bad."

"You waved back?" Allison giggled.

"Let me buy you and your girl, who has the sickest shoes ever, a drink," the blond offered.

"No way, man," Scott refused. "You already bought me one. Hey, you wanna dance?"

"Seriously?" the guy asked, looking to Allison for permission.

"Watch out. He's kind of got two left feet," she warned.

"Hey! I'm an awesome dancer!" Scott said defensively, pocketing the inhaler from Allison. "Come on, I'll show you." He grabbed the blond enthusiastically, leading the way to the dance floor. He stripped off his shirt on the way, the blond's eyebrows shooting up as he looked back to Allison, who rolled her eyes with a smile.

"He's here five minutes and he's already dancing with the hottest guy," Stiles said morosely, sipping his nearly empty drink. Danny and Allison exchanged a glance before Stiles stood up. "I'm going home."

"Sit your ass down," Danny said, pulling him by the sleeve. "You're not going anywhere."

"We promised you a fun time, so you're going to have a fun time," Allison shrugged. "Look, that guy's cute," she said, pointing to a tanned buff guy across the way.

"He has weird eyebrows," Stiles sighed.

"What about that one with the eight-pack abs?" Danny said, licking his lips.

"He's too pretty. Pretty boys tend to be bad in bed," Stiles shrugged. "What? It's a fact."

"So was Derek bad in bed?" Danny asked. Allison kicked him under the table before he could shut up.

Stiles stiffened at the mention of Derek's name (who was technically ruggedly handsome, not pretty, so he was awesome in bed). He'd almost stopped thinking about him for once in the past ten days, but now it was like a leak in his Derek Dam, and thoughts of him were springing out. Thoughts of Derek's leather jacket gleaming over the back of one of Stiles' chairs, of Derek's stubble scratching at Stiles' smooth skin, of Derek's warm hands embracing him, running up and down his body, taking him by surprise as he stood washing dishes or brushing his teeth before bed. He realized that he and Derek had become surprisingly domestic during their time together. And he missed that. He missed Derek.

"Stiles, do you want another drink?" Allison asked tentatively.

"No," Stiles said, snapping to. "I mean, yes, but after I dance."

"You want to dance?" Danny asked.

"Yeah," Stiles said, getting to his feet. "Yeah. I want to dance!" He ran onto the dance floor, stepping to the music wildly, his arms jerking about as he tried to grind his hips and roll his belly. Unfortunately, it all looked like he was having a seizure in the middle of the club.

"God, Stiles. You're embarrassing me," Jackson said through gritted teeth. He was dancing with Lydia, but he moved close enough to voice how excruciatingly bad Stiles was at dancing. Stiles didn't care, though. As long as he was moving he wasn't thinking about Derek.

"Ignore him," Lydia said, pulling Stiles over so he could dance with them. He shimmied up to Lydia, bobbing his head out of sync with the music. Scott came just as Jackson and Stiles were sandwiching Lydia, laughing and grinding playfully against Stiles, the blond not far behind.

"You're back!" Scott said, referring to his mood.

"Not completely, but almost," Stiles said, doing a weird two-stepping dance that was getting on Jackson's nerves.

"Okay, we're getting a drink," Jackson said, pulling Lydia off the dance floor. "You either need to drink more or less; whatever it takes for you to become a better dancer."

"Love you too, cuz!" Stiles said, waving at them as they left.

"I need a drink, too," Scott said, wiping his sweaty brow. "You guys save this spot. It's prime dance floor real estate. I'll be right back."

Scott left Stiles and the blond dancing awkwardly around each other. Stiles tried to play it off, swaying his hips in time to the beat. He caught the blond staring at him, looking away whenever Stiles looked up. The blond bit his lip before mustering up the courage to introduce himself. "Isaac."

"Stiles," he said back. Isaac said something in response, but Stiles couldn't hear over the blare of the speakers.

"What?" Stiles practically screamed back.

Isaac leaned closer, his face practically pressed against Stiles' ear. "I said, I'm sorry about earlier. I was actually sending that drink Scott got to you."

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Come on, man. You don't have to lie."

"I'm serious," Isaac said, his breath warm against Stiles' ear even in the stifling club. "That was for you."

"Okay," Stiles said unconvincingly. "I believe you."

"Come on," Isaac said, pulling Stiles.

"Where are you taking me, complete stranger?"

"I'm going to do what I should have done when I first saw you," Isaac said, walking up to the bar. "Cranberry and vodka and…" He looked to Stiles, waving his hand.

"Rum and Coke," Stiles said, drumming his fingers against the bar. Their drinks came faster than Stiles' anticipated. "Thanks," Stiles said, taking the drink from Isaac's slender-fingered hand.

"My pleasure," Isaac said, sipping his drink. "So…you want to get out of here?" Stiles nearly choked on an ice cube.

"Dude, aside from the fact that I've known you, what, two minutes," he said, consulting his bare, watch-less wrist, "weren't you just literally all over my bfffs Scott?"

"Bffs?" Isaac asked, suppressing a chuckle.

"Best friend for fuck's sake," Stiles shrugged, as if it made complete sense. Isaac no longer had to suppress his chuckle.

"Look, Stiles," Isaac said, his name sounding strange and foreign as it tumbled from his mouth. "Scott was cool, but I have a feeling that you and I might have just a bit more in common."

"The fact that we'd both rate a solid six on the Kinsey scale should really have no bearing on whether or not we end up in bed together," Stiles said. "Look around. We're in a gay bar, surrounded by sixes."

"Actually, I think you're more of a ten," Isaac said.

"You're really laying it on thick," Stiles said distastefully, grabbing his drink. "Thanks for the drink." He turned, and was about to go back to his friends when he got a sudden flash of Derek. It overwhelmed him, how much he missed him. It made him feel cold and lonely, because when all was said and done, he knew he didn't want to sleep alone tonight. He turned on his heel and walked back up to Isaac, who looked to be in the middle of a pretty good sulk.

"Yes," Stiles said, slamming his drink down on the bar.

"Yes?" Isaac said hesitantly.

"Yes, I want to get out of here," Stiles said. He pulled out his phone and took a picture of Isaac, texting it to his friends with the caption 'Went home with hot blond guy. If u don't hear from me by morning send a search party'. He then looked down to the sizeable bulge in Isaac's tight fitting jeans and added 'And Preparation H'. He pressed send and took Isaac's hand. As they walked out of the club Stiles turned back to the table, meeting Scott's worried gaze. Stiles shot him a quick thumbs up, Scott returning the gesture with a knowing smile.

"So, your place or mine?" Isaac said, hailing a taxi.

"Wait," Stiles said, letting his hand slip out from Isaac's. "One thing first. You have got to tell me: that drink really was for Scott, right?"

Isaac grimaced, biting his lip before saying, "Yeah. But if I had to do it over again - ."

"No," Stiles said, nodding. "That's cool." So he wasn't his first choice. Good. He didn't want this to turn into a thing. He just really needed some mindless sex right now, no strings attached. "Let's go to your place."

Stiles woke up, knowing immediately he wasn't in his own bed. He scrunched his face as the sunlight hit his eyes, burying his head between the pillows. Then he shot up. Shit. He normally didn't sleep over at Derek's. Well, he slept over at Derek's, but he never stayed until morning. It was one of their things. They never woke up together. Even that first time at Derek's apartment, Stiles woke up to find Derek gone, a note instructing him to use the spare key taped to one of the outside sconces to lock up after himself.

He was about to jump out of bed when he realized…this wasn't Derek's bed. This wasn't Derek's apartment. Now he was confused. And then it all came back to him, hitting him like a big yellow school bus.

Isaac.

"Morning," Isaac said, coming in to the room shirtless and with a steaming mug in each hand. "Coffee?"

"Thanks," Stiles said cautiously. "Sorry about…sleeping over."

"Why are you sorry?" Isaac scoffed.

"It's – nevermind," Stiles said, blushing as he wondered why he apologized.

"You're cute when you blush," Isaac said observantly, making Stiles blush more.

"So…" Stiles began, letting the word dangle between them.

"Yeah," Isaac said, nodding and staring into his cup.

"I should really get going," Stiles said, gathering his clothes strewn about the bedroom.

"Are you sure?" Isaac asked. Stiles couldn't tell whether or not he was sincerely implying he should stay or just being a good host. Stiles, after eight months with Derek the pessimist, decided to err on the side of caution.

"Yeah," Stiles said, his jeans and shirt bundled up in his arms as he shifted uneasily from one leg to the other. "Thanks for - ."

"All the sex?" Isaac supplied.

"Yeah," Isaac said. "I mean no! I mean – ugh, crap."

"You're getting cute again," Isaac said, motioning to his reddening face.

"I'll call you," Stiles said, slipping into his jeans.

"Okay," Isaac said, biting his lip as Stiles slipped out the front door, his head barely sticking out of his shirt.

It wasn't until he was outside that he remembered he didn't have Isaac's number. He wanted to go back and get it, if only not to seem rude, but then he remembered: no strings attached. He left, his mouth feeling fuzzy and hot from the coffee.

Things You Left Behind

Nine days turned into a month without a call or text from Derek. Stiles thought a month was long enough to warrant returning all of Derek's things, all the pieces of himself that he left in Stiles' apartment. A hair comb, deodorant, fancy electric toothbrush, shirts, underwear, a pair of jeans after a hilarious mix-up with Stiles' own tighter pants, textbooks, etc. Truth was, after the first week, when he was deep in the wallowing stage, he gathered all of Derek's stuff and put them in one corner of his little apartment. He stared at it for a few minutes before leaving it alone, unattended, a little mound of Derek that was starting to function more as a shrine because he couldn't pass by without looking at it, almost silently as if in reverence.

The shit needed to go now.

He tried texting and calling Derek again. No answer. Of course, because nothing in Stiles' life is that easy.

He packed everything up, needing a larger box than he'd thought. He loaded it up and carried it a little too carefully to the bus stop. Then he realized what he was doing and let the thing drop to the ground with a thud as he waited.

With all the stops it was over thirty minutes to Derek's, longer if he'd walked. It was less than ten by car, but Stiles was carless. He'd sold his Jeep a year ago to make tuition and rent, and when his dad found out he chewed his ear off for being too proud to ask for money, and then insisted on paying half of Stiles' rent and helping with books and tuition. It always made him feel like a failure, having to accept help from his dad like that. Sure he was only twenty and still in school, but he thought he'd have his shit together by now. Which is why walking up to Derek's imposing building from the bus stop, his head nearly falling off his shoulders as he looked up the giant skyscraper, made him feel even worse. He worked his ass off for his crappy studio in Murder Avenue, and here was Derek, four years older and living in a freaking penthouse near the park. Fucking One Percenters.

He nodded to the doorman, thanking him as he signed in at the lobby. He boarded the elevator (his building didn't have one, so the unfamiliarity of the sudden lurch and rapid rising of the tiny cubicle always gave him a headache) and then walked up to Derek's door, knocking lightly at first. He didn't even know if Derek was home, and if that were the case he felt foolish walking up with a box, only to have to walk back down and leave it with the doorman in the lobby.

He knocked again, louder, then rang the doorbell. He rang it once more for good measure, and was about to leave when the door opened.

Derek didn't answer. It was some woman, with blonde highlights and great breasts. Stiles knew this because she was struggling to cover them up with her robe, though her struggle seemed to be halfhearted as she saw Stiles staring at her.

"Can I help you?" she asked, finally cinching the robe shut.

"Um, is…is Derek home?" Stiles asked, his throat tightening and words taking more effort than ever to form.

"He's – preoccupied," she said, smiling deviously.

Stiles gulped, struggling to keep an even tone as he said, "Can you give him this box, please?" He cringed as he added the 'please' at the end, like he was still asking permission and being submissive, even though whatever they had going on was over and Derek had obviously moved on.

"Sure, cutie," she said, grabbing the box and shaking it. "Is it a present?"

"No," Stiles said. "It's just – Stiles."

"Stiles?" she repeated.

"It's just, Stiles," he said, already backing away. "Just, tell him, that." He nodded and stuck his trembling hands in his pockets as he made to exit.

"Well, I'm Kate, and I will make sure he gets the message," she said, still smiling widely. "Take care, cutie." He tried to thank her, but could only muster up a smile before turning away awkwardly. He walked quickly to the elevator, pressing the down button hurriedly. When the doors slid open he rushed inside, pressing the close doors button angrily. Before the doors closed he saw Derek, his hair matted and spiked in odd places, peek his head out into the hallway, catching sight of Stiles hurt expression right before descending.

Like We Never Loved at All

Stiles thought he'd spiral again, or wallow, or spend the next week in bed, trying to find out how long he could stand his own stench before showering. He did none of these things, though. He carried on, going to class, work, grocery shopping, meeting up with Scott nearly every day for video games or drinks, studying with Lydia (because she was the only one who could keep up with him academically) or going to the gym with Jackson. He tried to live as if Derek Hale was an afterthought, just another hurdle in the track course that was his life. He was making a good show of it too, convincing everyone else he was fine. But it was all a lie. Derek was still on his mind, fresh as if he'd just woken up next to him this morning.

"Stiles, you okay?" Danny asked. They were at the gym, Stiles seated at the leg press and just sitting there, in position but not doing any sets.

"Yeah," Stiles said, shaking Derek from his thoughts again. "You want to work in?"

"Sure," Danny said, though he was unconvinced Stiles was okay. "Shit," he said, rushing over to the bench press. Stiles saw what was concerning him and ran over, too. Scott's legs were flailing in the air as the bar bell weighed down on him. They helped Scott lift the bar up and away from his throat before he got crushed, a few other gym patrons helping them.

"Dude! Are you insane!" Stiles said, helping Scott sit up. He patted his back as Scott took a deep hit off his inhaler. "You don't lift without a spotter!"

"I had a spotter," Scott said, glancing angrily over to Jackson. Jackson was preening over his reflection in the mirrored walls, flexing and grinning. He looked over his shoulder to where Danny, Stiles, and Scott were staring him down murderously.

"What?" he asked, pulling his earbuds out of his ears.

"Asshole!" Scott yelled, launching himself at Jackson, Danny and Stiles barely pulling him back in time. "You nearly killed me!"

"Whoa," Jackson said, backing up. "No one told you to put so much weight on the bar, McCall."

"You loaded the bar for me!" Scott cried. "You said it wasn't as heavy as it looked! And you said you'd spot me!"

"I didn't know you were serious!" Jackson cried back. "Who needs to be spotted on a hundred pound lift?"

"You know Scott doesn't work out like you, Jackson," Danny reprimanded. "In fact, none of us do. We're not training for the Olympics. We just want to get in shape."

"Well, then you guys should seriously reconsider your life goals," Jackson said, already turning around to admire himself in the mirror. "What's the point in doing something if you're not going to be the best?"

"And that's your best friend," Stiles said to Danny as he offered Scott some water.

"He's your cousin," Danny shot back.

"Not by choice," Stiles said, taking a swig from Scott's water bottle once he was done. "You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah," Scott said, taking another hit from his inhaler. "I think I've had enough today, though. I'm going to change."

"I'll meet you in there," Stiles said, watching as Scott went to the locker room. He turned to Jackson and tapped him on the shoulder.

"What?" Jackson snapped.

"You have to apologize," Stiles instructed.

"For what? McCall? It wasn't my fault!" Jackson whined.

"Jackson," Stiles said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know, sometimes you make it really hard for me to admit to other people we're related."

"Yeah, well - ."

"I'm not done," Stiles said, cutting him off. "You make it really hard to admit because I feel like they should already know. We're – we're really alike, Jackson, and you can argue and throw a hissy fit but you know I'm right. I mean, we're only a month apart, and we were attached at the hip until we were like five."

"Until Scott came," Jackson muttered.

"Dude, seriously?" Stiles asked. "You can't still be jealous of him. He's my friend."

"Yeah well, you're my cousin," Jackson said defensively.

"Jackson, I'm always going to be your cousin," Stiles said. "And Scott's always going to be my best friend. The same way Danny's your best friend. It doesn't mean we're any less close or anything."

"I know," Jackson said, crossing his arms and looking away. "You were saying how we're similar?"

"Well, obviously not in appearance," Stiles said. "I'm handsome and good-looking while you're more of an abstract painting come to life," he teased.

"I hate you," Jackson sighed.

"I know, buddy," Stiles said, wrapping an arm around Jackson's shoulder. "It keeps me up at night."

Jackson allowed Stiles to lead him to the locker room, intent on apologizing. They came upon Scott, laughing heartily while seated, a towel barely draped across his lap as he talked animatedly to a familiar looking blond that Stiles thought he remembered but couldn't quite place.

"What? Why would you think he's dead?" Scott scoffed.

"I must have left him at least five different messages, all in varying levels of cuteness and desperation, and no response," he shrugged. "I hope his passing was quick."

Suddenly Stiles remembered. He looked over to Jackson, who was smirking.

"Busted!" Scott cried, pointing to Stiles. "Dude, how can you have not called Isaac back? Look at him!" he said, grabbing Isaac's face and squishing it in his hands. "He's like a lost little puppy without you."

"Scott," Stiles started, "go…bathe. In boiling lava." Scott patted Isaac on the cheek and rose to enter the showers. "And Jackson has something to say to you."

Jackson glared at Stiles. He rolled his eyes as he undressed on the way to the showers, trailing behind Scott as he stuttered out an apology. "I – I'm…"

"It's all right, Jackson," Scott said. "I know you're an asshole who only thinks of himself. But you're my asshole." Jackson furrowed his brow as he thought of the imagery that Scott just vividly painted for him, before shrugging Scott away. "I forgive you. Make up kiss!" he yelled, licking up Jackson's cheek, leaving a trail of slobber behind. He ran into the steam of the showers, Jackson hot on his tail.

"McCall I am going to massacre you!"

"You're friends are pretty awesome," Isaac commented.

"Well, I tend to rub off on people," Stiles shrugged with a smile. He then began shifting unevenly on his feet, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, dude - ."

"I get it," Isaac said evenly. "I mean, it was a one time thing and I'm pretty sure you'd never see me again, so that's probably why you've got that look on your face."

"What look?"

"That look like you just got caught jerking off by your dad," Isaac grinned. Stiles wiped his face with his hand, erasing any expression that was previously plastered on. "It's okay. I guess I just thought there was something between us."

"I – I kind of just got out of a relationship," Stiles explained. "I'm not really looking for anything major."

"Gotcha," Isaac said, packing his bag. "But," he said as he rose to leave, "for future reference, I'm nothing major."

"Isaac - ."

"Friends?"

"What?" Stiles asked, mouth agape.

"Friends?" Isaac asked, sticking his hands out.

"Yes," Stiles agreed after he got his bearings. "Totally. Friends. With all the friendliness that title entails."

Stiles and Isaac collapsed onto the bed, sweaty and breathless.

"Is – uh…is what we just did part of what the title of 'friends' entails?" Isaac asked, resting his hand on his chest to feel if his heart would ever stop racing.

"I'm not completely sure," Stiles responded.

"Because I've never done that…with a friend," Isaac said. "Have you?"

"No," Stiles said. "But I think friends do that to each other."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Stiles smirked. "In Europe."

"Really?" Isaac smiled. "Now that you mention it, it did feel pretty French." He turned on his side to study Stiles, his gaze lingering on the upturn of his nose and the pink blush of his cheeks.

"I should go," Stiles said, feeling uncomfortably awkward under Isaac's gaze.

"No," Isaac said, pulling him down. "Stay."

"Stay?" Stiles repeated.

"Yeah," Isaac said. "If you want."

"Okay," Stiles said, relaxing into the bed. Isaac pulled the covers over their bodies, the sweaty sheen on their chests soaking into the duvet. Stiles stiffened when Isaac wrapped an arm around him and pulled him closer, his nose buried into the crook of Stiles' neck. Eventually Stiles' limbs loosened, and he allowed himself to ease into Isaac's hold, falling into a soft, dreamless sleep. It wasn't until morning, when he woke up next to Isaac, that he realized it was the first night he hadn't dreamt of Derek.

You Again

It went like that for the next few weeks. Stiles fell into an easy stride with Isaac, everything effortless and simple. It never felt like he was teetering on the edge of a sharp blade like he did with Derek. That continued as well: the comparisons between Derek and Isaac.

Stiles couldn't help it. He felt it every time Isaac did some random romantic act, as if the echoes of Derek could be felt even after all their time apart. When Isaac whisked him away to a little hole in the wall place, he thought of how Derek never took him out. When Isaac voiced his preference for Italian, he thought of how Derek preferred Chinese. When Isaac gave him more than enough of the blanket, he thought of how Derek hogged it all. When Isaac was there in the morning, snuggling him or laying there with a smile, he thought of Derek's absence after sleep. He could feel the list elongating in his head, little columns of what set Isaac apart from Derek. They weren't necessarily pros or cons, good or bad; it was just a list. Stiles would actively try not to compare the two, but it would spring up in his mind before he could help it.

If it mattered at all, Stiles' friends loved Isaac. Stiles hadn't meant to introduce them, but Scott was so insistent, and dropped by unannounced one day while Isaac was at his place. Before he could stop him, Scott was inviting Allison and Lydia over, and Lydia brought Jackson, who brought Danny. His cramped apartment was made even more cramped by his friends, fawning over Isaac and Stiles, together, as a couple.

The word slithered around him like a snake. Couple. He didn't know when this not so serious thing they had going on evolved so that now they were a couple. It was then that he thought of Derek again, and how this is how he must have felt. Trapped in a relationship by someone he liked, but didn't love.

Stiles sat at the Student Union, killing time before his next class started. He wasn't particularly looking forward to it, due to its proximity to Isaac's last class of the day. He would always sit outside the quad, waiting for Stiles, looking impossibly handsome. Stiles would feel guilty with every step he took closer to Isaac, allowing the boy to overtake him with soft kisses and hand holding as a way to assuage the bubbling feeling in the pit of his stomach. A feeling he had previously only come to associate with trips to the dentist.

He sat at the table, flipping distractedly through his textbooks, not really reading but writing rude things in the empty spaces that would hopefully make the next owner of the text laugh. He looked up, because the intense whiteness of the pages were starting to make his eyes hurt, when he saw Derek walk in. He froze for a second, his mind seizing up, before he sprung into action. He swept all his belongings off the table into his bag and scrambled away, hoping Derek hadn't seen him. It wasn't the most adult way to handle things, but Stiles liked to consider himself a kid at heart anyway.

He crept into the bookstore, trying to hide in the aisle filled with pencils and testing supplies. He tried to look busy flipping through a stack of Scantrons, and when he finally felt enough time had passed that Derek had to have left he poked his head out from his hiding spot. He was turning the corner from the school souvenir crap when Derek appeared, scaring him to death and then back to life again. He yelled out in surprise and fell backwards, onto an overstuffed replica of their school mascot. He was still trying to catch his breath in the arms of the stuffed pirate when Derek rolled his eyes and offered him a hand.

"What's wrong with you?" Derek asked simply.

Stiles bent over to pick up the scattered sheets of Scantrons he didn't know he was still holding when Derek surprised him. "There was a – goblin. Like, right on your shoulder. Huge. Scared the crap out of me. So…I have to go change my underwear now." He made to exit, and would have, had Derek not wrapped his hand around his arm and yanked him back.

"Were you hiding from me?"

"Pssh, no," Stiles scoffed. "I just really needed Scantrons," he said, waving the stack of green paper in his face. Derek glared at him. Stiles gulped, hoping his lie caught.

"Come on," Derek said, waving him forward.

"Where are we going?"

"Coffee," Derek said, prodding Stiles along.

"I've got class," Stiles began, pointing in the other direction. One look from Derek shut him up. "But that can wait." It was a lecture anyway, and the professor never took roll, and Stiles usually dozed off halfway through, but still, he kind of wanted to go. And then he remembered Isaac and his bright expression as Stiles rounded the corner onto the quad after class let out, and suddenly he didn't mind missing this class just once.

He followed Derek to a coffee cart, let him order for him and pay. He nursed the cup between his hands, allowing the warmth to penetrate his palms as the winter afternoon grew colder. He wanted to talk first, to ask Derek so many different things, but he was afraid Derek would clam up and go back to his single-word responses, so he let the silence hang around them.

"So, how's work?" Derek asked. Stiles nearly slid off his chair. Derek never started a conversation, let alone asked about Stiles' personal life.

"It's um, it's good. I've finally got the hang of the new register system, so my manager doesn't have to check my receipts every half hour," Stiles said proudly. "You?"

"Work's fine," Derek responded. Stiles expected more, and then deflated when he realized that was it. Honestly, he should have been happy that Derek responded with words instead of grunts. But then he hated himself for thinking that way, that he should be happy with whatever little crumbs Derek allowed him from his personal life. He was tired of making excuses for Derek, trying to be glad that he included him at all. He wanted more.

"So…thanks for the coffee," Stiles said, tipping the cup toward Derek and getting to his feet.

"How long have you been with him?"

The question took Stiles off-guard. He spun around before he could help himself, the coffee splashing out the little hole on the cover of his cup. "What?" Derek continued staring at him, tapping his fingers on the table. He didn't respond.

"Are you – serious right now?" Derek still stared, his mouth drawn in a tight line.

"If it was any of your business, which it totally isn't," Stiles seethed, "it wouldn't matter because you and I aren't together anymore." He set his coffee down and resumed seating, boring holes into Derek's skull. "I mean, that's what it meant when you took the douchey way out and didn't return any of my texts or calls, right?"

"There are other ways of contacting me - ."

"No, there aren't!" Stiles said, slamming his fist on the table, earning more than a few curious glances from passing students. "You kept me so out of your life and in the dark that I didn't have any other way of reaching you."

"You know where I live. You were kind enough to drop off that box of my belongings there."

"Yeah, where I ran straight into Miss Oh-no-I-can't-seem-to-keep-my-robe-shut," Stiles scoffed. "She looked straight out of an episode of Law & Order: SVU."

"Don't try to put the blame on me."

"The blame is on you! It's your fault!" Stiles cried. "You think I gave you up so easily? I – I 'm…" The words knotted themselves on his tongue so helplessly that he had no choice but to swallow them back up.

"What?"

"Fuck you, Derek," Stiles said lowly. "Seriously, fuck you. You – God, you just sucked some serious hairy balls when it came to us."

"We were - ."

"We were shit, Derek," Stiles chuckled. "We were that kid from Slumdog Millionaire when he fell through the shitter to get that guy's autograph. We were literally covered in shit." Derek pursed his lips as Stiles glared at him. "You kept me at arm's length, dude. You never let me in. You never cared enough about me, if you cared at all."

Derek crossed his arms petulantly. He suddenly found Stiles' coffee cup very interesting.

"I loved you, man," Stiles said, finally finding the words. "I've – you know I've never said that to anyone." He gulped, waiting for Derek to respond, but he was lost now, not even offering up a grunt or at the very least a glance. Stiles shook his head and got to his feet, walking away. He thought maybe Derek would call out his name or come running up to him and tackle him in the grass and attack him with kisses. When neither happened, Stiles conceded to the fact that Derek never really did care for him.

"Hey," Isaac said, slipping the little paperback he was reading into his back pocket. "You're out early today."

"I couldn't stand it in there," Stiles lied. "So, you want to get out of here?"

"Sure," Isaac shrugged, wrapping his arm around his shoulder. "Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"No," Stiles said firmly. "Let's go back to your place." Isaac's face brightened, and Stiles tried to push down the guilty feeling for at least a little while longer.

Stiles reclined his head back on the bus window, staring straight ahead to the little old Mexican lady holding onto the handle of her stroller loaded with groceries. He smiled at her and she looked away, uninterested. He closed his eyes, trying to erase the image of Isaac's face from his mind.

"You don't have to stay," Isaac said softly, tracing circles on his chest.

"Huh?" Stiles asked drowsily.

"You can go," Isaac said, trailing his finger on the upturn of Stiles' nose. Stiles turned to face him, the blanket ruffling around his legs. "Don't look so surprised," Isaac chuckled. "I know that this thing we had going on had an expiration date." Still, Stiles looked unsure.

"I'm sorry," Stiles gulped out.

"Don't be," Isaac shrugged. "Scott told me all about the mysterious Derek Hale." Stiles' eyes widened as Isaac laughed. "I know he shouldn't have, but he gets really talkative when he's drunk."

"What did he say?"

"That you were probably still hung up on him and for me not to expect too much at first," Isaac said.

"I should have told you…"

Isaac shrugged again. "Yeah. But I get that it was still too fresh for you. It just sucks being rebound guy, you know?"

"You're not rebound guy," he assured him.

"Yeah, I am," Isaac countered. "I don't mind it. I'm just tired of it." He continued tracing up Stiles face, his finger trailing over his eyebrows, connecting the moles on his cheeks and running over the swell of his parted lips. He saw Stiles' questioning gaze and explained. "I'm trying to memorize your face. I'm a very tactile person," he said. Stiles cupped his hands and kissed them.

"I'm really sorry," he said.

"Stop apologizing," Isaac said. "Take care." With that he was dismissed.

The screeching of the bus' brakes woke Stiles. His stop was the same as the old Mexican lady's. He jumped off first, and helped her carry the stroller down the steps. She thanked him before bustling away hurriedly.

He walked to his building, fumbling with the keys before letting himself in to his musty smelling lobby. He walked up the stairs to his door, feeling easier with every step. His breakup with Isaac went surprisingly well, considering he hadn't planned on doing it so soon. Honestly if it were up to him it'd probably take another couple weeks to muster up the courage to break up with him.

He let himself in his apartment, glad to be home. It was small and cramped and he desperately needed to do laundry and take out the trash, but still he was proud of it. It was his own space, some place that he could recover from the day's events and summon up the strength to deal with whatever came next.

He threw his bag on his bed and his shirt was already halfway off when there came a knocking at his door. He frowned, not expecting anyone. It could be Scott, he told himself. The knocking began again, more urgently this time. Stiles pulled his shirt down and strode over to the door. He looked through the peephole and saw Derek standing there, clearly agitated. He knocked again.

"Derek?" Stiles said, loud enough so he could hear through the other side. "What are you doing here?" Derek continued knocking. Stiles sighed and opened the door.

Derek pushed his way through, pacing the length of the apartment, which really only took about ten strides. His hands were on his hips and he stared at the ground as he walked, finally looking up to Stiles.

"You suck."

Stiles' mouth opened in shock. He closed the door without breaking his gaze from Derek. "What?"

"No, just shut up and let me talk," Derek said. "You suck." Stiles was about to retort when Derek cut him off again.

"You think I was distant, kept you at arm's length? You kept me out of your life, too."

"That's not - ."

" – You never introduced me to any of your friends," Derek said, ignoring whatever Stiles was going to say. "You never gave me a straight answer. Everything out of your mouth was either dripping with sarcasm or a disparaging remark about my face."

"I was just joking - ."

"And you never stopped talking," Derek groaned. "Which I wouldn't have minded if it had something to do with whatever we were watching or you were reading or whatever, but you go off on these tangents. I mean, how do you even go from talking about duct tape to engaging in a one-sided debate about the merits of foie gras?"

"Well, duct sounds like duck and foie gras is - ."

"I'm not finished," Derek said breathlessly. "That's not the only reason why you suck. You suck because…because I love you too." He wiped at his mouth, sure some spittle had flown out during his diatribe.

Stiles sat on the stool behind him, suddenly feeling all 147 pounds of his body weighing him down. His eyes scanned Derek's face for certainty.

"I love you, you idiot," Derek said. "And I did hear you that night, I fucking heard you but it was such a prick move, Stiles. Who says that right after sex? I mean, are you in love with me or my dick?"

"Both, I guess," Stiles said before he could stop it.

Derek scoffed. "More sarcasm."

"Well if you heard me why didn't you say anything?"

"Because I was – I don't know," Derek said, struggling. "I didn't want to say it just because you said it. Then you'd feel like it was obligatory instead of heartfelt."

"You could have said something!" Stiles cried. "Anything! And you could have not ignored me for the past month and a half!"

"I…I'm sorry about that," Derek said. "I'm not really good at this. Relationships…"

"Yeah," Stiles scoffed in agreement. They stared at the ground, toeing the carpet, the air heavy with silence.

"That guy, what's his name?" Derek asked casually.

"Isaac," Stiles supplied.

"He seems like a cool guy." Stiles nodded.

"How's what's her name?" Stiles asked. "The one who nearly ripped that robe in half with her inflatable breasts?"

Derek chuckled. "Kate. She's…an ex. She's kind of – we kind of have a shitty history."

"Not so shitty that you ran to her for comfort," Stiles deadpanned.

"I didn't see you wanting for warmth while I was gone either," Derek shot back.

"I only got with Isaac because – you know what? I'm not doing this," Stiles announced. "You said your peace, now leave."

"No," Derek said petulantly, standing his ground.

"What do you mean, no?" Stiles cried. "Get out of my apartment!"

"No!" Derek cried back. "Fuck, I – didn't you hear anything I said?"

"I heard you blame me for everything that was wrong between us," Stiles said. "Amongst other things."

"Other things like I love you?" Derek said. "Did you hear that? Because I said it here, out loud, in a clear voice, not in the dark, after sex, in a fucking whisper."

"I didn't whisper it, asshole," Stiles grumbled.

"Yes you did, dick."

"Fuck you!" Stiles shouted.

"Fuck you, too!" Derek yelled.

They stood at an impasse. Derek tucked his hands inside the pockets of his ever-present leather jacket, while Stiles sat, chewing on the pullstrings of his hoodie.

"I meant it," Stiles said after spitting out the string.

"Me too," Derek said, gesturing with his hands still in his pockets.

"So…you're not ashamed of me?" Stiles asked. Derek shook his head.

"You're not just using me for sex?" Stiles bit his tongue, swallowing what he was sure was a hilarious remark.

"No," he said with the utmost seriousness.

Derek approached Stiles, hesitantly. He pulled him up, wrapping his arms around his smaller frame. They stood eye to eye, Stiles unsure where to put his hands. He finally settled for resting them on the up swell of Derek's ass. Derek quirked his eyebrow at that.

"I never said I wasn't in love with your butt," Stiles said, smirking.

Derek rolled his eyes. "More sarcasm," he said, this time fondly.

"I'll try to filter it as best I can," Stiles promised.

"Don't bother," Derek said. He pulled Stiles closer to him, their bodies flush. They kissed, Stiles glad to feel the familiar scratch of stubble on his chin. He ran his hands over Derek's face, making sure he was real and not another dream. He'd had dreams like this before.

"What are you doing?" Derek chuckled, when Stiles ran his fingers over his eyes.

"Making sure you're real," Stiles said. Derek kissed up his face, on the arch of his bowed lips, on the tip of his nose, between his eyebrows, and finally his forehead.

"Real enough?" Derek asked. Stiles nodded, his eyes alight with pleasure. "I really do want to meet your friends," Derek assured him.

"And I really never want to meet that Kate girl again."

"I – can't promise that," Derek said. Stiles pulled away, affronted. "I'm going to have to see her in court in a couple weeks. She tried to steal my car and nearly ran over a police officer during the getaway." Stiles laughed, burying his face in Derek's shoulder.

"I love you," Stiles said, clearly, honestly.

"I love you, too," Derek said, stroking the back of his head.

"Stay?" Stiles asked, pulling them toward the bed.

"Of course," Derek said. Before Stiles could turn around Derek lifted him and threw him on the bed.

"Caveman," Stiles said after he was done bouncing.

"Actually, I was hoping to play the part of cavewoman tonight," Derek said. Stiles quickly caught on and hurriedly ripped off his clothes.

"Stupid buttons," Stiles cried, his pants seemingly against him getting any action.

"Whoa," Derek said, easing Stiles fumbling hands. "We've got all night."

"All night?"

"And the morning," Derek assured him. Stiles couldn't help but smile.

In the morning, when Stiles woke, he was sure it was a dream. It was too good to be real. But there Derek was, his arm still wrapped around Stiles, his nose buried in Stiles' throat. Stiles sighed in contentment, running his hands up Derek's naked butt cheek. Derek pushed Stiles' hand away.

"Sore," he complained drowsily. "Dick."

"Asshole," Stiles said, smiling. He wrapped his arms around Derek again, because he was right. They had all morning.

Epilogue

"Would you stop fidgeting," Stiles said, his hand resting on Derek's knee. "Seriously, dude, this is not a big deal."

"Shut up," Derek said, his hands folded on his lap. His head was arched down, his leg still jiggling up and down.

"You're going to be okay," Stiles said. He took Derek's sweaty hand in his, setting him at ease.

"What if he doesn't like me?" Derek asked.

"He'll like you," Stiles said.

"What if he doesn't?" Derek asked again, gripping Stiles' hand tightly.

"Hey," Stiles said. "I like you, and that's all that matters. Besides, he's just my dad," Stiles shrugged. "The way you're acting now, by the way? Adorable."

"Shut up. You weren't so calm when you met my sister," Derek said.

"Yeah, but now she loves me," Stiles said proudly. Derek rolled his eyes. "Look, my friends love you," Stiles began.

"Except Scott and Jackson."

"Jackson's not my friend," Stiles said.

"He's your cousin! What if he told your dad some ridiculous story about me and now he hates me?"

"My dad is a warm, caring, generous man," Stiles said. "And so are you. You're going to love each other." Derek nodded, although his leg continued to shake and his palms stayed slick with sweat.

"There he is!" Stiles said excitedly. He got out of the car and ran up to his dad, waving excitedly. He nearly bowled him over with a hug. Derek cautiously exited the car as well, walking slowly up to the pair.

"Hello, sir," Derek said, offering his hand. The sheriff grasped it a little more tightly than he needed to, eyeing Derek up and down.

"Dad, this is Derek," Stiles said, "Derek, my dad."

"Hello, son," the sheriff said, finally releasing Derek's hand after Stiles shot him a look. "So, you're the infamous Derek."

"Yes, sir," Derek said, ignoring the way Stiles was biting back a laugh in the background. "Derek Hale."

"Dad," Stiles said once he regained his composure. "Let's go, we have to get out of the loading zone. Come on, you have plenty of time to interrogate Derek at home." Stiles led his dad to the car, leaving Derek to pick up his luggage.

"So, this is your place," the sheriff said once they entered the apartment.

"Our place, sir," Derek said, holding the luggage awkwardly.

"Yeah, Stiles told me you two moved in together," the sheriff said, inspecting the room. "Pretty soon, don't you think?"

"No, I - ."

"Sorry about that," Stiles said, finally entering the apartment as well. "The mailman just wouldn't shut up about his tumor. Don't worry, it's benign," he said, dropping the mail off on the kitchen table. "What's going on?"

"Just getting to know Derek here," the sheriff said with a shrug.

"Go easy on him, Dad," Stiles warned.

"I'm just being my normal, charming self," the sheriff smirked.

"You know, sometimes I wonder that if I was his fastest swimmer, what would have happened if one of the slow ones got to the egg first," Stiles said to Derek.

"This is a pretty fancy place here," the sheriff continued, running a hand over the mantle. "You into drugs, Derek?"

"No! No, sir - ."

"Escorting?"

"No, I would never - ."

"Hitman? Car thief? Saudi prince with secret ties to Al-Qaeda?"

"Nap," Stiles announced. "Go take a nap, old man."

"I'm just - ."

"I know what you were 'just', Sheriff," Stiles scoffed. "Now stop scaring Derek and go sleep off your jet lag."

"Not tired," the sheriff shrugged. "And I'm not done with this guy."

"Sir, I know that you have a lot of – reservations about me," Derek said. "I don't blame you. Stiles and I have known each other for barely a year, and now we're living together. If it were me, I would be suspicious, too." The sheriff nodded. "But I want you to know that I love your son, wholeheartedly, and I would never do anything to hurt him."

"Again."

"What's that?" Stiles asked.

"I said again," the sheriff repeated. "You already hurt him before."

"Who told you that?" Stiles demanded.

"I have my sources," the sheriff assured him.

"I am going to kill Jackson," Stiles promised. "Dad, what Derek and I went through is none of your business."

"You're my son. It's my business."

"Dad - ."

"Actually, yes," Derek said. "We broke up. It was a while ago, but during our time apart I realized how much I missed Stiles. Not only that, but that I loved him. I wouldn't have been able to realize that if I hadn't nearly lost him." Stiles wrapped an arm around Derek, who kissed him lightly. "I love your son."

"And your son loves him," Stiles chimed in.

"So this," the sheriff said, gesturing to the two of them, "is for real?"

"It's basically five real at this point," Stiles shrugged. Derek groaned and the sheriff rolled his eyes.

"That was my fault," the sheriff said. "It's been a while since I've seen him and I've gotten a little rusty when it comes to anticipating his smart ass remarks."

"Understandable," Derek said. "I've had to stop referring to sports at all around him." The sheriff looked confused before Derek clarified, "Balls."

Stiles laughed. He laughed so hard he doubled over and Derek had to keep him from falling. "Balls," he choked out, clutching his side.

"I'm very sorry, Derek," the sheriff said. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

"I say a prayer every day for strength," Derek told him, still holding Stiles up.

"Oh come on! Balls!" Stiles cried. "You guys, how can you not - ." He broke up again laughing.

"Scotch?" the sheriff asked. Derek nodded and led him over to the bar he had set up near the kitchen. "To our sanity," the sheriff toasted, his glass clinking against Derek's. "Well, what's left of it anyway," he said, drinking the amber liquor.

"Balls," Stiles sighed, leaning against the arm of the sofa. The sheriff and Derek exchanged a glance before quickly refilling their glasses.

I'm on tumblr now! Follow if you want: I'm also on AO3 after months of waiting and if you like that format more I write under MoistTowelette as well.