Derek pulled up outside his home, turned off the engine of his car and grabbed his coat as he walked onto the pavement. Even in spring, the bitter chill of the Canadian weather wasn't something he could just get used to, not after growing up in California.

There were three envelopes in his mailbox. He grabbed them and rushed into the house, pulling the collar of his coat over his mouth. He dumped everything on the kitchen counter, his keys, his phone, the letters, the thought of a steaming hot shower being the only thing on his mind.

Nothing relaxed him like a jet of warm water running over his body. He didn't even start washing his body until a good ten minutes had passed. In there, ten minutes felt like an eternity in heaven. He almost convinced himself to draw a bath but the sound of his mobile phone ringing from the kitchen counter sliced through the peacefulness.

"Damn these werewolf senses," he grumbled as he struggled to keep the bathrobe close to his torso while stomping down the stairs, only to find Laura's beautiful contact picture staring at him.

"What?" he demanded, breathing heavily.

"Wow. Were you having some self-love, 'cause I can totally call back later—"

"Laura, just tell me."

"Nothing," she whined. "Do you have to accuse me of everything? I just want to see how my little brother is getting settled into his new place. It's already been a week since you left Beacon Hills, and you haven't given any signs of life."

"Well, I'm very much alive, thanks for asking," he replied more softly. He appreciated the gesture. His sister had always been looking out for him.

"See? Was that so difficult?"

"Not really."

There was a silence.

"Look, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing, but I'm calling you back tonight," she warned. "I want to know everything about Canada!"

"Sure."

Another pause.

"We miss you already. Keep in touch, kiddo."

"Of course," Derek smiled sadly and hung up. He set the phone back down and went to walk away when something caught his attention.

All of the letters were addressed to him—hell, the two weren't even letters; just the phone and electric companies confirming Derek's first payments. But the third was hand-written.

Derek picked up the envelope, put it back down, wiped his wet hands on his bathrobe and picked it back up. Flipping it over he saw the person who sent it.

Stiles.

He forced himself to tear it open, but he didn't dare use a claw, lest he ripped the letter itself.

"Derek," it read. "If you're reading this, then it means I got the address right. If you're not Derek Hale, please throw this away because it's kind of embarrassing.

"It's only been a few days since you left for Canada, of all places. Not that it's a bad place, but I mean, come on. You? In the cold? That's not what I wanted to write to you about, though.

"I hate you for leaving me here. I know that it's almost the end of my senior year, and I would have to leave for college pretty soon anyway, but I have to go Derek. I need to go to college. You don't need to pack your bags and leave your life behind.

"I don't care if you're trying to protect me. I really don't. I would throw myself in the middle of a werewolf battle any day if it would get you back here. And don't worry; I won't actually do something stupid like that just to get you to come back.

"I'm putting all of this in a letter because… Honestly, I couldn't do it over the phone or the Internet or something else because I can't bear listening to your voice. I want you to read this and realize that it's my decision, and maybe even throw this piece of paper away. But you should know, I'm not changing my mind.

"I still love you. I can't help myself. I don't know what you do to me. I mean, you're a jackass, you're cynical, your humor is despicable and you have enough skeletons in the closet to depress anyone, and yet somehow all of that makes me love you even more.

"But this is it. I told you that if you stepped into that taxi, we would be over. You didn't even blink. You even slammed the door, just to get me to back the hell off, and leave you to have your own life, in stupid fucking Canada.

"A piece of my heart will always be yours, and that's the thing that scares me the most. Right now, that piece feels like a hand grenade filled with a million little pieces of glass that are lodged into my intestines and they won't stop hurting, not ever.

"Maybe someday I'll be ready to move on. Maybe I'll join a fraternity at college and stare at the hot jocks. Maybe I'll even start looking for that special someone. Unfortunately, second best is all I'm going to find.

"I think that's the worst thing about all of this. I don't get a happy ending. I don't have the picture-perfect, Hallmark-greeting-card kind of family that people always want to have. Second best is all I have to hope for from now on.

"By the way, please don't reply to this letter. It's not that I want to be passive-aggressive and spite you as long as I can. I'm just tired of fighting with you. I think it's best if we accept the fact that it's over."

Derek put the letter down. He walked back up into his bedroom, into his shower. He turned on the water and stayed under it for half an hour, not moving. It wasn't as if anybody was there to notice otherwise, but the tears didn't show under the water.