Derek is a twisted and jagged thing. Gone is the childish light in his eyes from long ago, replaced by angry, self-loathing crimson.
Stiles still has that light, that potential, that Spark. He can't take that away from him, can't hurt him—he can't.
It has taken everything in him to ignore Stiles for this long. Pack meetings are the hardest.
Lie. Push him away. You can't risk it. It's for his own good. You can't hurt him. Stay away. Control yourself.
He's quite certain that if he repeats this like a mantra enough times in his head, it will start to sound convincing.
Derek is terrified. He is raw and vulnerable under Stiles' calculating gaze, filled with trepidation at the thought of him placing a kiss upon his lips; too soft, too sweet, too undeserving of the boy and his lion heart. Derek is an abomination, a menace, and he will love Stiles mercilessly until he is broken in his hands because everything he loves dies, and everything now dead he still loves.
Stiles looks at him like he wouldn't mind being broken, and that's what terrifies him the most.
Stiles is searching for a fairy tale. He longs for a happiness, a feeling of wholeness that can only be felt in children’s storybooks. Only, he seems to forget that this is Beacon Hills. There are no happy endings in an endless black hole for the supernatural; a place where light cannot find you, where things truly do go bump in the night.
Derek should know, because even twisted and jagged things like him had needed something to hold onto in the dark.
Too bad Laura's gone now.
Derek has always been quite good at ignoring problems. Just not this one.
He can see the way Stiles looks at him sometimes, warmth and affection melting in his eyes only seconds before his mind becomes aware of what his face is doing, startling himself in a comical manner.
He can smell the spicy scent of arousal and embarrassment when he takes off his shirt or gets too close.
He can hear his name slip from Stiles' mouth as he moans wantonly, pleasuring himself in the darkness of his room with the window unlocked and clueless as to who might be listening.
He can't touch. Derek will not touch, not anymore. It's too risky.
They are alone. It is almost as cold outside as the chilling unease in Derek's bones and night has fallen upon them.
Derek pointedly ignores Stiles' gaze, and when he finally drops him off at the doorstep of his father's house, he turns around, hoping for a quick escape. Stiles is much too quick however, and Derek's defenses against him are steadily crumbling—have never really been any match for him since the beginning.
Stiles hastily grabs his hand, and when Derek turns to meet his eyes, he sees unadulterated hurt reflected in them. Stiles swallows, opens his mouth after a long pause.
"This." His voice cracks. "Why are you so afraid of this?"
Before anything more can be said, Stiles' father opens the front door with a quiet, "Son?", and just like that, Derek pulls away from his hold and disappears into the night.
Derek isn't aware of what Stiles dreams of at night, isn't aware of the monsters not under his bed but outside his window, lurking in the shadows or inside his pale, fragile-boned body.
He doesn't realize that Stiles is just as broken, that he isn't looking for a sense of wholeness or complete happiness. When his mother's heart ceased to beat, the world came in and he had become devastatingly aware of what he'd never have again.
But with Derek, it's as close as he can possibly get to it.
He hears Stiles' jeep drive in, followed by angry footsteps going in circles. The door to his loft slams open after five whole minutes.
"Stiles." Derek is quick to respond, placing his reading glasses on the coffee table next to him gently.
"Listen, you were-asshole." Stiles huffs in frustration, closing his eyes briefly before continuing. "I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong. Okay? I'm not just—I'm not just gonna move on because you want me to, because you think I deserve someone better. It doesn't work like that."
"And how does it work?"
"Well I don't know, you tell me, Derek. You're the one running away from your problems. Got any ideas?"
"I'm protecting you—"
"Oh my god, shut up! Stop treating me like a deranged toddler! I mean, I may act like one sometimes, but that's not the point! I can protect myself."
Derek stands up, begins to busy himself with other activities in hopes that it will shoo Stiles away.
He knows better than anyone how futile it will prove to be. That boy is a literal mosquito. Not that he really wants him to go, anyway.
He wants that mosquito more than anything.
This thought process just took a really weird turn.
"Why are you here, Stiles?"
"Because I love you."
There's a ringing in Derek's ears, and he can hear his heart pounding rapidly against his rib cage. Despite his desire to spill the world out of his mouth for Stiles, he says nothing in return.
Stiles presses on.
"I love you, and I'll wait. Until you're ready. But I'm not giving up on you. And—And maybe you don't wanna move on, but you have to. You'll have to face it one day, Derek."
"Go home, Stiles." His voice cracks, and there's nothing he can do to help it. It's getting hard to breathe.
If Stiles notices, it doesn't deter him.
"The thing is, you have this crazy idea that you're alone in world. Which you're not, you know. Alone, I mean. Hello? Awkward human here." He looks down, fidgeting with his fingers anxiously. "I'm right here with you. So just...remember that."
Stiles' jaw clenches, and the scent of heartache wafts across the room. What a surprise. Seems like his only purpose in life is to disappoint the people he loves.
"Okay. Okay, I'm—I'm going now."
Stiles leaves, and Derek's world falls apart all over again.
It has been three months. Three months since he'd taken Stiles' virginity on the hood of his Jeep in the heat of an argument, and three months since he had ran away like a coward because of it.
He can't stop thinking about Stiles' words.
Derek is tired. He is tired of holding back, tired of the nightmares that plague him, tired of waiting, tired of the never ending fear lodged in his throat, tired of hearing Kate's voice in the back of his head, and most of all tired of seeing that sad look in Stiles' eyes.
What is Stiles tired of? He wants to know. He wants to know everything about him.
If Stiles and him have to suffer through severe bullshit everyday for the rest of their lives, they might as well suffer through it together, because Derek also happens to be tired of being lonely.
He's done with being haunted by the past. In fact, Derek is fucking exhausted.
He wants to move on, start a new life with Stiles. God, how he wants it.
And even if it ends terribly, even he's a selfish monster for ignoring the consequences of his actions, he wants to try. He wants to try for Stiles, and for himself.
Whatever horrors the future holds for them, they'll go through it together from now on. There's no turning back after this, and Derek's not sure if he'll ever want to at this point.
His limit has been reached.
He wants to move forward.
Derek enters through Stiles' window, sees him sitting on his bed in deep thought. Stiles startles, turns to look at Derek with wide, beautiful amber hued eyes.
He had this all planned out, what he was going to say. As soon as his eyes landed on Stiles' face, his tongue went numb and his mind went blank and he, he can't do this, what if this is another mistake, what if he hurts Stiles—
"I'm rea—" Derek attempts to speak, to spill his consuming thoughts of want and love, but his words are stuck burning in his throat, choking him like the ash and smoke among his family.
Stiles understands anyway.
His breath hitches before he gives him a sickeningly fond look, and the corner of his lips tug upwards into a smile. It's the kind that leaves Derek breathless, and yet he's able to breathe more than he ever has since the day Kate Argent and her bloody red lipstick came along and rotted his heart. Stiles had always been good at Derek-nese, he supposes.
Stiles looks at Derek.
Derek stares back at him.
They say nothing, but their eyes say everything.
I surrender to you.