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One of the fondest memories Stiles had about his mother, Claudia, was her love of classical music.
She'd always play it when she cleaned or cooked. Stiles remembered watching her dancing around the vacuum and laughing, or pretending to conduct an orchestra with a wooden spoon as she flung marinara sauce all over the counter.
“Don't tell your dad how much of a mess I made,” she'd say with a laugh. It was their little secret and Stiles loved sharing it with her.
He remembered how sad their house got when his mom started to show signs of her illness. But the one constant was always the music. When her dementia was really bad, one of the things that always kept her focused was Mozart. Classical music of any kind would do the trick, but Mozart was her favorite.
“Music scales are kind of like math,” she told him, “Each note follows a natural progression. If you can learn the path, then you'll be able to figure out what's going to happen next. But it doesn't matter if you know what's coming, because it's still going to be beautiful. If you can figure out the secret, then you get to be a part of it.” She smiled. “It's kind of like in life. Everything and every one walks a path. If you're clever enough to figure it out, then you'll be lucky enough to have someone to walk with.”
He sat next to her on the couch and they just closed their eyes, letting the music wash over them, and if either of them started crying it was okay. It was just the music moving them, not fear. Not grief.
When Stiles found out he might have the same troubles as his mom, he immediately threw himself into music. He'd never been any good with the playing part, but he decided to try again. He needed something to focus on, something that could take him away from the grim reality of his grim reality for a little while.
He pulled away from everyone a bit, and no one could really blame him. After the nogitsune, a lot of people didn't really want to be around Stiles, either. It was an awful situation, but it was just human nature. Or, werewolf nature? People nature, Stiles told himself. Everyone needed some time to lick their wounds.
Maybe Stiles most of all. He hurt a lot of people. He killed people. He'd never be able to forgive himself for that, no matter how many times he reminded himself that it wasn't his fault. That he had been possessed. It didn't matter to him. The blood stained his skin. His fingers were what made those bombs and set those traps and took people's lives. So he was going to focus on making only beautiful things with his hands from now on.
Scott and Lydia were his main supporters, of course. Scott did his best to keep Stiles as distracted as possible, to remind him constantly how loved and important he was. Lydia introduced him to the best music teacher she had personally ever known: her grandmother.
She insisted Stiles called her Nana, just like everyone else did. Everyone. She complimented his hands and told him he had nice fingers for piano. She admired his dedication and determination. She scolded his lack of attention span, and the fact that he couldn't find Middle C without counting. But it would come in time, she assured him. Like anything new, you have to learn to love all of its parts before it can completely become a part of your life.
When his diagnosis came back clean, and the hospital just chalked it up to the MRI machine being faulty, Stiles continued to play. Now it wasn't for healing. It was for celebration: to celebrate his health and to honor his mom. And, well, maybe a little bit for another reason.
It took two years, and countless bruised knuckles, achy wrists, and numb fingertips, but Stiles finally got it down. He learned how to read music, which was actually the easiest part, and had gotten pretty okay at playing by ear. It no longer felt like he'd suddenly grown tentacles from his hands that bashed around like snakes on acid every time someone asked him to play something for them.
He was so far away from being really good that he couldn't even point to it on a map, but he'd made progress. He'd tamed his inner pianist (but he'd never tamed the juvenile part of him that always had to make the obvious jokes every time someone said 'pianist' around him.)
Berkeley was the only college of choice for Stiles. He had the grades to get in, and it was the best school around to study “that hippie stuff” like folklore and mythology. He was considering a degree in cultural anthropology and they had a great Masters program. But really, it was all just an excuse, a cover-up so he could get the learning he needed to hopefully become Scott's emissary one day. The bonus was that Berkeley also had a decent music program, and though he wasn't minoring in it, he still took classes. Electives.
Piano had become an escape for Stiles. One he sorely needed.
One of Stiles's most well-kept secrets was the way he felt about Derek Hale.
No one knew. No one had ever known. Stiles was smart about it; he learned how to mask his attraction by making it come off like annoyance or dislike. The way his heart rate would rise around Derek, well, it was obviously just anxiety because he didn't like the guy. He supported that with sarcasm and stinging insults. He also made sure to jerk off a lot in general, because if none of the werewolves could ever tell when Stiles didn't smell like sex or arousal, then any time he smelled like it around Derek wouldn't stand out.
There were a lot of reasons Stiles fell for Derek. All the obvious ones were present, from his looks to his intensity, his power, and the way Derek looked after all of them. In his own way. But most of all, Derek just made Stiles feel safe. There were even a few times that Stiles got to help Derek feel safe, too.
It was the day after Peter told his tale that Derek came back. Stiles had been laying on his bed in his room, listening to his mom's favorite Mozart CD; his Requiem. He'll never forget the specific movement: Lacrimosa Dies Illa. He'll never forget it, because that was the song playing when Derek climbed through his bedroom window, looking pale and a little stricken.
That was the night Derek told him about Paige. That was the one and only night Stiles ever got to see Derek vulnerable.
He thought back on that night a lot. Every moment, every detail. What it could have meant that Derek had been outside of his room. What it could have meant that he'd actually come in instead of just leaving. That Derek shared something intimate with him, and that Derek let Stiles talk about his mom without shutting him down. They shared something that night, but that was the only night. It was too soon after that, that the nogitsune came and took so much of Stiles away.
Stiles and Derek didn't talk much again after that, but Stiles never forgot that night. Derek wasn't someone you just forgot.
Stiles was twenty years old and had been living away from home for years, and he still found himself thinking about Derek from time to time, comparing him to the few guys Stiles had been with during his college experience. Well, comparing them physically, that is. It's not like Stiles could compare them any other way. He wished he could, but alas. Derek never let anyone get that close.
Stiles laughingly told Scott over the phone one day that he was pretty sure he very obviously had a type, now. When Scott asked who, Stiles grabbed the conversation and crashed it into the next subject at record speed.
He knew that Derek had eventually conceded and joined Scott's pack. He'd done it after Stiles left, so he had no idea, really, how close they'd gotten. Close enough for Scott to have Derek's e-mail address, though, which Stiles casually asked for in the most noncommittal and vague way possible one day. He lied and told Scott he'd seen some really hardcore gay male porn star on a billboard near the the Kink.com building, and that the guy looked just like Derek and he wanted to send a picture. Scott laughed and asked to see it, too, and Stiles agreed to share.
Stiles was still laughing like an idiot when he hung up, but more at himself and what he'd planned on really doing with that e-mail address. There was no billboard. Well, no billboard with a Derek look-alike on it. That sort of thing would cause traffic accidents. In reality, Stiles had two really dumb, idiotic, stupid plans: either worm his way into Derek's affections, or ensure that Derek literally never spoke to or looked at him ever again.
Stiles's web cam wasn't very good. It was just the built-in camera that came with his laptop. The picture was grainy and the coloring was crap, and you needed football stadium lighting for any sort of real clarity. But the audio was just fine, and that was really what Stiles wanted to present to Derek.
“Okay,” he sighed, feeling like a total moron the moment he clicked the camera on, because his palms immediately started to sweat and he could hear the unsteadiness of his voice. So he cleared his throat three times, which made him feel even dumber.
“Wow, okay,” he laughed, shaking his head as he reached to position his laptop just right, peering at the picture as he framed himself and the keyboard. “Hi. I feel absolutely stupid doing this, but, um...” He paused and furrowed his brow a bit, scratching his nose. “Yeah, okay, can I just start over?” he said suddenly, with a nervous laugh. “Pretend you never saw any of this.”
The video blacked out when Stiles covered the pinhole camera with his thumb. Three seconds later he uncovered it, having taken a deep breath and lifted his eyes to the sky, as if entreating for help to stop him from being such a jackass.
Stiles came into view again when he dropped his hand away, his face lit with a big, embarrassed smile that appled his cheeks and scrunched his eyes up. “Hi, Derek,” he said, lifting his hand in a little wave. “I got your e-mail address from Scott the other day. I hope you don't mind this stupid video, but I just kind of had something I wanted to show you?”
He reached up and scratched at the back of his neck before rubbing absently at his nose, his eyes darting around, looking nervously anywhere but at the camera. “I guess I know it's probably kind of weird to be getting this from me since we haven't seen each other since I left, and the only time we talk is when you send me monosyllabic caveman texts asking me how to kill things.” He laughed.
“But I guess...” He trailed off, finally looking straight at the camera. “I guess what I'm trying to say is that I wanted to tell you...” He huffed out a breath, puffing his cheeks out slightly when he felt them get a little hot. “Oh, fuck it,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Look, I think about that night a lot, you know? The one when I was playing the Mozart in my room and you came in and told me about Paige. And I just...”
He trailed off and turned on his rolling stool to face his piano's keyboard, the camera now on his profile. “I don't know. I always remember how sad you seemed when you heard the song. So I thought maybe this might make you smile.” He looked over at the camera again and lifted a curious eyebrow, as if Derek were right there with him, giving him a sour look. “I know you can smile, dude. And if my crappy piano skills don't make this song something that can maybe be a good memory for you instead of a shitty one, then I am fresh out of ideas.”
The piano version of the movement was only a little over three minutes long, but for Stiles it was more like four. His fingers tripped up a few times, and he was pretty sure all of the under-his-breath cursing wasn't adding any beauty to such a lovely piece of music. He was certain Derek was going to have a field day when Stiles accidentally knocked his music off the stand and spent a few seconds laughing at himself as he collected it from the floor, but they say every musician has to put a piece of himself into a song to make it his, right?
When he finished, he looked back at the camera with a roll of his eyes and a careless grin, throwing up a metal hand. “Fuck yeah,” he said with a laugh. “Witness a year of private lessons plus two semesters' worth of piano classes at an esteemed university level. I know you're probably in the throes of arousal at the level of my skill, but try and keep your panties on.” He grinned and glanced down, feeling a blush creep his cheeks again.
“Okay, um... I guess I'm gonna end this,” he said as he looked back up, fingers drumming a little nervously on his computer desk. “You don't have to feel obligated to get back to me or anything. Hell, you don't even have to feel obligated to watch this if you don't want to... which, I guess, if you don't, you'll never actually know I said this.” He chuckled nervously. “So this is me, giving you a cosmic pass on this video.”
“Anyway,” Stiles said with a heavy exhale and a laugh at himself, “Um, if you did watch this whole thing, then I hope you're doing good, man. I mean that. And I, uh... I miss you.” He laughed and shook his head a little, letting his eyes linger on the camera. “Alright, well, take care, Derek.” He smiled awkwardly before quickly ending the video, his heart beating fiercely in his ears.
So, there it was. Nearly eight minutes of dumbassery that Stiles was now kind of regretting. He regretted it almost as much as he regretted that one night at sixteen, when he thought taking Scott out to look for a dead body would be an awesome idea. So, kind of a lot of regret, but not really? But enough. In theory.
He groaned and leaned back, rubbing his hands over his face. He briefly weighed the pros and cons again, and found himself still coming back to the same conclusion. He didn't have anything to lose by sending this video. The worst that could happen is Derek never acknowledged it, and that would basically tell Stiles all he needed to know. It wouldn't change things between them at this point. But if he did acknowledge it, then that could definitely be a potential game-changer. Was it worth the risk? Yeah, he thought. Yeah.
He leaned forward and grabbed his mouse, quickly opening up a blank e-mail and addressing it to Derek. He typed in the subject line 'Something for you if you're bored and want a laugh,' but left the body blank. He said everything he wanted to say in the video itself. Well, everything he was willing to say. He compressed the video and attached it, thanking the Internet gods for Google Drive, and sent it off without even bothering to watch it. He knew if he watched it he'd chicken out, and it's not like he'd never looked dumb in front of Derek before.
Fifteen minutes later there was a ding from his laptop. “Ohhh my god,” he groaned, feeling his stomach drop as his heart jumped up into his throat. He wheeled his stool back over to his desk and clicked on his drive, only to find the video missing and an alert telling him that the e-mail he'd sent had been read. That the video he'd uploaded had been downloaded and removed.
“Oh my god,” he repeated, staring wide-eyed at the blank space where his video used to be. He had no idea what that meant, that Derek would download it. He had no idea why Derek would even watch it. All he knew is that he very suddenly and quickly needed to be away from his computer. He jumped to his feet and nearly fell right back over again, tripping over his stool and stumbling against his bunk bed in his haste to flee to the kitchen. He had this excellent plan to drink many beers and lament his loss of sanity.
It wasn't actually creepy if he was there for a reason, right?
That was what Derek had been telling himself for the past twelve minutes that he'd been standing outside of Stiles's apartment building in the dark, listening to the insects and the quiet night sounds of Stiles's neighborhood. Derek wasn't being creepy. He wasn't lurking or spying. He certainly wasn't procrastinating or hesitating because he was nervous. He was just taking his time. It had been awhile since he'd seen Stiles, and he didn't want to invade his life just because he had a few questions about...
Derek frowned and grabbed his phone out of his pocket with a huff. “Shit,” he muttered to himself, thumbing over the screen to bring up his Notes app because he'd forgotten the lie he'd formulated as an excuse to come and see Stiles in person. He wasn't here about the video, no, he was here about pixies. That's right. Pixies.
“Pixies,” Derek said with a gruff sigh, rolling his eyes as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “So stupid.” It's not a total, lie, though. A family of pixies had moved into the preserve and were living in one of the bigger trees, but they'd never bothered anyone. If anything they'd been a benefit. The animals were happier, everything was growing more lush and healthy, and all they asked for in return was for someone to maybe accidentally leave a few candy bars near the tree from time to time. No big deal.
But Derek was going to lie. He was going to tell Stiles something about the pixies, he didn't remember… and maybe he should have written that down in his notes, too. Really, Derek just needed to hear Stiles's voice when he spoke. Needed to hear his heartbeat and smell the way his skin changed. Really, he just needed to see things with his own eyes so he could be sure he wasn't making it all up in his head.
He didn't know why he cared. He didn't know what he was hoping to accomplish here. He didn't think anything could really come of this. But he just needed to try, because it had been such a long time since anyone looked at him the way Stiles had. It had been... well, it had been since Paige.
Stiles was right. Derek needed to turn the memory of her into something good.
Derek hadn't anticipated the reaction he got when Stiles opened the door, but he guessed he probably should have. Even in pajamas with a serious case of bedhead it was easy to see that Stiles was more adult now. He was a bit taller and had filled out considerably in the shoulders. His arms looked a bit more well-muscled, too, which Derek discovered when Stiles grabbed at the doorjamb and held on for dear life, trying not to fall backward over his own two feet.
Derek quirked his lips, trying to keep down an amused smile at Stiles's flailing surprise. It was nice to know that some things hadn't changed. He didn't think he'd want to live in a world where he couldn't still startle Stiles at least a little.
“Can I come in?” Derek asked, not waiting for an answer as he stepped past the threshold and lightly shouldered Stiles. He smirked as Stiles quickly stepped away and shut the door a little too hard behind them.
“Yeah,” Stiles said, drawing out the word a little too long. Derek could smell his nervousness and confusion, sour in the back of his throat. But there was also a little hopeful undercurrent, which Derek knew Stiles was going to stamp down. Stiles was a classic pessimist, and Derek was too similar to not understand exactly what he was thinking right now.
But had been a few years, now. They were both too old to keep playing stupid games, and Derek was looking forward to surprising Stiles at least one more time tonight.
“I, uh,” Derek began, shoving his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as he turned to face Stiles. “I came here with a lie to tell you.”
Stiles lingered by the door, hands fluttering a bit before he folded his arms over his chest and shoved them into his armpits. He chewed on his lower lip like it was an Olympic sport, and oddly, his nervousness made Derek feel a little more solid.
“A lie,” Stiles echoed, squinting his eyes a bit as he sized Derek up.
“Yeah,” Derek said, honestly. “I was going to tell you that we were having a problem with a pixie infestation.” Derek smiled a bit as Stiles snorted, and Stiles seemed a bit more at ease now that Derek was speaking freely. “I was going to tell you that I didn't want to talk about it over the phone because I needed to look at some of your books. That I needed you to do some researching with me. That we would solve the problem better together than apart.”
Stiles gave pause at that, which made Derek grateful because he was hoping he wouldn't have to insinuate that again.
“Well, you know what they say,” Stiles said with a hopeful grimace, as he gestured vaguely at Derek. “Two heads are better than one?”
“Right,” Derek said with a nod. “But, you know, that was all a lie.” He nodded again.
“Yeah.” Stiles shifted uncomfortably. “So, um... are you gonna tell me the truth, then?”
“I don't know,” Derek admitted with a short, soft laugh. “I'm trying. Words aren't exactly my thing.”
“Yeah, I kind of suck at them, too. Well, I mean, you know that's not true. You know I can babble on and on for hours about nothing important–” At Derek's impatient look, Stiles stopped with a smile. “Heh. So that's, you know, why, um–” He illustrated his point by trailing off and gestured again, random hand movements that didn't mean much to either of them. “That's why the video... the piano... thing.” He smiled, weakly.
“Yeah.” Derek cleared his throat. “Well, I can't play any instruments,” he said as he took a step forward, closing the space between them. “So, I was hoping you might let me say what I have to say in my own way?”
Stiles lifted his eyebrows and took a quick, cursory look around, which amused Derek since they both knew they were alone. Was it wishful thinking? Was Stiles hoping someone would come home and save him from the embarrassingly apparent advances of a socially stunted werewolf that was probably way too old for him? Was he listening to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted? Was he–
Derek blinked and tilted his head back a bit at the soft swish-click of Stiles turning the deadbolt. He lifted an eyebrow when Stiles secured the chain-lock. Oh. Okay, then. Good to know.
“Yeah,” Stiles said as he turned back to Derek. “Go ahead and say–”
That was as far as Stiles got before Derek cut him off with a kiss. It wasn't hot or sexy, and it certainly wasn't practiced. It was a little hesitant and definitely unsure. More than a little chaste, because Derek already felt stupid enough taking this leap without licking all over Stiles's mouth uninvited. But he let it linger a bit as he curled a hand around Stiles's wrist, tracing his middle finger over the pulse-point.
When Stiles's pulse jumped, Derek silently rejoiced. When he kissed back with a passion that equaled everything Derek was feeling, his heart rose phoenix-like out of the ashes, and soared.
“I missed you, too,” Derek murmured against Stiles's lips, tugging Stiles in close and looping his arms around his waist. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Stiles asked, sounding both surprised and more than a little pleased. He lifted his hands and brought them up to hesitantly trace his fingers along Derek's jaw. They smiled awkwardly at one another.
“For the song.” Derek's voice was a little gruff, and his eyes darkened slightly with rare emotion. “Thank you for taking something ugly out of my life, making it beautiful, and giving it back to me.”
Stiles dropped his eyes and tried to hide his smile, but Derek could feel the heat in his cheeks as he blushed. “Yeah, well,” he said, stammering a bit before just leaning in and stealing another soft kiss. "Thank you for letting me. And thank you for doing the same for me."
“My pleasure,” Derek murmured as he brushed his lips lightly over Stiles's cheek.
Stiles smiled and shoved playfully at Derek's shoulder, sending him back a step. “Yeah, and mine, too,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I think at this point our mutual pleasure is going to end up pretty interchangeable,” Derek said.
They were both quiet for a moment before Stiles let himself really smile. There was no reason to hide anything anymore, was there? “It's pretty late. I was just in..." Stiles says softly, and points down the hall. "Will you stay? I mean... I'd really like it if you'd come to bed with me.”
Derek raised an eyebrow at him, but Stiles didn't take the bait. "Yeah," he answered, finally. "We could both use a good rest.”
"Among other things," Stiles said with a knowing smile, leading him down the hall.