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Derek likes it when Stiles walks away. He likes the look of Stiles’ back in a plaid shirt, the sound of his footsteps receding, his heartbeat fading in the distance.
*
He realized it quite quickly that Stiles’ presence didn’t actually make him want to maim and kill. Or at least not literally. Obviously sometimes (all the time) his patience and its limits have been tested – his imagination provided images of Stiles being smashed into a wall or thrown on the ground. Still, the situations when he would use actual physical force against him became rare. Mostly because no amount of bodily harm would convince Stiles that sometimes it would be smarter to just shut up and not charge, shouting some ridiculously pompous war cries, straight into every single supernatural conflict.
{If Derek were to be honest with himself (which he clearly tried to avoid always and at any cost) about why he stopped using Stiles as his personal stress-relieving punching bag, he would probably admit that hurting Stiles became something of a problem – he disliked it more than Stiles’ never-ending rambling. Or maybe it was because at some point what he could read in his eyes turned from fear to disappointment and tacit agreement to what he was being done to. For some reason it twisted like a sharp knife in Derek’s stomach.}
*
Discovering that he likes Stiles took him a little bit longer. Which could be explained by the fact that being around Stiles most of the time meant trying to find anything that could be used as a gag. There’s no way he could’ve focused on anything while being constantly subjected to 24/7 stream of consciousness freely broadcasted without any filter.
{Emotional constipation and selective blindness also come to mind, however Derek would like to emphasize that opinions voiced by other members of the pack are rarely in accordance with those of their Alpha.}
*
When he decided that maybeprobablypossibly he has feelings for Stiles, he panicked. You could say that he received a divine revelation and needed to meditate on the matter. Meditation took form of driving away in his Camaro faster than you could say “denial”. Some people redecorate, others hit the booze; Derek needed to clear his head and think away from the prying noses of his pack. So he left without a word and continued to think for three days.
After he came back, he found (and by found he means almost stepped on by accident) Stiles sleeping on his porch.
{Stiles, who even in his sleep hasn’t looked peaceful or careless anymore.}
“Stiles?” Derek asked quietly, trying to maintain safe distance. He took another step back, when Stiles woke up flailing, looking around like he didn't know where he was, and then his eyes focused on Derek and his face went blank. The only thing that gave him away was how unnaturally fast his heartbeat was, which he must've been aware of, judging by the slightly pink tips of his ears.
He examined Derek without a word, his eyes sliding over every inch of his body, as if to make sure he’s okay. When he was done, he sighed quietly and stood up from the floor.
“I… I was just jogging in the woods and, you know, it was so terribly hot, you wouldn’t believe, so I just wanted to rest for a while, and I must’ve fallen asleep,” Stiles was very visibly not looking at him, trying to simultaneously back off from the porch and believably explain being there in the first place. “But I’m off now, adios, don’t let me stop you from getting into your own house, which you have obviously missed, because you’ve been away…”
“Stiles,” Derek repeated, this time louder, and Stiles seemed to finally snap out of whatever was going on in his head – he stopped talking and started breathing again, but continued to stare at his sneakers like they were an alternate universe. “Stiles, it’s okay.”
Derek didn't know how, but suddenly he was right in front of Stiles. He didn't care either. The only thing he cared about right now was how Stiles smelled like relief, but also embarrassment, sadness and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on; too elusive even for his werewolf senses. Slowly he took his hand and placed it under Stiles’ chin, lifting his head and forcing him to finally look Derek in the eyes.
“I’m glad you’re back,” Stiles almost whispered, like he was hoping that Derek wouldn't hear it.
“I know.” I missed you.
“And don’t you ever disappear again, got it?” Stiles tried to sound light but failed miserably. “What if we got attacked by aliens? Or a biker lizard gang? We wouldn’t have made it without our Alpha, you know,” Stiles half-smiled, back to staring at his shoes.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Derek replied, and even he was surprised how much conviction he put in that one sentence. After a while he added “I think you should come in, we need to talk.” This time he was the one admiring the floor.
“Okay,” agreed Stiles, like he knew what Derek meant. He smiled, took his hand and led him into the house.
{Derek quickly realized that Stiles understands him better than he does himself. Which can be helpful when one’s in a relationship with a werewolf who can express his emotions about as well as a boulder (regardless of how nice that boulder might be, he thinks, and damn Stiles and his pop cultural references which are impossible to get rid of). However it becomes a problem when your own boyfriend explains it to you with this annoying know-it-all smile of his why exactly you were crying at How to Train Your Dragon. Which is a complete lie, nothing like that ever happened. What also didn’t happen was the endless puns, starting with a How to Train Your Alpha guidebook and finishing with naming Derek’s eyebrows Night and Fury. Never happened.}
*
Deciding that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Stiles was easy. He woke up one day with a smile on his face and a certainty that the person lying next to him and entangling him with their limbs is the best thing that would ever happen to him.
{True, it took months to get used to the fact that they’re together; and years before he realized that Stiles wasn’t going anywhere. When he left for college Derek was sure it was over. Stiles begged to differ, vocally, the night before he left, right after he reached his dorm, during those rare weekends at home and every day over the phone. He only stopped four years later, standing on Derek’s doorstep with his life pouring out of cardboard boxes, an idiotic smile and a daring I told you so.}
*
Derek likes it when Stiles walks away. But he loves what happens after. When he can no longer see the plaid shirt, can’t hear the footsteps, or the heartbeat. Not anymore, not yet.
Derek likes to be alone. He likes the anticipation, emotions running wild under his skin, like ozone in the air right before the storm, when all you need is a single spark.
Derek likes it when Stiles walks away. Because he knows he’ll be back. He always is.