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Tense.
It's the only way to describe the atmosphere in the room right now. They're in the loft, where they always seem to be these days, but it's not the same space as it used to be back in Stiles's high school days. It's more polished, livable, looks less like a battlefield than it used to back then.
The loft is not anyone's living space anymore though. It's like a clubhouse, a place where the pack and all its extended members come to hang out. Which is precisely why they're all here now, with a movie playing on the massive TV screen that everyone pitched in for some time ago.
And the air feels thick and suffocating, at least to Stiles.
He's not the same restless teenager that he was back when, but right now he is having flashbacks to those days. His mind is spinning and running around and dragging him from one corner to another. He's tapping his fingers on his thigh to let out some of that energy and to relieve the tension. But the thing is that he's about ready to either jump out of his skin or to say something. Because holy crap is he ever trying to process the conversation from just before everyone else got here.
---
"I didn't hate you. I still don't hate you."
Derek is looking at Stiles with the most sincere expression in his face, with a softness and fondness that is unfamiliar. At least to Stiles, who vividly remembers the permanently closed off face and the "stay away" vibes that Derek used to radiate when they first met. This is nothing like that.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Stiles asks because he doesn't understand. Sure, he and Derek struck up a friendship at some point, but Stiles has always been convinced that it was only because he was attached to Scott's hip. He hasn't talked to Derek in several years -- not since Derek got into a car after the war with hunters and drove off into the sunset.
"I wasn't very fond of you when you got me arrested, or for some time after, but I never hated you," Derek says. "If anything, I thought we were friends now."
"Dude."
"Or at least close acquaintances," Derek adds, looking a little disappointed. "That's what I was assuming. But if even that is too much, then that's fine. I'll deal."
"What do you mean that you'll deal? I didn't even think friendship was on the table, let alone anything else," Stiles tells him, feeling a little hysterical. "Is there anything else on the table?"
--
Of course the pack showed up before Derek managed to respond. So now Stiles is sitting on the couch and staring at the screen without watching the movie and his mind is reeling. The air continues to feel thick and he starts wondering if it would be super rude to leave right now.
There's also the fact that he's absolutely sure that no one else in the room feels the tension that he does, that they're all oblivious to the way he wants to jump out of his skin -- something he hasn't felt in years. They're all happily watching the movie and are completely clueless. Except Derek.
Derek looks like his claws are about to pop -- Stiles sees it when he dares to glance in that direction every once in a while -- and there is a distinct flash of color in his eyes that isn't supposed to be there. Again, Stiles notices when he looks at Derek and finds him staring back, like he's trying to read his mind.
I want to know what you meant, Stiles thinks.
Of course, he can't say it out loud, not with everyone else scattered around the seats and floor around them, several people between the corner of the couch that Stiles claimed and the recliner that's always Derek's place during movie nights. But he's craving solitude in a way that he usually doesn't, a one-on-one conversation about what could be and about all the things he'd want and didn't think he'd ever have.
Because Derek's words from earlier reignited Stiles's hopes, lit a fire under the attraction to Derek that was the gateway to exploring his sexuality and eventually settling firmly on bisexual. The words were an echo of those that he used to dream of hearing, the ones he hoped for years ago and for a long time after. It's only recently that he made himself accept that they would never happen.
And yet...
Stiles glances over again and bites his lip when Derek's eyes are already turned to him, when he finds that neither of them are following the movie. He squirms on the couch when Derek doesn't look away, when his eyes flash with the red that he's gained back since the war ended.
"Oh my god, would you sit still," Jackson -- who's sitting next to him -- groans in Stiles's direction. "Didn't you grow out of that?"
"Sorry," Stiles mutters, genuinely apologetic not because his movements are distracting Jackson but because he got called out on being like this.
"Go walk it off or something," Jackson suggests.
Stiles has a quick retort on the tip of his tongue but then he realizes that Jackson's idea is good. That maybe walking away is the answer right now, even if it's only to head out to the balcony and try to work through all the thoughts that are whirling in his head. He throws one more glance at Derek as he gets up and circles around the couch, then he heads out to the side door, taking a deep breath the moment the cool air hits his face.
He shuts the sounds of the movie out by closing the door and replaces them with the muted noises of the town below. They're far enough up that he can't hear anything clearly and that alone -- the fact that everything sounds like he imagines a blurred artwork would -- is helping already. His mind is still spinning, sure, but 's easier to sift through the newly acquired information this way.
I never hated you.
Stiles spent too long being wrong about what people thought about him, how they felt about him. Hell, he misjudged his father's feelings, not that it was surprising for a kid dealing with grief and with his dad's way of coping at the same time. He was wrong about more, but he'd been absolutely sure that at the very least right at the start of the werewolf chaos, Derek did genuinely despise Stiles. Not so much later on, of course, when they struck up what could be seen as an alliance, if not friendship.
But this sounded like something else. These were words that were used to say that the person felt the complete opposite instead of the assumed. So did Derek actually like him? And if so, in what way? And why had he never said anything?
"Communication issues," Stiles mutters. "We could all probably write books on those."
There's a creak behind him, the noise of the movie for a beat, then silence again, but Stiles knows he's not alone anymore.
"I think there are enough books that will tell us how dumb we've been," Derek says quietly from behind Stiles's back. "It's not like we'd write anything that hasn't been written yet."
"True. But clearly just reading wouldn't help," Stiles mumbles, still looking at the town instead of turning around. "Also, listening in is not fair."
"I wasn't trying to," Derek says. "I wanted to make sure you're not trying to scale the wall to get away."
"If I wanted to leave I'd have used the front door."
"Except scaling the wall would nicely redirect questions from everyone else," Derek points out.
Finally, Stiles turns around and feels the corner of his mouth tugging. "You're starting to think like me," he tells Derek. "I don't know if I should be proud or worried."
Derek gives him a pointed look and then shrugs his shoulders.
"So, you're here for a reason. Is it because of what I said?"
"No."
"Lie."
"Again with the unfair things," Stiles grumbles. "Why do I have to be friends with walking lie detectors? It's very inconvenient."
"I didn't listen to your heart. I just know your lying face," Derek tells him.
"I don't have a lying face," Stiles protests.
"Wanna check with your father and Scott about that one?"
It's a challenge and Stiles could if he wanted to. He'd lied to both of them more than he liked to admit and neither knew all the smaller lies that Stiles told through the years. There were fewer since college, but the ones during his high school years were plentiful and varied.
It's also a distraction from the topic they were on and Stiles is half tempted to continue in the new direction. But there's also temptation to resolve the tension he feels.
"Okay, yes, it's about what you said. What the hell, Derek?"
He didn't plan on sounding angry, but he's frustrated from trying to figure it out on his own and he wishes that they'd had this conversation years ago.
"I never thought you liked me," Derek says, leaning against the wall by the door, out of sight of anyone who's bother looking through the huge windows.. "Back at the start, I dismissed you as a kid who didn't know what he was getting himself into. Then I was pissed because of Laura."
Stiles winces because that's one thing he still feels like apologizing for, though he already did several times.
"But you turned out to know pretty well what you were getting yourself into, eventually," Derek continues, ignoring Stiles's reaction. "I really did not hate you at any point after the Gerard thing."
"Original or 2.0?"
"Original."
"Oh wow. I thought you still couldn't stand me then," Stiles says. "Even the summer when we were looking for Boyd and Erica."
"I know. I didn't think you were my biggest fan and that you just tolerated me because I could help Scott," Derek tells him. "But still, didn't hate you. The opposite, actually."
"You liked me?" Stiles asks and winces again, this time at the way his voice hitches in a way that makes him sound almost hysterical.
Derek nods. "You were still a kid though, but after the Nogitsune--" he says but leaves the thought hanging in the air, unfinished.
"We all grew up pretty fast then," Stiles says. "None of us was the same by senior year."
They both go silent for a little while then, until Stiles's curiosity wins over.
"So why didn't you say anything?"
Derek looks at him and smiles faintly, looking wistful.
"I left, after Mexico."
"I'm aware. You came back."
"And you were with Lydia."
"Ah."
Stiles understand a little. Everyone, Derek included, knew about his feelings for Lydia. About how long he'd been in love with her. How much of a dream come true their relationship was. But that was the past -- they lasted a few months after the big crisis, then realized how much better they were as friends.
"That was years ago," Stiles says. "You've been back here for years, Derek."
"And you didn't show a hint of interest in me at any point," Derek says.
"Okay, lie detector status revoked, you have no idea how to read my face apparently," Stiles tells him. "I spent all those years thinking I'm doomed to an unrequited crush."
"You... what?"
Derek's face is amazing to look at. He goes through several expressions -- shock, confusion, amazement, anger -- before he settles on something that looks like a mix of hope and bafflement.
"Dude, you are why I figured out I'm bi. You're more of an unattainable dream than Lydia ever was."
God, I sound sappy, Stiles thinks, but he lets it go. The words are out, there's no going back. If his guess about where this conversation is going is right, he will never have to.
"So we could have...."
"Done this years ago?" Stiles asks, then he shakes his head. "Yeah, apparently so."
"We're idiots."
"Can't say I disagree," Stiles tells Derek, then he pushes himself away from the railing he was leaning on. "Now, to avoid any further confusion and miscommunication," he says as he steps forward to close the distance between them, "I'm going to kiss you. If you don't want me to, speak now, or--"
Derek chuckles as he reaches forward, grabs Stiles's hand with his own and pulls him in until they're only an inch apart. Then he wraps his free arm around Stiles's waist and tightens his fingers around Stiles's for a beat.
There's no mistaking the expression in his face now, Stiles can read the hope in Derek's eyes clearly. So he closes the last inch of a gap and tilts his head just enough so he can brush his lips over Derek's.
Just like that, the tension he felt all evening dissolves into air and Stiles feels his body and mind relax into the kiss as Derek returns it with enthusiasm.