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Derek stood in the middle of the room staring at the empty space on the couch Stiles had been occupying until five minutes earlier when Derek, in his full moon-aggravated, memory-fueled pissy mood, had opened his mouth and inserted his foot. In the time since Stiles had slowly risen from where he’d been sprawled, mouth shut and face completely blank as he walked slowly out the door without looking at anyone, the rest of the pack had made their excuses and disappeared as well.
Now, Derek was alone. He broke his gaze from the couch and looked around the loft, the space he’d first gotten because he didn’t want anyone to feel comfortable enough to stay and hang out. He’d wanted it as a place to be alone because it was what he thought he deserved. Over time, comfortable leather furniture had taken up residence in the open area, surrounding a television with all the latest gaming systems and video equipment. He had accounts for Netflix, Hulu, Disney+ and a dozen other streaming services.
The kitchen was stocked with food and there was always wolfsbane-laced alcohol on hand as well and there was even an area used for planning set aside in one corner, cut off from the rest of the space by a screen that had been picked up at an estate sale and painstakingly restored.
Behind every single one of these changes was the man that he’d managed to offend with one slip of the tongue. One simple snide comment that coming from anyone else would have been laughed off but coming from Derek had cut through to his heart and soured his normally sweet cinnamon petrichor smell with the acrid smell of burnt popcorn.
He was an asshole.
Grabbing his leather jacket, he slipped into it and left the building. He ran down the stairs and saw Stiles’ Jeep still in the parking lot next to the Camaro, but the other Pack members’ cars were gone. Scenting the air, he turned to follow Stiles’ down the street. He was half a block away when he figured out where Stiles was going and dropped his nose and walked on instinct.
The gates of the cemetery were intimidating in the darkness of night, but he saw the break in the bushes someone had cut a hole in the chainlink fence and he scooted through, Stiles’ scent strong and a piece of his plaid shirt caught on the branches. Derek smiled fondly and plucked the fabric from the branches and shoved it into the pocket of his jeans.
Stepping through, he could pick up the sound of Stiles’ voice. Derek’s lips twisted as he listened in on a private conversation with his mom. “I don’t know what I did,” he said, voice pained and Derek’s heart twisted in his chest as he continued down the path towards the back of the cemetery.
“I’m giving up,” Stiles continued. “I just wanted to be his friend, push down the crush I’ve had since that first day in the preserve and be his friend. Make his loft a home for him and the Pack. Help him be the Alpha I know he can be, but he thinks I’m pathetic.” He sniffled and Derek scented salt in the air and he hated knowing he’d made Stiles cry.
He hesitated to approach, feeling completely unwelcome by Stiles for the first time in a long time; even when he was younger and he used to sneak into Stiles’ room and the boy would flail and fuss, he’d never felt this way. He must have hesitated too long or made a noise he wasn’t aware of because Stiles’ shoulders tensed and he raised his voice slightly.
“Gonna tell me how pathetic I am again? Is it too much for your werewolf sensibilities for the weak and puny human to cry to his dead mother?” His voice was so cold that Derek had a flashback to the Nogitsune and if it weren’t for the obvious pain and tears in Stiles’ eyes he would believe he’d been possessed again.
“No,” he responded, voice quiet enough that it cut off whatever else Stiles was going to throw at him. “I’m here to apologize.”
Stiles smirked and there was a spark of the sarcastic little shit that had wormed his way into the pack, into the role of emissary, into his previous cold and dead heart. Derek fought the grin that twitched his lips. “You actually know what that word means?”
His grin broke through and Stiles looked taken aback. “Surprisingly, I am well-educated for someone raised by wolves.” They shared a laugh, but Stiles’ was still too hollow. “I also know what ‘offended’ means and I know I did that to you and I’m sorry.” He made sure to keep his voice steady and his eyes locked with Stiles, affirming his sincerity in the seldomly said words.
“Why?” Stiles asked and Derek opened his mouth. “Not ‘why are you sorry?’. Why did you say it?”
“Because I’m an asshole?” Derek attempted and took pride in the snort Stiles gave him, but knew it wasn’t enough. “I think because I foolishly thought you were the one person I could lash out at that wouldn’t leave.”
Stiles raised his eyebrows. “That...that’s awfully self-reflective,” he said, smiling.
Derek ducked his head finally. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
“And you thought I didn’t know?” Stiles asked, starting to walk and bumping Derek’s shoulder as he passed him to head back to the opening in the fence.
He should be surprised but he wasn’t. Stiles may not have the senses of a wolf, but he had the skills of a detective. He fell into step next to him and gave him a small smile that was returned.
“I’ll accept your apology if you feed me when we get back to the loft,” Stiles said, fingers brushing against Derek’s with intent.
“Deal,” Derek returned, lacing their fingers together, smile still firmly in place.