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Stiles takes a deep breath and stands in front of the doorway, waiting until he hears the last vehicle drive away from the newly rebuilt Hale House.
And isn’t that a weird happenstance? Despite the fact that it is of a different design and standing over a hundred feet from where the old one stood, the town still called it ‘the Hale house’. It was a little funny, and it made Derek preen more than a little that the house he had built reminded the town of the one made by his however many great grandparents, so Stiles didn’t point out that it also showed how unimaginative the townsfolk were.
Thinking of Derek reminds him of why he’s here, now, in front of this particular door. Taking a deep breath, Stiles turns the knob and pushes the door open.
Derek’s room is as it always has been; sparse, minimalist - with little hints of the Pack here and there, only if you know where to look - and the only really luxurious piece in it is the huge, four poster bed in the middle.
A bed that Derek is laying on, pale as a skeleton and with the barest rise and fall of his chest to give any hint of life.
The Pack had been baffled as to what had caused this, their interactions with the caster fairly pleasant and cordial, both with just Derek and when the Pack was all together. It had only been this last visit, when Derek was alone, that they had decided to curse him.
Keeping with the oddity of their visit, they even told the Pack what broke the curse - and that they couldn’t remove it after casting it, only that someone else had to break it - before easily leaving the territory at the Beta’s angry growling.
So, here Stiles is. Standing in front of Derek’s bed, about to do something that he’s sure is going to blow up in his face.
“Hey, big guy. What are you doing, still asleep at a time like this? Don’t you know how worried everyone is about you?”
Stiles knows that everyone has given him privacy for this, but still can’t help making a joke as he makes his way to the side of the bed. It helps soothe the butterflies that are trying to revolt in his stomach.
“So... I know how to break this spell. I know what I need to say, but part of me is terrified, you know? I mean, we’re friends, and I know you don’t hate me or anything like that, but to do this? To actually tell you how much I feel for you? I’m not going to lie, I’m a little glad that you’re unconscious for all of this.”
Stiles lets out a little chuckle, before immediately sobering when there is no eye roll, no exasperated but fond ‘are we gonna get to the point soon?’, no shaked head or anything from Derek aside from his slow, measured breathing.
Inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly, Stiles nods to himself and mutters, “Okay, you can do this.” before reaching out and taking Derek’s hand.
“Okay. The truth is... the truth is that- that I’m in love with you. Have been for a while. How long? I don’t really know, because it’s all tangled up in running for our lives and making this Pack work and trying to keep everyone together. It wasn’t me looking over at you one day and realizing, ‘hey, I’m in love with this guy’. It was more of a... a gradual feeling, you know? A slow, steady warmth that just fills you all up and pours out of you back at the person you care about. I don’t- I don’t expect anything from you, don’t worry about that. And you don’t have to feel the same way back, if that’s what you’re worried about as well. And it’s not just because of the spell, or anything like that either. I had actually planned for us to go out on a walk this weekend, have a nice picnic, and then confess to you out there, but-”
Stiles stops when he realizes that the pressure on his hand isn’t from him squeezing Derek’s fingers as he went spiraling, but Derek squeezing his hand back.
“Stiles.”
And that’s Derek’s voice, calling out his name...
Fighting down the swell of panic in his chest, reminding himself that this is a good thing and that he was planning on confessing to Derek anyway, Stiles slowly raises his head so that he’s looking Derek in the eye.
Derek is, surprisingly and hopefully, smiling back at Stiles and his thumb has started a gentle caress against the back of Stiles’ hand.
“I still want that picnic.”