Archive of Our Own ^beta

The sun rises over the ocean, staining the sky a bright mix of reds, oranges and yellows that reflect against the deep blue of the water. Derek wipes down one of the plastic tables planted in the sand, absently watching a group of kids running along the beach, their laughter and shouts dulled by the repetitious roaring of the ocean waves crashing onto the sand. It’s peaceful and comforting, nothing like the rush of noise and people that will inevitably overtake the beach later.

Once he’s satisfied that the tables are presentable, he wanders back to his beach shack and starts scribbling the day’s specials on the small blackboard that hangs beside the counter. He tries to write it as neatly as he can, but he’s never able to match the quality of when Isaac does it. He tends to add palm trees, smiling faces, beach waves and other little touches that are somehow far beyond Derek’s artistic ability. That’s not to say he’s not willing to try, though. He’s so focused on the task of trying to draw the trunk of the palm tree that he nearly misses the sounds of Erica’s angry voice. 

“I’m sorry, sir. We don’t open until sev—hey! Where are you going?” 

Derek sighs, turning and expecting to see someone hungover and giving his waitress grief; but what he sees has him freezing in his tracks. There’s a tan man with an unusually asymmetrical jawline, his chest bare and decorated with tattoos as he grins at Derek with a familiar, happy expression. Latched onto his arm is a furious looking Erica, tugging with all her might to keep him from walking further into the shack. Her efforts do little to stop him, however, and her feet drag lines in the sand as the man steps closer.

“Derek!” The man says with a huff of amused laughter. Derek steels his expression, attempting to come off stern and unhappy, but his lips betray him, tugging up in the corners and revealing his own amusement.

“Scott,” Derek nods, “pleasant surprise.” Erica scoffs and releases her hold on Scott, glaring between the both of them.

“You know this guy, Derek?” She asks. 

“We’re brothers,” Scott answers simply, still smiling at Derek. Overall, he looks just about the same as he had when Derek last saw him at Christmas dinner— although, now he is significantly tanner and has shaved his horrendous mustache, thankfully. It had been a pitiful sight to witness, truly.

Erica rolls her eyes. “You could have told me you were expecting family. I wouldn’t have had to get dragged this morning if I had known.” She strides with purpose back outside to resume putting up the outdoor umbrellas before they open.

In all honesty, he would have warned her if it weren’t for that fact that he hadn’t known either. It is unusual for anyone in his family, especially Scott, to not let him know when they were coming into town. The first red flag goes off in Derek’s mind.

Scott steps forward to give Derek a brief hug, patting him on the back in greeting and letting the moment sink in for a few seconds, before glancing around the small restaurant. It isn’t much of a sight, really, but it’s one of the highest rated restaurants on the beach and he prides himself on that.

“Hell of a place you got here, I’ve heard a ton of good things about it already and I’ve only been here a couple of hours. According to Mrs. Harmon, there’s a crab cake burger of yours that’s to die for,” Scott gushes and Derek feels his ears tinting pink at the unexpected praise. 

“The Beach Bum Burger,” Derek assumes. “It’s pretty popular. Definitely stop by when we’re open and I’ll make one for you.” It’s a simple dismissal, one that Scott doesn’t take. The second red flag glows bright in the back of his mind. Derek’s eyes narrow minutely in suspicion. Scott isn’t here for the burger so what is he here for?

“I assume—” Derek starts, the same time Scott says, “I was just—”. They both stop instantly, huffing awkward laughs, before Scott motions for Derek to speak first.

“I assume you’re here for the surfing competition on Saturday?” Derek prods, hoping Scott will admit his intentions. He tries to ignore the thought that if Scott is here, then he is likely not far behind. Stiles. The man who is simultaneously the love of Derek’s life and the One-Who-Got-Away. 

“Yeah,” Scott answers, his smile slowly fading to something dimmer and more tense, “that’s actually what I came to talk to you about… I kinda came to ask for a favor.” He intones the last part like it’s a question, his face growing pinched and uncomfortable in a way that has Derek’s heart beating faster with nerves.

It’s not like Scott to beat around the bush. Red flag number three is up and waving frantically.

Scott shifts on his feet. “You see, we booked a room with one of the local hotels, thinking that, since it’s a week before the competition, then we could have time to practice and that there wouldn’t be many people booking rooms that early… but apparently we were wrong.”

Scott looks at him with wide, beseeching brown eyes and dread starts to fill Derek’s stomach. There were no more red flags, only the conscious awareness that things were going downhill very, very fast. The use of ‘we’ hasn’t escaped his notice, nor the careful way he’s phrasing the situation before asking for what he wants. Whatever it is, it isn’t going to be pleasant.

“The hotel told us today that they had overbooked and we no longer have a place to stay for the competition. And since Mom and her boyfriend moved after we graduated, we can’t stay with them. Obviously.” Scott shoots him a nervous glance before the metaphorical dam breaks and the words come tumbling out of his mouth at a rapid rate. “Basically, you’re the only person that can help us and we need a place to crash. Can we stay at yours? Just for the week? I promise we’ll be quiet and—”

The feeling of dread quickly turns to panic and Derek forces out through a tense jaw, “Who’s ‘we’, Scott?”

He knows the answer already; Scott’s guilty expression is enough to tell him exactly who we is, but he needs to hear it confirmed. Needs to know for sure that he’s back.

Scott’s face morphs into a look of sadness and pity before he responds with a defeated, “me and Stiles. But we can’t ask to stay with his dad either because his girlfriend just moved in, so...” He tenses, as if to brace for the rejection Derek is sure to give him, because there’s no way that Derek would agree to house his ex-boyfriend for a week, even as a favor to his brother. Not after everything that happened, after the devastating heartbreak he still hasn’t fully recovered from. 

He wants to say no, needs to say no, but, at the same time, he can’t bring himself to do it. He knows how hard Stiles and Scott trained to get this far, he had seen it first hand, once upon a time. He knows how important this is to them. To Stiles. And, while Derek claims to have moved on, he hasn’t. Not really. And apparently he can’t say no to Stiles any more than he could have two years ago. 

So he takes a deep breath and sighs, “Okay,” despite every intelligent part of his brain yelling at him that it isn’t a good idea.

“Seriously?” Scott breathes, his eyes going wide with shock before he lets out an ecstatic cheer and envelops Derek in another, even tighter hug. Derek’s arms are pinned to his sides and he grimaces, waiting for the hug to end so he can go back to cleaning his shack and preparing for the morning rush while silently berating himself for his poor life choices. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! Dude, you’re the best brother ever. You have no idea what this means to me— to us.”

“Don’t mention it,” Derek says gruffly, digging into his pocket and pulling out the key to his loft. “The bed in the living room’s reserved for guests. You and Stiles will have to share it.” Derek places the key in Scott’s waiting hand, his brother nodding along quickly in easy agreement. “I’ll be home around eight. I don’t have a spare key, so you’d better be there to let me in.” 

Scott nods resolutely, the giant grin from before returning to his face. “You got it. Thanks again, man. It means a lot. Seriously.” 

Derek watches Scott leave with a frown, knowing that the idea of seeing Stiles again will be weighing heavily on his mind the rest of the day. He lets out a heavy exhale through his nose, gazing out at the water. The sight no longer feels relaxing as it had earlier. Now the waves seem taunting as they recede into the ocean before returning in a rush and splashing their way onto the sand, as if reminding him that what leaves will often come back.

He just had been so sure that Stiles wouldn’t.

~ ~ ~

Derek sat on his surfboard, rising and falling gently with the motion of the waves around them. Stiles was on his board right next to him, a broad grin on his face as he watched Allison wobble on her board. Scott stood comfortably on his board next to her, mumbling encouragements that they were too far away to hear.

“Five bucks says she’s going to fall on the next wave,” Stiles said with a mischievous grin. Derek shot him a judgmental look, but his lips ticked upwards for a moment, revealing his amusement.

“Aren’t you supposed to be rooting for your friend’s success?” He asked, teasingly. Stiles shrugged.

“The longer it takes her to learn, the more time Scottie gets to spend teaching her. And let me tell you, he really enjoys teaching her,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “It’s all I hear about. ‘Stiles, she let me touch her waist to help her balance’, ‘Stiles, she giggles after she falls and it’s the cutest sound I’ve ever heard’—”

“’Stiles, can you stop complaining for once?’” Derek mocked, badly imitating Stiles’ ‘Scott’ voice.

“Hey, he says that one too! How’d you know?” Stiles smirked. The expression faded into one of fondness, however, as he turned to watch the couple again. Scott shouted praises as Allison successfully balanced on the board, shakily making her way across the wave before she lost her balance and fell into the water with a splash. 

“You didn’t have to come out here with us, you know. I know that tagging along with your brother’s best friend isn’t the most fun thing around,” Stiles continued, speaking softly. He didn’t look away from the couple, seemingly entranced by their happiness. Derek’s eyes scanned his profile, a light flutter beginning in his stomach at the beauty of Stiles sitting beside him, the rising sun in the background. It was breathtaking.

“You always complain about being the third wheel on their dates,” Derek pointed out, although if he were being honest, that wasn’t the reason he was here. He genuinely enjoyed spending time with Stiles, even if it was usually in the company of Scott and his girlfriend. He’d take what time with him he could get. 

 Stiles turned to look at him in surprise. “You came out here for me?” Stiles asked, confusion tinting his voice. Derek shrugged, glancing away from Stiles’ calculating stare. The water swelled around them, causing their knees to brush together briefly before it flattened out again. 

“It’s not like you’re not bad company,” Derek hedged. A silence hung between them and he turned to gauge Stiles’ reaction, surprised to see Stiles leaning towards him, a determined look on his face.

“Yeah, but… admitting I’m not bad company isn’t the same as hanging out with me because you want to, you know? In one case, you’re with me because you feel obligated to be. In the other, you’re here because you actually like me.” Stiles’ eyes widened nervously and he stuttered, “Not that I’m saying you like me like me, but that maybe you don’t find me to be awful--”

“Stiles,” Derek interrupted with a sigh. Stiles glanced at him sheepishly, obediently shutting his mouth. “I do like you. I like… being around you.” It was the simple version, but he thought it might be too much to say you make me laugh, you make me feel happy, being around you is like bathing in the sun on a warm beach—surrounded by a feeling of warmth and safety. But that was too much, too fast, too honest. 

Stiles’ eyes widened further in shock, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. But as quickly as the expression appeared, it was replaced by a more mischievous smirk.

“Why, Der-bear, does this mean you’d like to go on a date with me?” Stiles teased, fluttering his eyelashes, using the horrid nickname that asshole knew he hated. Derek’s ears tinted pink and he looked away, ignoring the tease. He should’ve known Stiles wouldn’t be able to take his confession seriously. “You want to hold my hand? Go for walks on the beach in the moonlight? Teach me how to surf at sunr—”

Derek’s arm jutted out before he could think better of it, swiftly shoving Stiles off his board. He crashed into the water with a loud, satisfying squawk. A self-satisfied smile formed on Derek’s face as Stiles sputtered to the surface, leaning on his board to stay afloat. He glared up at Derek as his wet hair clung to his forehead, dripping streaks of water down his cheeks and neck in tantalizing trails that Derek wanted to trace with his tongue.

“For what it’s worth,” Stiles said, dragging Derek’s eyes back up to his honey-colored ones, “I’d like to do those things. With you.”

Derek arched a disbelieving brow at him, watching Stiles climb easily back onto his board, his lean legs and thighs straddling the edges of it. 

“Bullshit. You don’t want me. As you always say, it’s no wonder I’m single since I’m such a —how do you put it? Oh yeah— a grumpy, old man.” Derek easily dismissed the idea. Stiles liked to tease him, and Derek never took it too seriously, but it was obvious that he didn’t actually like Derek. Not really. Sure, he would incessantly try to find ways to get under Derek’s skin, had clung to his side when Scott found Allison and suddenly had less time for his best friend, and yes, sometimes they hung out by themselves, watching Star Wars and other sci-fi movies, but that didn’t mean anything.

Unexpectedly strong hands gripped the back of his neck, tugging him down. Derek’s head turned towards Stiles instinctively in surprise, and he briefly wondered if Stiles was trying to push him off his board like he had just done. But instead of seeing a troublesome smirk, he was met with the sight of a nervous Stiles pulling him closer as his eyes fluttered shut and he pressed his lips to Derek’s. The action unleashed a burst of butterflies in Derek’s stomach as he couldn’t help but wonder if this was a joke, some new way to get under Derek’s skin.

But then the hands at the base of his neck shifted, gently moving to cup Derek’s jaw, thumbs rubbing softly against the stubble. Stiles made a desperate sound in the back of his throat, pushing himself closer, their boards clacking together as he silently begged Derek to respond. When Derek’s eyes finally fluttered shut, it felt like everything was shifting into place and he thought, this is better than I had imagined. 

He lifted a hand and tangled his fingers in Stiles’ wet hair, using the leverage to add more force to the kiss. It only lasted a few moments longer before Stiles pulled back, moving to sit back upright on his board as he looked at Derek with a slightly dazed expression.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while now. You’re… you’re great to be around Derek. I know you may not believe me, but you’re so smart, funny, and beautiful. God, you’re beautiful. And I know you probably just meant you liked me as a friend, enough to hang out with me so I wouldn’t be stuck as the awkward third wheel, but I just had to try, you know?” He flashed him an unsure smile as if waiting for Derek to reject him, to admit that it was a mistake and that he didn’t actually feel the same.

But that wasn’t the truth.

“I’d like… to do those things with you, too. The dates,” Derek rasped, clearing his throat and wondering how he had been so affected by a single kiss. Stiles stared at him in shock, silent seconds passing by between them before he reached out for Derek’s hand and entangled their fingers together. 

Derek squeezed them reassuringly. “I think you’re beautiful too,” Derek said quietly, watching as Stiles’ face softened, a genuine smile forming on his face. “And smart, and funny, and—” 

“Alright, alright, enough mushy stuff. I hear enough of that from Allison and Scott.” Stiles snorted, but didn’t turn away fast enough to hide his pleased smile. 

~ ~ ~

It’s past 8:30 by the time Derek gets back to his loft, feeling ridiculous as he knocks on his own door. He hopes Scott didn’t forget that he has to let Derek in and has the only key. 

Derek leans his head against the door as he waits, exhaustion heavy in his bones. It was a fast-paced day at the shack, as Saturdays tend to be. A low, unhappy groan escapes his throat when he thinks about the rush that is sure to come tomorrow. Sundays, without fail, have always been the busiest day of the week.

Suddenly, the door swings open and Derek pitches forward, thankfully able to catch himself in time and regain his balance. He blinks wearily at the figure in front of him, instantly sobering at the sight of his ex-boyfriend holding the door open with a sheepish expression.

 “Hi,” Stiles says. Derek swallows thickly, stepping around him to get inside. The door shuts with a soft click.

“Hi,” Derek echoes.

His eyes flit across Stiles’ body, categorizing all the changes since the last time he’d seen him. He looks healthier, leaner and more mature in the face, having lost some of the baby fat in his cheeks. The hoodie he’s wearing dips slightly past his collarbones, offering a suggestive peek, but otherwise gives no hint as to what his body looks like underneath. Derek imagines it’s probably more toned than before from all the exercise a pro-surfer goes through. He’s gotten visibly tanner, like Scott, the moles on his skin standing out more prominently than he remembers. But perhaps that’s because his memory of Stiles is two years old now; he can’t help but wonder what else has faded in his memory or what he may have forgotten.

Derek’s eyes make their way back to Stiles’ stunning honey brown eyes, only to see them focused on the top of Derek’s head. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, knowing exactly what Stiles was stuck on.

“You grew a man-bun?” Stiles croaks, looking pained. Derek winces, knowing that the hairstyle isn’t something everyone is into— heaven knows he’s been mocked mercilessly for it by Erica on several occasions, but the thought of hearing it from Stiles makes him feel unusually self-conscious.

Derek simply grunts dismissively in response, looking around his loft for some distraction or any sign of Scott to ease the tension.

“Scott’s out with some local girl,” Stiles blurts, as if recognizing what Derek is looking for. “You know how he is.”

Derek’s brows pull together in frustration. He’s going to kill Scott. He’d foolishly expected his brother to be here, to at least try and make this easier on Derek instead of leaving him in a room alone with his ex. Apparently that was too much to ask.

“He and Allison broke up?” Derek asks, trying to maintain a more casual conversation that wasn’t Did you ever miss me at all? or Are you happy?

Stiles wanders back towards the open kitchen. “Yeah, like five months ago. He didn’t tell you?” Stiles questions, stirring a pot sitting on a burner. Seemingly pleased with whatever’s in there, he turns his focus to another pot, adding in a red sauce and stirring it in.

“We don’t talk much outside of holidays,” Derek states. It’s not that he and Scott aren’t on good terms or anything, they just don’t feel the need to talk all that often. They catch up whenever they happen to see each other next and that works for them.

Stiles hums, concentrating on the food before lowering the temperature for one pot and then turning to focus on Derek. “Allison couldn’t handle the distance between them and when she moved to New York for college, she broke up with him.”

Derek feels a twinge of sympathy for his brother, knowing that the end of relationships can be awful, especially if he hadn’t been prepared for it.

“How did he take it?”

“He was really upset at first, but then was determined to win her back. Then she started dating some transfer student from France and, after a month, he found out they got engaged through a post on Facebook.” Stiles grimaces. “That was a rough time. But he’s moved on. Obviously. Time heals all wounds and all that jazz.” Stiles says easily, removing one of the pots and draining the water out of it.

Derek nods despite the fact that Stiles’ back is facing him. He can’t help but wonder if Stiles has moved on from their break-up, if time has been kind to him and healed his wounds. He definitely seems like it has. Derek can’t help the bitterness that creeps through his veins at the idea of Stiles moving on as if their relationship was just a hurdle to get over. His mind festers with the idea of Stiles being at ease with their break-up while Derek remains stuck in the past, wondering if things could have been different— left in a state of wanting to move forward, but not ready to let go of what had been.

He deflates as he watches Stiles; sees the way he moves easily without a sign of tension or anxiety. He’s clearly unbothered by the fact that he’s in his ex-boyfriend’s house, is supposed to be living there for a week, sleeping in the same bed that they used to sleep in together. Unhindered by the memories that haunt this house, playing like movie clips in the back of Derek’s mind every day. But were they the real ghosts here or was that Derek? Clutching so hard to the past and remembering what he’s lost, that he’s forgotten what it feels like to live.

Derek’s hands clench and he forces his muscles to relax, before Stiles notices his discomfort. He stares longingly at the guest bed lying in the middle of the living room, the bed that held so many moments with them together. He suddenly feels exhausted, overwhelmed by the situation he’s in. This isn’t the relaxing summer he had anticipated. This isn’t anything he had been prepared to handle.

“I’m going to bed early tonight. Try not to make too much noise,” Derek says, heading towards the spiral staircase leading up to his room.

One of the pots crashes behind him as Stiles yelps. “Wait! I made spaghetti and meatballs, there’s more than enough for—”

“Thank you, but I’m not feeling very hungry,” Derek replies with finality.

“Okay… Goodnight, Derek,” comes the quiet reply, barely audible before Derek’s bedroom door shuts with a resounding click.

He tries not to picture Stiles sitting alone at the wooden table, eating a meal made for two.

~ ~ ~

“Wow, something smells delicious,” Stiles commented as he walked through the front door. He plopped onto one of the wooden chairs at the dining table, grinning impishly at Derek from where he stood, placing soft-shell tacos onto two plates.

“I’m trying a new recipe for fish tacos, thought you might want to be the taste-tester,” Derek said, trying to hide his nervousness. He’d worked hard on creating this recipe and could only hope that Stiles liked it.

“Aw, you know me so well,” Stiles cooed, eyeing the plates hungrily as they’re set on the table. He quickly swiped a taco off the plate, shoving half of it in his mouth as Derek watched him in disgusted amusement. 

“Don’t forget to chew,” Derek huffed, gently biting into his own taco. It was pretty good, if he may say so himself. His eyes widened when he heard an obscene moan from the other side of the table.

Stiles’ eyes were shut as he chewed, moaning in pure bliss. The sound went straight through Derek like electricity, making him shift uncomfortably in his seat. They hadn’t had sex yet, but Derek hoped it would be soon. And if Stiles was going to make sounds like that when they do… A pleasant shudder ran up his spine at the thought.

“This is perfection,” Stiles groaned, finally opening his eyes and smirking at the heat in Derek’s gaze. He continued to chew, maintaining eye contact before swallowing and sucking the juices off his fingers. Slowly. It was practically pornographic the way he bobbed his head, taking the whole finger into his mouth before adding another and letting out another blissful sound.

“Jesus Christ,” Derek breathed, more than a little turned on. His dick throbbed painfully in the confines of his jeans. 

“Probably wouldn’t have approved of that,” Stiles smartly added after he pulled his fingers from his mouth with a pop. He smirked at Derek, clearly pleased with himself at his joke. Derek’s heart stuttered in his chest and he knew he was fucked. Knew that the eighteen-year-old that sat across from him was it for him. Nobody else would be able to make Derek feel so fond of such terrible jokes.

Derek stood up slowly, never looking away from that captivating gaze as he stepped closer. He leaned down, stopping a breath away from Stiles’ parted mouth, the soft pink lips tilted up towards him— open and waiting.

“How about we move on to dessert?” Derek murmured, stepping back teasingly when Stiles leaned forward to capture his mouth. The missed contact pulled a frustrated noise out of Stiles and he glared back at Derek.

“Are we talking food or sex?” Stiles asked. 

“Whatever you want,” Derek said, not wanting to pressure him. He was willing to go as fast or as slow as Stiles needed. They had all the time in the world, Derek wasn’t planning on letting him go anytime soon, after all.

“I thought you’d never ask,” Stiles grinned, reaching out and pulling Derek in by his shirt, spreading his legs for Derek to stand between. He leaned up as Derek moved down, their lips connecting in a surprisingly chaste kiss. “I’d like to choose the sex option, if you haven’t guessed.”

“Yeah, I think I figured that out.” Derek smirked. 

“My only request is that you make waffles in the morning. Waking up to you cooking me breakfast is basically my all-time fantasy.”

“Awfully demanding. Who says I’ll let you stay over?” Derek points out. Stiles snorts.

“Please, like you would send me home after you’ve had a piece of this,” Stiles says with a cheesy wink.

“Well, you are a piece of something, that’s for sure,” Derek chuckles. “Alright, alright, I’ll make you waffles.” Derek gives in, smiling at Stiles’ indignant sound. He cups Stiles’ cheek, bringing their smiling lips together again. 

~ ~ ~

The morning rush has finally ended. Derek collapses onto his stool in the back, grateful for the moment to catch his breath while the last of the morning customers enjoy their meals to go.

Braeden, another one of his waitresses, saunters up to him and hops up on the counter next to him. She’s beautiful with dark hair and a perpetual smirk on her lips. There’s always an air of confidence around her, as if she never struggles to be in control and never battles with her feelings. Derek envies her that.

“I hear your brother’s in town,” She states, straight to the point as usual.

“He needed a place to stay for the week,” Derek replies. 

“He competing still?”

“Yeah.” Derek grunts, his gaze briefly wandering to where he can see Scott and Stiles out in the ocean water, sitting atop their surfboards and gesticulating wildly as they talk. He can’t help the jolt of jealousy in his gut, remembering when he and Stiles would have done the same, spending hours out in the water together, enjoying each other’s company with the swells of the ocean.

“Who’s the kid you keep sneaking angsty glances at?” Braeden questions with a knowing smirk. Derek peels his eyes away from the ocean, choosing instead to focus his glare on his nosy waitress. 

“Nobody I want to talk about with you,” Derek says bluntly.

“I’m sensing some hostility there. He an ex?” Braeden prods, her grin growing when Derek doesn’t respond. “Ooh is he the ex? The one that broke your heart?” 

Derek’s frown deepens. He had met Braeden a couple of months after he and Stiles broke up, which left him in a less-than-ideal state for a long while. They became close quickly, and he still remembers the night he told her about Stiles, how they had broken up when they’d had no other choice. How it had broken Derek’s heart and never truly recovered after. He and Braeden had slept together that night— a moment that, despite it not having the best reasons behind it, neither of them regret. It was a good night for them both, consensual and fun, but that’s all it was. Just one night over a year ago.

They had both agreed they were better off as friends after and, when Derek opened the shack, Braeden was the first one he hired.

“Yes. That’s him. Don’t harass him though, the breakup was mutual,” Derek grumbles. It’s the truth, technically. They had both agreed to the end of the relationship. That didn’t mean it didn’t shatter Derek’s heart in the process though.

Braeden’s grin falters at something in his expression, her eyes looking at him with something akin to pity. “I’m sorry. Breakups can be hard, even if they’re mutual. It must be hard for you to see him again; I remember you telling me about him. You clearly loved him a lot.”

Derek nods, pausing before sighing out, “I agreed to house him and Scott for a week.” Derek wipes his hand down his face, frustrated at his own stupidity. He should never have agreed to it, it’s going to drive him insane.

Braeden whistles lowly. “That’s rough. I wouldn’t have had the balls to house my ex for a week, no matter how ‘mutual’ the breakup was.”

“Scott practically begged me. I didn’t have much choice,” Derek defends.

“He does have very convincing eyes,” Braeden agrees easily. “They’re like sad puppy eyes. I imagine they must be hard to say no to.”

“Don’t I know it,” Derek snorts, suddenly standing up when he spots his brother and Stiles exiting the water and striding towards the shack. So much for his hope that they’d just go home and leave him to work in peace. As if it isn’t hard enough seeing Stiles in his home, now he has to see him at work, too?

“Looks like your ex-boy-toy is on his way over,” Braeden smirks at Derek. “I can handle their orders if you want to hide out in the kitchen for a while.” Derek nods his thanks and rushes to the back.

He isn’t hiding, he’s just preparing to serve meals. That’s all. Besides, there’s only a thin bamboo wall separating him and the front of the shack. It doesn’t block him from the reality of his ex being only a few feet away, but it will lessen the contact with them, for now at least. 

He overhears Braeden’s spiel about the food and, after hearing their orders, makes quick work of the food. It thankfully doesn’t take all that long to make it, since it’s a simple order of a Beach Bum Burger and fish tacos with a side. 

Derek eventually steps out of the back, walking over to the small plastic table where his brother and ex are sitting. He gently places the fish tacos in front of Stiles and the burger in front of Scott. 

“How’d you know I wanted the tacos? Maybe I ordered the burger to change things up a bit, it’s been two years since you last saw me, after all.” Stiles stares up at him, amusement shining in his eyes.

Derek raises a brow. “The side order of curly fries gave it away. You haven’t changed that much.”

Braeden lets out an amused sound, eyeing Stiles with interest as he stuffs his face with the tacos. Bits of fish and sauce dribble down his chin as he closes his eyes and chews. He really hasn’t changed much at all, Derek muses.

“You always eat like it’s your last meal, kid?” Braeden asks.

“Always,” Derek answers, smirking at Stiles when he looks up, surprised, his mouth full of tacos and fries.

“We’re planning on going surfing again tomorrow morning,” Scott suddenly says. He grabs one of Stiles’ fries, unbothered by his noise of protest. “You should join us. If you’re not working, that is.” 

“I haven’t really…” Derek starts, stopping and glaring at Braeden when she elbows him sharply in the side.

“He doesn’t work on Mondays, so he’s free to surf with you two,” Braeden says. Derek’s glower intensifies. It’s been a long time since he’s surfed, he isn’t sure he won’t make a complete fool of himself in the water.

“That’s awesome!” Scott beams at him. He grabs the burger, biting a large chunk out of it and nodding, obviously pleased. “Oh my god, this burger is so good,” he groans through the mouthful. It’s both flattering to hear and mortifying to watch.

“This is better than your waffles,” Stiles gushes, without thinking. Derek freezes on the spot, heat flooding to his cheeks. Of course Stiles would mention the waffles he only makes after sex. And, as if the universe just can’t leave well enough alone, he says it in front of the other person he’s had sex with.  

Braeden makes a considering sound from beside him. “I’m not sure I’d agree with that statement,” she jokes, eyes filled with amusement as Stiles immediately stops chewing to stare at her. He blinks in realization, eyeing the short distance between where Braeden and Derek are standing. With his cheeks growing even warmer, Derek steps to the side, allowing for more space between them. It’s not as subtle as he’d hoped.

Scott frowns at Stiles’ expression and glances between all three of them in confusion. “I’ve never had any of Derek’s waffles. Hey, why haven’t I had any of—”

“Oh my god, I’m full. Let’s go home, Scott,” Stiles snaps, rushing to his feet.

“But I’m not done with my burger,” Scott whines after his best friend.

“We’ll take it to go!” 

Scott sighs heavily, carefully wrapping his burger and then exiting the shack. Braeden steps closer to Derek, bumping her hip against his.

“Seems like your boy-toy is still interested in you,” she says. 

“Ex,” Derek corrects tonelessly. Does Stiles think he and Braeden are together now? Is he upset because he still likes Derek or is it because of something else? Is he jealous because he thinks Derek’s moved on? Or…

“Ex-boy-toy.”

Derek’s tired gaze wanders over to her and he sags back against the counter. “It’s been two years, Brae. He isn’t still interested. He can’t be.”

“Why can’t he be? You’re still interested in him,” she says softly, moving her hand to gently cup his cheek. 

“What’re you doing?” Derek questions, his brows furrowing at the strangely affectionate action.

Braeden grins cheekily. “He’s still watching.” Derek rolls his eyes as he lightly pushes her hand away from his face. “Relax, you can tell him later that I’m quite happy in a committed relationship with my girlfriend, and that you and I haven’t slept together in over a year. Then he’ll be relieved, because— despite what you may think, he is definitely interested and jealous— and then you two can have some awesome make up sex.”

“Sure, but there’s a flaw to your genius plan,” Derek says, pushing away from the counter as he sees customers approaching.

“And what’s that?” She asks.

“He’s not actually interested and he’s a contracted pro-surfer, who gets paid to travel the world and compete. I’m interested in a relationship, not just sex.” 

“But I’m sure it would be mind-blowingly good sex, Derek! I saw the way he looked at you!” Braeden calls after him with a laugh. The sound of someone clearing their voice from behind makes her stiffen in surprise, eyes going wide as she turns.

“Excuse me, are you guys open?” An older woman asks in a scandalized voice, her arm slung protectively around a young child.

Braeden quickly dons a strained smile. “A little too open it seems, Ma’am. What can I get you?”

The blunder probably shouldn’t make him laugh the way it does, but it instantly makes the day seem that much more bearable. 

When his work day is over and he finally makes it back to the loft, he’s greeted by the sounds of muffled, familiar snores echoing against the walls.

Stiles is face down, passed out on the guest bed, his limbs spread out ridiculously across the large mattress. It’s likely there will be a large spot of drool when he wakes up, if past experience is any indication. 

“You really should invest in a TV,” Scott states from the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, eyeing Derek curiously as he takes a large bite of a sandwich, crumbs tumbling down by his feet. Derek grimaces at the mess.

“I don’t get many visitors,” Derek replies. He has no real need for a TV, spending most of his time working these days. Maybe if he’d lived with someone else, he’d buy it… but for now it isn’t necessary. 

His eyes flit over to where Stiles is shifting on the bed, his lips smacking together before he gets comfortable again and resumes his snoring. He knows he’s pathetically gone on this man, thinking, even after two years, that there’s nothing he’d rather see every day in his life than this— Stiles sleeping in the safety of the loft when Derek comes home from work, bathing in the sunlight from the windows. His heart clenches at the impossibility of it all.

“We don’t usually get to a competition a week early, y’know,” Scott says, glancing between his best friend and Derek. “And we rarely get the chance to relax or even take a nap.” His eyes look sad as he focuses on Stiles. “But our agent let us come early for this one, since it’s the last competition on our contract. It’s nice, despite the mix-up with the hotel. It’s good to see him get some time to rest for once.”

“It’s the end of your contract?” Derek asks, his brain stuck on that casual announcement. Scott shoots him a knowing look.

“Yeah, man. Two years is all we signed up for. We were asked to sign a new contract though.” Scott pauses, looking nervous. “I already signed up for another two years. Don’t tell Mom, I’m still figuring out how to tell her.”

Derek nods, wondering if it’d be rude to ask if Stiles signed too. Thankfully, he doesn’t have to.

“I don’t know what Stiles decided. He seemed pretty torn about the decision last time we talked about it. You could ask him, though.”

Derek’s heart flutters with the hope that maybe Stiles wouldn’t sign again, would choose to stay in Beacon Hills instead. He quickly tampers down the hope, because what is worth staying for in Beacon Hills? It’s a small town, which Stiles has always hated. The only thing left here for him is his dad.

“Stiles said you were on a date yesterday,” Derek says, changing the subject to something safer.

Scott has the decency to look guilty when he responds. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry about leaving you two here alone. How did it go?”

“Not bad, just… awkward.” Awkward doesn’t quite cut it, but he doesn’t think he can get away with saying emotionally devastating or incredibly overwhelming. 

Scott nods. “Stiles basically said as much when I asked him.” Derek’s not proud of the amount of effort it takes to not ask what exactly Stiles had said about it. Had he admitted he was happy to see Derek again? Was he uncomfortable with the situation? Did he miss Derek at all?

Without his permission, his gaze wanders back to where Stiles is resting and a feeling of longing spreads through him, remembering when he was able to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair until he fell asleep. Stiles always liked that.

“Did you love him?” Scott blurts, his eyes intense as he stares at Derek, waiting. 

Derek swallows thickly. “Yes.”

“Do you still love him?” Scott asks, his gaze softening.

“I… don’t know,” Derek replies honestly. “I don’t really know him anymore. People can change a lot in two years.” 

Scott nods briefly, as if in agreement. “He hasn’t really moved on. I don’t think. Hasn’t shown any real interest in anyone and hasn’t gone on any dates… since…” Since they broke up. 

“That doesn’t help me any, Scott. It doesn’t change anything.” The truth of the statement weighs heavily on him, his shoulders sagging with disappointment and sadness for what had been, but can no longer be. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He looks as if he means it, an expression of clear pity on his face.

“Me too,” Derek clears his throat, ready for a change in conversation. “So tell me about the date.”

Scott’s eyes light up and Derek can’t suppress his answering smile, suddenly remembering how infectious Scott’s happiness could be. The kid just radiates kindness and sunshine, it’s hard not to be affected— maybe that’s why Scott’s always been the more popular one between them, the one with all the friends and relationships.

“Her name’s Kira. She just moved here recently, but we met online and…” Derek smiles, listening to his brother gush about how perfect Kira is, remembering how they’d once been in a similar situation back when Scott had been infatuated with Allison. It’s sad that neither of their relationships had lasted in the long run, but he’s glad Scott’s moved on and found someone new. 

If only he could do the same. 

~ ~ ~

Derek’s thighs burned as he ran in the sand, the sun glaring down on him, beads of sweat trailing their way down his shirtless back. He saw the familiar rundown shack, having passed it every day since he started running along the beach at the start of the summer.

His steps slowed as he neared the shack, his chest heaving from exertion. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he stepped closer, eyeing the damage. It was a tiny shack, barely the size of a small bedroom, and the wood was split in places, beams dangling from loose holds. Light poured in through large holes in the ceiling and Derek walked through it, seeing the familiar glint of metal in the back.

The kitchen was beat up and old, it was going to take a lot of money to repair the damaged wood and to replace the kitchen appliances, but he knew it would be worth it. Derek went back to the front where a dilapidated, torn sign read: 

FOR SALE. CONTACT CHRIS ARGENT. 

Derek stared at the sign, his heart beating fast in his chest— not just from his workout. He’d been waiting for this moment, had been saving up and been patient, but now it was time. 

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, hearing the clink against the engagement ring that sat there accusingly. He had been too nervous to leave it at home near Stiles, who was known to snoop when he thought Derek might be hiding something. He was waiting for the perfect time, but then, with the ring burning in his pocket and his phone in his hand, it was like all the pieces were finally coming together.

He dialed the number without looking, having spent so many days staring at it and imagining. It rang four times before a man picked up with a gruff, “Hello?” 

“Hi, Chris Argent? This is Derek Hale. I’m interested in buying your shack…”

~ ~ ~

The water is beautifully blue, his board gliding easily on the surface as his fingertips run along the wave. His heart is pounding with excitement and happiness. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be out surfing in the ocean, getting locked in on a wave and just riding it out as the water surrounds him.

Scott and Stiles are floating further out, cheering as he dives into the water at the end of the wave. Refreshing cold water surrounds him, the taste of salt on his lips when he resurfaces, a wide grin plastered on his face.

It’s a relatively calm morning, the good waves few and far between, but he finds that he doesn’t mind much. They sit on their boards, talking and waiting for the next wave— which Scott quickly claims and paddles into while Derek and Stiles stay behind.

“…And then he just completely wiped out, knocking out the guy nearby on his jet-ski when the board when flying into the air,” Stiles relays the story, tears streaming down his face as he cackles at the memory. “He placed dead last, all because of a guy running around in a werewolf costume distracted him. It was the funniest thing I have ever seen. His face when he came out of the water, oh my god.”

Derek smiles at the infectious laughter, imagining what it would’ve been like to have been there. Stiles’ eyes are glued to him, his giant grin fading to something softer and more content, as if he sees someone or something he’s gone a long time without seeing. 

“What?” Derek asks, cautiously. Worried he might be able wearing his feelings on his sleeve and that Stiles might know exactly how good it feels to be around him again.

“Nothing, just… That’s the first time you’ve smiled at me since I’ve been back,” Stiles says almost sadly. “You should smile more. It suits you.”

Derek’s smile grows tight and he looks away, not wanting to admit that he doesn’t have much to smile about these days. He loves his restaurant, his friends and staff, and feels a sense of calm being surrounded by the smell of the ocean… but he isn’t completely happy. He worries about his future a lot, wondering where he’s going and what he’s working towards.

He shrugs and spews the same excuses he uses whenever Erica tells him something similar. “The shack has been extra busy lately with the upcoming competition and all. I’m just stressed.” Just stressed. Not lonely or pining.

Stiles nods and goes on to tell him more stories from his travels. He describes how they got lost in Virginia when they tried to make it back to their hotel after a night of celebratory drinking. He sounds in awe when he talks about the caves in New Zealand and how beautiful they were when it was pitch black and all they could see was the glow of the worms. He bursts into laughter when he relays the tale of how, in Australia, he had been chased by an angry kangaroo and how Scott was terrified of drop bears the entire trip until Stiles finally told him the truth on the flight out.

“The giant bruise I had the next day was definitely worth it.” Stiles grins.

“It sounds like you had a blast. I’m glad,” Derek says with a smile, genuinely happy for him. Stiles’ eyes scan his face, as if searching for some hidden meaning behind his words that don’t exist. After a moment, he smiles back.

“It’s been a great experience,” Stiles agrees. “You know, everywhere we’ve gone I’ve been collecting some amazing pick-up lines. They’re pretty hysterical.”

Derek’s eyebrows raise in interest. “Is that so? Have they worked for you yet?”

“I haven’t had anyone I wanted to try them out on,” Stiles bites his lip. He opens his mouth, hesitating before seeming to gain the courage to ask, “Hey, Derek. Are you Australian? Because you meet all of my koala-fications.”

Derek’s lips pull up into an amused smile as he chuckles. The lines around Stiles’ eyes crease in happiness as Derek laughs. 

“Did you overstay your visa? Because you have ‘fine’ written all over you.” Stiles waggles his eyebrows for effect. “What, you aren’t impressed by that one? Alright. How about this one… Have you checked-in yet? Because I’ve been check-in you out all day.”

“Please stop,” Derek groans. He tries to ignore the fact that his traitorous ears are burning red, but Stiles’ grin is sharp as the Cheshire cat’s, so he’s pretty sure he sees them.

“You don’t like my pickup lines, Der?” Stiles faux-pouts, jutting his lower lip out in a way that makes Derek want to surge forward and take it between his teeth, nibbling gently until Stiles moans. “I waited so long to use them, and you don’t appreciate them? I’m hurt.” 

Derek looks over to where Scott is chatting with another surfer, flailing his arms excitedly as if telling an epic tale. This lighthearted feeling, surrounding by his closest friends is achingly familiar; Stiles joking around and calling him “Der” as if the past two years had never happened. As if they had never left.

Derek’s grin slowly fades, bombarded by memories flashing through his mind…

Allison giggling, her arms wrapped around Scott’s shoulders as she and Stiles both tried (and failed) to dunk him. 

Stiles laughing maniacally from where he stood at the front Derek’s board, his arms flailing for balance as he turned to look at Derek behind him. It was only moments before they had tipped over and vowed not to try tandem surfing again. 

Scott and Allison versing Stiles and Derek in a game of water chicken. Derek had burst out laughing when Allison viciously sent Stiles careening backwards into the water with a high-pitched shriek.

Stiles yelling about having spotted a shark in the distance, refusing to listen to Scott as he calmly explained that it was just a dolphin. “You can’t know that for sure!” Stiles had hissed, causing Derek to send his boyfriend an exasperated look. “It arched as it swam, Stiles. It was a dolphin.” Derek had argued, holding back laughter at Stiles’ scandalized expression.

“…you okay? You look like you’re zoning out a bit.” Stiles’ voice pulls him out of his reverie. Derek blinks over at him, as if waking from a pleasant dream, his stomach sinking once reality starts to set back in.

“Yeah, just… I haven’t been in the water in a while. I was just thinking that it… it’s nice.” Stiles looks confused by the confession, his brows furrowing together adorably.

“Woah, what do you mean? How long’s it been? The Derek Hale I know is like a fish— he wouldn’t miss a day in the water,” Stiles laughs, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. There’s a sudden tension between them, a sense of discomfort that’s almost tangible in the air. 

Derek doesn’t really want to say how long it’s been, isn’t sure he could even admit to a truthful number, really. He hasn’t been keeping count.

“It’s been two years since you last saw me, Stiles. Things change,” he says uncomfortably.

Stiles’ expression dims, looking almost disappointed, as if the thought saddened him. “I guess so,” he admits. There’s a long pause before he asks, softer, “Are you upset we came back?” 

The question catches him off guard and he hesitates in giving his answer, thinking it over. “No. I’m not upset, but… part of me wishes you hadn’t.” He doesn’t mean it to come out like it does, but it’s true. It’ll only hurt more when they’re gone again, remind Derek what things used to be like, only to watch them abandon him again.

Stiles’ winces at the admission, but his head bobs as if he had expected it. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” Stiles offers. For leaving or for coming back, Derek doesn’t know. Maybe for neither of those, maybe he’s sorry for something else entirely.

Stiles never had been very good at saying what was on his mind; he’d joke that Derek was the stoic one in the relationship, but it was never easy to tell how seriously Stiles felt about anything. He had always hid his emotions deep, his thoughts and feelings beneath the surface, only letting his smile show on the outside as if nothing truly affected him. Now isn’t any exception; the goofy smile making it’s way back on his face, covering up the vulnerable expression that had been there only a moment ago. That damn carefree smile Derek both loved and hated.

“Me too,” Derek says. Sorry for a lot of things, and yet, nothing at all.

The loft is blissfully quiet after the sun sets, the windows letting in the light of the moon as it hangs in the sky. Stiles and Scott went to a bar a couple of hours ago, leaving Derek to finally have some time alone for the first time in days. 

The moment he had free time he had planned on starting the next chapter of a cheesy romance novel he’s been reading. But now that he has the loft to himself, he’s sitting on the floor in his closet, his back pressed to the wall. The shoebox sits open to his left, filled to the brim with old photographs and letters that bring back bittersweet memories. The platinum silver band sits in his palm, so small for something that takes up so many of his thoughts. His fingers glide reverently over the waves carved into the metal, tiny sapphire gems placed between them. He can’t help but wonder if Stiles would have liked it or if he’d have thought it too extravagant. It had cost a lot, of course— he’d had it custom made and engraved, so sure that they would get married and have the happy ending he’d always wanted. He had been so naïve.

Derek huffs a bemused laugh. He’s pathetic, sitting in his room and holding on to such a useless relic. Even when Stiles isn’t here, he’s still prominent in Derek’s mind.

The sound of the door getting pummeled downstairs pulls him out of his self-pity. He swiftly puts the ring back in the box, shoving it into the closet before making his way downstairs. The front door swings open to reveal a giggling Scott and Stiles, both leaning heavily on each other. 

“Heeeeeeey Der-bear,” Stiles drawls, reaching out to pat at Derek’s chest. “What’re you doin’ here?” He stumbles through the doorway, leaving Scott to wobble and latch onto the door for support. His wide, whiskey-brown eyes wander around the loft with an expression of dawning understanding. “This’s the loft. Yeeeeer loft. Why’re we at yer loft, Der?” 

“Okay, time for bed,” Derek announces as Scott tumbles into him, grasping onto his biceps for support.

“Think ‘m gonna be sick,” Scott groans ominously. Derek looks to the ceiling in exasperation. Why couldn’t they just let him have one peaceful night to himself? 

“Stiles, go sit down on the couch.” Derek slings Scott’s arm around his shoulder, leading him into the bathroom and silently praying that Stiles isn’t feeling equally sick. “I thought you were going out for drinks with Kira,” Derek grumbles to his brother.

“Her friends like to drink. Couldn’t keep up,” Scott mumbles. He drops to his knees beside the toilet, heaving into the porcelain bowl. 

“Are you okay in here?” 

Scott lifts an arm, waving him away. 

“Yell if you need me. Don’t choke on your vomit. I don’t know how I’d explain that to Mom,” Derek says. 

Scott tilts his head away from the bowl, eyeing his brother with confusion. “How do I yell for help if I’m choking on my vomit?”

Smartass. “Alright, fine. Yell if you need me, unless you are choking on your vomit. In that case, just send me a text.” His lips quirk up in amusement, watching as Scott shoots him a thumbs up and heaves again.

Stiles is, thankfully, in somewhat better condition. He’s pouting up at Derek from where he’s sprawled on the couch, his t-shirt riding up to reveal a thick and dark trail of hair leading tantalizingly into the waistband of his jeans.

“Deeeeeerrrrek,” Stiles groans. He clumsily sits up, making grabby hands in his direction. Derek sighs and obligingly steps closer. “Can I touch yer hair? I wanna touch yer hair. It’s soooo long and pretty. Yer really pretty.”

Derek flushes at the attention, batting Stiles’ hands away from his face.

“Why can’t I touch you?” Stiles pouts, his pink lips pursing together enticingly. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

“I’m not doing this with you while you’re drunk, Stiles. Come on, go to bed,” Derek offers a hand to help him up, which Stiles gladly takes. He pushes himself further into Derek’s space, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders and clinging with the strength of an octopus. 

“Stiles,” Derek warns, pushing at him, but with little results. Admittedly, he’s not trying very hard.

“’m not that drunk,” Stiles says, the words muffled into Derek’s shoulder. His breath is warm, the feeling of it causing Derek to shiver.

“You’re hugging me and you tried to pet my hair,” Derek points out. 

“Like I said. Not that drunk,” Stiles defends, nuzzling into the junction between Derek’s neck and shoulder, his hands clutching desperately at Derek’s shirt as if expecting him to walk away any second. The thundering of Derek’s heart seems impossibly loud in his mind, but Stiles seems blissfully unaware of his internal conflict.

“Miss you.” The words are a whisper against his skin, but they feel like an explosion, sending Derek’s thoughts to a screeching halt and shattering the rest of his restraint. He wraps his arms tightly around Stiles’ lower back, pulling him closer and holding him the way he’s wanted to for two years.

It won’t lead anywhere, won’t change their situation or the reality of Stiles’ job. It doesn’t take away their past, or Derek’s lingering feelings. But it is comforting and he’ll be damned if he resists something they both clearly need.

“I miss you too,” Derek breathes.

~ ~ ~

The paperwork sat on the kitchen table. It was finally official— Derek was the new owner of the abandoned shack on Beacon Beach. It still needed to be fixed up, but he had time.

He leaned back in the wooden chair, his hands wrapped around his warm mug of tea as he waited for his boyfriend to come home, excited to tell him the news. Stiles and Scott had spent the morning at a local surf competition, something they often did for fun when the events were held close enough. It was something to keep them busy while they took a year off after graduating high school, giving them time to relax and consider their options. They’d have to decide soon what they wanted to do, whether they wanted to work right away or go to college. Selfishly, there was a small part of him that hoped Stiles would see the restaurant as an opportunity— something to stay for, other than Derek. But education is important too, and there are plenty of nearby colleges as well.

Scott and Stiles came tumbling through the doorway, enormous smiles set on their faces. They promptly put their surfboards off to the side before Stiles took a running start and launched himself at Derek.

“Der-bear!” Stiles laughed, his legs wrapped around Derek’s waist and his hands grabbing at his stubbled face. “You… won’t… believe… what happened,” he said through kisses. Derek wrinkled his nose, turning his head to the side, but it wasn’t enough to escape the bombardment of kisses.

“Dude, PDA rules,” Scott groaned. Stiles swiftly dropped his feet to the ground and stepped back from Derek, the ecstatic grin still steadfast on his face.

“What happened?” Derek asked through a smile, unable to resist reacting to Stiles’ enthusiasm.

Stiles glanced back at Scott before proudly announcing, “We got recruited!" 

“Recruited?” Derek repeated, genuinely confused.

“There was a surfing agent on the beach,” Scott explained. It’s enough to cause Derek’s heart to speed up in realization of what was coming. “She said she wanted us to sign with her company. We’d get paid to travel from competition to competition for two years.”

“We’ll get to go to Hawaii!” Stiles added. “And to Australia, New Zealand. All around the world!” Derek’s mind was reeling, stuck on the words “for two years”. Two years was a long time to agree to be away from home and from a relationship. 

“They made a good offer and I’m going to accept,” Scott continued. “I haven’t told Mom yet, so if you could keep it quiet for now…” Derek nods numbly, turning to Stiles. 

He’s biting his lip anxiously as if torn by the decision, his beautiful brown eyes staring back at Derek. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet. But… you have to admit, it’s an amazing opportunity, right?” 

Derek’s stomach sank, because yes, it was an amazing opportunity. It was everything Stiles has ever wanted— getting paid to surf, getting to travel around the world, having his best friend by his side. Suddenly, after being together for a little over a year and a half, Derek knew he was facing the end. He couldn’t ask Stiles to give up this dream, just like Stiles couldn’t ask him to give up his restaurant. They could try to make it work, maybe, but two years was a long time to be apart… 

“Yeah. It’s amazing,” Derek said, honestly meaning it despite the consequences, because Stiles getting the opportunity to live his dreams was amazing and worth celebrating. Derek couldn’t forgive himself if he took that joy away. “Sounds like something worthy of a celebratory meal. Any requests?”

Stiles positively beamed at him, a pleased flush working its way up his neck. As Derek made his way to the kitchen to see what ingredients they had, he swept the restaurant papers off the table and stuffed them in a cabinet. He’ll tell him later, no need to ruin the mood just yet.

~ ~ ~

There’s nothing but the rhythmic thudding of the boards beneath his feet, the sounds of the ocean, and the screeching of the seagulls as he runs. He remembers the feeling of Stiles’ long fingers clutching him close, softly admitting to having missed him.

When he’d woken up this morning it was to see Stiles sleeping in and snoring peacefully on the guest bed next to Scott. Once upon a time, he and Stiles had slept on that bed together, had rolled in the sheets, laughing and snarking, waking up warm and sated.

Derek sped up his pace at the memory of Stiles’ touch, of the way he would smile groggily at Derek, basking in the soft glow of the morning sun shining through the loft windows.

He’s drenched in sweat by the time he makes it back to the loft, quietly opening the door in case the others are still sleeping off their hangovers. There are noises coming from the bathroom, a bucket placed suspiciously in front of the open door. Cautiously, Derek wanders over. The sight of Stiles on his knees, scrubbing besides the toilet is completely unexpected.

“What’re you doing?” 

With a jump and a terrified screech, Stiles turns to spot Derek. He’s flailing backwards, looking half-scared out of his mind. Derek’s lips tick upwards.

“You asshole,” Stiles wheezes. “Oh my god, you couldn’t give a guy some warning? Jesus…” He leans back against the bathroom wall, looking up at Derek with a more sheepish expression. “Scott missed the target a couple times last night. Figured the least I could do is clean it.”

“Shouldn’t Scott be cleaning it then?” Derek questions.

“He had a meeting with our agent,” Stiles says dismissively, going back to scrubbing.

“Shouldn’t you be meeting with them too?” 

“Nope,” is all Stiles offers. It’s such a contrast from when Stiles would talk his ear off about anything and everything. God, he never thought he’d miss it. 

Derek hums, knowing when he’s being dismissed. He folds his arms over his chest, clearing his expression of any hurt that may be there as he moves to leave.

“Wait. Would you… do you want to maybe go surfing? Together?” Stiles stutters out, uncharacteristically nervous. “Just us.” 

Derek shakes his head, wishing he could. “I have to go to work.” Stiles visibly deflates, his hands clenching around the brush. When he lifts his gaze, there’s almost a hint of sadness in his eyes. 

“Oh. That’s… Okay, of course. I should’ve assumed,” Stiles says softly, smiling tightly before staring down at the bathroom tiles as if gauging their cleanliness. He seems almost lonely, and Derek can’t help but wonder if Stiles has any friends besides Scott. Had he made any real friends since he left? Or has he been virtually alone, traveling around the world, enjoying his job, and meeting people for fleeting moments, but left virtually alone at the end of every day.

Derek had been left behind, too, when they broke up, but he had Braeden, Erica, and Isaac— his dedicated staff and friends, willing to listen whenever he needed it. He always had someone to talk to and spend time with. Scott is undeniably a great friend, but he can get preoccupied with his whirlwind romances, accidentally leaving Stiles in his wake.

It’s the thought of Stiles sitting on the guest bed, staring out the windows, bored and alone that has him asking, “Do you want to come to work with me?”

Stiles stares up at him in surprise. “What? Now?”

“Well, we both have to get changed, but yeah. Now. If you want,” Derek says. 

“I… yes.” Stiles smiles, ripping off his gloves and charging out of the room in his excitement. Derek chuckles at the sight, making his way towards the stairwell to change into his uniform. 

“Derek!” Isaac cheers at his arrival. “You missed Erica getting attacked by a seagull yesterday. It was hysterical, she was running in circles and screaming, but it just kept dive bombing her and pecking at her— oh, hi.” Isaac glances at Stiles, then back at Derek, as if confused by Derek bringing someone random to the shack.

“Isaac, this is Stiles. An old friend of mine,” Derek introduces.

“Nice to meet you, do you want to see the photos I took of Erica getting attacked by an angry seagull?” Isaac grins, pulling out his phone and swiping through the photos. 

“No phones out at work,” Derek deadpans, striding towards the back of the shack to put on his apron and get the kitchen ready. 

“So, what do you want me to do here? Want me to help out your staff or anything?” Stiles asks. 

Derek shrugs. He hadn’t really given it any thought, to be honest. “You can shadow Isaac or Braeden when they’re done setting up or you can hang out back here. If you get bored and want to go down to the beach, you can do that too, of course.”

Stiles snorts. “I won’t get bored.”

“You say that now, but it isn’t the most interesting job in the world to sit around and watch people work.”

“Yeah, but I like watching you cook,” Stiles says, his expression serious. Derek opens his mouth to respond, not quite sure exactly with what, but is interrupted by Braeden’s announcing that their first customers are here.

A few regular customers spill in, rolling off their orders to Isaac and Braeden. Stiles watches in interest as customers continue to pile in one after another, as per the typical morning rush. At its worst points, when it’s so crowded they can’t even see outside, Stiles moves up to the front of the shack and starts taking on orders, relaying them swiftly to Derek as if he’d worked there just as long as the others. To say he catches on quickly is an understatement, and both Braeden and Isaac shoot him grateful smiles throughout the day, obviously thankful to have the added help. 

Derek stays in the back of the kitchen, cooking meal after meal, silently grateful that he doesn’t have to watch how well Stiles fits in with his work. And yet, he can’t help but feel his mind wander at times, imagining how good he would look in their uniform, how it would feel to spend his breaks with Stiles by his side, making him laugh as they walked on the boardwalk. He scowls, flipping the burger and slamming it down with more force than is necessary.

“Something you wanna talk about?” Braeden’s voice startles him and he glances over at her guiltily, ashamed he’d been caught when he was taking out his frustrations on the food like a child.

He looks out at the front, seeing Stiles laughing with some customers and scribbling notes on a small notepad. 

“What’re you doing back here?” Derek questions.

Braeden’s head cocks to the side and she eyes him curiously. “Wow, you must really be out of it. It’s my break. You didn’t come to tell me, so I figured I’d just take it. That okay?” 

Derek blinks up at the small clock hanging on the wall nearby. 12:45pm. Huh. “Sorry. Lost track of time.”

“You wanna talk about it?” 

Derek shrugs. “It’s just… Stiles.” He can’t find the words to explain it past that, his thoughts dying on his tongue before they can make it past his lips. Braeden nods as if it’s answer enough, though. Perhaps it is. 

“He’s a good worker. Nice kid, too. And cute,” she states.

“He is.” Derek pulls the burger off the grill, adding the lettuce and other ingredients. A few moments of silence pass between them as he focuses on plating the food, calling for Isaac, and then handing it off so it can be served.

“Chris Argent came by yesterday,” Braeden mentions faux-casually, her lips tugging up at the sight of Derek’s wide-eyed expression. 

“Really? And?”

“He says that he wants you to call him about leasing the empty space on the boardwalk. I think he’s going to accept your offer,” she grins. Derek’s face splits with a matching grin and he huffs a laugh.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You should call him on your break.” 

“Do you know how great it would be to have two locations, Braeden? I’ll have to hire more people, sure, but we’ll be less swarmed here all the time and--”

“—and profits are sure to go up, we’ll get more business because people won’t have to wait as long, plus we’ll be getting our name out there more. I know,” Braeden finishes, having heard his rant multiple times over by now.

“I’m glad somebody’s been listening,” Derek teases. “I can’t believe it. I’ve been waiting for that space to go up for sale for so long it seems.” 

“A month,” Braeden corrects. “It’s literally only been open for a month since the jewelry shop closed and moved downtown.”

“Okay, okay.” Derek rolls his eyes, putting two more burgers and a handful of shrimp on the grill.

“But… since we’re on the subject of expansion and having to hire new people…” Braeden hedges, looking hesitant. “I think I might be quitting soon.”

Derek eyebrows raise in surprise. “You think or you know?”

“Well, we found Malia’s biological mom and we’re going to go visit her. She’s currently staying in Mexico and we don’t know how long we’ll be staying there. Maybe a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks.” Braeden stares at him, waiting for a response.

“That’s good that you found her. I think setting up a meeting is a good idea. Is Malia excited?” Derek questions.

“I think so. Nervous, too, but mostly excited. We’ve also been talking about starting a business of our own when we come back. We’ll be working to find people’s biological families,” Braeden says with a cautious smile.

“Braeden, that sounds amazing,” Derek beams. Braeden’s nervous smile grows to something more confident.

“It… yeah. I think we could really go places with it,” she says, excitement starting to bleed into her tone at his acceptance, “but it’s also a big step to take in our relationship. We’ll be working together and living together at the same time, which isn’t always easy. And I’ll be quitting this job to start something new from the start. It’s…”

“Scary? Yeah, love can be terrifying and can make you do some crazy things to make someone else happy,” Derek states. “But if this is something you both want to do together and are willing to make it work, then it seems like a good thing to me." 

Braeden huffs a laugh and nods, her lips pursing in thought. “You’re right. I think it will work out.” She pauses. “But then again, if I leave, who will keep you in line?” She looks at him cheekily, snorting at the utterly unimpressed expression on his face.

“I have Erica and Isaac and they’re handful enough. But I can always hire more people. Erica’s been saying she has some friends interested in applying,” Derek muses. “Don’t base your decision on me and what you think I need. You need to live your life.” 

“Thanks, Derek.” She wraps her arms around him in a quick embrace, mindful of not getting too close to the grill. 

“Hey, Derek, can I— oh. Sorry to interrupt.” Stiles’ voice rings loudly through the quiet of the backroom and they stumble apart, surprised to see Stiles standing by the threshold with an unreadable expression on his face.

“It’s fine,” Braeden assures him, “Derek was just giving me some helpful relationship advice.”

“Oh, you’re… in a relationship? That’s cool.” Stiles winces, as if embarrassed by his own awkwardness. “I just mean… I thought…”

“Oh, I know what you thought, Cutie.” Braeden’s grin goes sharp. “But I’ve been with my girlfriend, Malia, for a year now. And now that that’s cleared up… I’m going to go back up front. Have a nice chat, boys, don’t let things get too heated back here.” She says, passing them with a wink. 

Derek rolls his eyes at her departure, poking at the food on the grill and starting to plate the pieces that are done. “How can I help you, Stiles?”

Stiles quickly rallies off the newest table’s orders, reading off his notepad. Derek tries not to watch him with the blatant fondness he feels, but this time he knows he’s failing. Stiles strutting around the shack confidently, his head held high and a grin on his face as he talks to customers like he belongs here more than anywhere else— it’s just too much.

It’s going be a very long work day, he thinks.

~ ~ ~

Derek sat on the couch, his gaze glued to the ground by Stiles’ feet. Tiny sobs escaped Stiles’ mouth from where he was hunched over on the guest bed, his head in his hands and his posture radiating defeat.

“Are we going to talk about it?” Derek murmured, stepping close and running his fingers through his boyfriend’s hair.

Stiles looked up with red, puffy eyes and an unexpectedly closed-off expression that stopped Derek’s heart. “Talk about what? There’s clearly nothing to talk about.”

“Stiles, avoiding this isn’t going to magically make our problems go away,” Derek sighed, taking an empty spot on the bed next to him.

“No, no, see, I’ve been thinking... There is no problem,” Stiles denied vehemently. Derek’s heart clenched in sadness, tired of watching Stiles avoiding the truth of their relationship. “Come with me. I can pay for your hotels, I’ll be making more than enough.”

“Stiles…”

“Or I could demand it be a part of the contract. I can have them pay for you to travel with me. We can make this work.” His normally bright eyes bored pleadingly into Derek’s with a heart-breaking desperation. 

“No.” It took all of Derek’s strength to say it, to see Stiles’ expression become guarded and hurt at the rejection. “Stiles, that’s your dream, not mine. I want to settle down and work on my restaurant—”

“So then what? You’re just going to give up on us? Or do you have some better idea that will somehow manage to make this all better? I thought you’d at least fight for this relationship,” Stiles hissed, shooting up from the bed and starting to pace.

“There’s nothing to fight against. We’re in two different places, how can this work when you want to travel across the world and I want to stay here?”

“It can work if we want it to!” Stiles yelled, his lip wobbling ominously. “But clearly you don’t want it to.” 

“I do want it to, but I don’t think it can. You have to be reasonable.” 

“I am being reasonable, you’re the one that’s giving up on us!” Stiles shouted.

A lump formed in Derek’s throat and he swallowed thickly around it, gathering the courage to say, “Yeah. I think we should break up.” 

Stiles immediately recoiled at the damning words as if Derek had physically hit him. His expression went slack with shock. “W-what?”

“I don’t want to,” Derek said, his voice rough as his vision started to be obscured by unshed tears. “I don’t. But I think… it might be for the best.”

“What the hell, Derek? You say you love me, but you’re not even going to fight for this at all? You’re a fucking coward!” Stiles snarled, lashing out from the hurt.

“Stiles,” Derek stood, stepping forward, but halting the action when Stiles immediately backed away. He raised his hands placatingly, trying to sooth Stiles’ obvious distress. “I love you. So damn much. But what you want right now and what I want are two very different things.”

“I want you and you want me. I’m not seeing much difference here,” Stiles said with a mirthless laugh.

“I am so in love with you, I want to build a house for us to grow old in. I want to run my restaurant with you, working side by side. I want us to build a family and to raise our children, our dogs, or whatever we decide on— I want to raise them here. I know all of this, but can you say, without a doubt, that you want that too?” Derek’s heart hammered in his chest, the words he’d been holding in for so long flooding out in a sudden rush. 

Stiles looked blindsided by the confession, as if he’d never seriously considered any of that. Of course he hadn’t, he only just graduated high school the year before, Derek thought. He exhaled shakily, his eyes fluttering shut as Stiles released a broken, “No.” A vital part of Derek broke at that admission, despite him having known that already, deep down. Stiles was only eighteen, too young to be asked for such a drastic commitment.

Derek pushed down his disappointment and hurt, and he wrapped his arms around Stiles, pressing a gentle kiss against his temple. Stiles pressed his wet eyes against Derek’s chest, his hands clutching desperately at Derek as if he were about to disappear. Derek thought, for a moment, how strange it was that he was comforting Stiles while it felt like his own heart was being slowly crushed in his chest, the broken shards tearing deep, aching holes.

People break up all the time, and typically the person broken up with is the one that gets consoled by others, they’re the one that is expected to grieve. But nobody ever talks about the pain of two people choosing to walk away from each other because the timing just isn’t right. Nobody talks about what it feels like to truly love someone, only to lose them because it’s a time in their life where they’re just not ready. It’s a whole different feeling of pain and loss. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles repeated like a mantra, the words muffled between their bodies. “I’m not ready for that. I’m sorry. I can’t…” He hiccuped, his fingers pulling tighter on the fabric.

“I know, I know,” Derek soothed, holding him tightly and rubbing soft circles against his back.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” So much. Derek’s nose nuzzled against Stiles’ hair, his eyes closing as he tried to memorize the feeling of Stiles in his arms. Before it was gone. Before he forgot. “You should accept the offer. Sign the contract.”

Stiles pulled away. “But… Can we try long distance? Scott and Allison are going to…” He wasn’t sure what his expression looked like, probably something defeated, but the sight of it immediately caused Stiles to trail off, uncertain.

“We’re in two different places in our lives,” Derek repeated. Two years was a long time— time that Stiles would spend traveling the world and experiencing things that Derek couldn’t offer him, meeting interesting people that weren’t boring and six years older, people who weren’t ready to have kids and settle down rather than going out and partying. He couldn’t wait two years for him to return home, only for Stiles to eventually decide that he never wanted to come back at all. It would completely break him.

“I can’t lose you, Der,” Stiles whispered. “I’ll… I’ll forget about the contract. I don’t want it if it means I lose you.”

Derek shook his head, smiling sadly at the helplessness of their situation. “This isn’t a punishment. This is what’s best, for both of us. It’ll only hurt worse in the long run, especially if you give up that kind of opportunity. You’d resent me for the rest of your life for taking away your dream and I won’t do that to you. I won’t.”

Stiles’ gaze focused on the floor, but he gave a minuscule nod of understanding. “Yeah.” 

“It’s for the best,” Derek said, ignoring the voice inside his head that said he was making a mistake. Even if it hurt, he had to get a clean break. For the both of them. 

“For the best,” Stiles echoed, his voice and eyes dull.

~  ~ ~

The days roll by quickly after that as things become routine. The weather is a bit cooler than usual and rain drips from the sky in a way that doesn’t bode well for Saturday. Still, Scott and Stiles spend most of their time at the beach or going for runs, preparing for the competition that’s quickly approaching. Though Stiles makes sure to stop by the shack at least once a day, chatting with Derek and his staff with ease. 

Derek is swamped with people coming to the shack, seeking shelter from the sudden downpours of rain. Many of them are competitors waiting for Saturday to arrive, checking out the waves while they enjoy the local food. Sometimes Derek catches glimpses of Scott and Stiles practicing with others and he wonders if they’re as worried about Saturday as he is.

Suddenly, it’s Friday— the day before the competition and Derek’s serving impossibly large amounts of meals in a ridiculously short amount of time. The weather’s slowly getting worse and forecasts for tomorrow are ominous at best. The rain has thankfully stopped, but the winds and waves have picked up, becoming larger and more violent than usual. The thought of Scott and Stiles surfing out there makes him uneasy, a nervous queasiness in his stomach. They’re still as excited as ever, as if the weather poses no concern to them. 

The Sunday rush he’d complained about had been nothing compared to this swarm. There is no way he’s going to make it out alive tomorrow when the competition actually starts if it’s anything like this. 

“Kill me, kill me now,” Isaac groans as he approaches the kitchen, slamming a ticket order down on the counter. A gust of wind bursts through the shack, sweeping up papers that they rush to catch.

“That’s the attitude I pay you above minimum wage for,” Derek says sarcastically when the gust has died down.

Isaac snorts. “Above minimum wage, yes, but not enough for this shit. On a completely unrelated note, can I take off tomorrow?” He bats his eyelashes as if that would affect Derek’s decision at all, like it isn’t completely obvious what he’s doing.

“Nope.” 

“But I—”

“Nope. Now go back to your job.”

Isaac sighs and slinks away. Derek huffs an amused laugh, shaking his head as he hears footsteps approaching. Isaac is awfully persistent today. 

“Can I order some world famous Hale fish tacos?” Derek swivels around at the familiar voice, his eyes crinkling in surprise as he takes in the sight of Stiles standing in front of him, a black tight wetsuit clinging to his skin. His wet hair stands out in all kinds of decorations, as if he couldn’t help but run his fingers through it after he left the water. It should look ridiculous, but it doesn’t. It looks good. And the way the wetsuit shows off the lean curves of his muscles, muscles that hadn’t quite been there two years ago— it makes Derek’s mouth go dry.

“Derek?” Stiles asks when the silence drags on too long. Derek blinks back to reality, forcing his gaze back to Stiles’ wind-flushed face. He’s biting his lip and Derek feels the overwhelming urge to pull him close and get the plump pink lip between his. 

“Shit!” Derek hisses, suddenly remembering where he is. He rushes to turn over the burgers on the grill before they burn and breathes a sigh of relief when he sees that they’re perfectly cooked. Any longer and he would’ve had to start over, which really isn’t much of an option with the crowd being what it is.

“Is… is now a bad time?”

“No,” Derek lies, not wanting Stiles to leave just yet. God, he’s pathetic. Stiles smirks, as if he knows, making Derek’s cheeks turn pink. Stiles saunters closer, oozing confidence as if he knows what he’s doing to Derek.

“So about those fish tacos…” Stiles grins.

Derek rolls his eyes. “There’s a line of customers you’ll have to fight if you want your food any time soon.” 

“But Dereeek, I need energy to practice. Don’t you want me to win tomorrow?” Stiles asks, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He and Derek had been getting along better since they spent time working together at the restaurant, the tension easing between them to become something more friendly. It hadn’t majorly changed the way they acted around each other, but now Stiles’ demeanor seems almost… flirty? It feels too similar to before, making Derek frown at the familiarity of it all. It’s confusing to say the least. 

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, but he reluctantly says, “Alright, fine. Give me ten minutes and I’ll have Isaac bring it to you.” 

Stiles beams, darting forward before he can react, pressing a chaste kiss against Derek’s cheek. His lips are soft against his skin, sending a tingling sensation through him that sets his face ablaze. He instantly stills, his hands clenching into fists at his side to keep from tugging Stiles closer, grabbing his chin, and kissing him for real. Stiles quickly realizes his mistake, however, and he darts backwards with a look of shock and shame.

“I’m sorry, ohmygod. I didn’t mean to… It was just…” Stiles stutters, for once seemingly at a loss for words. Of course he didn’t mean to. Once upon a time, it was almost second nature to them and they wouldn’t have thought much at all about such an affectionate gesture. But things are different now.

“It’s fine.” Derek says shortly, turning back to the grill and stiffly putting on the fish as he takes the burgers off.

“It isn’t fine! I totally made you uncomfortable.” Stiles groans, hunching a bit as if to make himself seem smaller, less of a threat. It’s silly to think of him as anything close to threatening, but with the ache of the memory of their breakup and the way Derek never truly recovered from it… it wouldn’t be far off to say he’s always been the biggest threat to Derek.

“Really, it’s fine. I didn’t mind. It was nice, I was just surprised,” Derek insists, his voice shifting to something lighter, tension bleeding out of his own shoulders. “Ten minutes. I’ll have it ready.” Stiles nods and shuffles off at that, though he seems to have relaxed at the admission. Derek’s cheek tingles where Stiles’ lips had touched.

His day gets better after that. Crowds start to dwindle in the evening, people choosing to walk along and eat on the boardwalk instead of the beach. He closes early, determined to go back to the apartment and relax in the peace and quiet before Scott and Stiles return. It’s astonishing that they can spend an entire day at the beach, doing nothing but surfing, although Derek had been the same not that long ago. It feels so far away now, he thinks, as he opens the door to the loft and immediately collapses on the couch.

He slips easily into sleep, unable to remember the last time he had the time to nap. It’s blissfully dreamless, the kind of nap that leaves him feeling like he just woke up after 100 years and no longer knows what day it is. It’s made even worse when he’s startled awake by a loud banging against the front door.

“Coming,” Derek yawns, stumbling his way over to the door and opening it with half-lidded eyes.

Stiles takes one look at him and bursts out laughing, patting Derek’s shoulder as he steps through the doorway. The touch burns through Derek, longing coiling in his gut. “You look like you had a nice nap. Did I wake you, Sleeping Beauty?” 

“Yes,” Derek says, his voice rough from sleep. Stiles huffs a laugh, turning to look towards the stairs with intent.

“Can I borrow your wetsuit? Mine got a nasty tear in it,” Stiles questions.

“How does that even happen?” Derek’s brows furrow in confusion. Wetsuits are sturdy, it isn’t easy to get a hole in them, let alone a large tear.

“Don’t ask.” Stiles sighs with a disappointed shake of his head. “So can I borrow yours or what? We’re pretty similar in size by now, since I bulked up. I figure it’ll fit alright." 

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead.” Derek agrees, still groggy, and he makes his way back to the couch, settling back down to finish his rest. He snuggles into the arm of the couch, absently listening to the sounds of Stiles’ feet charging up the metal stairs.

“Where is it?” His voice calls down.

“In the closet,” Derek yells back. He yawns widely, finding peace in the silence. He doesn’t drift as easily into sleep as he had before, but rather stays in a relaxed state with his eyes closed for several minutes. It takes him a surprising amount of time to realize that it’s gotten suspiciously quiet, no sound of Stiles moving around or having left the loft. It shouldn’t take this long to get the wetsuit out of the closet—

The closet.

Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit. He surges to his feet, instantly awake and wide-eyed. Fuck. The closet. The closet where his ring and all the photos from their relationship were hidden. How could he have been so careless? He goes up the staircase, his rapid heartbeat the only sound in his ears.

The door is open when he makes it to the top, and he sags against the wooden frame, his shoulders slumping at what he finds. Stiles is sitting on the floor, his back pressed against the foot of the bed. The ring is cradled in his trembling hands and he glances up at Derek with a tear-streaked expression.

“S.S. and D.H.,” Stiles’ voice shakes as he reads the engraving inside the ring, his thumb tracing gently across its carved surface. “This is an engagement ring… You were going to propose. When?”

It’s an obvious answer to Derek, but maybe not to Stiles. He shrugs casually, trying to play it cool as if he wasn’t falling apart inside at the sight of Stiles with his ring in his hands. “I don’t know when. I didn’t have a plan when I bought it, years ago. I just knew I wanted to…” marry you. 

Stiles makes a noise of hurt. “Why haven’t you gotten rid of it yet? Why hold onto it?”

Because I still love you, because I want to marry you, because you’re it for me. Reason after reason fly through his mind, it never once occurred to him not to keep it. Why wouldn’t he?

“I just couldn’t,” he says with a shrug.

“Don’t act like this doesn’t matter, Derek. Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing, because this—” he shakes the ring at Derek, “—this is not nothing. Damnit,” his voice breaks and he swipes at his eyes where tears are threatening to spill. “Why did you let me leave?” The fresh tears tumble down his cheeks and Derek moves to kneel at his feet, dropping his façade. He smiles sadly and brushes the tears from his cheeks, his fingers lingering to trace the moles that dot his face.

“We agreed on it, Stiles. You weren’t ready for that. You know this,” he murmurs. Stiles hiccups, grabbing his wrist but holding it steady against his cheek to nuzzle into. Derek’s heart skips a beat at the gentle gesture. “You needed to leave, to explore and know your options.” 

Stiles shakes his head, resolute. “Maybe we could have made it work— we could have talked about it more, could have been together despite the distance. I could have flown back on my breaks, we could have tried harder, Der… we could have been married!” His voice cracks on the word, face crumpling in pain. 

“Or we could have ended up like Allison and Scott. Too stressed and overwhelmed by the distance until the relationship ended badly. There are a lot of what-if’s and could-have-been’s, but I don’t regret what we did. I’m glad I built my restaurant, and, based on your stories, I know you’re glad you got to travel the world.” Stiles gives the barest of nods, tearing his gaze away to glance down at the ring.

“It’s beautiful,” He whispers. Derek’s smile is shaky, but he appreciates knowing that Stiles would’ve liked it. Maybe would have said yes, if Derek had asked. “Do you still love me?” 

Derek pulls his hand away. “Does it really matter?” He stands and moves towards the door, ready to leave.

“I’m sorry. That was too far.” Stiles peers up at Derek with guilty gaze. “I just… We could have had… I didn’t know that was an option. I didn’t know that was something I could have had. It seems kind of obvious now, like I should have known. But I didn’t.” His fingers clench around the ring, as if worried Derek would stomp over and take it from him. As if it wasn’t finally in the hands of the one it truly belonged to.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything. For what it’s worth, though, I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Derek offers. He grabs his keys and makes his way out the front door, feeling too suffocated by the loft. He types out a quick message to Scott on his phone, telling him to come to the loft, that Stiles needs him and might not make it to practice.

He wanders around town aimlessly for a while, before eventually ending up on the beach where he plops down onto the sand at the front of the shack, listening to the sounds of waves that comforts something deep inside. When it’s late enough to be considered early, he heads back to the apartment, quietly stepping inside to get what little rest he can before the competition.

They open early the next morning and all hands are on deck. People are swarming in, but leaving once they get their food to find a good spot to sit before the competition begins.

The weather seems almost perfect with blue skies and no rain, but the wind is strong and the waves are still unusually high, reaching 20-25 feet in height. Despite the massive size of the waves, none of the surfers or judges seem to be fazed. But, with experience, comes the knowledge that bigger waves mean a higher risk of injury and problems. 

Scott’s standing on the beach a few yards away with a startlingly pretty woman— long legs, a happy grin, and straight black hair. Probably Kira, Derek assumes. Scott looks confident and at peace as he talks with her, as if he isn’t concerned about winning or losing at all. Knowing him, he probably isn’t. 

Meanwhile, Stiles is equally unconcerned, perched on the shack counter and laughing around a mouthful of fish tacos. Derek stays by the kitchen, but smiles softly at the sight of Stiles being so comfortable here. 

“Shouldn’t you not eat right before you compete?” Isaac asks pointedly, talking loudly to be heard over the wind as it picks up again.

“Should I? Probably not. Am I gonna do it anyway? Absolutely.” Stiles takes another large bite, groaning happily as he does so. 

“Are you nervous at all? Those waves look pretty intimidating.” Erica smirks and flutters her eyelashes, leaning closer in a move that emphasizes her chest. Stiles blushes and shoots Derek a helpless look.

“Stop messing around and serve our customers,” Derek chastises lightly. He’s used to Erica’s antics by now, though he knows she can sometimes push a little too far with customers.

“But they’re all ordering to go. It’s practically a wind tunnel in here,” Isaac groans. Derek raises his eyebrows sharply, tilting his head towards a few customers sitting at the tables outside the shack. The two wait staff sigh, but obligingly leave to take orders.

“You’ve got them trained to respond to your eyebrows. That’s impressive.” Stiles grins. Derek snorts.

“Shut up and finish your food.” 

“Aren’t you going to wish me luck?” Stiles bats his eyelashes coyly. Oh god, Erica is rubbing off on him.

“Good luck,” Derek says flatly.

“How about a good luck kiss? That is, if you don’t mind. You don’t have to,” Stiles says in a rush.

Derek’s eyes widen incredulously, but Stiles stares back unblinkingly, biting down on his lip as he waits for a response. Derek hesitates for a few tense moments before nodding and stepping close. Just a quick peck on the cheek. He could do that.

He leans forward and aims for his cheek, but Stiles sneakily turns at the last second, capturing Derek’s lips with his own. Derek’s brain short-circuits and his eyes are stuck open in shock, and he can’t think of anything but the soft, slightly cold and chapped lips against his that feel even better than he remembers.

Derek moves, to pull away or step closer, he isn’t sure. But Stiles’ hand tugs at his shirt, wordlessly asking him to stay. It’s overwhelming to say the least, and the kiss feels so familiar, just like the hundreds he’s dreamt about over the past two years. Just like before.

Stiles opens his mouth on a sigh when Derek closes his eyes and sinks into the kiss, his hand cradling the short brown hair at the nape of his neck. Derek seizes that opportunity, gently biting down on his plump bottom lip in a way he knows drives Stiles crazy. Just as he used to, Stiles moans lowly in response to the nip and shifts closer so that his knees bracket Derek’s hips. He grabs at the bun on Derek’s head until it comes free of the band and he tangles his fingers through the long strands, seeming to groan appreciatively at the feel of it between his fingers. 

The sound of someone clearing their throat has them breaking apart, their faces flushed and guilty once they remember where they are. Erica glances between them like the cat that caught the canary, all sharp teeth and victorious grin. 

“What was that you said before, Derek? Oh yeah. Stop messing around and serve our customers.” Erica narrows her eyes and Derek winces in shame at getting caught.

“Right. I was just…” 

“Kissing me good luck,” Stiles’ voice is breathless when he speaks. He looks completely wrecked from a single kiss; his face flushed, eyes dazed, and his mouth parted as if they were still waiting for Derek’s lips to return.

“Yeah. A good luck kiss. For good luck. In the competition,” Derek stumbles, forcing his mouth shut to stop the abnormal word vomit. Erica’s expression turns absolutely giddy. 

“Gosh, I guess I’ve been wishing my boyfriend a lot of luck lately if you think that’s what a good luck kiss looks like.” She snorts.

“I’m… going to go get ready.” Stiles slides off the counter, visibly uncomfortable. “Thanks for the tacos.” He hesitates, as if he wants to say more, but thinks better of it and leaves with a tight smile. Derek watches him leave, his ears tinting pink at Erica’s knowing expression. 

“I’m going, I’m going,” Derek grumbles his way back to the kitchen. “One might think you’re the boss here, acting like that.”

“I could run this place with my eyes closed and you know it,” Erica says proudly, following him to the kitchen.

Derek huffs a laugh and resumes cooking, counting down the time that’s left until the competition begins. He can’t leave the shack to watch, but he does his best—taking time here and there to stand and look out into the water, waiting anxiously for Scott or Stiles’ turn.

Most competitors have gone by the time it’s their turn with mixed results, some doing well and others crashing, but quickly swept back to shore. And, out of the two of them, Scott’s the first one to go.

He waves to the crowd and paddles out to where the waves are at their best—giant and dangerous. He catches the wave with experienced ease, dropping down the wave’s face in a long swoop, increasing his speed so he can swing the board up and over the lip, spinning in a 360 before landing gracefully back onto the water. It’s an impressive trick, something he never used to be able to do with such confidence and ability before he left on contract. It’s impressive to see how much has changed.

He smoothly cutbacks, sharply turning the board on the wave to return to where the wave is at it’s most powerful, the crest crashing down. He turns again to surf back down the wave as it curls around him, smashing large amounts of white bubbles amidst the crystal blue. He swoops forward again and quickly cross-steps his way to the front of the board, clearing the wave as it comes to a stop and crashes with finality. He ends his run with a bow as the crowd cheers.

It’s a showy display, but that’s what the crowd and judges here love to see— surfers that love the sport and want to bring a little fun and tricks to their ride. 

Stiles is up next, his broad grin visible even from the shack. He gets an equally large wave with a wide, open face that he takes advantage of. He floats along the lip of the wave, staying at the top for a few moments before swooping down and shooting back up towards the lip again. It gives him enough momentum to jump off his board, pushing down on the board beforehand so that it leaps into the air just underneath him. The board flips over completely, and Stiles lands on its surface and resumes his ride with precision. He beams as the crowd cheers loudly at the kickflip.

He cutbacks down the wave and forward again, gaining speed to hit the lip again. He grabs the board with both hands, pulling it out from under his feet in mid-air— an action reminiscent of superman. Of course that would be his go-to move, Derek scoffs. 

Swiftly, Stiles brings the board back down under his feet, but something doesn’t quite happen like it’s supposed to. He loses his balance and free falls headfirst into the bottom of the wave. It’s a nasty drop on its own, but the wave is still going— the lip crashing down powerfully on top of where he landed. 

Derek’s stomach sinks and he feels struck dumb by the sight. Waves of that size have a major force behind them, and to be hit that directly… It isn’t good, to say the least. The wave smashes onto the beach, but seconds pass and there’s still no sign of Stiles on land or in the water. Without thinking, Derek darts out of the shack and towards the competition where people are calling out his name, waiting for a response or any visible sign of him. There’s a glimpse of a black wetsuit that rises and dips ominously in the water, another wave in the distance threatening more harm.

Derek lurches forward to help, but Scott gets there first. He dives into the water, swimming with speed and efficiency to Stiles. He wraps an arm around him, paddling back the best he can with one arm. It’s not very fast, but it works and the next wave crashes behind them, forcing them forward and onto the sand within moments.

Scott drops down next to him as he coughs violently, gagging salt water onto the beach. His face is pale, his normally pink lips and ugly pale shade, nearly blue. Onlookers watch in interest while some competitors start calling for an ambulance to come. 

Derek kneels down opposite Scott, rubbing circles against Stiles’ back as his coughing finally slows to a stop.

“Der’k?” Stiles slurs, blinking up at him with his gorgeous brown eyes. Derek’s heart swells at the sight and he rubs his fingers along Stiles’ scalp the way he knows he likes. Stiles hums contentedly, dropping slowly down onto the sand when his arms become too weak to hold his weight. “I don’t think your good luck kiss worked very well.” His voice is raspy as he speaks, as if he hadn’t spoken in weeks instead of only a couple of minutes. 

Derek laughs breathlessly and he hears Scott do the same. “I think it worked pretty damn well actually. Scott managed to save you, so… I consider that pretty lucky.” 

Stiles’ gaze shifts as if he only just notices Scott’s presence. “Thanks for saving me, buddy,” he grins.

“Anytime.” Scott beams back. “You’re still going to the hospital though.” Stiles groans and closes his eyes, but doesn’t protest. Instead, he presses his head further into Derek’s hand and waits for the ambulance to come. 

Derek closes the shack early, wanting to go see Stiles in the hospital and make sure that he’s truly alright, with no internal injuries they couldn’t see or complications from nearly drowning. Surprisingly, Erica doesn’t say anything about it, just wishes Stiles well as she leaves.

The competition had ended pretty quickly after the incident, since Stiles was one of the last to compete. Scott had been announced the winner, though it wasn’t much of a surprise with the way he had performed. Now that the big event is over, the beach is oddly quiet— not many people willing to swim when the waves are so high and choppy.

He trudges his way back to the loft to shower and change, nervously patting down his pockets only to realize that he hadn’t brought his keys. He swears, but glances up to find the loft door already open. Scott’s inside, zipping up a large suitcase by his side.

“Are you and Stiles leaving?” Derek asks, anxiety coiling in his gut. He isn’t ready for Stiles to leave again, to disappear out of his life for who knows how long. Besides, doesn’t their agent realize that he should be resting after an accident? Don’t they care? 

“Stiles is still in the hospital,” Scott states. And, as if he sees the worry etched on his face, quickly adds, “He’s fine. They’re just checking to make sure he has no water in his lungs. They said he should be released soon.”

“But you’re leaving,” Derek reiterates. A guilty expression crosses Scott’s face.

“Yeah, I have to if I want to make the next competition. Stiles said it was fine.”

“Stiles isn’t going with you?” 

Scott stares at him, letting a few silent seconds pass by. “You should probably talk to him about that,” he says slowly. “But I have to go catch a flight, so… See you at Christmas?” 

“Yeah. See you at Christmas.” Derek steps forward and they hug briefly, patting each other on the backs in the way that brothers do. Scott grins and waves on his way out, yelling, “And tell Stiles I expect weekly Skype sessions!”

Derek rolls his eyes and goes to get ready for the hospital.

By the time he arrives with a small bouquet of flowers he’d bought at the gift shop, Stiles is already back in his normal clothes, sitting on the hospital bed and putting on his shoes. Derek tentatively knocks on the doorframe and Stiles looks up, beaming once his eyes land on him.

“You brought me flowers?” Stiles coos, reaching out and breathing them in. He hums appreciatively at their smell. “They’re nice. Thank you.”

“How are you feeling?” Derek asks.

“Like I got smacked down by a shit-ton of water and almost drowned,” Stiles quips. Derek grimaces. “I’m fine though, no real injuries. Thankfully.” He opens his mouth as if to say more, but thinks better of it, staring thoughtfully at Derek instead. 

“Scott left for the airport to make the next competition,” Derek says, struggling to fill the silence between them.

Stiles nods. “It’s in Hawaii. Nice place. You should go some time.”

“Maybe.”

Silence falls again, neither of them knowing what to say. It’s awkward and uncomfortable for the first time in a while, and Derek starts to consider leaving and just accepting defeat. What did he expect, after all? Love confessions and promises to stay? It won’t happen, he knows that. He should know that.

“When are you leaving?” Derek blurts. Stiles’ eyes widen at the sudden outburst. “I just… You shouldn’t be driving, so… I can drive you to the airport, if you need it.”

An uncomfortable expression passes over Stiles’ face and he glances away. “Thanks, but, uh… I won’t be leaving for a while, so that won’t be necessary.”

Wait. “What?” 

“My contract ended. I didn’t renew,” Stiles says softly. Derek’s knees feel weak with the news. He’s staying? “I applied to Beacon College a couple of months ago and got in. I’m taking a bunch of Gen Ed courses this Fall to see what I might be interested in majoring in. I’ll even be getting the full dorm life experience." 

“That’s…” Amazing, wonderful, fucking fantastic. “…good. I’m glad. College is good.”

Stiles snorts. “You never went to college.”

“It’s not for everybody. But, if you have to opportunity to do so, it’s a good experience to have,” Derek explains. He’s unsure about his next question, but decides to chance it anyway. “What made you decide to stay?” 

Stiles rolls his eyes and angles his body more towards Derek so that they’re eye to eye. “I’m kinda travelled out, you know? Two years of being constantly on the move is a lot. Especially with the constant training schedules and working out. I loved seeing all the places and people, don’t get me wrong. But I just want to relax for a while and see what other options there are for me.” He pauses. “I miss my dad and being close to him, I miss the beach I grew up on, I miss having people all over town that know me because it’s such a small area, I miss… you.” The weight and sincerity in his eyes gives Derek the courage he needs to step closer.

“You know I missed you, too,” Derek whispers. Stiles stands to meet him, hands reaching out to grasp onto Derek’s waist and pull him even closer. His honey brown eyes gaze into his, a small smile upon his cupid’s bow lips. 

“I… I’m still not ready for a family yet. But I’d like to… work towards that. Maybe it wasn’t the right time for us before, but I’d like to try again to see if it is now,” Stiles breathes, looking anxious. Derek stands frozen, shocked as he listens to everything he’s wanted to hear for so long. “We could start with a couple of dates, I’d like that. Maybe work towards buying a cat. Or a dog. Hell, maybe a ferret.” He chuckles nervously. “I want the option I never really knew I had before.” Derek’s heart pounds impossibly loud at the implication of his words. “That is, if you’d still like to do that. With me.”

“I’ve never stopped wanting that. Not even for a moment,” Derek breathes. He slams their mouths together, surprising them both with the force of his kiss. Stiles stumbles back a step, but regains his balance and gives back just as fiercely. He opens his mouth wide, moaning Derek slides his tongue along his lower lip, asking for entrance that is quickly given. He always makes the best sounds. 

“Mr. Stilinski, you’re free to— oh my gosh. Oh wow, that’s really not appropriate for a hospital,” a nurse chastises, causing them to break apart in mortification. Stiles buries his cherry red face against Derek’s chest, muffling his laughter into the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m very sorry, we were just leaving,” Derek says thickly, his face burning. The nurse snorts loudly on her way out, exaggeratedly closing the door behind her.

“Oh my god, did that really just happen?” Stiles laughs.

“Stop laughing,” Derek attempts to scold, but his grin is plastered on his face, unable to be unhappy even for a moment when Stiles just told him he wanted them to get back together. 

“I can’t. Her face.” Stiles chuckles, his eyes crinkled in amusement as he looks at Derek. His gentle fingers caress Derek’s jaw, moving back towards his hairline and playing with the strands. “I really do love what you’ve done with your hair. You look like the world’s grumpiest surfer. My grumpy surfer.”

Derek growls and kisses him quiet when he laughs.