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Growing distance free of explanation, we’re getting deeper in this mess.
Stiles was sitting across the loft, talking to Scott, and Derek was sitting in the living room, face in his hands.
He had fucked it up, fucked them up, everything up. In the span of a few minutes after he got home.
He had said something that had set Stiles’ brain on fire, and he isolated himself to their bedroom.
Derek had been sleeping on their couch for three weeks.
Take careful contemplation, I’d rather be spitting blood than have this silence fuck me up.
“Stiles, how many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
“Leave me alone, seriously.”
“Stiles.”
“Leave me the fuck alone. And don’t touch me.”
“Stiles, please, I didn’t mean to-“
“Fuck off.”
This separation, this time between us. For some revelation, you don’t care to discuss.
“Stiles?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Derek.”
“Stiles. I swear to god, I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to break you, I didn’t. I-Stiles-I just-“
His voice broke and he slid against the door.
Say anything, anything hurts less than the quiet.
Stiles was laying on the king sized bed, he was crying, crying as hard as he ever had.
Derek was knocking on the door.
“Stiles? Say something. Say something to let me know you’re still there. That you still love me. This fucking quiet is killing me.”
“Leave me alone.”
Used to give each other the world, every bit. I used to be the one you came to when it all went to shit.
Derek thought back to when they first moved in together, when Stiles kept having that nightmare.
He would hold him until the early hours of the morning, saying nothing, stroking his hair, being there for him.
Stiles used to text Derek every hour asking how he was, how his day was going.
But not anymore.
Anything hurts less than the quiet.