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"I'll be with you in just a sec!" Stiles calls out from the backroom, which doubles as a storage space, a break room (complete with a coffee maker, microwave, and single table and chair, bistro style), and his restoration space for damaged or decayed magical objects.
It's a tight fit, but damn, he loves the place.
For now, he sets down the amulet he's been cleansing and squeezes his way to the shop front, calling out as he walks. "I have a Summer Solstice special going on for my sun based apparel, and some solstice gift boxes as well, if you're looking for something—oh." Stiles stops mid-step and mid-sentence as he reaches the front of the store to find Derek standing just next to the checkout desk. "Hey, I thought we were all meeting at the preserve? I'm still open for," Stiles looks down at his watch and does a quick calculation, "another hour or so?"
There's just a hint of an eyebrow raise. A shadow of a smirk. But Stiles still finds himself following every miniscule movement of Derek's face with rapt attention.
Nothing new there, really.
"You own the store," Derek points out without a hint of inflection in his voice.
"I do," Stiles agrees.
"You could close it whenever you want."
And...he's not wrong.
"I mean. Yeah. But I thought we were all meeting around five?" Stiles was planning on closing shop early as it was — Derek's right, running his own business certainly has its perks — but this is definitely earlier than he'd planned. Not that he wouldn't happily make an exception if it means he gets to spend a little more time with Derek.
Even if he'd never admit that out loud.
But Derek's not-quite-smirk softens into an almost-smile and Stiles suddenly has to work a whole lot harder to keep his crush from rolling off of him in waves and drowning them both. Especially as Derek casually leans a hip against the counter, arms lightly crossed over his chest in a way that makes the sleeves of his burgundy t-shirt wrap around his biceps like they're trying to fuse with his skin. "We are. I thought I'd see if you need any help. I know the solstice is a busy time for you."
Half of Stiles' business is selling tarot decks, incense, crystals, and candles to a mixture of people who range from truly spiritual to just plain curious, and the solstice really makes no difference there. The other half of his business, though, deals with a different kind of magic and all things supernatural. For that side, the solstice changes everything.
Because four times a year — the summer and winter solstices and the spring and autumnal equinoxes — magic is a little louder, a little closer to the surface.
And a whole lot more wild.
They're Stiles' favourite days of the year, even if it means getting up at an ungodly hour to get as much done as he can while his own Spark is lit up like the freaking Las Vegas Strip.
"I've actually got most of the orders handled." Standing on tiptoes, Stiles takes a quick peek around the shop to make sure no one will overhear him, but the place is strangely empty. It's kind of bizarre, actually, since the place had been hopping until maybe fifteen minutes ago, but he gets his feet back flat on the ground and shrugs it off. "Finished restoring that ancient spell book this morning and prepared that order of scrying crystals and tracking spells." The order in itself would usually have taken a few days, but with his Spark in overdrive, he had it done by lunch. "I even managed to squeeze in a few potions between customers."
Something in the way Derek ticks his head up in a sort of reverse nod makes Stiles think he may actually be impressed. It makes his chest feel all warm and fuzzy and he tells himself it's probably just heartburn, even if he doesn't really believe it.
"So what's left for today?" Derek asks.
"Um. I'm cleansing an amulet right now, and I was gonna look into a new artifact that was just dropped off a few days ago."
"What kind of artifact?"
Stiles rounds the counter to access the glass display cabinet he has for his more valuable goods. There's also a small safe tucked away at the bottom where he locks up the extra expensive or unknown items so they don't walk out the door. "This little fella showed up on my doorstep, literally, just a couple days ago. You remember Irma? The witch we helped a couple months back with the poof of white hair and more jewellery than skin?"
While Stiles mimes the cloud of silvery-white hair that surrounded Irma like a halo, Derek leans his elbows on the display case to get a closer look at the item that Stiles has just laid atop the glass.
"How could I forget?" Derek huffs, amusement clear in his voice. Irma had been...memorable. In all the best and weirdest ways.
"Well, this showed up with a note from her saying it was a thank you gift for helping her out. I just...don't know what it is, yet."
The metal is expertly forged into hundreds of individual ivy leaves, all growing along a vine that's about a foot long but curved into an S shape that makes it seem shorter. It's beautiful, there's no doubt about that, but Stiles suspects it's not just a decorative wall piece.
He can feel its power.
"Did you call her?" Derek asks as he leans in closer, sniffing at the object.
"Golly gee, no, I never thought of that, thanks for the suggestion." The sarcasm is a reflex that Stiles has been trying — and failing — to curb for a while now, but Derek just rolls his eyes and then tilts his head to the side for a better look. "She hasn't answered my calls or texts. But it's magic, I'm sure of it."
Over the years, Stiles has become a bit of an expert on decoding Derek's grunts and hums, if he does say so himself, and the noise Derek makes now is definitely an agreement. It takes a minute of him looking the artifact over before he speaks, though. "I can feel it," Derek says quietly. "The power."
"Like it's coiled up?" Stiles asks, his lowered voice doing nothing to contain his excitement. He really does love magic. "Almost like it's asleep, right? Just...waiting?"
Those glorious eyebrows of Derek's are pulled in tight as he nods, less concerned and more cautious, if Stiles is correct in his interpretation, but Derek still reaches out slowly, his left hand hovering just above the leaves of ivy.
And Stiles would swear it moves.
Like a light summer breeze through the leaves, the ivy seems to flutter the closer Derek gets. At first, Stiles thinks he must have imagined it, but then he notices the surprise that's written all over Derek's face and he realizes Derek saw it, too.
"Does it do that when you get close, too?"
In the couple days he's had it, Stiles has handled the piece a number of times and never seen this reaction. "No." He shakes his head, "Maybe it only reacts to werewolves." But when he reaches out his right hand to demonstrate how it doesn't react to him, the damn thing wakes up.
They're both reaching out, fingers maybe an inch or two above either end of the object when it abruptly uncoils and strikes. It happens so fast that there isn't even time to jerk back before those leaves of ivy have curled around his hand and wrist, then slithered all the way up his forearm, locking itself just above his elbow.
"What the f—" But when Stiles jerks his head up, eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and alarm, he realizes it isn't just him that the thing has latched onto. The other end of the...mystical metal plant thing...has wrapped around Derek's left hand in the same exact way, trapping them both in one swift movement as it grows to at least four times its original length.
Unsurprisingly, Derek is already shifted, all claws and fangs and pointy ears and those bumpy brow ridges that Stiles has always wanted to trace with his fingertips to see how they feel, but he likes having his fingers attached to his hand too much to ever try. And right now is definitely not the time to test that theory, what with Derek growling at the vines that still seem to be twisting and winding over their skin, though it's no longer spreading up their arms.
It takes a second for the initial shock to wear off, for both of them, but when Derek raises his free hand, clearly ready to shred the artifact with those razor sharp claws, Stiles gives his head a shake and reaches out, grabbing Derek's wrist before he can swipe through the vine.
"What are you doing?" Derek growls, the words muffled by all those teeth.
It's kind of cute.
"Calm your tits, sourwolf," Stiles snaps back. "I don't think it means us any harm."
"It's a metal plant. How the hell can you tell?"
It's not unusual for Derek to get all snippy and murdery when things go sideways, but it's been a while since Stiles has seen him this ready to attack something they don't understand at all.
"Because its magic is like...nice."
"What?"
"I don't know, dude!" Only just remembering that he still has a hold on Derek's wrist, Stiles releases him and gestures down to the vine. It's bizarrely soft against his skin, considering bits of metal should be digging into his flesh. It kind of feels like flower petals and love. "I can like, feel its intent or something. It doesn't want to hurt us."
"Then what does it want?"
"How the hell should I know!? Do I look like I speak metal plant?"
Derek huffs out a slow breath like he's trying to rein in the urge to slice through both the vine and Stiles, all at the same time.
Stiles appreciates his restraint.
"Okay. Then what do you suggest we do?" The words are less garbled as Derek's teeth slowly shift back to human, along with the bones in his face. His claws are still out, though, so Stiles supposes that means Derek isn't quite as convinced of the object's goodwill as Stiles is.
"Well, we can start by asking it nicely. Or maybe trying to coax it off? Something, you know, a little less lethal."
Even as the words come out of his mouth, Stiles wonders when his initial response to these things stopped being 'kill first and ask questions later' but he supposes that's a question for another day.
It doesn't look like Derek is entirely on board but his grunt definitely translates to 'fine, do it your way, but if it doesn't work I reserve the right to slice this thing to ribbons and also, you're an idiot.'
Stiles figures it's the best he's likely to get.
So with a quick nod to himself that acts as the world's fastest pep talk, he leans in a little closer and clears his throat. "Uh. Hello there. My name is Stiles and you seem to have latched on to me and my friend Derek. I was wondering if you'd maybe let us go? Please?"
He feels like a bit of a tool, but he also supposes people around the world talk to their plants on a regular basis so maybe it's not as dumb as he thinks.
Even if Derek is looking at him like that.
To make matters worse, there's no change at all with the ivy, so Stiles can't even say 'I told you so'.
"Okay. Plan B." He starts with his fingers, trying to pry the metal off from around his bicep, just above the elbow. If he didn't know better, he'd say the little leaves are tickling him on purpose, but that seems kind of insane and, since they don't budge anyways, he has bigger fish to fry. "Maybe if I..."
His dad gave him an engraved letter opener when he finally got his shop open and running, the name Witch, Please etched into the blade of the faux-ceremonial dagger. He thought it would be more for show than anything when he first opened it, but it turns out businesses get a lot of actual mail.
Who knew?
Right now, he leans over and grabs the letter opener from beneath the cash register and slips the blade beneath the vine.
"Oooh, ow, ow, ow, okay, bad idea, bad idea!"
Leaves of ivy dig into his skin as the vine tightens in a stranglehold, but the second Stiles pulls the letter opener away, it relaxes into its previous grip.
"Okay, Plan C it is," Stiles says, still wincing from the pressure. He's definitely going to bruise from that little experiment. He wonders if they'll be shaped like little leaves.
"And what exactly is Plan C?" The question is quiet and distracted, almost like an afterthought as Derek reaches out to gently run his fingers next to the vine on Stiles' forearm, right at the spot that stings the most.
The thing is, if Stiles didn't know better, he'd say that Derek's sudden lack of hostility is due to the concern that seems to be written all over his face, but it's probably just a figment of his imagination.
"Stiles? What's plan C?"
He didn't realize he'd been staring at the meandering lines that Derek is tracing over his skin until Derek pulls him back to the present. "Uh. Plan C is to come up with more plans."
As far as plans go, it's really not that bad. They work their way through an improvised Plan D all the way to Plan J over the next hour or so. Nothing actually works to loosen the hold, but at least they're working together by the end of it and Derek is no longer glaring at the ivy like it mortally offended him.
It's kind of a win.
In a still losing kind of way.
"You know we're going to have to try severing it at some point, right?" Derek unhelpfully points out after Stiles has finished smearing a homemade potion over the metal, to no effect.
Or, almost no effect. It's still holding on, but it kind of feels like it's purring.
"As like, a last resort maybe." Stiles rubs more of the potion onto the metal and it sort of undulates in a way that looks like a happy wiggle. "I think it likes this."
After awkwardly moving through the shop for the earlier plans — including plan G, which involved the coffee maker hot plate and a great deal of regret — they're once again back at the display case, with Stiles behind the desk and Derek in front. With the bowl of potion next to their outstretched arms, Stiles moves from coating the main vine to rubbing the oily liquid over the leaves, and this time there's no doubt that the leaves are petting him in response.
"Huh." Rubbing the potion into a dense patch of leaves that all gather around his finger like a litter of puppies waiting for pets, Stiles can't help but smile. "It's kind of cute."
"As far as handcuffs go," Derek grumbles, but there's no bite in the words at all. Frankly, it looks like he wants to pet it, too.
Mushywolf.
"Okay. Plan K. We massage this all over it and ask nicely again once it's all relaxed and mellow."
Before Derek can argue, Stiles pushes the small brewing bowl across the counter with a pointed look.
And Derek caves instantly.
"This is ridiculous." There's still no heat behind it and Derek is absolutely making a little coochie coochie coo type finger motion to rub the vines and Stiles is hit with the blinding realization that it's not just a crush he's been trying to hide.
He's in love with Derek Hale.
With his tough guy exterior and the marshmallow filling underneath and all the strange little contradictions that make up the whole man. With his glorious eyebrows and adorable bunny teeth and the obscene amount of baggage and trauma that he's never really set down. With the damaged heart that he's kept hidden through the years and the man he's become as he's grown and healed.
Stiles is in love with Derek.
And it's just as that thought steamrolls over him that the vines on his arm start to move.
It's gentle but quick, and not for a second does it loosen enough for him to pull away, but the vine stretches and spirals and meanders along the space between his elbow and wrist until a message is spelled out across his forearm in fancy cursive and frollicking leaves.
Tell him
"What?? No!" Stiles twists his arm in a feeble attempt to hide the message but Derek's gaze is already bouncing between the words on his arm and Stiles' face, eyebrows tugged down so tight that Stiles is vaguely worried he might pull a muscle.
"Tell me what?"
"What? I don't know. Why would I know anything? It's the crazy ramblings of a semi-sentient kind of metal plant thing. Who the hell listens to a semi-sentient kind of metal plant thing anyways? Not me, I can tell you that. And you know what, maybe we should reconsider the whole...grr thing." Using his free hand, Stiles mimes whipping his claws out and bares his non-existent fangs. He knows he's probably the farthest thing from scary werewolf as it's possible to get, but Derek clearly recognizes what he means because his eyebrows ease up a little and there's a hint of amusement dancing behind those kaleidoscopic eyes for just a fraction of a second before the vine on his arm begins to rearrange itself and Derek's expression abruptly flips to shock and maybe just a hint of fear.
Stiles cranes his neck to try to see and gets as far as opening his mouth to ask what's wrong, but Derek pulls his arm back so hard that Stiles is yanked right over the glass display case, the ivy keeping them connected so firmly that there's no stopping his sudden flight.
Fortunately, Derek seems to realize his mistake quickly and even manages to catch Stiles and keep them both upright but it's a close call. They bump into a display case hard enough to knock several smudging sticks to the ground before Derek steadies them with his free arm wrapped around Stiles' waist.
A rather pitiful groan slips from Stiles' lips before he can turn it into a question. "Shit. Dude, what the hell?"
Not only does his forearm and wrist ache something fierce where the vines are still wrapped around him with their unyielding grip, but his shoulder is more than a little cranky about nearly being torn from its socket.
It doesn't last long, though.
With how they're standing and how the artifact is wrapped around their arms, Derek hardly has to move to wrap his fingers around Stiles' hand. His surprise at the gesture means it's a solid thirty seconds before Stiles realizes that his arm doesn't hurt anymore. That Derek is siphoning that minor ache.
"You, um. You don't need to do that. It's not so bad." Their faces are only inches apart but Stiles can't quite bring himself to look Derek in the eye as he speaks.
Unsurprisingly, Derek doesn't listen, but he does haltingly mutter, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
And that, Stiles doesn't doubt for a second.
"I know." A light squeeze of their hands accompanies the reassurance, but Stiles also takes the opportunity to shift Derek's hand for a better view of the vine there.
Somehow, it still surprises him to see the exact same message on Derek's arm.
Tell him
Stiles blinks down at the words, wondering if they could possibly mean the same thing for Derek as they do for him. A little voice in the back of his head insists it couldn't possibly be true, but Derek is shifting uncomfortably, refusing to look at Stiles, and Stiles really isn't sure what to think.
And then his phone rings.
Everything around them has been so still, so quiet, for so long, that Stiles had forgotten that an entire world exists outside the two of them. They both startle at the sound, but Derek is quick to let him go and take a half step back so Stiles can get to his phone. And while Stiles misses the contact immediately, his stomach flutters at the fact that their hands are still linked and neither of them are making a move to let go.
It's nice, in a bizarre and unexpected way.
Reaching for his phone is awkward. It's in his right pants pocket and his right hand is the one that's currently occupied with things far more important than a phone call, which means he needs to reach across his body with his left to slide it out of the pocket. He manages to grab it just before the call goes to voicemail.
Scott's voice bounces through the line as Stiles presses the phone to his ear, before Stiles even has a chance to say hello.
"Hey Stiles?"
"Hey buddy, now's not really a great time."
"Uh, yeah." It's only when Scott speaks again that Stiles realizes he sounds worried. "Except I'm outside your shop and it's not here."
Even Derek looks up at that, the two of them finally meeting each other's eyes with identical looks of curiosity.
"What's not there?" Stiles asks.
"Your shop."
"What?"
The curiosity on Derek's face begins to bleed into concern and Stiles can't say he doesn't feel the same. Especially once Scott elaborates.
"Dude, the whole building is like, gone."
Stiles blinks and gives his head a shake, looking toward the window at the front of the shop over the shelving displays between them. He can only see the top edge of the window but everything looks normal. The same explosion of leaves that's always there fills up half of the window — part of the canopy from the beautiful trees that line the sidewalk down the entire street — and he can just make out the striped awning of the bakery across the way.
With more than a little confusion, Stiles lowers the phone and puts it on speaker between himself and Derek. "What do you mean gone?"
"I mean like, the coffee shop next door is there, and so is the florist on the other side, but the space between them is just an overgrown lot with a chain link fence to keep everyone out."
There's a beat of silence while they take it all in but then Derek and Stiles move as one towards the window.
Sure enough, Scott is out front with his helmet propped under his arm, standing on the road between his motorcycle and a parked car, looking through the shop like it's not even there. Even when Stiles waves his free arm and Derek knocks on the glass, Scott doesn't react at all.
"Well that would explain why I haven't had any customers in over an hour." Stiles murmurs, kind of relieved. "It's gotta be an illusion charm? Maybe? I mean, the chances of my shop being physically transported somewhere have gotta be like...less than twenty-three percent."
The what the fuck looks that Scott and Derek both shoot him would be funny if not for the fact that Stiles is still chained to Derek and his shop has gone invisible.
"We'll try coming out," Stiles starts, but Derek quickly shakes his head.
"We don't know if we'd be able to get back in, or if this thing," Derek lifts their arms a few inches, "would react badly. Scott, can you try coming in?"
"Uh. How? There's nothing there."
"Just close your eyes and we'll direct you. The shop is still here, you just can't see it. Oh!" The idea hits Stiles so suddenly he nearly drops the phone. "Can you see it with your wolf-o-vision?"
"Don't call it that," Derek mutters.
But Scott takes a quick look down the street, left and right, and then blinks hard, his eyes reopening a fiery red. He also stumbles a step back as his gaze rakes over what must be the newly visible building. "Oh. Yeah. Hey."
Scott's eyes drop to the window and he gives a crooked smile and small wave. "Should I still come in? What is even happening?" Scott's gaze drifts a little more and his eyes go comically wide, eyebrows retreating to his hairline. "Are you guys holding hands!?"
Leave it to Scott to be more amazed by hand holding than a disappearing building.
Stiles rolls his eyes but Derek flushes a rather fetching shade of pink and Stiles briefly considers taking a picture before deciding he likes living too much to do something so reckless. He does, however, hold up their joined hands for Scott to see better. "This thing won't let us go. Irma sent it—"
"Oh! Irma! That's why I came," Scott interrupts. "I almost forgot because of the whole invisible building thing."
It's understandable, really.
"She told me that I needed to come here and deliver a message. That you'd know what it meant, but that you had to hear it now, before the solstice celebration. She said you'll need to sort things out before the magic takes control?"
"Well that's not foreboding at all," Stiles mutters. The solstice magnifies magic. A lot. If Irma needs Stiles to have the message in time for the celebration it probably means he'll need to harness that power.
"What exactly did she say, Scott?" Derek's voice is urgent, but he also gives Stiles' hand a light squeeze that feels a lot like reassurance. A silent you're not alone. A promise that they'll figure it out.
It helps. So Stiles squeezes back with a promise of his own. A promise that they're in it together.
Scott, though, sets down his helmet and digs through his pockets until he finds a folded piece of loose leaf paper, locking his phone between his shoulder and ear while he opens it up.
"She said to tell you that it's 'time you man up' and 'stop being a...'" Scott makes the air quotes with his free hand but pauses, obviously uncomfortable with relaying part of the message. He looks up at Stiles through the window, eyes still glowing red and gives an awkward half shrug. "Um, stop being a...slang term for lady parts. Or a cat!"
Scott looks far happier with the second option but, either way, Stiles barks out a laugh. He can practically hear Irma's pack-a-day voice coughing out the words, telling him to quit being a pussy.
"She also said you need to 'resolve the magic before the peak of the Summer Solstice.'" More air quotes accompany the instructions and Stiles just shakes his head with a fondness he can't even explain. Sometimes he thinks Scott is too pure for this world. "According to Irma, the power of the solstice will give the artifact enough strength to permanently bind itself if 'you idiots don't work it out.'"
"Permanently. Great." Leave it to Irma to send a thank you gift that might ruin his life. "Did she happen to mention what we're supposed to do?"
Any hope Stiles may have had about an easy fix dies with the shake of Scott's head. The growly huff that spills from Derek is proof he feels the same.
"So what now?" Scott asks after a stretched out moment of silence.
And that's the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Stiles looks down at the object, at the words still printed across his arm, and he wonders if the answer is as simple as he expects.
Unfortunately, simple doesn't always mean easy.
"Uh, Scotty, can you do me a favour and head to the preserve and start setting things up? Everything's already loaded up in the back of my Jeep if you don't mind taking it out. I'll catch a ride with Derek once we sort this out."
He's got chairs and picnic blankets and a cooler full of drinks all ready to go, along with the supplies he'll need to perform a blessing rite to provide the pack with extra protection. And if he tucked away a few additional magical artifacts to charge with the full power of the solstice, well, that's just forward thinking, as far as he's concerned.
"Uh, yeah, sure. But are you sure you guys don't want me to stick around and help?"
Stiles nods and hands the phone to Derek to hold while he leads them through the shop to grab his keys. "Yeah, I think this is something we're gonna need to handle on our own." The keys are in the pocket of his hoodie and Stiles reaches in to grab them as he speaks. "I'm hoping we'll be there soon, but in case we're in a rush, can you ask Lydia to set up the altar? She'll know where everything needs to go."
They head to the shop door next, swinging it open but careful not to let the object break past the confines of the store. The last thing they need is this illusion charm moving through town, if that's even a thing. Stiles figures it's best they don't find out. So he tosses the keys to Scott, who catches them with ease, even if he still looks a little worried.
"Don't worry, Scotty," Stiles calls out, loud enough that they don't even need the phone. "We'll be fine. I'll see you at the celebration."
"Okay man. Call if you need anything. Either of you." Scott looks from Stiles to Derek and then back. It looks like he's about to say something else but then decides against it, choosing instead to toss his helmet to Stiles to stow in the shop.
If he'd had a little more warning, Stiles is sure he could have caught the helmet. Absolutely positive. It's only because he wasn't prepared that it kind of thunks him in the stomach and then he butterfingers it like a wet bar of soap until Derek plucks it from midair as it's about to sail back out the door.
And while Derek looks at him like he's trying to work out how Stiles has even survived this long, the vines on Derek's arm start to shift and they both look down to watch the words grow a little bigger, leaves of ivy rustling like they're caught in a storm. Stiles would swear they're trying to get Derek's attention.
Tell him!
This time there's an exclamation mark.
And Derek looks like he hopes the floor will open up and swallow him whole. Or like he's about to go on a murdering spree. Stiles honestly isn't sure.
"We'll meet you there," Derek grumbles to Scott, then promptly slams the door shut and leads Stiles back to the display case at the cash register. He sets the helmet down on the counter and huffs out an annoyed breath. "Do you know what we're supposed to do?"
"I...might have an idea."
Because the thing is, Stiles isn't stupid. He may not know exactly what this thing is or how it works, but he does know exactly what he was thinking when it formed itself into the message that's still swaying gently on his arm. He knows what it wants him to say.
He's just not sure he can.
He may not be stupid, but that doesn't mean he's not a little bit of a coward. At least when it comes to his heart.
"It wants us to say something," Derek says, pointing out the obvious with a hint of disdain.
"Seems like it."
Hidden beneath the growls and glares and brusque words, Derek has always been...unsure. Stiles has known it since Junior year, once Derek stopped being a complete psychopath and slowly — so fucking slowly — began to let his guard down. Just a little. So it's not a surprise now to see the hesitance in Derek's expression, the tension in his shoulders as he steals a quick look at Stiles before glancing down at where their arms are once again resting on the display case glass, though this time they're both on the same side.
It feels symbolic, somehow.
"I don't...I'm not sure how," Derek admits.
Stiles gets it.
Especially since there's no way of knowing what the other needs to say. Because while Stiles suspects exactly what the object wants him to admit, for all he knows, it wants Derek to tell Stiles he hates his shirt. Or that he'd like to apply for a job at the shop. The possibilities are limitless.
Even if the little voice in his head — the one that still, after all this time and all the terrible things he's seen in his life, holds out hope that the world isn't horrible and insists that sometimes good things do happen — says that he already knows what it is. That he knows why Irma sent it and what it means.
The thought makes his heart stutter and then race and he sneaks a glance up at Derek, who is now sporting his trademark Brooding Face as he stares at the sudden movement on Stiles’ arm. But Stiles doesn't even need to look at the ivy as it rustles and sways to know there's a matching exclamation mark on his message now, too.
He knows what it wants him to say.
"I'm in love with you."
The confession is quiet but firm, and as nervous as Stiles is about Derek's response, he doesn't regret saying the words out loud. Especially when Derek's head snaps up and the initial confusion and doubt that seems to be etched there softens into something brighter. Something hopeful.
"What?"
Stiles swallows hard and pushes himself to continue before he has a chance to overthink it. "I think I've been in love with you for a while. And it's okay if you don't feel the same way, but I—"
"I do." Derek interrupts. "Love you. Too."
As far as declarations of love go, it's stilted and awkward and Stiles couldn't possibly adore it more. The grin that starts to tug at his lips is just getting started, though, when the metal around their arms begins to vibrate, then slowly uncoil. It shrinks in on itself as it moves, a gentle caress over their skin, until it tumbles back onto the counter in its original shape and size, a solid piece of metal with no give and no life singing through its vines.
"Oh," Stiles says, temporarily distracted from their confessions as he looks down at what now appears to be a harmless decoration. "That's kind of sad."
When he goes to pet it, though, just to see if it still reacts to his touch, Derek's hand shoots out and grabs his wrist so quickly it actually startles him.
"Maybe we don't touch that anymore?" The words are soft but Derek is still looking at him like he's lost his damn mind for even trying.
"Right." Stiles nods. "Yeah, of course. Probably a good plan."
But even then, Derek doesn't let go immediately. Or really, at all. He shifts his grip, though, a slow slide until he's holding Stiles' hand once again. The whole time he moves, everything about his expression screams insecurity, like he's not sure if it's really okay to do such a thing now that they're no longer connected by the object, but Stiles just offers a smile and a light squeeze and that insecurity vanishes in an instant.
And God, Derek is beautiful when he's happy.
"I guess we should probably talk about this," Stiles says after a moment of basking in the glow of a cautiously optimistic Derek Hale. "Where do we go from here? Are we like, dating? Do you want that?"
"Yeah," Derek replies, "I want that. Do you?"
"Obviously." Stiles rolls his eyes, but gives Derek's hand another squeeze to temper the gesture. "I've wanted this since high school."
It's possible that Stiles has never seen Derek look quite so surprised. "I thought you hated me back then."
"I mean, sure, you were a dick at first and the whole trying to kill my friends thing was a bit of a stumbling block, but even before you mellowed out, I always had a thing for you."
Hell, Stiles and his hand spent an awful lot of time fantasizing about Derek in those days and he thinks that the fear he felt might have been part of the appeal.
"That time we were both paralyzed by the Kanima and I fell on top of you?" The admission spills from his lips before Stiles can even form the conscious thought to shut his damn mouth. "I was so glad everything was paralyzed. I spent half the time terrified that the first thing on my body to regain feeling was going to end up poking into your thigh." As soon as the words are out of his mouth Stiles scrunches up his face in embarrassment. "I shouldn't have said that."
But Derek is chuckling quietly and the sight of his smile is worth the embarrassment that's batting at his insides.
"Anyways. It was mostly physical attraction back then. But then after the Alpha pack, after you left with Cora, you came back...different. I think that's when I started to fall in love with you."
Why Stiles feels the need to bare his soul like this is beyond him, but it feels pretty damn good to say it out loud after keeping those thoughts bottled up for all these years.
"Why didn't you say anything?" The words are soft, curious. About as far from an accusation as Derek could possibly get.
Stiles just smiles. "Why didn't you?"
Because Derek may not have admitted to a crush as longstanding as Stiles', but clearly he's been hiding his feelings, too.
"I hated you at first," Derek admits, looking down at their joined hands. "With your bright eyes and your racing heart and the lies that slid from your tongue with such ease. You were so full of life and, back then, I felt like I was drowning. I hated you for it."
"Well, that's not what I was expecting."
There's a sense of shame in Derek's expression, but the corner of his lips quirks up at Stiles' comment.
"But then I was dying. And you saved me."
Stiles shrugs it off. "I mean, you threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth. You didn't exactly leave me a lot of options."
"That's not why you did it."
There isn't a hint of doubt in the words and Stiles can't exactly argue because Derek is right. He couldn't let him die. Even back then, when Stiles was kind of terrified of him, there was something about Derek that felt like a kindred spirit. A sort of isolation, maybe, that Stiles tried really hard not to dwell on but that he felt a connection to nonetheless.
"And then you were there. Always. Relentless and fierce. Stubborn and so damn sarcastic. I couldn't stop watching you. I've been watching you for years."
"Okay, creeperwolf, that's borderline stalking territory, you know." Even amidst the light laughter, Stiles' voice cracks. He's never really been good with this whole emotions thing.
But Derek seems to get it, and instead of saying another word or, worse, pulling away completely, he leans in. It's slow enough to telegraph exactly what he's thinking, what he plans to do. Slow enough that Stiles could easily put a stop to it if he wants to.
He doesn't.
Derek's lips are softer than Stiles had imagined, the kiss achingly tender to start, like neither of them are sure that they're allowed to have this after so many years of hiding what they feel.
It doesn't stay that way for long.
One of them takes a half step closer and the other follows suit, but Stiles isn't really sure who moves first. All he knows is that their bodies are suddenly pressed together and Derek's fingers are threaded through the back of his hair, guiding their kiss like he's a professional, and Stiles has never felt more perfectly himself or perfectly in love in his entire life.
His own hands map out the planes of Derek's back through the ultra-soft fabric of his shirt, more muscle in that one spot than Stiles has through his whole damn body, and those muscles suddenly stiffen and flex beneath his fingertips as Derek spins them and lifts Stiles onto the counter like he doesn't weigh a thing.
It's...unbelievably hot.
He tries to tell Derek as much but mostly ends up moaning into his mouth as he tugs Derek closer, legs wrapped around his hips like the metal ivy that entwined them only minutes ago. Their mouths never stop moving against one another, lips parting as their tongues begin to explore, and Stiles is not too proud to admit that there may be a little grinding where they're pressed together, too — frankly, he'd like to brag about that fact to the whole damn world — but the tinkle of the little bell over the door is like a splash of cold water, abruptly reminding him where he is.
And what they're doing.
It takes every ounce of willpower for Stiles to pull away, licking his lips to chase the taste of the man in front of him even as he turns his head towards the front door. "Welcome to Witch, Please," Stiles calls out. His voice trembles and he has to blow out a slow breath. "We're, uh, we're gonna be closing soon."
They are, conveniently, blocked from view by a display stand, but Stiles knows it won't stay that way for long, so with one last peck to Derek's lips, he hops off the counter, gives Derek's chest a quick pat to act as a consolation and a promise, and then heads towards his last customer of the day.
As much as he would like to be alone with Derek, Stiles doesn't rush the young woman who is searching for an oracle deck that speaks to her. She ends up buying several items, which is great, considering his shop was unexpectedly offline for a portion of the afternoon. As she leaves, Stiles follows her to the front door, flipping the sign on the glass to 'closed' as he locks up behind her.
"Right. So. Back to the kissing?" Stiles grins and waggles his eyebrows as he spins back towards Derek.
"We could," Derek steps closer, hands settling on Stiles' hips like they've been doing this for years. "But I'm guessing you need time to set up for the solstice spellwork? It's getting late."
Just above the cash register is an antique clock engraved with the phases of the moon and when Stiles looks over, he realizes Derek is right. "Shit."
If he wants to get everything done before the peak of the solstice, they really do need to leave now.
"Raincheck on the kissing?" Stiles asks.
It earns him one quick peck before Derek steps back. "Definitely."
It takes a few minutes to close up shop, but it isn't too long before they're ready to go. And while the whole kissing thing remains on the back burner, they still hold hands as they make their way from the back of the shop towards the door, more than ready to celebrate the solstice with friends and family.
With the pack they've built.
And today, it feels like there's more to celebrate than ever.
So Stiles reaches next to the cash register to shut off the overhead lights, unsurprised that it hardly makes a difference. The shop is still completely lit up from the strength of the sun outside.
But in one of those stray sunbeams, reflected off a crystal suncatcher in the window, Stiles catches a hint of movement at the counter.
The ivy artifact.
It's still atop the glass display case where he left it, somehow knowing it doesn't actually need to be locked away anymore; he knows damn well it can protect itself just fine.
Still, he'll call Irma in the morning to find out what to do with it next. He's curious about what it is, where it came from, does he need to feed or water it, is he supposed to pass it on? So many questions rattle around in his head, but he knows they'll need to wait. The Summer Solstice only lasts so long, afterall. So for now, he just smiles as the leaves rustle in what is clearly a wave goodbye.
He doesn't even feel all that stupid about waving back.
Especially since he finds Derek smiling at him when he turns around, looking so in love that Stiles isn't really sure how he missed the signs all these years. It doesn't really matter, though, because they're here now.
And he has a feeling that, thanks to Irma and her magic ivy, they're exactly where they're supposed to be.