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Stiles almost throws the tape in the trash, thinking it’s a hoax, before realizing it can’t be. None of the people who knew about him and Derek would do something this cruel.
Who still uses cassette tapes, anyway? Stiles snorts. Derek. Derek still uses cassettes, says he likes the way it sounds.
Stiles almost throws out the tape again. His hand hovers over the trashcan. If he drops it, there will be no going back. He spilled yogurt that morning and he’s pretty sure the paper napkins he used to clean that up are the last thing he threw in there.
He doesn’t let go. Instead, he grasps the cassette tape tighter, clutches it to his chest, and moves to the couch. There’s nothing special about the envelope the cassette came in. It’s small, white, and has his address scrawled on one side. The bubble wrap on the inside, that protected the tape, puffs up the envelope. There’s a sticker on the tape saying: “Please listen to me?” in Derek’s handwriting.
Stiles rubs a hand over his face. Where the hell is going to find a cassette player?
~
It takes Stiles ten minutes on the internet to find someone in his neighbourhood selling a cassette player. It’s not just any cassette player, it’s a bright pink boombox that would’ve looked at home in Molly Ringwald’s bedroom in Sixteen Candles.
Back home, sitting on his house couch, Stiles plugs it in, inserts the cassette, and, with his fingers crossed, presses play.
‘My dearest Stiles—’
Stiles takes in a shuddering breath at those first three words. He hasn’t heard Derek’s voice in three months. He goes to the store as little as possible, changes channels any time Derek’s face pops up, and stubbornly listens to Coldplay, just to avoid hearing Derek’s voice.
Derek’s voice is soft over the speakers. Not because the volume is low, but because Derek says those three words so gently, like they’re precious to him, cradling and caressing them with care.
‘—I thought…,’ Derek trails off, and Stiles hears the deep breath Derek takes. ‘I thought I wanted this more than I wanted you. The fans, the money, being buried in my music every waking hour. I was wrong. Fuck, I was so wrong. I just–’ Derek huffs out a bitter laugh. ‘I miss you so much and it’s all my own fault.’
Stiles swallows painfully around the lump in his throat. The last time he talked to Derek had been Bad, definitely with a capital B. Derek has always been scared of losing his fans. He loves the people who love his music, and he was so scared to lose them that he did everything he could to keep them. For the most part, Derek could just be himself, a little grumpy, snarky, but also a guy who loves his family and friends more than anything, who sticks up for them and helps them when they need to. The only part Derek ever kept hidden was that he’s bisexual. It hadn’t really mattered at the start of Derek’s career. So far, Derek had only dated girls, and would do so for the first couple years in the spotlights. Then Stiles came along. Stiles hadn’t minded. He’d understood, coming out can be scary and Derek was terrified. His last girlfriend had made a couple remarks about Derek’s sexuality before they broke up, and Derek took it is confirmation of his fears of how the rest of the world would react. Stiles tried to convince him to give his fans a little more credit, but Derek hadn’t yielded.
So Stiles played the secret boyfriend. They were rarely seen in public together, and never holding hands or kissing. Stiles wanted to, badly, but this wasn’t about him. This was about Derek not being ready. So he waited, and he would’ve waited forever if Derek hadn’t come up with that ridiculous proposition.
Tabloids started talking about Derek not having been seen with a girl on his arm for almost a year, always showing up at events alone or with one of his sisters. Derek decided he needed a fake girlfriend, but instead of running it by Stiles first, he simply appeared on the cover of US Weekly with a pretty brunette on his arm, smiling like he found his reason for living.
Stiles, of course, was livid. He confronted Derek with every hope that they would figure this out, but Derek hadn’t given an inch, holding on to the idea that he needed a girl on his arm to sell his albums. And while Stiles was willing to be a secret, he refused to be a dirty secret, so he left.
‘I’m not really good at saying what I feel, so I wrote you this song.’
The soft strumming of a guitar. Derek’s fingers plucking a sweet melody on the strings. Derek’s voice rough with emotion. Stiles’ chest feels tight, his heart too big. There’s not enough air in the room. Derek has poured every ounce of himself into the song. Stiles feels heartbroken and loved at the same time.
When the song is over, Stiles is breathing heavily, heart is racing like he’s just run a marathon.
There’s nothing but silence coming from the speakers, and Stiles thinks that’s it. This is all there is.
‘Stiles.’ Derek’s voice cracks. ‘If you want to… If you can, can you come to the concert tonight? And meet me backstage after? I need you here, to eat pizza with in the middle of the night, to rant about terrible comic-to-movies adaptations, to explain to me how burritos were invented. I don’t mind sleeping midst Dorito crumbs for the rest of my life if it means you being here. I need you to keep me sane. If you don’t– If you don’t need me anymore, I– Well, that fucking sucks, but thank you for listening to the tape anyway. There’s backstage passes in the envelope. The second one is for Scott. Boyd misses him.’
Stiles can’t help the smile tugging at his lips. It’s so Derek, thinking of his friends even while romancing Stiles back into his life.
‘I love you.’
‘I love you, too,’ Stiles answers without thinking. ‘Damnit.’
~
The concert is agony, seeing Derek up on the stage, so close, but still unreachable, his voice blasted into Stiles’ ears. Scott made a good point when he asked why they didn’t just wait backstage. Stiles hadn’t answered him, because the truth is that Stiles is still waiting for something, some sign that things will be different, that Derek wasn’t just saying things to get Stiles back, making promises he wouldn’t keep, even though Stiles knows Derek never makes a promise he doesn’t fully intend to keep.
‘If you wanna go see Boyd, you can go,’ Stiles tells Scott.
Scott shakes his head. ‘I came here to support you. Mostly.’
Stiles smiles and claps Scott on the shoulder, realizing not for the first time tonight, how lucky he is to have Scott as his best friend.
‘It’s almost over anyway,’ Scott shrugs.
Stiles checks his phone and sees that Scott’s right. Derek will do one, maybe two, more songs, and then it’s over. Stiles is contemplating going backstage now, before the rush of fans blocks the hallway, when the sound of Derek hesitantly clearing his throat, stops him.
‘Okay, so, I screwed up, guys,’ Derek says. Stiles can feel the suspense rising as the audience’s curiosity is piqued. They all know that this is different. This is something that doesn’t normally happen. ‘I found someone and then I threw it away because I was scared. This person stuck by my side for over year, happy to stay in the shadows, because I asked him to give me time.’
Stiles stops breathing.
It’s gone so quiet you can hear a pin drop. Everyone heard it. Him.
‘And then I fucked up and lost him. I asked him to come tonight, and I hope he’s here, because I really want to start making it up to him. What I’m saying is, if you find your someone, don’t throw it away because you’re scared of what other people might say.’
A stagehand runs on to give Derek his acoustic guitar. The band’s already left, quiet and unnoticed. It’s just Derek on the stage now.
‘So, the last song for tonight, that’s for him.’
Stiles immediately recognizes the melody, sweet and heart-breaking. He stands frozen, staring at the stage with his jaw dropped and eyes wide for the entire song. It’s not until the last note has completely faded away and the crowd breaks into roaring applause, that Stiles snaps out of his daze. He turns to the exit, but stumbles. Scott grabs his arm and starts pulling him forward, pushing through the crowd.
When they break free from the masses, Stiles starts running, following the signs pointing to the backstage area. When they arrive, there is already a group of people trying to get to Derek.
Stiles shoulders his way into the crowd. At some point, Scott’s hand slips from his arm, and when Stiles looks back his friend is nowhere to be seen. He falters for a moment, but Boyd is only a few feet in front of him, standing with his arms crossed, blank expression on his face, a solid barrier protecting Derek’s privacy. Girls and boys glare after Stiles as he pushes his way to the front.
‘Hey, Boyd,’ Stiles wheezes, his hair sticking to his forehead, shirt sticking to his back.
Boyd’s stoic expression clears, making way for a small, but pleased, smile.
‘Hey, Stiles.’ Boyd pulls him out of the crowd. ‘Third door on your left.’
Stiles nods gratefully. When he catches Boyd scanning the crowd with an expectant look in his eyes, he says, ‘He was right behind me.’
This makes an actual smile break out on Boyd’s face. Stiles wishes he could wait for the sweet reunion of Scott and Boyd, but he has somewhere to be.
He quickly walks down the hallway, paying no mind to the indignant yelling of the fans behind him.
One.
Two.
Three.
Stiles grips the handle, breathes in, breathes out, and pushes open the door.