Work Text:
Stiles gave Derek a calendar before he went away. It's not like any normal calendar, of course, because Stiles couldn't just buy one like a normal person. Instead Stiles decided to go for custom made, downloading all the pictures of him and Derek together and printing them up, so that each month is a new reminiscence of when Stiles was home, still around and there. He'd already gone ahead and marked up each page before he gave it to Derek, highlighting the special days that Derek should be reminded of now that Stiles was away at college and not there to do it himself.
Each birthday is marked - Stiles', Scott's and Isaac's and each member of the pack; even the Sheriff's and Ms. McCall's (and Derek really didn’t get into that one) - all highlighted in a different color markers. Derek's birthday is in red (it matches the color of your eyes), circled so many times that the loops of marker spiral out to nearly take up the entire set of squares.
Stiles has also marked each weekend that he and Derek are to drive out and visit one another, Derek's trips again in red, (can't wait to see you, big guy!) and Stiles' weekends scrawled in blue.
The calendar is taped to Derek's refrigerator, and that's where Derek is now, hands limp by his sides as he stares listlessly at a blurred sea of black ink. It's a Saturday, and there's droplets of water clinging to Derek's eyelashes from his still wet hair, shower steam curling around his damp skin as he stands in his kitchen and stares at tiny blue letters that promise Stiles' arrival.
But it's the end of April, crammed full of last minute essays and stress-laden exams and Derek knows that Stiles isn't coming this weekend, only Derek can't seem to move his feet, wondering if he should just let the ever present ache take over for today.
There's a routine that's become more of an obligation than want: a run in the morning, shower, breakfast, check in on the pack, on Scott and Isaac; renovations to the next room of the Hale house and boards that need to be ripped out and soot swept out into the backyard.
It's a routine that he's tired of. It's a routine that Derek keeps to out of desperation to eat away at the hours of the day.
His phone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans and he blindly thumbs the Accept button, still not able to force his vision into focus.
"Derek?" the slightly tinny voice asks against his ear, and Derek’s pulse spikes in his throat. He swallows thickly.
"Yeah," he says, eyes flickering to Stiles' grinning face printed out on the calendar before him.
There is an exhale of relief, forced tight as if Stiles is trying to keep Derek from hearing it.
"So, uhm… hi."
And before Derek can manage to ask what's wrong, Stiles' voice spills over his in a single rush.
"So look, I know I said that I couldn't come see you this week, but I was hoping, if you don't mind the drive, if maybe you could come visit me. Instead."
There's pause of silence, Derek's heart loud in his ears and he thinks that maybe he's stopped breathing when Stiles adds quietly, "There's something I need to talk to you about."
Derek falters, his tongue heavy with dread.
"Not bad!" Stiles blurts out, an edge of panic catching in his voice before steadying. "I'm not breaking up with you or anything like that. God no, Derek - I wouldn't ask you to drive two hours to see me just to break up with you and – no. We're fine, we're good. I promise."
Derek nods, although it's useless since Stiles isn't there to see him. He clears his throat.
"Everything okay?"
There's a hesitation on the other line and Derek hates that Stiles didn't use skype, that he's hidden himself away so that Derek cannot see.
"Yeah," Stiles says softly, "I just wanted to see you."
Derek takes in a careful breath.
"I need to talk to you about something," Stiles says again, "But I wanted to do it face to face, in person. Would you - I know you drove up here last week. But would you mind?"
Derek's eyes trail down to the blue circle at the last group of squares on the calendar. Can't wait to see you!
"Yeah. I'll be there this afternoon."
Stiles exhales in heady relief and Derek can feel the smile in the last bunch of jittery words that tumble against his ear,
"Great. Awesome. I'll see you in a few hours."
The line clicks dead and static.
-
The dorms are relatively empty as Derek makes his way down the halls. He pauses before Stiles' room, takes a moment to listen for the number of heartbeats behind the door, one only one and then he's lifting his hand to knock, fingers curled inward.
The door swings open suddenly and Stiles’ eyes are alight with excitement, his lips pulling wide as he lets out a breathless laugh at the surprise on Derek's face.
“I knew it was you,” he grins, “I can always tell when you’re around, even with you gone for so long I’ve still got it, I still know whenever you’re lurking about.”
And before Derek can think too much into that, Stiles lurches into Derek’s space to grab a handful of his collar and is dragging Derek back into the apartment.
Derek makes a small oof when Stiles shoves him back against the closed door and Stiles’ mouth is warm and eager against his own, fingers trembling as they scramble into Derek’s hair, his body vibrating sharp like a live wire as he presses in thrillingly close.
“God, I’ve missed you,” Stiles mumbles, breath hot as it pushes into Derek’s mouth, sliding past his already wet lips and Derek just nods, palms the base of Stiles’ skull and pulls him back in, relishing in the sting of Stiles’ teeth nipping at his bottom lip, impatient as always.
“I just saw you last week,” Stiles rasps, catching Derek’s mouth at a different angle and shoving his knee between Derek’s legs, hiking up close and Derek catches Stiles’ hips to hold him steady, because Stiles feels like he’s going to shake apart in Derek’s hands. His voice is raw, pained in a way that Derek doesn't understand. “It’s only five days, it’s only ever five days but it always feels so much damn longer than that.”
“Stiles, “ Derek murmurs, eases Stiles’ mouth away with the gentle press of his thumb to the corner.
Stiles makes a small frustrated sound, tries to catch Derek’s mouth again but Derek holds him steady, as Stiles pants against his mouth, salty sweet from chips and soda and Stiles.
“Damn,” Stiles whispers, and then gives a soft laugh, his eyes finally dragging away from their desperate gaze on Derek’s lips. His smile is warm. “You came so fast.”
Derek arches an inquiring brow at this and Stiles’ cheeks flush redder than they already are (he always flushes so beautifully when he’s kissing Derek).
“I meant, you arrived here so fast. It usually takes you about two hours or so. That was, what, an hour and half?”
Derek does his best not to look embarrassed at that observation.
“No traffic, “ he says, as if that’s any answer at all.
Stiles hums, but he’s pleased, Derek can tell, mischief playing at the corners of his eyes.
“Okay,” he replies easily, presses a kiss against Derek’s mouth before drawing away. “No complaints here. But I wasn’t expecting you so soon, I meant. I’m still working on this devil paper and I have one page left and I swear I can get it done, twenty minutes tops.”
Derek shrugs, easing out of his coat and leaving it on the chair by the door as he follows Stiles into the living room.
“You know the routine,” Stiles says, motioning absently to the couch where his laptop and books are piled up in the center of it. “I left out that magazine that you were looking at last time, it’s under my laptop. I’m just gonna get another coffee, you want anything?”
Derek shakes his head, dropping down at the corner of the couch as Stiles disappears into the kitchen, stretching his legs to rest his feet on the scuffed up coffee table in front of him. He’d take off his shoes, but Stiles had snorted at that the first time Derek had done so and then curled up his own legs on the couch, dirty sneakers digging into the cushions. Derek hadn’t bothered with proper etiquette after that.
He’s flipping through the magazine that Stiles had left for him, fingers lingering over the glossy pages as he reads, when Stiles finally returns with a mug in his hand. The couch dips beneath Stiles’ weight and then Derek feels a press against his shoulder, surprised to find Stiles propping himself up against Derek’s body instead of the couch cushions.
The pressure is warm and familiar, Stiles’ shoulder-blades digging in a little as he shifts to get comfortable, legs stretched out as he settles his laptop over his thighs. Derek turns his face to Stiles, noses the soft hairs of Stiles’ scalp and he breathes in, just for a moment, just to take in that heady smell.
He drops his chin to rest on Stiles’ shoulder.
“What’s this?” he murmurs, feels the pale skin jump beneath his lips.
Stiles is silent, his fingers splaying flat over the keys, heart beating steady and loud.
“I missed you,” he says softly, and Derek leaves it be.
-
It's twenty-seven minutes later that Stiles finally lets out a long groan and arches his back, arms extending overhead as he pops his spine in a exaggerated stretch.
"Finally," he announces, snapping his laptop closed and shoving it and his books and loose leaf papers to the far end of the sofa. He scoots down into the cushions, shuffling to get comfortable as he lays flat, settles the back of his head on Derek's thighs.
Derek’s mouth pulls in a small smile as he looks down into Stiles' face, taking in the slope of Stiles' brows as he peers back up at Derek, lips parting fond and special.
"Hey," he says softly.
Derek tilts his face at him. "Hey."
The moment is quiet, private in a way that Derek has missed, what with Stiles' roommates and the pack always around when Stiles comes home to visit. And Derek doesn't mind them so much, he doesn't, knows that Scott especially misses Stiles and it's difficult for Stiles to spend time with them all in just a matter of two days and one night and there's his father as well. But it's been five months and fifteen days and Derek misses Stiles, he does. Because Beacon Hills may not be as awful as it was and the memories of broken trust and betrayal are not as smoke-tinged and brittle as they used to be. Beacon Hills has always been Derek's home, and then it was just a burnt out husk of bitter memories before Stiles made it better again. But Stiles is gone now, and Derek knows that Beacon Hills is only home with Stiles in it; without Stiles to keep him grounded and whole Derek is just another shadow unable to find solace amongst the ghosts of things dead and gone and ruined.
"What are you thinking about?" Stiles murmurs and Derek shakes his head, as Stiles' blurred form comes back into focus.
"You still do that," Stiles says.
"Do what?"
"Get lost."
Derek shakes his head again. "I'm right here." And then, against the dread thick and heavy in his chest, "What did you want to talk to me about?"
Stiles falls quiet at that, eyes drifting away, fingers toying with the stitching of his shirt rucked up by his belly.
And for a moment Derek thinks that Stiles isn't going to say anything at all, that what he wanted to tell Derek is too awful and maybe Stiles just wants to avoid it for a bit longer, wait for Derek to leave and never speak of it at all, until whatever it is becomes too large to keep concealed.
"I'm not coming back next semester," Stiles says finally, his gaze lowered away.
And Derek doesn't think he can breathe.
Because Stiles had promised him that this wasn't going to end when he left for college, had just confessed only thirty minutes ago how much he'd missed Derek and Derek doesn't understand why Stiles would possibly come to such a decision, that he'd stop making trips back and forth and -
"I don't mean back to Beacon Hills," Stiles says quickly, his voice pressing with a tight urgency. He's frowning up at Derek, brows pinched and mouth turned in down at the corners, like it’s important that Derek gets this. He reaches back and clasps his hand over Derek's thigh, squeezes tight.
Derek nods, but he doesn't understand what he's agreeing to or what he's trying to convey.
Stiles takes in a deep breath, his chest broadening and expanding as holds it in for a second, before the exhale rushes out of his lungs.
"I mean here." Stiles swallows, eyelashes dark smudges sweeping against the soft skin beneath his eyes. He's not looking at Derek again, and his voice is quieter, a slight tremor to the steady words he tries to push out from his mouth. "I'm not coming back here next season. I've already put in the paperwork. This is my last semester."
"You're dropping out?" and it sounds like a stupid thing to come out of Derek's mouth but it doesn't make sense, Stiles has never been a quitter, has never not finished something.
Stiles' lips twist and he glares up at Derek, although it's only for a moment, a quick flash of offense betrayed in the shape of his mouth before it's gone.
"No, of course not," Stiles says. "I like college, I'm not giving that up. I mean-" he sighs in frustration, although Derek isn't sure if it's at him or at the topic that Stiles has finally managed to get out. "I'm transferring to another school. Closer," he amends quickly when Derek tenses up again. "I found this place that's forty-five minutes away from home and I've already applied and registered for classes for the Fall."
Stiles falls quiet again, his gaze dropping away. Derek focuses on the tiny veins mapped across Stiles' closed eyelids, the way his eyes shift restlessly beneath them.
"But why?" Derek asks softly, and he's trying not to let the impact of Stiles' answer mean so much to him, to have so much meaning but he's holding his breath in a way that he really wishes he wasn't.
Stiles' throat bobs around a swallow, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips and Derek knows he's anxious, maybe just as anxious as Derek is and that's almost fond, in a way, if Derek wasn't thinking so irrationally.
"I don't like it," Stiles confesses softly. "I tried it, okay? I did what everyone said, what you said - tried for a normal life, a normal school life since my last years of high school were pretty fucked up. I got out of Beacon Hills like everyone said and tried for the college experience and dorms and a life without supernatural chaos. I tried." Stiles breathes out through his nose, lips pressing thin for a moment. "But I miss it," and his voice sounds so soft, sad in a way that Derek hasn't heard in a long while. Stiles lifts his gaze to Derek's face, and his expression is so open and honest that Derek can't breathe at all, can't even try to. "I miss you and I miss my dad and I miss you calling me up at crazy hours of the night because you need me to do research for you. I know you still need that now. I know why you don't call, because you think I'd be better spending my time on school and I get that, I do. But that doesn't mean I don't still want it."
Stiles lifts his hand, the movement slow, cautious, as if he's not sure that he's allowed to touch Derek's face, fingers ghosting over the stubble along Derek's jaw.
"But I miss that, I do. I hate not being a part of it all, I hate getting a phone call from Scott telling me that you were injured, a week after it's happened." There's a bit of scolding in that sentence, Stiles brows furrowing in a small frown at the memory, before his features smooth out and soften once again. "My life is with you. I've already decided that - we've decided that. And I want all of what comes along with it."
Stiles traces the soft underside of Derek's bottom lip with his thumb, coaxing Derek to meet his eyes, to accept perhaps.
And it feels much too long before Derek can give a stuttered nod of his head, because words have stopped up in his throat and he's not sure what to say in return.
Because Derek had let Stiles go and accepted that it would be another three years until Stiles was back in Beacon Hills, back home, back with him, just back.
Stiles’ hand draws away slowly, back to his lap. He gives a curt nod as if the matter has been settled and he stretches out the arm that was resting on Derek's thigh.
"So yeah," he says, his voice trying for more nonchalance than what had been there before. "I talked to my dad and I'm moving back home after the semester ends. I think he's happy about that. And I've missed him too, watching out for him and making sure that he's eating right and taking care of himself and-"
"Why are you moving back with your dad?" Derek cuts through, not quite realizing that he's said the words aloud until Stiles freezes, his heart pulsing for a terrifying stretch of silence.
Stiles gives Derek a dirty look before huffing and fixing his attention elsewhere.
"Geesh fine, look, once I'm settled into this new semester I'll look for a job that will help me afford my own apartment, alright?"
He's muttering something under his breath, grumbling inaudibly and Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’ wrist to hold him steady and says,
"No, I mean why are you moving in with your dad."
And that's when Stiles goes very still, and doesn't quite look at Derek, his chest rising and falling, breathing as if he's afraid that he'll break something if he disturbs the air, the silence that has fallen over them.
"What?" Stiles whispers, meeting Derek's eyes.
And Derek has never felt more calm in his life, steady and sure and it's strange that this should bring him such ease, after all that’s been said between them. It feels so right.
He rubs his thumb against Stiles' wrist, the fluttering pulse beneath delicate skin. And they fit together so well, really, Derek the relaxed one now that Stiles is bunched so tight with trepidation.
"Move in with me," Derek says, as if he's planned to say the words all along. And maybe he has, just never quite knew.
"Do you mean it?" Stiles says, as if Derek could lie about this.
Derek feels a smile tug at his closed lips, as he nods easy now, watching the change of emotions splay across Stiles' face below him, his eyes fond as he takes in the very moment that Stiles lets go.
"Oh my god," Stiles says, and then he’s grinning so hard his mouth pulls all funny across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling and then he's laughing, sweet and clear as his shoulders shake against Derek's thighs. He reaches up with both hands now, grasping Derek's face in his hands and pressing his thumbs against Derek's cheekbones. "Oh my god, you mean it, you really do!"
Derek smiles, teeth showing and he likes the way his skin tugs beneath the pressure of Stiles long fingers and warm palms.
"Will you?" He asks, even though he knows the answer, just wants to hear it perhaps.
Stiles is still laughing, soft in wonderment as he tugs Derek's face down lower and tries to arch up to meet him.
"Yes, oh my god, yes just come here, I need to kiss you I need to-"
And then Stiles is kissing him, soft and sweet and it's perfect, it's worth every hour and minute of the past five months of alone and without. It's good, it's so very good.
And Stiles is saying against his mouth, as his fingers drag against Derek's scalp and into Derek's hair, "I’m going to spend every morning waking you up like this."