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Derek stands at the edge of the river, clutching the small homemade boat in his hands. His shoes and socks are off to one side, his bare feet dig into the cold, squishy mud of the riverbank.
Before tonight, he thought this idea was a little ridiculous, had even laughed when Stiles suggested it. But now, standing beside the river, its dark surface reflecting the silver light of the full moon, it doesn’t feel ridiculous at all.
He feels, rather than hears, Stiles step up beside him. “You ready for this, big guy?”
Derek looks down at his boat. He nods, and it feels momentous. Something inside him cracks.
Stiles hands him a pack of matches.
Derek takes them and steps into the water, the river tugging at his ankles as it rushes west toward the ocean. Even just two years ago, he wouldn’t have wanted to use fire, but tonight, it feels symbolic. Important. Like it will be cleansing instead of destructive.
He doesn’t remember where he found the quote, that it took seven years to grow completely new skin cells. But he does remember the punch to the gut he felt when he read the second line: “To think, this year I will grow into a body you never will have touched.”
Stiles found him curled up beside the bed, shaking. Derek pushed his tablet over to him with the quote, unable to explain. But Stiles, being Stiles, took one look at it and understood completely.
“It’ll be seven years since Kate took you to Mexico this spring,” Stiles said quietly.
Derek nodded.
“We should celebrate,” Stiles said. “Or commemorate, I guess.”
Derek argued half-heartedly. But the day came closer, and last week, he agreed to do something to commemorate the occasion.
He cradles his boat in one hand so he can light a match, and then he sets the match on the small bit of kindling in the center of the boat. At first he thinks it won’t catch, but it blazes to life, and Derek sets the boat on the water and pushes it out.
The river catches it, pulling it along with the current, drawing the small floating flame further from him with each passing second.
Seven years since Kate. Seven years since Jennifer. Now, he has a body they’ve never even seen, let alone touched.
The thing inside him cracks further, and Derek feels a weight slide off his shoulders, something he's carried so long he forgot it was there. He feels lighter than he has in years, lighter than he can ever remember, like the small fiery boat is taking all his guilt and shame down the river, burning it away.
He feels...free.
He watches the boat’s flame until he can’t see it anymore, until it disappears around the river bend. He stands there a few moments more, listening to the quiet burble of the water and rustling of the wind in the trees. The moon tugs at his blood, a current even stronger than the river’s, and Derek wants to throw back his head and howl with an emotion he can’t even name.
He’s not sure how long he stands there before he finally steps out of the river, shaking water off his feet. He grabs his shoes and socks with one hand and wipes the other over his face, dashing tears from his eyes. He’s not sure when he started crying, but it feels almost as cleansing as the fire did.
Stiles stands a few feet away, bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he wants to run to Derek but also wants to give him space if he needs it.
There’s a swell of affection in Derek’s chest, sudden and powerful. He loves Stiles, has loved him for years, but it feels a thousand times stronger now, like the act of letting go has freed up all this space inside him and it’s being filled by his feelings for Stiles.
He strides over and cups Stiles’s head, drawing him into a deep kiss. Derek tries to pour all his love into it, all the overpowering emotions he can’t name, hoping Stiles will just know.
From the way Stiles threads his fingers in Derek’s hair and kisses him back, Derek guesses he does.
“Good?” Stiles whispers when they break apart to breathe.
Derek nods. “Good.”
Stiles beams, and it’s as bright as the full moon above them. “Good,” he says, and pulls Derek back in for another kiss.