“So,”
Stiles zips up his bag and turns to give Derek a bracing smile, “You gonna miss
me?”
Derek
snorts from where he’s standing opposite Stiles, “You wish.”
“Hell
yeah, I do! I earned you pining after my awesome friendship, dude. Remember our
first year? You wouldn’t make eye contact with anyone, and now,” Stiles waves
his hands around their small dorm room, “You got a whole host of pals.”
“I
wouldn’t exactly call Boyd and Erica a host.”
“Small
in numbers, but big on the heart,” Stiles pats his own, wiggles his eyebrows.
“Did you ever think we’d get so deep at space camp?”
“Sure,”
Derek smirks at him, picks up his own bag slowly, “All those nights you talked
my ear off about how this year’s gonna be your year with that Lydia Martin; so
deep.”
“Shut
up! It is gonna be my year, dude. I’m sixteen, now. I’m practically a man.”
There’s
a beat, and Derek’s small smile breaks into a grin, “Practically.”
“Oh,
fuck you!”
Stiles
socks him on the arm, turns to hoist his bag up onto his shoulder. “You are gonna miss me, whatever you say.”
“I won’t miss your snoring.”
“Well,
I’m not exactly gonna miss you talking in your sleep,” Stiles flutters his
eyes, mimics Derek’s sleepy mumblings before Derek launches forward and punches
his arm, making his bag slip.
“Ouch!
Fucker.”
“I
don’t sound like that.”
“Sure,
sure,” Stiles pauses, suddenly feels nervous as they look at one another;
whatever jokes they’re making of the moment, he is going to miss Derek. He’s been coming to space camp for six
years, every summer, sharing a tiny dorm room with Derek, going to breakfast,
learning about the fucking rad universe they live in, and now, he’s too old,
Derek’s too old, they’re not allowed back next year. Which, if you ask him, is
a total mistake, because they’d make ace camp leaders. Okay, fine, so Derek
would glare at all the ten year old and scare them shitless, but Stiles would
win them over with his awesome jokes! He’d show them Derek isn’t someone to be
scared of; he’s just naturally shy, uncomfortable around strangers. If you play
your cards right, he comes out of his shell in the end. Stiles has loved
watching Derek over the years— not in a weird, in love with him, kind of way,
obviously, he’s not— he loves Lydia! —it’s just felt like something special,
seeing Derek grow up and become confident, kind, good with the younger kids
(once they’ve warmed up to one another), being there for Stiles in more ways
than he can count.
And,
he’s become one of Stiles’ closest friends, spending time at camp was something
Stiles looked forward to, began crossing off days for. He’s always been able to
be himself around Derek. He supposes it’s because they started off so badly
(Stiles fell out of their shared bunk bed and landed on Derek and broke Derek’s
hand, they spent most of that first summer stuck indoors looking at outdated
textbooks together, it bonded them), he didn’t worry about ever having to show
off for Derek. Hell, if Stiles ever even did try and impress Derek, Derek’d
laugh in his face. Derek knows he’s sort of a loser, but he’s been friends with
Stiles just the same. He’s going to miss feeling like he fits in.
“Write
me?” he says in a small voice.
Derek
frowns, tilts his head, “I always do.”
“Yeah,
but, it’s different this year.”
“Why?”
“Because!
We’re not coming back next year. It’s like… There’s no end date to the writing…
What if we run out of things to say?”
“Unlikely
with you.”
“Ha
ha, I’m serious, Derek.”
“And,
I’m Derek, Serious.”
Stiles
flips him off, “That was painful, come on, you’re not funny.”
“Maybe
I’ll practice my jokes, in my letters, to you, which won’t stop just because we
don’t have camp next year.” Derek readjusts his bag, rolls his eyes at Stiles,
“You’re such a worrier.”
“And,
you’re being surprisingly cheery about this whole leaving thing.”
“I’m
always cheery, you just haven’t noticed.”
“I
notice everything about you,” Stiles blurts out.
Derek
arches an eyebrow, and Stiles throws a hand over his eyes, “That came out so
much more weirdly romantic than it was supposed to.”
“Stiles,”
Derek claps him on the shoulder, smirks again. “Are you going to tell me you’re
in love with me right before we leave camp?”
There’s
a beat too long of silence as Stiles gazes at him, almost desperately. Then he
laughs, awkwardly, and shoves Derek’s hand away.
“You’re
a dick, I don’t even know why I want you to write.”
“Because
my letters are thoughtful and well worded,” Derek knocks their shoulders
together, nods as his dad and sister enter the room. “I’m ready,” he turns back
to Stiles, “Right?”
“Right,”
Stiles swallows, waves a hand at Mr Hale and Laura, “Hey guys.”
Laura
pops her gum, nods back, “Stiles, you grew again.”
“Happens
every year,” Stiles beams, wiggles his fingers in the air, “Pretty soon I’m
gonna be taller than my dad, and have
the biggest hands in the class.”
“A
fine achievement,” Mr Hale muses.
“I
didn’t mean it like— I mean—”
“Yeah,
we’re gonna glide right over that for you,” Laura interrupts.
“Thanks,”
Stiles cocks a finger gun at her, “Got my back.”
“Anything
for Derek’s camp buddy,” she teases.
Derek’s
cheeks flame up as Laura punches out a laugh, elbows him in the side, “Say your
goodbyes, loser, mom’s already invited half of camp home for Christmas, and I
don’t need more nerds clogging up the house.”
“We
prefer to be called wiser than you, not nerds,” Derek retorts, before lifting
his chin at Stiles. “I’ll write, I promise.”
“Cool,”
Stiles nods vehemently, “I mean, that is, cool. So, yeah. Bye, loser.”
Derek
throws his middle finger up at him, and then, to Stiles’ surprise darts forward
and gives him a quick, one armed hug.
Stiles
presses his nose into Derek’s shoulder, breathes him in as subtly as is
possible in front of Derek’s family, and Derek himself.
“See
ya in the stars, and all that,” he manages weakly.
Derek
huffs out a laugh, gives him one last once over, and then hurries out of the
door, his dad following immediately.
Laura
lingers, and Stiles hopes his eyes aren’t too obviously wet.
“What?”
“Nothing,”
she smiles at him softly, “He’s gonna miss coming back here, and you.”
“Well,”
Stiles shrugs, gives a wobbly grin, “He knows where I live!”
“Mhm,”
Laura taps her hand on the door, pops her gum again, “Don’t be a stranger,
shorty.”
“Hey,
I haven’t been short for years!”
*
September, 2009
Hi Stiles, it’s Derek. Derek Hale, from
space camp. I’m writing this in English because my teacher Ms Grady said I had
to write about my summer, but I spent my summer with you, so I decided to write
to you instead.
Please write back. Love from Derek.
*
December, 2010
Merry Christmas, Derek!
I made the card in craft class, and I
hope you like it. I fought off Jackson Whittemore for the cool pipe cleaners,
so you got the best tinsel. Well, you and my mom. She’s not been feeling very
well, and I wanted to make her a really nice Christmas card. We built a snowman
family the other day, and I realized it must take your family so much longer
than us! There’s only 3 of us. Your sister’s hair would be hard to get right,
too. Do you even get snow where you’re from? What are you doing for Christmas?
We’re going to my grandma’s. I’ll get to eat so much cake, which is awesome!
She makes the best cake. Do you like cake? I remember you liked the astranout
astronought astronaut biscuits but they’re not the same as cake!
I hope you get lots of presents for
Christmas, and write me soon!
[blob of glitter glue courtesy of a
vengeful Jackson]
Love Stiles Stilinski.
*
June, 2011
I’ll understand if you don’t come to camp
this year, Stiles. Mom says your dad called, and they were talking about it
again. We could exchange phone numbers if you want? In the summer? Or, if you
don’t come, that’s okay! I’ll write my number at the bottom and you can call me
any time you want. I promise I’ll answer before ten (mom STILL thinks I need a
bedtime).
I’ll miss you if you don’t come, but I
won’t mind, I won’t be mad, I get it. I wish I could be there for you more.
*
September, 2012
[most of letter unreadable due to
chocolate smudges]
SO SORRY, DUDE, LET ME RE WRITE THIS
UNDERNEATH
*
December, 2012
[….] And, then I guess we kissed, and it
was okay. It was sort of weird. I think it was weirder because we were under
mistletoe and all her friends were watching? I think it would be nice to do it
again, but when Paige’s friends aren’t there.
*
January, 2013
Buttface, hey!
Wasssupppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp.
Ok, alright, I have so much to tell you, but first I gotta ask, is that a dog
in your family photo OR AN ACTUAL WOLF? YOU ARE SO LUCKY EITHER WAY. Dad won’t
even let me get a fish. I had a snake once, for a little while. Anyway, it ran
away—well, it didn’t run away, it like, slithered out of the window when I was
in the shower one time—and animal control came out and had to catch it. Dad was
SO MAD. Forreal, though, so jealous about your dog. Tell me all about him!
(Do your braces hurt? Like, can you feel
then when you breathe? What happens when
you kiss Paige? Do your faces get stuck together?)
*
February, 2014
[…] Anyway, this card is pink cos I
realized it’s valentine’s soon, and I totally write to you more than any girl
(sometimes I write Lydia notes, but she mostly just shreds them when she thinks
I’m not looking anymore), and I thought DUDE, Derek will totally hate this
heart card. I have to get it for him. I hope you hate it.
[…]
And I hope you have an AWESOME
Valentine’s, dude. Like, I hope you get to SECOND. Write me back and tell me
about it, I have to live vicariously through you, as no one seems to ever pay
me attention here. I’m so lucky to have you
*
March, 2015
Stiles,
Please promise you won’t be bringing any
sort of itching powder to camp this year. I know you’re excited, but the pranks
backfired badly enough last year, and I swear to god if I’m the one that ends
up with boils, or I have an allergic reaction again I will kill you. Your dad’d
understand. He likes me, he told me so, he thinks I’m smart.
I am underlining this so you read it
twice; no itching powder.
I don’t know why I put up with you, I
really don’t.
[…]
So write me back, soon, Derek.
*
Stiles’
initial fears of their letters petering off was put to rest when his first
letter from Derek arrived just before Halloween; with a picture of the costume
Laura was forcing Derek to wear out; Bart Simpson to go with her Lisa. Stiles
had replied with a desperate request
to see a picture of Derek actually wearing the costume.
Derek
sent the picture with his face scribbled out, but Stiles could see it
underneath the pen; Derek looked deeply unimpressed. Stiles pinned the picture
to his noticeboard, looked at it fondly every day.
He
liked feeling like he was part of Derek’s life, if only through pen and paper.
When
they first agreed to remain pen pals over the months they weren’t at camp, the
letters were mostly to do with school work, and how much both of them hated it.
As they grew up, stories of friends, family occasions, football games, other
parts of their lives crept in, too. Stiles learnt all about Derek’s sisters,
Laura and Cora (and how very much they did not appreciate being told their
names rhymed!), he learnt about Derek’s love for baseball, and responded in
kind with great enthusiasm. It was just like Derek to enjoy baseball, he once
mused to himself, it was a beautiful game of numbers, skill and patience; and
Derek enjoyed all of those things. Derek was the most patient person he knew;
it took a great deal to wait out the end of Stiles’ sentences sometimes. And,
Derek always listened till the end.
Stiles
felt like he got to know a whole other side to Derek when he was writing. He
was more forthcoming, more open about his aspirations for the future, his fear
of not living up to his parents expectations, what he wanted from life.
When
Stiles’ mom died, Derek’s letters were one of the greatest comforts to Stiles.
They had only been thirteen (Stiles just),
and Derek hadn’t said anything dramatic, or horribly over the top, merely
written that Stiles wasn’t alone, that his mom had loved him, and that if
Stiles needed anything, he would come.
*
Stiles
read the letter announcing Derek’s visit with oddly shaky hands. He could
actually feel his heart beating against his chest as Derek explained his
basketball team had made it through to state and they’d be playing the next
town over. He’d almost seemed nervous in his writing as he asked if Stiles
would like to hang out; Stiles had had to immediately text him a confirmation that
yes, loser, he’d definitely like to hang.
They’d
exchanged numbers when they’d both gotten phones, but it had never seemed half
as good as receiving hand written mail through the post. The only other person
that wrote to Stiles was his grandmother, and he could hardly tell her about
the first time he kissed a girl, or ask if she ever worried she wouldn’t get
chest hair.
He
hadn’t seen Derek in nearly a year, and, although he was used to it, the long
break between reunions, he suddenly felt more nervous than he’d ever been
previously. Maybe it was because it would it mean Derek saw where Stiles lived,
where he slept, where he jerked off, shit! He was going to need to change his
sheets.
*
Derek
climbs out of the cab, and grins shyly up at Stiles. Stiles feels his heart
turn over, stamps down on it as he bounds down the porch to greet his friend.
“Dude!
You look… the same height. Hey, I’m taller than you!”
Derek
laughs, tosses his bag at Stiles, “Guess that means you’re in charge of the
heavy lifting.”
“This
got feathers in?” Stiles lifts the bag over his head, winces a little, “Okay,
this is… not as light as I was making it out to be.”
“I
have all my basketball gear in there, doofus.”
Derek
takes the bag from him easily, juts his chin at Stiles’ house, “Nice.”
“Thanks,
we repainted it like four years ago,” Stiles stretches his arms wide, shrugs as
he backs up the porch again, “It aint much, but it’s home.”
“It’s
great,” Derek reassures him, “Your dad home?”
“Nah,
he’s on till eight, but he promised to bring pizza home.”
“Nice,”
Derek follows him inside, pauses to look at the pictures of Stiles and his
parents by the door. “You look like her,” he adds softly.
Stiles
ducks his head, squints as he looks back up at Derek, “Thanks.” He glances to
the stairs, thumbs back at them, “Hey, so, let’s get you settled in.”
Derek
begins to follow him, still absorbed with the photographs on the wall, and
Stiles takes the opportunity to wipe his irritatingly sweaty palms on his
jeans.
“So,
you didn’t wanna hang in the cool hotel your school was putting you guys up
in?”
Derek
scoffs, “It wasn’t exactly the Hilton.”
“Neither’s
my place.”
“Your
place has you,” Derek replies easily, running his finger along the frame of the
last photo on the stairs. He gives Stiles a quiet smile, and Stiles pretends he
isn’t struggling to breathe.
“That’s
so sweet, dude, I had no idea you had it in you.”
“My
letters weren’t saccharine enough for you?”
“There
was no yearning, man,” Stiles claps a hand to his chest as he lets Derek into
his room. “I didn’t feel your pain at being apart from me.”
Derek
rolls his eyes, before turning his gaze to Stiles’ room. Stiles sends up a
silent prayer he got all the dirty laundry.
“Huh,”
Derek smirks as he spots his pile of letters on Stiles’ desk. “You don’t have a
special box for them?”
“Just
because you have one with hearts and flowers all over it, doesn’t mean the rest
of us do.”
Derek
thumps him.
It’s
as easy as being at camp again, except that just as with his letters, Derek is
more relaxed, much less on guard; Stiles comments on it when they’re aimlessly
shooting hoops later that evening.
Derek
catches the ball, shrugs, “Being there, I felt like I had to be on my best
behavior, all the time. We were there to learn, and it was a great opportunity.
I didn’t want to waste it.”
“Speak
for yourself, I always felt like my parents shipped me off there for two months
of peace.”
“You
know that’s not true,” Derek rolls his eyes, throws the ball to him, “Not that
I could blame them if it was.”
“Ha!
You love me, you came hundreds of miles to spend one night with me, you like my lack of peace.” He aims for the
net, and the ball swishes in satisfyingly, “Hell yeah!” he turns to demand a
high five from Derek, stills when he sees Derek looking at him strangely.
“What, I got something on my face?”
Derek
starts, catches the ball before it bounces off the drive, “Nope, same dumb
face.”
“Douche,
hey, so, there’s a party at Lydia Martin’s tonight, and… you and I could go, if
you wanted?”
Derek
squints up at the sky, grimaces, “A party?”
“Yeah,”
Stiles makes spooky fingers at him, “With people and music and even…
socializing!”
“Knock
it off,” Derek bats his hands away, continues to not look at him, “Isn’t Lydia
Martin the love of your life? Like, don’t you want to give her your full
attention?”
“Huh,
you know,” Stiles shrugs, “This year when I got back to school I didn’t… I
wasn’t so much into it. I think she’s great, but…” He frowns, surprised to even
realize himself, “Wow, I haven’t really been thinking about her at all lately.”
Derek
nods, shoots and scores easily, “Okay, cool, yeah, let’s go.”
“Awesome!
You can meet Scott; he’s my best friend, here. He’s super keen to meet you,”
Stiles leans in conspiratorially, “Between you and me; I think he’s jealous of
our deep, letter writing friendship.”
“Yes,”
Derek retorts drily, “Who wouldn’t be jealous, especially when your letters
list what you ate for lunch.”
“I
wanted to give you a detailed account of my day!”
*
Stiles
gets his first hand job, ever, several drunken hours later, and it’s from
Derek. Derek that he once barfed all over after a zero gravity ride; Derek that
saw Stiles cry the first camp after his mom died and sat with him, wordlessly,
for hours a day, offering the only sort of comfort Stiles needed; Derek, that definitely heard him jerk off the entire
way through their last camp, and was polite enough not to complain about it;
Derek, who has the best hands Stiles has ever known. Derek, that Stiles
probably loves—although, he hopes he didn’t blurt that out in the moment because
he’s not sure what Derek would say back, if anything, and that would kill
him—but, Derek!
They’d
hit up the party, and to Stiles’ relief, Scott and Derek had gotten along
better than he’d imagined. They’d actually bonded over their mutual love of animals,
sat together in the kitchen talking for an hour whilst Stiles chewed on his
thumb nail and tried not to feel stupidly jealous. He’d been drinking straight
from a bottle of cheap vodka he’d brought with him, and Derek had been casually
sipping something all night; they’d been less than sober on the walk home.
Stiles
thinks they held hands at one point. He’d lost his balance, Derek had caught
him, they’d sort of… linked fingers for a little while afterwards.
They’d
made their way upstairs, laughing at one of their camp leaders and her
ridiculous walk; Stiles attempting to mimic it and falling, again. Derek had caught him, again, and as he’d
swayed upwards, he’d just… kissed Derek.
To
his great surprise (and sheer joy, relief and excitement), Derek had kissed him
back. He’d cupped Stiles’ face and pressed him gently back against the wall,
kissing him like he’d been waiting for the chance all night, like maybe he felt
the way Stiles did.
“’been
thinking about kissing you for like a year,” Stiles had mumbled against his
mouth.
Derek
had laughed, brushed their noses together in such a sweet way it had made
Stiles’ already giddy knees weak.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,
like, a little when you got braces, cos, you gotta wonder, right?”
“You
did ask a lot of questions.”
“I
always ask a lot of questions.”
“I
know,” Derek had exhaled slowly, lifted Stiles’ arms above his head and leant
into him, “I used to find it really annoying.”
“Yeah?”
Stiles had tilted his head to one side, jutted his chin up, “And, now?”
“Now,
I know it’s just part of you,” Derek had shrugged, trailed his fingers up
Stiles’ exposed side, rested his hand briefly over Stiles’ heart. “It’s nice to
know you’re interested.”
“I am
interested in everything about you, remember?”
Derek
had laughed, and then they’d been kissing again, had stumbled into Stiles’
bedroom door and tripped over one another to the bed. He’d never made out with
anyone on his bed (his kissing experience was mostly in dark corners at the end
of dances or once, in his jeep, before the girl’s father had rapped on the
window and she’d fled in embarrassment, never to call Stiles again). But, he
hadn’t cared about lack of experience, had poured everything he had into making
sure Derek felt the way he did, felt wonderful and dizzy and like they were
right.
“We
fit,” he’d exclaimed quietly, pressing his hands into Derek’s hips. Derek had
hummed, kissed him with even more fervor than before, and that’s when Stiles
lost his shirt.
He
didn’t remember saying it in the morning, but he meant it all the same.
*
They
lie together in the darkness afterwards, breath still coming quickly. Stiles
can feel the panic rising as sobriety kicks in. What if Derek thinks Stiles was
a bad kisser? (There’s no way he could have had any issues with Stiles jerking
him off, Stiles is a fucking pro at that), but the kissing! And, what if it
makes things weird? What if Derek never writes to him again? What if this was
all a big plot to get Stiles into bed, and this is a thing he does with nerd at
space camp and—
“Don’t,”
Derek murmurs, drops his hand to rest on Stiles’ chest.
“What?”
“I
can feel you starting to vibrate,
Stiles.”
“I’m
just wired.”
“You’re
freaking out.”
“Not
about what you think,” Stiles reassures him quickly.
“So…”
“So,
you’re not freaking out? I mean, this
is us, we’re,” he swallows hard; “You’re my best
friend, dude.”
Derek’s
hand tightens against his chest, he sighs softly, “And, you’re mine.”
“So,
what do we do, I mean, you… you have a game tomorrow.”
Derek
laughs, twists to face Stiles on the bed, “So, you think your game was so good my head won’t be in it?”
“Dick,
no, I don’t know…” Stiles lets his fingers rest on top of Derek’s. “You live so
far away,” he says after a moment of silence.
Derek
sighs again, drops his head back on the pillows and tightens his hand around
Stiles’, “Yeah.”
“It
sucks.”
“Yeah.”
*
“So,”
Stiles winces in the early morning sunlight, gives Derek what he hopes is a
half normal looking smile. “Good luck, later.”
“Thanks,”
Derek shoulders his bag, waves a hand to the sheriff when he passes with his
coffee, “Thanks for having me, sir.”
“No
problem, kid,” the sheriff lifts his mug to him, “Barely even heard you two.”
Stiles
hides his face for a moment, and Derek stares determinedly at the porch as his
cheeks go bright red.
“Busted,”
Stiles mutters.
Derek
snorts, straightens up and rolls back his shoulders, “Write me?”
Stiles
winks at him, cocks him his signature finger gun, “You know it.”
Derek
leans in stiltedly, and Stiles goes to give him an awkward hug. They bump
noses, and step away, Stiles horrified at how embarrassing he is at living.
They
stand on the porch looking at one another for a minute, and Stiles gives in,
grabs Derek’s shirt and tugs him in, kisses him soundly.
When
Derek pulls away his mouth is red and lush looking; Stiles wants to bite his
bottom lip, restrains himself and gives another nod.
“For
luck.”
“Mm,”
Derek manages, staring dazedly at Stiles’ mouth. “’Kay.”
Stiles
laughs, pushes him gently off the porch, “Go, win a basketball championship, be
a hero, tell me about it in a month.”
“I’ll
greatly exaggerate my role in the win,” Derek promises.
“No,
you won’t,” Stiles retorts, watches him head for the cab waiting. He wants to
say stupid, big things he’s probably not ready to say. He wants to chase after
Derek and beg him to stay. But, he has an econ essay to write, and college
applications to fill out. Derek has sisters and an overbearing mother, a school
and a life of his own to go back to.
Stiles
wishes the letters felt like enough to make up for how much he’s missing out on
Derek in his.
*
Every
so often, he goes on a date. Scott’s girlfriend, the lovely Allison, tries with
great enthusiasm, to fix Stiles up at least once a month. He jokes about the
dates to Derek, often elaborates on what disasters they are, always tries to
make it seem like he’s still… waiting. It’s not healthy, he supposes to fixate
on one night, one person that lives hundreds of miles away, but he can’t help
it.
When
Derek’s letters arrive, his heart jumps.
He can hear Derek’s voice as he reads them, imagines them having conversations
about the topics Derek includes; why he didn’t like the lobster he had from a
restaurant his parents took him to the week before; who really thought Derek
would look good with a moustache, and how did they talk him into growing it out
for five months; why a house in the country would be far nicer than one in a
busy town; Derek likes thinks peaceful, quiet.
Stiles
wants to have conversations, wants to be more than an address to Derek, but
saying so to Derek might… make the letters stop altogether. It’s not like
there’s any point getting into anything serious before they’re both at college,
anyway.
Derek
tells him he’s going to Columbia, and Stiles stares mournfully at his map of
the US, to where he’ll be at UCLA and where Derek will be on the other side of
the country.
He
goes to visit Derek once, in the spring before graduation, and they spend the
weekend hanging out in Derek’s family library. They go to an actual milkshake
parlor, where the woman behind the counter knows Derek’s order before he opens
his mouth, and he blushes in the most adorable fashion when she rattles it off
to him first. Stiles meets Cora, and they both dutifully follow her around the
mall as she considers prom dresses. Derek cracks his knuckles over the idea of
Cora being accompanied by a teen called Marcus, and Stiles teases him all the
way.
He
keeps his daydream about going to prom with Derek to himself; he and Scott are
going to have a great time. Stiles can totally go stag, and he’ll maybe get a
pity dance from one of Lydia’s friends.
Derek
kisses him when they’re in the library, right before Stiles has to drive home,
and he feels his heart crack with the weight of how right it feels.
“You
have terrible timing,” he moans, pulling away as Derek sweeps his arms around
him, tugs him in close for the best hug Stiles has had since his mom.
“Couldn’t
last night,” Derek says into his neck, “My dad kept giving me these looks.”
“What
kind of looks?”
Derek
goes strangely still, and Stiles twists to make him meet his eye, “What
looks?!”
“Looks
like, you know, he knew I was going to try and have my way with you.”
“Have
your way with—dude! I’m eighteen, now, you know.”
“Believe
me,” Derek says seriously, “I know.”
Stiles
forgets himself for a moment, smirks, “Yeah, you thought about that, huh?”
Derek
rolls his eyes, looks all at once embarrassed and turned on, “Of course I did,
idiot. You were in my bed.”
There
had been a long conversation about bears before Stiles had drifted off, felt
Derek roll over and drape an arm around his waist before sighing contentedly
against the back of his neck. He’d never wanted to stay awake more.
“So,
you what? Chickened out?”
“It
felt weird to do anything,” Derek shrugs, looks away, “My parents, and you were
only here for the weekend, I couldn’t…”
“Couldn’t
love me and leave me?” Stiles tries for teasing, feels a lump in his throat.
“It
didn’t seem like enough,” Derek says quietly.
Stiles
swallows, hard, and thinks maybe Derek knows exactly how he feels.
“Hey,
so,” he clears his throat, surreptitiously rubs his eyes as he steps away from
Derek, waves his arms around. “You excited about living in the big apple?”
Derek
watches him move around a big mahogany table, follows him as he backs towards
the bay window looking out on the Hale’s huge back lawn.
“I
guess. Columbia is… where we all go, my grandad, my dad, Laura.”
“Derek—”
“I
don’t like the cold,” Derek cuts in.
Stiles
nods, “I know, you used to fill entire pages with rants about the eastern
winters; as if you’re from Siberia, not New Hampshire.”
“You
can’t talk, at all, considering you’ve spent all weekend in four layers.”
“Noticed
how many layers I’m wearing, eh?”
Derek’s
cheeks flush and Stiles barks out a laugh, points at him, “Busted.”
“You’re
an idiot.”
Stiles
picks up the bag that’s been waiting for him by the door for the last hour,
grimaces at it before looking back at Derek.
“But,
you love me anyway.”
“Sure,”
Derek exhales on a laugh, comes in close for another hug.
“Wow,
we’re such pros at this now,” Stiles manages to wheeze out, their hug tighter
than it’s ever been before.
“We’ve
had a lot of practice,” Derek kisses Stiles’ cheek quickly, steps away. “Write
me?”
“Always,
man,” Stiles cocks what feels like a completely insufficient finger gun at him,
backs out of the room before he says something else embarrassing.
*
Every
so often, he goes on a date. Scott’s girlfriend, the lovely Allison, tries with
great enthusiasm, to fix Stiles up at least once a month. He jokes about the
dates to Derek, often elaborates on what disasters they are, always tries to
make it seem like he’s still… waiting. It’s not healthy, he supposes to fixate
on one night, one person that lives hundreds of miles away, but he can’t help
it.
When
Derek’s letters arrive, his heart jumps. He can hear Derek’s voice as he reads
them, imagines them having conversations about the topics Derek includes; why
he didn’t like the lobster he had from a restaurant his parents took him to the
week before; who really thought Derek would look good with a moustache, and how
did they talk him into growing it out for five months; why a house in the
country would be far nicer than one in a busy town; Derek likes things
peaceful, quiet.
Stiles
wants to have conversations, wants to be more than an address to Derek, but
saying so to Derek might… make the letters stop altogether. It’s not like
there’s any point getting into anything serious before they’re both at college,
anyway.
*
May, 2016
Dude, PROM!!!! Was kind of awesome? Kind
of. Scotty and me and got drunk and did the Thriller dance, and everyone joined
in. Super cool moment of my life, like, right up there with you throwing up
blue icing all over the stage before our Neil Armstrong presentation. [And,
that time we made out in my bed. Sentence covered
by white out.] How was yours?
[….]
And, then we’re going to Miami. I promise
I’ll send you a postcard. I know you like those hot place :DDD
*
September, 2016
[…] And, I like my roommate well enough.
His name is Isaac, and he wears a lot of designer scarves. I think your friend
Jackson would like him.
[….] Also, I apologize again for calling Jackson your friend; I know you’ll still be
fuming about it.
That’s a view I’ll save to show you when
you come and visit, which I hope is soon.
Sincerely, Derek.
*
November, 2016
Derek,
I had a dream about you
November, 2016
Derek, I miss you to the point I think I
see you on campus, all the time. I mean, that would make you a weird stalker,
but I’d be okay with it? I mean, not that I welcome stalkers, but
WHY AM I EVEN WRITING THIS DOWN I’M
EMBARRASSED FOR MYSELF.
November, 2016
Hey man,
I forgive you for calling Jackson my
friend, I believe he’s doing quite well in London, actually. I don’t care
either way BUT, I do care how you’re doing. See how I twisted that? I looked
like a douche, but in actuality, I’m a kind and sensitive soul. You should date
me.
November, 2016
Dude, hey,
So, I’m dying to know, how did the first
mixer go? Did you sit in the corner, or were you brave enough to make eye
contact with someone? Even, might I dare add, make a friend?
[…]
So, write me back, soon. Okay.
*
He
doesn’t realize just how badly he’s
dreading the letter Derek mentions a serious love life contender, but it makes
his heart sink when he reads about her, nonetheless. Her name is Kate, and
Derek says she’s “feisty”. They met in their first shared class at college; she
took Derek’s pen right from his desk, and when he pointed it out, she told him
he seemed like the type to have a spare. Derek writes that he did, of course,
have a spare, but that wasn’t the point. They spent most of class glaring at
each other, and then he took her for drinks.
Stiles
can’t help but feel resentful this Kate girl is living the life he’d been
quietly planning in his head. He never even expected to have that life, to
really get a chance and now it’s disappearing before his eyes without him even
having tried to go for it. He’s
tempted to rip up the letter, but he can’t bear to lose his latest tie to
Derek, grits his teeth and asks polite questions about Kate.
Does she have an awesome hair swish? I
remember being infatuated with Lydia’s hair, once, man, it was like magic when
she moved her head… all swishy, and shiny. I mean sure, she has nothing on your
beauteous locks, but who can even hope to achieve that level of height when
they might not have your particular skill with hair gel?
It’s
a lame attempt at enthusiasm, and he hates himself for it afterwards.
He
calls Erica, whose across campus and takes him for drinks. She tells him she
and Boyd have been in a long distance relationship since they were fifteen.
Stiles
stares at her, wide eyed, “How?!”
Erica
shrugs, examines her nails, “We text, call, skype, it’s not like modern
technology is holding us back, dummy.”
“But…
You don’t see him.”
“In
person, and for like… maybe a month at a time? Sometimes I wouldn’t want to see
him, anyway; I like my space.” She gives him a conspiratorial grin, and he high
fives her.
“Hell
yeah, we like our space.”
They
both do the ridiculously sad, but still dear to their hearts camp salute, and
Erica orders more shots.
“I
always thought you and Derek were banging at camp, you know.”
“What?!”
Stiles chokes, “In those dorm beds—”
Stiles stops himself, “We were sixteen! Which isn’t even the point because we
weren’t!”
“Noted,”
she rolls her eyes, “You’re still a virgin.”
“I—that’s
not even—what does that have to do with anything?!” Stiles does two shots in a
row, stares determinedly at the ceiling.
“Well,”
Erica hunches up a shoulder at him, “If no one in this bar matches up to Derek,
and no one on this entire campus has distracted you from someone you write
letters to, then… what’s the actual plan, Stilinski? Pine forever?”
“I
don’t know,” he mutters morosely, does another shot. “Probably?”
“I
don’t get it,” she throws her hands up in the air, “You never saw the way he
looked at you, Stiles, but I did.”
“How
did he… he had a way of looking at me?”
“God,
you got it bad,” she narrows her eyes at him, before sighing and taking a shot
of her own. “I can’t believe I’ve been reduced to spending my Friday night
being your love life coach.”
“Oh,
please, a big part of you is reveling in this,” he slurs, “You’ve been waiting
a decade to tell me what to do.”
Erica
smirks, “Well, you got me there.”
“So,
Derek,” he prompts, feeling sweaty and nervous all at once. “He…”
“Christ,
Stilinski, he looked at you like you were the stars, and like the ones in the
sky we spent so much god damn time looking at didn’t even compare. And, you
never even noticed.”
“Hey,
I know how Derek feels, I mean,” he looks at his hands briefly, “That was sort
of a really nice thing you just said.”
“Don’t
mention it,” Erica mutters.
“But,
regardless,” he clears his throat, “He’s moved on.”
“No,
he hasn’t, he’s met someone, and maybe he’s telling you to be polite, or maybe
he’s being Derek and hoping you’ll take the hints he’s been patiently dropping
for years and step up, put yourself out there?”
“I am
out there!”
“To
Derek? Like, when he went to visit you last year did you tell him how you
felt?”
“Not
in like… words.”
“Gross,”
Erica scrunches up her nose, “You two are so… awful and romantic, shit.”
“Rude!”
Stiles does another shot, squints at her, “You really think… you think he’s
been waitin’ on me?”
“I
think anyone else would have cut you out the second you made them break out in
hives because of the itching powder you put in their shorts.”
“By
accident; they were supposed to be for Aiden.”
“Yeah?
Well, you gave Derek massive, gross hives and he still followed you around all
summer like you were the sun and he was earth.”
“Cute,”
Stiles nods at her, “Very on topic.”
Erica
shoves him off his bar stool, “I’m going to dance, you should go call Derek,
or, write him a sonnet, whatever it is you two do that has kept you both so
entranced for ten years.”
“Hey,
to start with we just bitched about you!”
“Liar!”
Stiles
gets drunk enough to try and wrestle with the mail box in the middle of campus,
and then gives up and gets a cab to the airport.
*
Derek
answers his dorm room door in glasses and an old space camp sweater Stiles
recognizes from when they were eleven.
“How
do you even still fit into that?” he blurts out.
“I
hand wash it,” Derek replies slowly, blinks at him owlishly, “It’s four am on a
Sunday, Stiles.”
“I know
I spent all of yesterday travelling; do you have any idea how tough it is to
talk someone into letting you on a flight when you’re really drunk?”
“Are
you… still drunk?”
“Nope,
now I’m just tired, and mad, Derek! I’m mad. Can I come in?”
He
barges into Derek’s tiny dorm room, spinning around to check for any potential
girlfriends.
“How
did you get past security?”
“Gave
the girl on the door twenty bucks and promised you’d confirm you were alive the
second I got up; you should call her, by the way, I’m just gonna… sit down.”
Stiles
collapses on Derek’s bed, watches through half shut eyes as Derek calls
downstairs, speaks to someone named Kara and promises her Stiles isn’t a
psychopath.
“Only
on week days, normally,” he says drily, directing the comment at Stiles.
Stiles
flips him off, rubs his eyes and tugs his hat off all at the same time.
“God,
is it hot in here? Do you have a furnace on?”
Derek
puts down the phone, comes to stand in front of him with his arms folded.
“What
the hell are you doing here?”
“My
letter wasn’t going to get here fast enough, so, I thought I’d come by in
person, instead.”
“What’s
so important in your letter that you had to beat it here?”
“It’s
more like, what’s not in the letter?” Stiles pulls himself to a stand, jabs
Derek in the shoulder. “I love you!”
Derek
had stepped back a little with the force of Stiles’ jab, reels back in with
huge eyes, “What.”
“That’s
not what I meant to say at all,” Stiles groans, drops back down onto the bed
and hides his face. “Oh god, this is why we’ve managed to stay friends; I get
do overs with letters! I say the stupid stuff in the first copy!”
“Stiles,
Stiles, come on,” Derek kneels in front of him, tugs crossly at his hands, “Cut
it out, look at me!”
Stiles
obeys, meets Derek’s gaze.
“You
flew here, in the middle of the night, a little drunkenly, I suspect, but, you
flew all this way, to… tell me you love me.”
“Yep,”
Stiles cocks a finger gun at him, “You know me, always great at doing the
crazy—”
“Stop
that,” Derek grabs his fingers, squeezes them, “Are you… what does that mean, Stiles.”
Stiles
blinks at him, “What does that… it means I love you, Derek. It means I think
about the kind of house we should live in, and what dogs we should have, and
that I wanted to go to prom with you, and no one else, and I don’t give a shit
about college, or what’s gonna happen if I forgot to lock my dorm room—totally
think I did, by the way, probably gonna have no stuff when I go home—but, I
don’t give a shit, I don’t care about it, if it just means, I got to tell you.
In person. I have tried, a bunch of times, to write it down, but it doesn’t
seem like enough. You have been the best thing in my life, with all the…” he
pats his chest, pushes it towards Derek and Derek holds his hand tighter. “With
everything, man. You’re my Milky Way, or you know, something better than the galaxy,
the universe!”
He
stands, suddenly, irate again, “And, I was jealous, okay? Some girl, Katie, or
Lacey or—”
“Kate.”
“Yeah,
that, she was just, you know, there and she got to be with you and I… I don’t
know why I’m here. Except that I was trying to be supportive in the letter and
I knew you would read it and know I didn’t mean it, because you know me, you
know how I sound when I mean it, and yeah,” he waves his arms out wide, shrugs,
“You’d have been disappointed I wasn’t supportive, of your new girlfriend, so.”
“Stiles,”
Derek stands, pushes his glasses up his nose, “I went for a drink with her
because I’ve been trying to get over you for years.”
“Over
me—” Stiles begins, but Derek holds up a hand.
“You
have arrived here, unannounced, on the only day I allow myself a lie in, and
ranted at me for quite some time. I gave you that, give me this.”
Stiles
swallows, mimes zipping his mouth shut, and Derek’s lips twitch, his sighs,
shakes his head.
“Since
I was a kid, I didn’t fit in, I didn’t get along with other people, I was a
loner. But, at camp, I was with you and… you made me feel like I belonged, no
matter what I said, or thought, or how awkward I was. I… felt at home with you.
It never went away, it just grew into something bigger. But, you never even seemed
like you wanted to try! I… I would have tried. I didn’t care about how far away
we were; sometimes I thought maybe that was how you put up with me for so
long.”
“Erica
is right, we’re a fucking pair,”
Stiles murmurs.
Derek
gives him a wry smile, “She’ll be pleased to know you said that.”
“She
won’t hear it from you,” Stiles warns.
“Stiles—”
Derek starts and then cuts himself off, pushes at his glasses again like
they’re still new to his face. Stiles has never seen them before, wonders how
long he’s had them, if the half-finished letter on Derek’s desk is to him, if
it maybe mentions them.
“I
thought maybe Kate would be a distraction, but it turned out she only reminded
me what I liked about you,” Derek looks down at his feet, shoves his hands in
his pockets. “She wasn’t feisty and passionate the way I thought she would be,
she was actually a little scary, so, I didn’t continue on with her, and she set
fire to a great deal of my letters from you.”
He
kicks at a charred box peeking out from under the bed, looks back up at Stiles,
“I did have a box, and she knew it
was an important box, and she set fire to it before I’d even finished
explaining things.”
“I’ll
find her,” Stiles begins to roll up his sleeves, “I will actually—”
“Why
didn’t you ever tell me?” Derek interrupts, and Stiles goes still, bites his
lip.
“I don’t
really know; I mean, I wanted to, all the time, but I couldn’t… I guess, I was
afraid that if I did tell you, you still wouldn’t have room for me in your
life.”
“I’ve
been making room for you in my life since I was ten,” Derek huffs, “How many of
your other pen pals from childhood have you kept in touch with?”
Stiles
lets out a hysterical laugh, rubs his face, “I never had any others, I couldn’t
stay focused enough to write back.”
Derek
smiles, suddenly, small and soft, “You wrote me back.”
“Yeah,
well, I think we’ve established that you
are very much the exception, Derek, what with my being in love with you and
calling you the freakin’ milky way—”
Derek
strides across to him, claps a hand over his mouth, “I love you, too, Stiles.”
Stiles
blinks at him soundlessly, barely breathing against Derek’s hand.
“I
love you,” Derek says again, earnestly.
Slowly,
Stiles takes hold of Derek’s hand lowers it to speak, “You saying I’m your
Andromeda?”
Derek
rolls his eyes, “I’m saying I love you, idiot, and you don’t need to put space
terms to it, or give it an endearing nickname; it’s not going anywhere, it’s
love, and it’s for you so fucking deal with it. You’re in my life, you should
be—”
Stiles
leans in and kisses him. It’s just as good as he remembered, just as good as he
imagined, better, because there’s no end point to it.
He
hopes.
“Hey,”
he pulls away suddenly, feeling excitement begin to unfurl across his whole
being, “Does this mean we can actually have sex? Cliché college student sex in
a dorm bed too small for us?”
“Only
if you brush your teeth,” Derek grimaces, “And, shower.”
“How ‘bout
we shower together, space cadet style.”
“Don’t,
ever,” Derek takes off his glasses and then his sweater.
Stiles
is momentarily distracted staring at Derek’s extremely fit chest, “Damn. I
mean, cool glasses, they were… what I was looking at and distracted by.”
Derek
fixes him with a look, takes his hand and tugs him towards the tiny bathroom, “Thanks,
I got them to see tiny handwriting like yours with. I was writing to tell you
about them.”
“Of
course you were,” Stiles beams at him, “I fucking love you.”
“So
romantic.”
“Oh, I’ll
write you a dozen love letters, dude, like I’ll romance the fuck out of you,
alright, you’ll see.”
“I can hardly wait, I’ll
be watching the mail box like a hawk.”
“Good
job you got glasses!”
*
POST IT NOTE:
DEREK, BUY CONDOMS ON YOUR RUN. I WILL BE
WAITING FOR YOU TO COME BACK AND ENSURE I GET MY CARDIO, TOO.
*
A4 sheet of paper stuck to a pillow:
Stiles, your dad called me again, charge
your phone, I have drawn an arrow from this page to where my charger is, you
may borrow it. I am a generous boyfriend like that.
*
March, 2019
I can’t believe we’re getting married,
later. I’m writing this on fancy hotel paper. It was missing something, though,
so I drew some stars for you in the corner. You probably won’t be able to see
them without your glasses because YOU’RE BLIND, but I love you anyway. I love
you all the ways, my milky way, SEE YOU OUT THERE, LOSER.
Write me back.
*
March, 2019
I’m in the room next to you. You’re an
idiot. But, this was a very thoughtful gesture. I will remember it, and yes, I will
embarrass you about it, later. I love you, too.