Archive of Our Own ^beta

Derek smiled down at the black velvet box in his hands. The weight of the ring was comforting in his hands. Huh . Derek had never associated the two words: comforting and marriage.

Not until he had met Stiles that is.

Isaac and Scott both worked at the Local Animal Clinic and became fast friends when Isaac finally finished his degree and started full time shifts. Derek, Erica and Boyd spent months listening to long winded work stories, often with Scott as the shinny, grand protagonist. It was near November when Erica finally snapped at him to shut up and just invite him to the Christmas Party she and Boyd had been throwing for years now. Stuttering mid word, Isaac protested that it wasn’t "like that" and that Scott was already married...but went ahead and invited him anyways.

Derek got along just fine with Scott. He’d have never chosen him for his friend group--he seemed to have a type (assholes) as Laura once pointed out to him. And...well looking at the three he kept in his immediate company, she wasn’t wrong. Because they weren’t just assholes. They were raging assholes.

Scott was...too nice...too likeable. And while the man he'd brought with him had been his type (especially in looks) they had gotten off to a rocky start.

Stiles had a smart (& very pretty) mouth that took some time...a lot of time to get used to. He talked a mile a minute and had a foot in mouth way about him that some people found either endearing or infuriating. Derek was in between and that just made him angry.

The only two things that he had definitely figured out about Stiles was 1.) The man was absolutely beautiful and 2.) He talked...a lot. Like a lot a lot.

But other than that, he was at a complete loss. Which made him even angier.

After a few more than a couple of drinks later, Derek was giving Stiles a complicated mix between “Shut the Hell Up Eyes” and “Bedroom Eyes”. Something that Erica hadn’t hesitated to point out.

Once he finally mustered up the gall to talk back to the kid, all they did was argue. Politics, Sports, TV Shows, Art. Everything under the sun and the moon.

Stiles liked the Pope, Derek didn’t. Stiles like the Mets, Derek like the Dodgers. The Mona Lisa’s smiling, no she isn't. And it went on and on and on. The others watched in amusement, sharing knowing looks but saying nothing. They fought more than they drank, but still ended up pretty wasted in due time.

Derek’s head was spinning and Stiles had already thrown up twice, but they were still going at it. Spewing verbal nonsense at each other. By now everyone was laughing openly at them.

Scott’s wife, Allison, had tried to get Stiles to sit down and drink some water, but he was adamant about...whatever it was they had been arguing about. He shot forward to get out of her grasp and ran straight into Derek’s chest knocking him backwards in the wall. Derek, also extremely drunk, thought he had been attacking him and had rounded on Stiles, shoving him backwards in the Christmas Tree that they had all just finished decorating. The thing came down hard and went straight out the window.

And that’s how Derek and Stiles ruined Christmas 2010.

New Years wasn’t much better. Stiles split Champagne on Derek and Derek puked on his shoe mid sentence.

Their feud became legendary between their inner circle. And it didn’t help that the whole group of them--Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Jackson, Lydia, Danny, Scott and Allison--would often go out together, dragging them both along. The two would often sit in the corner together, scowling and making fun of the stereotypical drunk girls and the douchenozzle guys trying to pick them up. That would go on for about an hour or two, until Stiles hit his fourth of fifth drink. He would spend the rest of the night on the dance floor with the girls and Derek would spend the rest of the night watching him.

It was the next year at Christmas when things started...looking up. Derek had taken one look at Stiles in his darkened red suit that hugged his figure sinnfully and saw the guy that was hanging off his arm and then he knew. Just knew. He had marched straight up to him and dragged him into the closest empty room, taking Stiles apart and putting him back together again piece by piece. By the Grace of God, their friends pretended to not have known what was happening for the better part of the hour until a much later date. But Matt (or whoever Stiles had been with) had gotten the message and left the party not four minutes after they emerged from the bedroom, clothes wrinkled, lips swollen. Stiles felt pretty bad but Derek was pretty smug about it. They did it all over again New Year’s Eve and finally fell into a relationship later that month.

The whole thing was a mess, but so were they.

Five years later and Derek was finally going to propose. He had known, possibly since the first or second time he had seen Stiles, with his upturned nose and bright eyes, that he was “the one”. He didn’t care how cheesy it sounded because it was true. Derek was living in a Fairy Tale and some days he couldn’t quite wrap his head around it.

He heard footsteps coming down the hallway and quickly stashed the box back in his sock draw. Yeah, his boyfriend was brilliant (PhD in Psychology Brilliant) but sometimes it was the simple things that took the biggest toll on him.

Derek was going to get the ring sized tomorrow during his lunch break. It was the only time the Christine could meet him. And while he had been a bit affronted that he had to cancel his weekly lunch date with Stiles...the ends justify the means, right?

He turned around to see said man walking in, untucked and unbuttoned to reveal his black shirt underneath. Stiles looked up at him suspiciously making Derek realize his smile was out of place for his seven in the morning routine. While Stiles busied himself with struggling over his buttons, Derek surged forward, covering the distance between them in two or three strides, and tackling Stiles’ pouty lips with his own. The other man let out a ‘mmmph’ of surprise when Derek grabbed his face with both hands, deepening it, before he finally reacted by tangling his fingers in Derek’s dark hair in retaliation. They pulled back, to find matching smirks on one another’s faces.

“Well, Good Morning to you, too, Mr. Grumpy Pants.”

“I love you,” Derek responded, pressing a few quick kisses to Stiles’ mouth.

He smiled and kissed Derek back but then pulled away and placed the back of his hand on Derek’s forehead. His face feigned concerned.

“What?” Derek asked.

“Just making sure you’re not sick. Or dying. Seriously, who gave you Touchy-Tequila for breakfast?”

Derek snorted as he nuzzled into the space between Stiles’ neck and collarbone, “What? I’m not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?”

And oh, how badly he wanted that word to be fiance the next time he said it.

Stiles hummed, “I guess,” he kissed Derek on the forehead, “You weirdo.”

“You better get to work, weirdo ,” Derek said, kissing Stiles again, tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth as he pulled away.

“Ugh. You are so getting laid tonight, Mr. Hale.”

He groaned, “No. I’m working late tonight. I don’t know how long I’ll be.”

He was putting serious extra hours in at the firm. He was trying to get in the boss’ good graces so he could get that extra week off after Christmas. He was going to take Stiles to Florence for their “Engagement Honeymoon”/Christmas Present. So far they were at a “We’ll see, Hale”. And he was pretty confident that if he finished this week and next week off with long hard hours he’d get the “Okay”.

Money wasn’t an issue. He had enough from his parents’ old Trust Fund combined with their...life insurance policy which was impressive, even after distributed between he, Laura and Cora. But he tried to avoid touching that yet. He was sitting on most of it, plans for a house later on and for when he and Stiles eventually had children. College wasn’t cheap.

The thoughts of the future made his gut clench and his heart sore in glee, so much so that he missed the pained look on Stiles’ face at the mention of him working late again.

“Oh...okay. Argent still working you hard then?”

“Mm. The next few weeks will be busy, too. But after everything cools down, how about we take a nice weekend trip to LA and do all that touristy stuff?”

Stiles smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “You know me too well.”

He grinned, pressing another kiss to the apple of Stiles’ cheek, “That I do. Now hurry up, you can’t keep your clients waiting!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles waved him off as he finished buttoning his shirt and adjusting his tie. After a few moments, Derek was engrossed in doing the same.

He jumped at the small voice that came from the doorway not a minute later, “Hey Der?”

He turned to see Stiles, there almost as an afterthought. He looked as small as he sounded.

“What is it?”

He felt his heart stretch in his chest and his lungs pause mid breath.

What Stiles? What? What is it? What is it? What...

“You know I love you.”

Derek visibly melted, “Of course I do. And I love you.”

He watched as Stiles opened his mouth to speak but seemed to think better of it. Instead he nodded and told him that he’d see him when he got home. 

The rest of the week Stiles couldn’t shake that something was off. Derek had been staying at work late. Like late late . Like coming in at ten o’clock late. He had also been kind of...sketchy about...well about everything. He had canceled their weekly lunch dates, twice now and had been suspiciously “in love”. Like calling-in-the-middle-of-the-day-to-tell-him-he-was-thinking-about-him-or-jumping-his-bones-on-noon-on-a-Saturday-for-sexytime “in love”. And normally...well yeah, Stiles would relish it. But...something just felt off about it.

And it wasn’t until he had his new client, Tara, that things started to finally make a bit of sense. The blanks started to fill in. The image was assembling.

Tara was thirty six, a mother of three and wife to her high school sweetheart. Until that all went down the drain. She had found Craig--terrible name if you asked Stiles--in bed with another woman. The woman hadn’t even been younger, just someone else . She became depressed and anxious and everything that followed, for obvious reasons, all while trying to put herself back together without letting her family fall apart. Because when you had two underage kids, divorce wasn’t just a clear cut option.

Craig was an asshole. So far that was the conclusion Stiles had drawn from this. But of course he couldn’t come right out and say that. So, instead he let her talk. Because no matter how much schooling he had in this area, sometimes letting his clients talk their shit out was the most effective method of therapy. He didn’t need his Doctorate to know that and sometimes, as they rambled on, he questioned his school choices and the necessities of his student loans.

After Tara had left, however, he cancelled his afternoon appointments and thought.

Because...because, well, it all made sense. Everything Tara had been saying happened was happening. The late nights at work, the canceled dates, the sneaking around, the ‘overcompensation’ of love.

He quickly talked himself down. Because this was Derek he was talking about. The hopeless romantic Derek Hale that brought him flowers every anniversary and took him on date nights at least once a month and always kissed him goodnight and held his hand.

Derek would never cheat on him. Derek loved him.

But that’s what Tara had thought too. Wasn't it?

Derek and Stiles, though, they didn’t have any kind of tangible commitment keeping them together. They didn’t have children, they weren’t married. The only thing that was both technically theirs, was their kitten, Oscar. Him and the apartment lease, which was up in a few months anyway. But no...there was no way Derek would do something like that. Stiles knew him better than that. He had to know Derek better than that.

It wasn’t until the next day, though, that Stiles’ whole world came tumbling down around him.

Derek rolled his shoulders as he toed off his shoes. It was 11pm. Ugh. He hated Chris sometimes. All times, really. He should have been home hours ago. But he had been determined to finish the deposition on the Hailer Trial before leaving, and that he did.

Doing his best to be quiet, he changed into sweatpants and slid into bed, curling up against Stiles’ warm back, holding him in his arms. He supposed the long hours were worth it. Especially if it meant being able to come home to this for the rest of his life.

The next day he was to meet with Christine to size the ring. He wanted it done by the end of week and had pleaded and begged for her to put it on the top of her priority list.

“I don’t know, Derek,” she hummed, “There are a lot of people paying good money to get their shit done on time.”

Christine was one of Laura’s few friends from high school, so he had been dealing with her and her ways much longer than he cared for. And he knew the only way to get anywhere with Christine was to bribe her .

“How about a nice lunch when I deliver the ring?”

“Hmmm,” she feigned contemplation.

“Outside. At the Cheesecake Factory.”

“See you on Tuesday, Derry!”

So here he was, sitting outside this posh as fuck restaurant, treating Laura’s friend to lunch. The things he did for Stiles, seriously. He couldn’t wait to tell the little shit. He’d use it for blackmail the next time he left his coffee on the counter or the remote on the other side of the room or his charger upstairs.

“So,” Christine singsonged after ordering what was probably the most expensive thing on the menu...like Laura, she was an opportunist, which is why their friendship had survived as long as it did, “lemme see it.”

He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips as he presented the box to her. It was a Double Milgrain Wedding Band Ring. From Tiffany’s. That’s right. Little-Blue-Box-Tiffany’s. It was over 2,000 dollars and worth every single penny. It was silver and simple and beautiful and Derek had his own matching one. He had ordered Stiles’ too big though and wasn’t willing to blow the money on getting it exchanged. Especially if Christine was as good as everybody said she was and could actually get it done by the end of the week

She gasped, looking between the ring and Derek a several times before squealing, “Oh my God.”

A smug grin set in place, “I know .”

“You really love him.”

He snorted, “Of course I do.”

She smiled at him and shook her head fondly as if to say ‘they grow up too fast’. Derek rolled his eyes.

“So, can you have it done?”

“Anything for you, Derry.”

He rolled his eyes again, but the smile remained on his face, “Thanks.”

They went on to talk about his plans for the engagement party that Laura was putting together for them and about how he opted not to tell any of his friends besides Boyd because none of them could keep a secret to save their lives. He even decided to keep it from Lydia, knowing that she and Stiles were thick as thieves.

By the time lunch was over Derek had a renewed sense of happiness thrumming through his body. He couldn’t wait for this. He couldn’t wait. He had never been so sure of something in his life. When he had been younger and imagined growing up and getting married, he had thought he’d be full of nerves, contemplating his decisions, sweating in his shoes. But he wasn’t. Not even a little bit. He knew. Stiles was it for him and he was it for Stiles. He walked to his car on cloud nine, mentally preparing himself for the long remaining work day and unaware of the storm that was picking up speed.

Staying true to routine, during his lunch break on Tuesday, Stiles hoped in the car and started heading towards the city to meet Derek for lunch. It wasn’t until he was half way there that he remembered he had cancelled. Ignoring the tug of disappointment in his chest, he continued to drive, opting to pick up something small from one of the fancy bistros before heading back to the office.

He stopped breathing when he passed the Cheesecake Factory.

Derek hated that place. It was too expensive and posh and refused to take Stiles there if he could help it. You can buy better cheesecake at half the price from the supermarket , he would say. But there he sat, across...Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat...across from a beautiful woman with voluminous blonde hair, big breasts, full lips and a genuine smile.

Stiles thanked the Lord he was at the light because if he wasn’t, he probably would have crashed into the next lane when he watched Derek throw his head back and laugh at something the woman said before she reached out to touch his arm and he blushed. Stiles’ heart thumped in his chest. There had to be...there had to be an explanation. Right? Right? An explanation as to why Derek was staying so so late at the office. An explanation as to why he had cancelled his lunch plans...again. An explanation as to why...as to why...

He was wrenched out of his thoughts by a sob. He startled even more when he realized it had come from himself.

“Fuck,” he swore as he pulled off to the side of the city street.

He reached for his phone.

“Hello,” came a chipper voice.

When he didn’t answer it came again, “Stiles?"

“I think Derek’s cheating on me.”

Lydia wasted no time in getting to Jackson’s apartment--the same place she had instructed Stiles to go. She opened the door to a scene that was...kind of pathetic. And she probably would have voiced this if it hadn’t been so simultaneously heartbreaking. 

Stiles sat on the couch, his work clothes crumpled and worn. Tears were still rolling down his cheeks as he hugged his knees to his chest. She didn’t even bother with her shoes before she strode over and hugged the man.

“What happened?”

“He...he was with someone.”

“Okay? Stiles...”

“He was with a woman during his lunch. After...after he cancelled on me.”

“A woman?”

She felt him nod, his head heavy on her shoulder as she brushed some of his hair back.

“Honey. If Derek was going to cheat on you, it’d be with a man,” she ignored the indignant noise that came from the back of his throat and went on, “Don’t you remember last Halloween? Erica and I barely had clothes on and he didn’t even pretend to spare us a second glance. And then went ahead and nearly creamed himself when you came out wearing that black sack--”

“I was Vlad the Impaler!”

“My point , Stiles, is that that alone should show you that he is strictly gay.”

“What if he suddenly decided he wasn’t? What if he wants an open marriage or...or like polygamy. I don’t know if I can handle polygamy. And he’s been so nice lately.”

At that Lydia arched an eyebrow.

“No. It’s not good. We argue. It’s what we do!”

“Trust me. I’m well aware.”

“It’s like,” he sniffled, “I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop, Lyds.”

She sighed and sat up so that she could turn and face him. She took Stiles’ long fingers into her own.

“Stiles. You and Derek. You’re something special. I have never seen someone love someone else so fiercely. When he’s not with you he’s talking about you. When you’re together he’s only eyes for you. It’s annoying actually. He looks at you like you hung the moon and all the stars and all that cheesy crap from John Green. And from how you talk about the sex you two have, I fail to see where anything is lacking. And Derek...Derek wouldn’t do that either. He’s an asshole, sure. But he’s the most faithful and loyal person I know, right next to you.”

Stiles bit his lip and nodded, seeming to think it over.

“I know. It’s just...I know. I’m an idiot. I know Derek. You know Derek. He wouldn’t....he’d never...”

Lydia nodded, a smile reaching her lips. Good.

“Go home. And just remember how whipped your boyfriend is for you.”

Stiles snorted, but stood. He wiped his face with his sleeve and rubbed his hands on his thighs for a second, seeming to get his footing back. He nodded again and then kissed her forehead in thanks before heading out the door.

Lydia watched him go as she dialed her own boyfriend’s number. It was high time for a date night of their own.

Derek was at the stove when Stiles walked in.

“Hey,” he called, smiling already.

“Hi! You’re home early. What’cha making?”

“Stirfry. I figured we could use something kind of homey since it’s getting so cold.”

Stiles hummed as he leaned into kiss Derek hello. Derek stepped back a little to open is body and allow for a deeper kiss.

“How was work?”

Stiles ignored this in favor of another kiss. He finally retreated to the door to take off his coat and shoes.

“Fine. The usual. You?”

“Chris just had meetings today so I decided to head home a little after lunch. I actually came to see you but Meredith said you were out.”

“Hm? Oh yeah, I went to go see Lydia for a while. The office gets depressing after being in there all day.”

“I can imagine.”

“What’d you do?”

“For lunch?” Derek asked pushing the onions and peppers around in the pan, “I just stayed in. Took the time to look things over for Argent so I could justify leaving.”

He laughed, trying to cover up the guilt he felt for lying. He was so focused on trying to come across nonchalant that he missed the look of horror that crossed Stiles’ face and the fact that he had stumbled to a sudden stop.

Stiles didn’t say anything in response, a million thing running through his mind. He only excused himself to their sharrd makeshift office room to do some paperwork. Derek let out a breath of relief and thought about which kind of wine he should serve that night with dinner.

They fucked that night.
It was sweet and rough and sensual. Derek slamming into him, gripping his hips, whispering sweet nothings as Stiles jerked himself off between them. They both came with a grunt, one right after the other.

But instead of curling up together, kissing as they came down from the post orgasmic bliss, Stiles stood to go to the bathroom with the flippant excuse of feeling restless.

Derek watched him saunter away, wishing he could go one more round while also preening at the fact that that ...was his.

He was half asleep when Stiles returned.The man slunk into the bed and made no move to tuck himself under Derek’s arm or lay on top of him as he usually did. He just simply kissed him goodnight, went back to his side of the bed and shut off the light.

Derek was too bewildered to say anything. He watched on with a frown as everything unfolded. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes before Stiles flipped over to face him. In the dark, he could just make out the sadness in his eyes. But he didn’t offer an explanation and Derek didn’t ask.
What was going on? Why...What was...?
His worry was put to rest when silently, Stiles slid his hand down Derek’s arm and tangled their fingers together.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” Derek responded in his rough sleep filled voice.

The frown on his face was still present but Stiles could barely breathe himself.

He had lied. Why had he lied?

That had been running through his head all night. While they ate dinner, while they did their paperwork side by side, while they did the dishes and watched TV, while they had sex.

He had lied. He had lied. He had lied.

He waited until he was sure that Derek was asleep before letting the loose tears fall from his face. He fell asleep crying.

The next morning, though, he felt renewed, refreshed. He passed his emotional breakdown off on the fact that he had been emotionally exhausted. He woke in Derek’s strong arms, the man stirring awake along with him.

“Good morning,” Stiles whispered.

“I love you,” came the response against the top of his head before he pulled back a bit to press a proper kiss to Stiles’ lips.

Eventually, they both stumbled out of the bedroom together, albeit reluctantly.

“Go take a shower, I’ll start breakfast.”

“Pancakes,” Stiles demanded.

Derek chuckled before he pulled him in for another kiss, “Go.”

Stiles returned looking and feeling more alive. He helped Derek scramble the eggs while the pancakes cooked. They worked around each other in the kitchen like old pros and it made Stiles’ heart swell. He had never imagined himself in a domesticated bliss. But then along came Derek. Derek had changed everything.

“Do you think you can handle the rest, Batman? I’m gonna go shower.”

“Pf, I think I’ll be just fine, Der.”

“You better not have used all the hot water.”

Stiles laughed before flipping the pancake, “No promises.”

After that, they ate together at the island, exchanging comments about whatever they were reading in the NYT or just bantering back and forth about politics and literature. They threw their dishes in the sink and scrambled out to their cars together, which was a rare occurrence. Stiles’ first appointments ranged anywhere from 8am to 11am, leaving him on a sporadic schedule, while Derek left everyday at 8:30 to be at work by 9. Stiles slung his briefcase over his shoulder, a gift from Jackson that was worth more than Stiles’ car probably (but he had gotten Derek a matching one that was the same color of the embellishments of Stiles’....yes they were that couple) and leaned up to kiss Derek goodbye. The man gripped Stiles’ hips as he leaned against his Camaro, pulling him in closer. Their lips moved boldly together until they pulled back, both breathless.

“I’ll be home for dinner tonight. Order a pizza?”

“Nah, I’ll cook something,” Stiles decided, “My last client’s at three today so I’ll be home around five.”

“Perfect. I’ll grab a movie from John’s house?”

Stiles nodded. Their apartment, while decent sized, wasn’t big enough for both of their collections of books, movies and other paraphernalia, so his father allowed them to keep a considerable amount of things at his house, boxed up in Stiles’ old room. It gave them an excuse to visit and see him, which Stiles knew his father secretly enjoyed.

“Get something good,” he called over his shoulder, hoping into his *ahem* new black Jeep Wrangler. And Roscoe was still at home in the garage, thank you very much. But it wasn’t the most professional vehicle to show up to work in. Especially when a solid few handfuls of your clients were superstitious, anxious or paranoid.

“Of course. I’ll see you later. I love you.”

“I love you too, Der.”

Stiles backed out of the parking lot and started the thirty minute haul to his office. And even though all the radio stations decided it was a prime time to play nothing but commercials during the morning commute--jackasses, all of them--he couldn’t shake his smile.

True to his word, Derek was home early. He was on the couch with his socked feet up on the coffee table, Rayban frames balanced on his nose and book in hand. Stiles had never seen something so attractive. He was already changed into one of his soft forest green sweaters, courtesy of Lydia and...wow, she and Jackson really spoiled them, he made a mental note to step up their christmas gifts to them this year...and jeans. In lieu of cooking dinner, Stiles peeled off his suit jacket (Because yes, Stiles had fallen into the ‘chic’ style, much to the girls’ (and Derek’s) delight, once he discovered professionalism was a thing and he couldn’t wear plaid all the time and decided that black suits were irrevocably boring .) and popped off his shoes before quite literally crawling into Derek’s lap. The man put down the worn copy of Crime and Punishment in favor of wrapping his strong arms around Stiles to keep him from falling. The younger man pressed a line of kisses along the underside of Derek’s jaw until he finally reached his lips.

Derek hummed into the kiss, “Have a good day at work?”

“Yeah. Definitely made some progress today with one of my clients.”

“That’s always good,” Derek agreed as he dropped a kiss on the top of Stiles’ head, which was now buried in Derek’s neck.

“Yeah. What about you? Chris working you hard?”

“Always,” Derek laughed.

“Mm. How’s soup sound for dinner?”

A few hours later they were in a similar position, but now full and comfortable. Derek was lounging again with his feet up, watching Zathura because “come on Derek it’s a classic”, while Stiles leaned against his chest, using Derek’s phone to Snapchat Cora.

“Oh my God, they have a dog filter ,” he murmured as he swiped through the other ones.

Derek watched him fondly as he twisted his face in all different directions trying to activate the affects of the app.

Stiles was...he was adorable. Derek pressed a low, slow kiss to his temple and turned back to the movie. The scene was so domestic that it hurt. He had half a mind to propose to Stiles right then and there because this ... this is what he wanted and this was who he wanted it with.

He heard his phone vibrate and curiously looked over to see who had texted him. Usually all conversation with his friends happened through Stiles, since Derek apparently sucked at answering text messages and they were always together anyways. So when Stiles cleared his throat and shifted his eyes towards him, he froze.

“Who’s Chrissy?”

He felt his eyes widen and his chest implode. Shit shit shit shit shit . He reached over and plucked the phone from Stiles’ fingers.

“N-no one. Just an adjunct from work,” he paused. He couldn’t outright ask Stiles if he’d seen the message. So...hm, “what’d she say?” he tried.

Stiles watched him, his eyes as wide as Derek imagined his own were. Why?

“I don’t know.”

“Mm,” Derek hummed, satisfied with the answer. They were so close, just a few more days. The last thing he wanted was to spoil the surprise for his ever curious and perceptive future husband. He unfolded his legs and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple.

“I’ll start the dishes,” he said.

Stiles watched as Derek sauntered into the kitchen, tapping away at his phone. Derek never texts. Ever.

He tried to focus on the abnormal scene in front of him instead of the deepening, crushing feeling in his whole body.

He bit his lip and let out a shaky exhale. He wiped at his nose with the back of his hand and stood, making his way to the kitchen.

Derek texted back a quick I’ll call you later. With Stiles. before heading to the sink. After a few moments, he caught Stiles standing against the wall, his hands behind his back, acting as a cushion between him and the plaster. Derek shot him a quick smile before turning back to the sink, not thinking much of the silence until it’s broken.

“I think...I think I’m going to spend a few days at Scott’s.”

His hands stilled, “What’s wrong?”

Stiles shook his head, “I just...I need a few days.”

He ignored the pull of breath and shut of the sink, slowly dry his hands. He tried to force himself to be somewhat relieved by this answer, but, Stiles had been doing so well. It had been a year since his last anxiety attack and months since his last episode of severe depression.
The ADHD, Stiles had explained to him once, made him take things in way too fast to process...pills and medication could only help so much. Everything came in at once and his brain was already working overtime trying to decipher and translate everything. And then, after a while it eventually just stops, leaving Stiles to feel empty and heavy and full and light all at once.
John had told him that Claudia had been the same way, high on life, happy and bright and smiling one day and at the bottom of the earth the other. Derek’s own father had suffered from depression and he watched as his mother handle it with a facade of ease for years. He figured out, between them and Stiles, that the best thing to do was to hold them if they wanted to be held and give them some space if they wanted some space. And when Stiles says he needs space, he means that he needs space with Scott McCall.

Derek hadn’t understood it in the beginning, leaving the couple

in fights and disconnected. But the more time he was there for it, the better he understood their codependency. Scott was safe . He had been there from the beginning. He was Stiles’ equilibrium. But it had been...wow...it had been two years since Stiles had claimed to just “need space”. So, obviously there was a clawing worry stirring inside him.

He was planning on proposing. And he didn't, for obvious reasons, want to do it when Stiles was feeling anything other than contentment and happiness. But, of course, the proposal could wait. As long as Stiles needed. Derek would, of course wait for him.

He nodded slowly and stepped towards Stiles, clasping his biceps gently.

“Okay,” he said, pressing a slow and sensual kiss to his forehead, “Okay. If you need anything, just call, alright? Want me to drive you up?”

Stiles only shook his head, “Hey Der?”

He was already elbows deep in the suds of the sink again, so he turned his head to look at him, still unmoved from his previous spot.

“Yeah?”

“I...just remember that I love you. So much. No matter what.”

This was something that came from their first months of their relationship. Stiles feeling down and fleeing to Scott, leaving Derek feeling unloved and insignificant and frustrated. After and before these times, Stiles always tried to remind Derek how much he loved him. He couldn’t help his small smile.

“Of course, baby. I love you, too.”

Stiles packs a bag blindly, willing himself not to cry yet, throwing in sweatpants and sweatshirts and boxers and his toothbrush. He waves goodbye to Derek, a rock settling in his chest that it could be the last time, and gets in the jeep. He drives straight to Lydia’s.

And of course Jackson opens the door.

“Stilinski,” he said promptly, barely looking at him.

When Stiles shoves into the apartment without a word and Jackson finally gets a look at his red eyes and tear streaked face, the blonde stills.

“What’s wrong?” He growls.

“Jackson? Who’s there?” Lydia calls from the bedroom.

And great, Stiles probably interrupted sexy time. Before Jackson could speak though, Lydia walked out (fully clothed).

“Stiles?”

“He lied,” was the only thing he said.

He watched as Lydia put everything together in her head, her face shattering as she reached her conclusion. Jackson, however, stood there completely out of the loop and becoming more and more frustrated at the seconds went by.

“Who lied? What’s going on? What happened? ” He gestured to the man standing in the living room.

“Derek,” Lydia said slowly, not taking her eyes off of Stiles, “Derek’s cheating on Stiles.”

The way she said it was rhetorically incorrect. It was a soft statement, almost calming in tone. But nonetheless, it was responsible for a fresh wave of hurt to topple over him.

“What?!” Jackson cried, outraged, “There’s no way. Lyds. Stiles?”

He told them the accounts of the afternoon, Lydia filling in Jackson about the day before. About the lying, the sneaking, late nights, hiding messages, the “lovey-dovey” routine. By the time he was done, Lydia was stone faced and Jackson was fuming.

“I ought to go over there and see what Hale’s fucking problem is,” he snarled.

Lydia put a hand on his arm in warning and sighed.

“It’s late.”

“Oh,” Stiles sniffled, “Do you want me to go? Sorry, I know I interrupted but...”

“No,” Jackson cut him off, “you’re fine.”

Lydia nodded, “Jackson’s right. I was just going to suggest that we head to bed and tackle this tomorrow with clear and level heads.”

He let out a breath and nodded, “Yeah. Yeah, okay. You’re right. As always.”

She smiled and headed towards the bedroom.

“Uh, do you have a blanket I could borrow?”

“You’re sleeping in the bed with us,” Lydia explained.

Jackson didn’t look half as horrified as he should have before he was shrugging his shoulder and shoving Stiles in towards the room.

“Wha...what? No.”

“Stiles. We’re your friends. It’s clear that you need some TLC right now and that’s what we’re going to give you.”

Stiles bit his lip but followed orders when Lydia raised a seriously skeptical and well manicured eyebrow at him. He ended up in between the two of them. The image of a terrified child squeezing in the middle of his parents after a nightmare came to mind. And...well that’s pretty much exactly how he felt at the moment anyways. Jackson flickered the light off just as Lydia’s hand intertwined with his. He gave it a grateful squeeze before letting his tense body finally relax.

“I swear to God Stilinski, if you drool on me, I’ll kill you.”

He grumbled an inaudible response but Jackson kicked at him anyway. The presence of his two friends that haven’t changed since high school (except Jackson’s slightly less douchier) comforted him in ways he couldn’t have predicted.

“And I don’t cuddle,” he stated, making Lydia snort out a, “Liar.”

He went to sleep with an empty mind.

Turns out Jackson did cuddle--snuggle was more like it--and so did Lydia. It was weird. It took him several long seconds to remember that a.) no, he wasn’t home and b.) no, he didn’t have some strange twisted previous unrequited love redemption three-way orgy with Jackson and Lydia.

But yeah, so he woke up with Lydia’s head on his chest and Jackson, shirtless and spooning the both of them. When he finally opened his eyes, it was to see Lydia watching him carefully as she dragged her fingers through his hair. He hummed his approval.

Once she noticed he was awake she shared an amused look with him at Jackson’s expense and rolled her eyes, “I don’t cuddle, my ass.”

Jackson woke at the sound of her voice and only tightened his grip around Stiles before releasing him completely and turning over. It was one of the strangest things, to date, that he had ever experienced.

He followed Lydia out to the kitchen and put on the coffee. They stayed in their pajamas gossiping about their coworkers and friends well into noon. It was only when Lydia’s phone rang that he remembered why he was there at all. Jackson silently approached, still shirtless and still a tool. He grabbed a cup of coffee and winced as Lydia’s cold hardened voice cut through the ease of the morning.

“Derek. Derek, relax. He’s fine. He’s right here....Well he slept fine without it last night. He’s fine. No. No I don’t that’s a good idea....No you won’t . Oh, I don’t know Derek. Figure it out.”

She promptly hung up the phone and handed Jackson the creamer as if nothing had even happened. And... yeah , ignoring the problem entirely? Stiles could get behind that 110%.

It was when Derek had woken, cold and alone that he realized that Stiles hadn’t called to let him know he had gotten to Scott’s safely and that he had forgotten his pillow.

He shot out of bed immediately.

“I...just remember that I love you. So much. No matter what.”

What if they hadn’t been on the same page? And Stiles was...What if...what if...oh my God.

Derek felt the blood drain from his face as he scrambled for his phone, his brain stalling as he scrolled through his contacts.

Allison didn’t pick up and neither did Boyd. Isaac hadn’t seen him. Erica said he didn’t return any of his texts last night. He was near hyperventilating at this point. Scott. Right of course. Scott. Scott. Call Scott.

“Hey Derek!”

“Scott.”

“Derek?”

“I have to talk to Stiles.”

“Um. Alright?”

Silence.

“Could you...give him the phone?”

“Derek, are you okay?”

“What?”

“Stiles isn’t here.”

“What do you mean he isn’t there, Scott?”

“I mean exactly that.”

“But he said...”

“He’s not here. I haven’t seen him since last week. And the last time I spoke to him was two days ago.”

“Are you sure?”

“Derek.”

The next person he called was Lydia. Because apparently in times of distress his brain worked fucking backwards.

“Lydia? Lydia.”

“Derek,” her voice was like ice and he wondered if he had interrupted her and Jackson.

“Lydia. I can’t find Stiles. He said he went to Scott’s but he’s not there and--”

“Derek, relax.”

“Relax? I can’t find him , Lydia!”

“He’s fine. He’s right here.”

A wave of relief swept through him so hard that he felt the shaky approachment of tears. Stiles is safe. Stiles is safe. Stiles is safe .

“I was...his pillow. I was going to bring his pillow. He can’t sleep without it and...” Derek knew he was fricken rambling, but he had just spent the last hour with the belief that Stiles had been dead, so.

“Well he slept fine without it last night,” she cut him off, voice still cold.

“Is he okay?”

“He’s fine .”

“Can I--”

“No.”

“Can I talk to him for a second?”

“No, I don’t that’s a good idea.”

“I...what? Okay, I’ll coming over. There’s clearly something wrong. I’ll come--”

“No you won’t ,” the force in her voice caused Derek to stop his movements, even from the other side of the line.

What? He doesn’t want to talk to you. Doesn’t want to see you. Said he was going to Scott’s...

“Lydia,” he said slowly, “did I do something wrong?”

There was a feeling in his stomach where he knew that's exactly what had happened. Derek had fucked up. This badly. And he hadn’t even noticed. And from Lydia’s sarcastic, “Oh, I don’t know Derek. Figure it out,” jeer, he figured that it had been that bad.

Without another word she hung up. Derek dropped himself onto the couch and sat there stunned in disbelief.

What the fuck had he done?

He reviewed every Holiday, Anniversary and Birthday that he knew. But no, nothing. He replayed every conversation they’d had in the past week and...no, nothing. He...what the fuck was happening?

Picking up the ring from Christine was...painful. He stashed it in his pocket.

He was angry now. It had been four days since he had seen Stiles. He had called him everyday and texted him and even gone to his office just to have Meredith tell him that he was either with a client or just not there at all. Derek spent the days moping and thinking and crying and being fucking angry. The fifth day had finally been enough.

It was two days before he was due to ask Stiles to marry him. The same day John had asked Claudia.

And Lydia clearly knew more than she was letting on and was allowing Stiles to hide from Derek when this was not any of her business. After work, he had driven straight there. Much to his disappointment, he was met with a hostile Jackson that looked like he could, would and wanted to pummel Derek into the ground. He didn’t see Stiles.

The next night, he got off late from work and went ready for a fight, whether it be Jackson, Lydia or Stiles himself. To his surprise, this time when Jackson opened the door, the man stepped aside to let him in.

He walked in to see Stiles standing in the middle of the living room, looking like a deer caught in headlights. And for some reason, this made Derek fucking  furious.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?”

For a moment, Stiles stood there stunned before screwing his face up and yelling back, “Are you serious?”

“Serious? Am I serious? I’m not the one playing hookie like a twelve year old girl who’s afraid to face their fucking problems.”

“Problem? This is a little more than a problem, Derek. Don’t you think?”

“Well I wouldn’t fucking know , Stiles. Since I haven’t talked to you in a fucking week!”

He barely registered Lydia pushing Jackson into the kitchen and out of sight when his attention was snapped back to Stiles.

“Oh, is that how we’re going to play this? Innocent bystander? Gotcha !”

“What. The fuck. Are you talking about?”

“Just...Don’t Derek. Don’t Okay? Stop.”

“S-stop? Me? You told me you were going to Scott’s. And you never show up? Don’t call me? Nothing? What the hell is wrong with you?”

They were yelling now, both of them. Without so much as a shred of dignity to tame them.

“Oh I’m sure you were so worried. It probably would have made it easier for you then? Not having to explain anything. Fucking jerk .”

“Stiles--”

“Who’s Chrissy, Derek?”

His voice was suddenly low and level. Scary was a better word for it. So void of emotion, so detached and calculated. The question threw him.

“What?”

“Chrissy, Derek. The girl you went out to lunch with on Tuesday.”

“How did you--”

“Who is she , Derek!?”

He squinted his eyes. What the fuck? Why did Christine have anything to do with this at all? He couldn’t tell him about the ring. Not yet. Not like this.

“She’s one of Laura’s friends. Look, I don’t understand how--”

“Oh you “don’t understand”? What is this? What the hell are you doing ? If you’re done you’re done. There’s no fucking need to drag this out, drag me out, like this! So if you could fucking stop--”

“Stop fucking what?!”

“I know, Derek. The gig is up. You’re caught. You can stop pretending now!”

He felt his heart clench. Stiles knew about the ring? And he was...he was mad? He..oh God, he ranaway . And that...that hurt more than anything.

“Wow, so you fucking knew and thought this ...leaving was the best way to handle it? What the fuck is wrong with you? I must have fucking really messed the fuck up somewhere. Are you seriously this immature? This selfish and that fucking much of an asshole that you’d just fucking leave like that?”

“What the fucking hell is wrong with you? Immature? You’re fucking joking. What was I supposed to when I found out? Just stay? Pretend like it’s not happening? Ignore it? Just let you do whatever the fuck you want and suffer from it?”

“Suffer? Wow. Jesus fucking Christ, Stiles. I’m so fucking sorry for loving you. I didn’t know it was making you suffer ,” he spat.

His heart was in rings, his world was falling around him.

“Derek. You must be the fucking most self centered piece of shit on the planet if you think that I’m just going to fucking sit around and wait for you at home while you fucking are out fucking sleeping around with other people. In case you didn’t get the frickin memo, that’s not how fucking relationships work. That’s fucking called cheating . And no, I’m not going to fucking stay with you. You fucking asshole!”

And...oh. Oh. What the fuck? Stiles thinks...Stiles thought that he was cheating on him. With...with Christine. That didn’t... oh . Oh my God. Now what? He could pull out the ring, a steady weight against his chest and put an end to the misconception now. But...but if they were already going through all of this , then there was no way Derek was going to ruin it now. No way in hell.

His eyes flickered to the clock. It was 11:54. If he could hold out a few more minutes it would...more or less, still be true to his original plan.

Stiles caught the movement.

“Oh, you have somewhere to be? Is she waiting for you? Is that more important than this? Right now?”

“Stiles,” he growled, still in complete confusion as to how he had reached such a conclusion.

“Right, of course it is. I don’t know why I’m fucking asking.”

“I’m not cheating on you, Stiles!”

“I’m not a fucking idiot, Derek. I’m not blind either.”

“Calm the fuck down, because if this is the problem than it’s fixable.”

“Oh? You’ll just stop seeing her? Is that it? That’s your solution? Because I’ve heard that before. It’s the last time. Never again. It was a mistake. That’s fucking bullshit, Derek and you know it! I’m done! I’m not sitting through this.”

“I never said that Stiles!”

“I know . Because we both know that you don’t believe it.”

“I don’t.”

“Oh, God,” Stiles sniffled. At one point, both of them had started with the waterworks as their voices battled, “you can’t even fucking pretend that you regret it. I fucking hate you, Derek. How could you do this to us?”

The comment ripped through him. 11:58. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. Two more minutes. If they could make it that long. If he could make it that long.

“I don’t regret it,” he was cut off by the sound of a scuffle in the kitchen, he assumed it was Jackson about to run out and punch him in the face a good hundred times. They had never gotten along all that great anyways, “I don’t regret it because I never did it. I love you Stiles. I didn’t cheat on you!”

“Derek,” he sounded exhausted, “I’m giving you a fucking out. Take it. Because it’s done. It’s over. You seem eager to get the fuck out of here, so just go.”

“Stiles. Fucking listen to me. I didn’t cheat on you!”

“DEREK! I saw you together. I saw the text, the heart emojis, the pet name. You stay at work late, you cancel dates! Tell me where in that doesn’t sound like cheating to you? Please.”

“Stiles...,” The low thung of the clock came then, marking it 12:00 and the eighteenth of October, “You’re an idiot.”

He watched as Stiles' face steeled and more tears ran down his cheeks. Derek took a moment to gather his thoughts. He rubbed at his own raw face and let out a breath.

“Chrissy...she’s not only one of Laura’s friends. She...she was helping me with something.”

Stiles scoffs.

“Do I not tell you enough that I love you? Or show you enough?”

“That’s not the point.”

“Stiles?”

“Sure, Derek. You show me plenty enough. But unfortunately it wasn’t a thick enough lie so that I couldn’t see through the bullshit.”

“You honestly believe it was a lie? All of it? You don’t think I love you?”

“I thought you did, Derek. I really, really thought you did.”

“I do .”

“Not enough. Not enough that you wouldn’t...”

“Stiles. Chrissy is married.”

“And you’re in a relationship. You’re both cheating scumbags then, great. You deserve each other.”

He grimaced at that, but supposed that he deserved it, especially if it had been true.

“She’s married to a woman.”

“And you’re dating a man. Is there a point to this?”

He reached for Stiles’ hand, but he flinched away. Derek bit his lip and pulled back in shock.

“She was helping me size this,” he said, shoving the box into his hands.

He opened it and something in his eyes darkened, “You were going to ask her to marry you ?”

“No! You fucking idiot,” he snapped, finally annoyed with Stiles’...whatever this was, “it’s for you...if...if you want it.”

“...what?”

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

He pointedly ignored the squeal from the kitchen.

“Derek...”

“Christine is one of Laura’s friends. She’s also a jeweler. I accidentally ordered yours a size too big and she resized it for me. I cancelled our dates so I could meet with her and other places for pricing and payments. I’ve been working overtime because I wanted to go on a trip together to celebrate our...our engagement.”

There was a silence. Both from Stiles and the kitchen. The man was staring down at the opened box in his hand, an openly shocked expression on his face.

“Stiles, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I am completely in love with you. I haven’t thought of being with anyone else since the moment I met you. You’re the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me. And I know that sounds sappy but...”

“No,” Stiles chokes out finally, “no it sounds...me too, Derek.”

“Stiles, when people propose they get nervous, right? I wasn’t nervous. I’ve never been so sure about anything in my life. No matter how I imagine my future, you’re there with me. I’ve spun it in all different directions, but no matter what, you’re always there. I don’t want anyone else. I don’t need anyone else. You’re what I’ve been waiting for. And...if I can have you...”

“You...” Stiles reached out and brushed his fingers along Derek’s knuckles as if unsure, “you already have me.”

They stood there for a moment, taking one another in before Stiles speaks.

“Wait...is it...is it the eighteenth?”

Ignoring the crack in Stiles' voice, Derek blushed and nodded.

“Oh my...God Derek you were planning all of this and I...I ruined it.”

He began sobbing softly again, looking down at the ring, still in complete shock and disbelief. Derek was by his side in a second though, wrapping his arms around him and hugging him close.

“I’m so sorry,” he chanted, “I’m so sorry. I ruined it. I ruined everything.”

“No,” he whispered, “Stiles. This is us, isn’t it?”

“What...what do you mean?”

“Fighting, breaking things, fucking everything up. How did you think this was going to go? That I’d drop the ring in a glass of champagne while you were in the bathroom?”

“I-ideally, yeah.”

Derek couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled out of him.

“Stiles...I love you so much. And I’ll tell you a hundred times everyday so you’ll believe it.”

“No, I...I know. I’m just a fucking idiot and I let my insecurities get the best of me and I...”

“Hey, it’s alright,” he promised, looking down into Stiles’ eyes and he brushed his hair back and the tears off his cheek in one broad swipe of his hand.

“I’m so sorry, Derek.”

“Stiles. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He went to kiss Derek but the older man pulled back. Did...did he not want to marry him anymore? No no no no no .

“I just...”

“Do you still want...do you still want to...”

He was shushed by sweet lips pressed briefly to his before Derek pulled away again.

“Of course I do. You just...you haven’t answered.”

“O-oh. Yes. Yes of course. I’ll...please marry me.”

He laughed and pulled the ring out of the box before sliding it onto Stiles’ shaking finger. He waited no time before he kissed him, a hand gripping his hip, the other holding him close. Stiles hooked both his arms around Derek’s neck, kissing him like he was air. They stayed like that for several minutes, the bitter taste of salt from tears mixing with the sweet taste of each other’s mouths.

They only separated when Lydia and Jackson decided to show themselves with a bottle of champagne and four glasses. Lydia firmly slugged Stiles in the arm before attacking him with a hug and even Jackson offered them each a smug smile as if to say he knew all along (liar).

Derek let out a sigh and the four of them toasted to the new engagement at 1:30 in the morning in clothes that ranged from Lydia’s oversized and holy Boston University t-shirt to Derek’s three piece fitted suit. He refused to let go of Stiles’ hand the whole time which resulted in spilt Champagne and an angry Jackson Whittemore.

The whole thing was a mess, but so were they.