Chapter Text
Both Derek and Stiles were much more alike than either man cared to admit.
Both men had gone into the relationship thinking that it was temporary, despite both of their protests to the contrary. The thought of being together was the relationship equivalent of handling a time-bomb; set to a time limit and once detonated, not salvageable. Although Stiles and Derek were positive that they wouldn’t be the one to end it, it would ultimately pan out in disaster when it did. They didn’t see the other man’s devotion. Not when they were both so used to failure and disappointment.
The problem with that type of mentality when you were in a relationship was that when it did end and the dust settled and everyone was scattered away from each other, you were never quite ready for the inevitable goodbye.
Both Derek and Stiles were much more alike than either man cared to admit and they would both come to pay for it dearly.
Stiles made his way inside his dingy apartment, bags in hand and heart in his throat, not exactly sure how things had managed to get as bad as they did. There had been no strange glances or heated glares at the sight of Stiles’ things scattered around Derek’s apartment. In fact, Derek had not even seemed to mind. It had been what had caused Stiles to become so cocky, really. Derek had said no and Stiles had pushed, but there had been no hesitation on Derek’s part to signal that Stiles’ efforts to show him that his initial hesitance to live together had been terrible or frustrating.
So what had gone so wrong?
Tony, who was one of the less creepy men who lived with Stiles, gave the other man an odd stare as he entered the apartment. “Do you, uh, need help with that stuff?”
Stiles had laughed awkwardly and pushed the things into his room, not really answering his roommate at all. Tony shrugged and made his way into his own room, used to Stiles’ brand of strangeness.
It was quite obvious that all Stiles wanted was to be alone in his misery.
He had known that sooner or later that things were going to go south. The barista had been too enamored to think that now would be that moment, though. And here he was, stuck in his broken down apartment with mounds of his things to remind him that nothing that was good for him ever lasted very long. He should have known these kinds of things weren’t meant to last, after all. There wasn’t a person on Earth that could stand to be with Stiles and not get sick of him eventually. Stiles should be used to feeling lonely.
And if he wasn’t familiar with the feeling anymore, he was going to have to get used to it all over again.
The moment that Derek had opened the door and saw that all the bags were gone, he had known that things had not panned out how he had believed they would go.
He had expected Stiles to come trampling in, coltish limbs flailing around in a complete rage, eyes blazing full of self-righteousness. They were both supposed to be full of anger and stubborn words, neither willing to admit the other was right yet still willing to fight it out nonetheless. It was supposed to be an eclectic clash of wills that would end in either angry sex or confused tears, but it would end and that was the point.
It seemed that Stiles, however, was not willing to follow the script.
(Or, which was more likely, Stiles was sick of following something that didn’t seem to get him anywhere.)
So Derek did what he did best and he waited.
He waited for the phone call to tell him that Stiles was done and that he couldn’t do this anymore and that he wanted more than what Derek was willing to give and he was sick of waiting for something that would probably never come.
Waited for the text message demanding closure to a relationship that was (apparently) doomed from the start. The halting accusations that would do nothing but make Derek think twice about every word said and every decision made in the months they had been together but at least it would be something to think about.
Waited for the confrontation that would ultimately end everything and begin a new cycle of loneliness that would seem all the more bitter now that he knew what it was like to care for someone so fiercely and have it be taken away without so much as a goodbye.
Derek waited because he knew that if he tried to call-
If he tried to text-
If he went to Stiles’ apartment or to the Foamy Coffee and tried to say the first word, they would not be words full of finality and heartbreak. He would break in the presence of those hot-whiskey eyes and beg for more time, more care, more everything. It wouldn’t be the end of anything if he made the first move and he didn’t know what that meant in the grand scheme of things but damn it all if he was going to be the one to end it because that was something that he knew he wasn’t capable of.
“Stiles?” Lydia poked the younger man with a spoon, “You’re in my way.”
“Sorry!” Stiles flailed, body leaping away from the door as he tried to coordinate himself while not appearing as if he had been staring out the coffee shop’s windows, waiting for someone that he was quite sure never coming back. “I just got a little distracted.”
Or a lot distracted.
Something that Lydia had complained about for the last week that he had been fumbling along with his apparent break-up.
Stiles liked to think that it wasn’t all connected but he wasn’t that naïve.
“Waiting for somebody that isn’t coming back?” The strawberry-blonde manager snapped as she pushed past the door and flipped her hair over her shoulder. She didn’t even wait for Stiles’ response, though even if she had, she would have been waiting for a long time.
Stiles locked the doors and shook his head.
At this point, there wasn’t anything around here worth waiting for and Stiles was done deluding himself otherwise.
“A vacation?”
“It’s Spring Break, dad. Don’t you want to see your favorite son?!"
“First off, you’re my only son, so it’s not like I’ve got much choices in the favorite category. Second off, aren’t you supposed to be planning beach trips and out of country debauchery-fests during your spring break? I’m positive that’s how these things are supposed to go now that I’m thinking about it.”
“Uh, what?”
“Stiles, is everything ok?”
“… I just need to see you, dad.”
“I don’t have beach babes or drugs anywhere in my vicinity. If that’s alright with you, I would love having you here with me.”
“I knew there was a downside to this.”
“Hm, warned you.”
“I’ll be there next week. I… I love you, dad.”
“I’ll get your ticket ready. God, the finances you suck out of me.”
“Hey!”
“Love you, too, kid.”
Two weeks passed without word from either man to the other.
Isaac said nothing to Stiles about his sudden absence and carefully avoided saying Stiles’ name in Derek’s presence.
Neither student nor writer made an effort to contact the other and drifted along in a strange post-war haze, minus the actual war. The lack of fighting and confrontation had thrown them off of their game but neither man was willing to take the step forward and instead kept looking back.
What had they done wrong?
What could they have done differently?
Slowly those words turned into ‘What did they do? How is this my fault? It must be his fault!’
Words toppled over words and thoughts became embittered with accusations and fits of resentment that would boil over in random moods that others would have to suffer.
It was satisfying for a little while but eventually, the calm would settle. By the time they were done brooding both men were left with nothing but blank spaces and more questions to be answered.
When Derek finally got around to making his way to the Foamy Coffee, he was only partially surprised to find a young man he hadn’t see before manning the front counter. He was adorable but not in the same manner that Stiles could be classified as adorable. Stiles was unintentionally cute, nerdy expressions and fumbling limbs giving him a Bambi-like cuteness. This man was obviously lithe in a in-shape kind of way, sporty grace evident in the way he was coordinated, going from machine to machine without making a complete mess like Stiles would have if he had been present.
For some reason, not seeing Stiles behind that counter, laughing and shouting out to his customers as he handed out coffee to each person was infuriating. How dare this guy just take over as if Stiles had never even belonged there to begin with. Even though the young man gave him a flirty smile, his dimples giving the man an even more adorable visage, Derek was not the least bit moved by the sight in front of him.
A blur of red caught his attention and Derek quickly dodged the flurry of questions thrown at him from the random man he did not want to get to know and tried to flag down the one person who would know where Stiles was (even when he didn’t want to be found).
“Lydia! Hey!” Derek shouted, waving his hand like a maniac. “I just need to talk to you for a second.”
“Well then talk because I don’t have all day to speak to a man that threw one of my friend’s out on his ass. Even if Stiles was being a complete idiot, you knew that fact about him already so I still don’t feel all that sorry for you anyway.” Lydia gave the other man whose name Derek could see was Danny (as said on his name badge) a baleful glare and shooed him back over to the counter, dragging the bulky writer into the furthest corner of the café. “So talk while I have the inclination to do so, because who knows how long it’ll last.”
“I just… where’s Stiles?” Derek went for the direct approach, not willing to be cowed by a tiny redhead with balls bigger than his.
At least not outwardly.
“With his dad, next question.”
“Where’s his dad…?”
“Not in this state, anything else?”
Derek’s face fell. “When’s he coming back?”
“Don’t know, don’t care. For all I know, he isn’t coming back. He pretty much told me before he left that there was nothing left for him to stay here for so for all I know he’ll transfer to some college closer to his daddy and leave this place behind. Not like he has much to come back to, after all.” Lydia didn’t appear the least bit fazed by Derek’s anguish, eyes sharp and full of anger on what Derek was sure was Stiles’ behalf. “Look, I don’t know much about what happened but I do know that Stiles is a dick. He is a moron who thinks that if he pushes hard enough that he’ll get results, both from people and relationships. But think about this, Derek. Every time you push back, what does he do?”
Derek wasn’t sure how to respond to the question, green eyes narrowed but chest tight with the influx of feeling exploding at her words.
“He…” The emotionally-exhausted author felt the breath seep out of him as he sighed, “he let’s go.”
“So good job, Einstein. You drove the supposed love of your life back to his daddy. How… quaint the both of you are with your adorable little fits of emotion. Him with his drama and you with your… you-ness.” Before Lydia could walk away, however, she obviously had one more parting blow, “How is that empty apartment working out for you, by the way? Everything still exactly the way you wanted?”
Derek didn’t say anything as she walked away from him, hands buckled into fists and lips thinned out until they were nothing but pale-white lines against ashen cheeks.
Danny attempted to coerce Derek to stay after Lydia’s verbal barrage but the older man was not listening, a litany of angry words repeating in his head until he managed to leave the coffee shop and return to his mostly empty apartment.
Isaac was nowhere to be found, probably not wanting to have to incur more of Derek’s relentless wrath after almost two weeks worth of it being thrown at him in Stiles’ place. He could have called Boyd and Erica and he was sure they would come over and regale him in all the ways that everything was Stiles’ fault and he was an idiot to think that this one would be any different from the multitudes of boyfriends and girlfriends that Derek had, had before but he didn’t want that.
Lydia Martin had reminded him in less than five minutes that Stiles wasn’t the only one to blame in a situation full of mistakes and blunders and he wasn’t sure he was ready to really face what that meant.
It had been two days since he had arrived back into Beacon Hills and already Stiles felt his father’s judgment seep into his pores.
He had attempted to seek refuge at Scott’s place but he had remembered that Scott had chosen to go to Cancun with Allison for Spring Break, absolutely heart-broken when he had invited Stiles and Stiles had, had the gall to say no. Scott had even went out of his way to invite Derek (though begrudgingly) and Stiles had sardonically laughed for a good two minutes and vehemently refused with a face so serious, he was sure he had frightened his best friend into a stupor. He had, had enough of Derek and Scott’s posturing the last time his bff-5-evah had visited and wasn’t ready for another cock-fight for at least another four or five months, thank you very much, Scott.
So he was stuck with his judgy-judge-meister of a dad who suspected with an unerring father’s instinct that something was not quite right and kept giving him vicious stares full of judgment and questions that Stiles refused to answer.
His father barely knew that someone was in his life and just from those stares alone, Stiles was quite sure that he knew what kind of problem that Stiles was dealing with. That didn’t mean that the older man needed more ammunition. What he needed to be was supportive and loving and damn it, would it kill his dad to make him some pancakes and pat him on his head, he was a heart-broken son with issues! He needed to be nurturing not inquisitive!
(Though considering it was Stiles’ father, the only person in the universe who was nosier than Stiles, this wasn’t a particularly shocking.)
Stiles knew that he would eventually break down and tell his dad everything. He would explain that, that someone he had been seeing had been a man who looked like a jail convict and that said man was so closed off that even after almost a year of being together, he had sacked Stiles’ stuff out without even flinching and had not had the balls to call him and inform him that it was over. The young Stilinski knew that he would finally cry and mourn the one relationship he had thought would last, shed his naivety and become harder and tougher to crack in terms of love. In the end, he was sure he had given all that he could give to Derek. The barista wasn’t a moron when it came to love; he fell hard and fast and Derek had been no exception. The difference had been in the way he felt his emotions for Derek.
It had not been an explosive barrage of feels that faded away just as quickly. The chemistry had evolved into affection and that had eventually transformed into love.
Stiles was in love with Derek Hale and the man could give two shits about that fact. And that hurt. But he wouldn’t show it. He couldn’t show it. Stiles would quietly move on and then things would go back to normal.
Just the way Derek had wanted them to.
John Stilinski was a no-nonsense man when it came to the people he cared about, the number one person on that list being his son. He was diligent towards the town he protected as sheriff and warm towards the people he came to call friends but for his son, John was willing to do whatever it took to make sure that he was ok and that he wasn’t making life choices that didn’t make him either cringe or bang his head against the wall.
Anyone who knew Stiles knew that either was a potential when it came to his decision-making skills.
To see his son so despondent and quiet was not something that John was used to. The phone-call had been a tip-off that something was not quite right, especially knowing that Stiles had someone to stay with during his week off, but the listless way that the young brunet had stepped off the plane and into his father’s arms had been the ultimate giveaway. There had been something strange hovering over his son’s atmosphere, bringing him down so far that even his usual spunkiness was dimmed by the cloud hanging over his head.
He didn’t know who screwed with his son but damn it if they weren’t going to feel his wrath once Stiles came clean about what was going on. He couldn’t avoid John forever.
And that statement would hold quite true in that moment as two cups of coffee were laid out on the table and Stiles’ unabashed face screamed ‘Please, God, no!’ in light of what this meant.
John smiled serenely as his son flinched then slowly sat down, knowing there was no way he was going to avoid this discussion at this point.
“So, how are things, son?”