Chapter Text
April, 2011.
Beacon Hills, CA.
Both the Sheriff’s cruiser and his SUV were in the driveway when Derek got there so he parked his car a little down the street and walked and climbed up onto the bit of roof below Stiles’ window. Ever since his father caught on to what was going on, Derek wasn’t allowed over too late. But he needed this. His skin was buzzing still, his head was still foggy. His heart was shoving poisonous panic throughout his body with each sluggish beat. He needed to see Stiles. His light was off but he needed to see him, he had to be there.
He crouched in front of the window, steadied himself with one hand on the tile below him and knocked. Stiles’ face loomed through the dark seconds before the window slid open and a hand shots out to grab him.
“Keep it down,” Stiles whispered. “What are you doing—“
Derek cut him off with a kiss and backed him up toward the bed. He needed him. Fuck, he needed to touch his skin and taste him. He needed to slowly strip the sleep-warm flannel pajama pants off of him and see every inch of his body revealed. He needed this.
“What are you doing here?” Stiles repeated, shoving him away. He narrowly escaped Derek’s second attempt to grab him to go turn on the desk lamp. “Not that I don’t enjoy that, but aren’t you supposed to be out with Paige?”
Derek sat heavily on Stiles’ bed and looked up at him with what he hoped was a seductive smile. “Does it matter?”
Stiles squinted at him and bent to look more closely at him. “You have lipstick all over your neck.”
Derek shrugged. “And now I’m here. So.”
Stiles shook his head and looked away to hide his reaction. “You can’t come to me to round the rest of the bases you two didn’t get to on your dates, that’s fucking terrible. You’re an asshole,” he said, sounding upset but not angry.
“That’s not what this is.” It wasn’t. It really wasn’t. This was Derek needing Stiles to make sense of things. Things like why Stiles made his entire body light up and sing while Paige just made him itch for something else. She was so beautiful and so good but Derek always felt so empty. He’d pictured Stiles while Paige kissed his neck and that was the only reason why she found anything to grab onto when her hand slid over the fly of his jeans. Stiles’ lips and tongue and teeth and mouth and the low sounds he made in the back of his throat and the light stubble… Fuck.
Stiles sighed and sat next to Derek on the bed. Derek’s hands were instantly on him, running up his thighs and seeking out the heat of the bare skin under his shirt—
“Derek,” Stiles protested, his hand falling on one of Derek’s to stop him. “You’re so fucked up.”
Derek leaned into him and kissed his neck and licked a stripe from his Adam’s apple up to behind his ear. Stiles groaned. He knew how to do that, he knew how to make Stiles groan. He’d spent half an hour once trying to figure out how to get Paige’s toes to curl when sliding his fingers inside her and that had ended in nothing but embarrassment for both of them. But Stiles. Derek knew Stiles’ body and loved it.
Stiles fell back against the mattress and pulled Derek with him. He was already hard and Derek’s mouth was watering. He wanted to get him to sweat and curse and come…
“I can’t,” Stiles said, sounding like he very much could. He pushed Derek’s face away from his neck and used his legs to shove him off of him. “Her lipstick is all over you and you’re just… weird, I can’t.”
“I want you.”
“You can want me after a shower on another day, man, I can’t do this.”
Derek felt empty. He started to roll away from him to get back on his feet, but Stiles wrapped a hand around his arm. “Talk to me,” he begged. “What’s going on? Are we okay? Are you okay?” Stiles asked.
“Fair/Unfair?”
Stiles nodded.
“You wish I wasn’t dating Paige,” Derek whispered. Stiles slid his hand down Derek’s arm until their fingers were tangled together.
“Fair,” he whispered back. His face looked soft and sad in the dim yellow light his desk lamp cast. “You wish you weren’t dating Paige.”
Derek walked right into that. He didn’t know, he truly didn’t. “She’s a great girl.”
Stiles lifted an eyebrow. That wasn’t an answer.
“Fair,” Derek confessed, and the word felt like a razor blade between his teeth. “You feel guilty about us.”
“Fair. You don’t feel guilty about us at all.”
Derek had trouble decoding his tone. It felt accusatory. It felt like Stiles thought he was stringing one or both of them along but Derek didn’t know if that was really the case, he really didn’t. He was so fucking lost and the only time he felt found was when Stiles was around. He did not feel guilty about Stiles. He did not feel uncertain about him. It was just everything else. “Fair.”
Stiles’ mouth flattened into a straight, humorless line and he shook his head and looked away from him and toward the ceiling. Derek needed to get his eyes back on him, he needed to feel afloat in them.
“You’re in love with me,” Derek whispered, wishing he was whispering it into his hair or against his mouth or with his lips pressed to the inside of his thigh, anywhere but from this great distance…
Stiles let out a cruel laugh and tore his hand away from Derek and covered his face with both hands. His body trembled as he rubbed his eyes in rough, rigid movements. “Fair,” he said, but his voice sounded hard and tired and furious.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry,” Stiles said, sitting up suddenly. “But you need to go. You need to go now, okay?”
Derek sat up and nodded even though he didn’t understand. He wanted to taste the sweat that pooled in between his collar bones and hear him moan. He wanted to love him and be loved by him. It was within reach.
“Go,” Stiles repeated when Derek hesitated at the window.
“You didn’t repeat my question…” Derek said softly. Derek wanted to get a second chance to answer. You’re in love with me. Fair. So Fair. Absolutely Fair.
“Goodnight, Derek.” There’s softness edging into his voice.
He had one foot out on the roof and the other in Stiles’ room and he just needed to know… “If you were in my position, what would you do?” Derek asked.
“I would choose you.”
“Even if—“
“I would choose you every single time.” He crossed to the window and put his hands on Derek’s face and kissed him softly. “Now go.”
“Goodnight,” Derek whispered, struck by how soft his hands were and the way the shadows made Stiles’ face look so… perfect.
“Goodnight.”
November 14th.
Madrid, Spain.
Stiles wakes up the next morning to chaos. He assumes. His phone is off and somewhere else, but he’s probably right. Derek is asleep next to him, face smushed into the pillow, sweater bunched up around his waist, still in his jeans. Stiles wants to just curl against that chest of his and go back to sleep but just… just knowing that shit is happening at a pace he can’t even fathom pushes him out of bed and toward the living room.
And what he sees out there looks nothing like chaos at all. Allison is on the couch in her pajamas, her laptop open on her lap and with ever-present portfolio beside her. She’s wearing glasses and an easy early morning smile. The light filtering in from the window catches in the empty liquor bottles and casts pretty reflections on the walls.
“Morning,” Allison murmurs without looking up from her laptop. She continues typing.
“How fucked am I?” Stiles asks, dropping into the closest arm chair.
She keeps typing but spares him a glance. “Have you seen anything yet?”
“No. Phone’s off.”
“Well, what are you most worried about?” she asks, distracted.
“Getting sued for breach of contract and tanking our career.”
She waves him off with one hand, types with the other. “It’ll be fine.”
“Will it?”
“Yeah. Look.” She picks up her phone, finds something and tosses it at him. Stiles tilts his head at a picture from the second Derek pulled away from their on-stage kiss – Stiles is wide-eyed and pale with shock, lips parted in a question that Derek’s grin is answering.
“That’s from a newspaper in Madrid. The article talks about how historic that kiss was. Swipe left.”
Stiles swipes left and the next picture is the one from the balcony in Paris. They’re both shrouded in soft gray light, their eyes locked as they share soft smiles. There’s a French caption on it.
“It says congratulations to the lovers,” Allison says softly. “That’s the happiest you’ve looked in a picture since before he left, you know? Swipe left.”
So he does and it’s a screen cap of a bunch of celebrity tweets congratulating them and it’s… bizarre. Really, truly.
“So…” Stiles says slowly, looking up at her.
“So? That’s not even the tip of the iceberg. We’re going to be okay, you’re going to be okay. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m handling it, don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do.”
“Okay, good. Things are just starting to get insane, but we can handle it. Go get your boy up.”
“Not my boy,” Stiles says, smirking as he forces himself to stand.
“Totally your boy,” she says, turning her laptop to face him so he can see a huge picture of them kissing. “We have to check out and get to breakfast, go get ready.” Calling it breakfast is a mere formality. The clock on the wall says it’s already past noon.
Stiles pauses at the door and turns back toward her. “Yo, Allison, are you proud of me?” he asks.
“Make me proud,” was the last thing Allison had said to him when she dropped him off at rehab. She had a fake smile on and bags under her eyes. She had been exhausted beyond measure, she had done everything to keep their careers afloat and his secret safe and she’d sacrificed so much of herself for them. She always has. This morning, she has bags under her eyes and she’s been exhausted all tour and she’s done everything for them still… but her smile this morning? That’s not a smile a person could fake.
“The proudest I could possibly be,” she answers.
**
Derek wakes up alone in bed to the sound of the door opening. He squints up at Stiles and waits for the fall out…
“Hey.” Stiles smiles and Derek smiles back. He closes the door behind him with a soft click and leans against it, watching Derek with a somewhat unbelieving look on his face.
“Hi,” Derek says. Stiles shakes himself out of it and walks until he’s close enough to flop back into bed.
He curls up against Derek’s side and takes a deep breath against his neck. “Hi,” he mumbles. “We have to get ready to go soon.”
Derek squeezes his arm between Stiles and the mattress so he can hold him. So he can really grasp that this person has chosen him again. So he can keep him there. Because he’s going to keep him there for now and he’s going to keep him as long as he can. Derek is going to choose him again and again and again. Every time.
He listens to his breath and he basks in the morning. It’s quiet and warm and bright. It’s the first morning of an era, Derek knows that much. He can sense it.
“We look really good together,” Stiles says softly after awhile.
“Hm?”
“Are you excited?” He lifts his head and props himself up on his elbow to look down at Derek. “Like, are you ready to write songs and argue with me in a studio again? And are you ready for all the shit you used to hate? Are you going to hate it again? It doesn’t seem like you’ve been hating it… but if you hate it, can you please talk to me about it this time? Us. Talk to us. I think we can do this if we try—“
Derek silences him by pulling him into a quick kiss. He lets his head drop back to the pillow and smiles up at him. “Good morning to you too.”
“Good morning.” He bites his lip but smiles anyway and shrugs a little. “But… do you think you’re ready?”
“I am.”
“Are you sure?”
Derek nods. Stiles grins, leans forward and kisses him as if he just couldn’t resist the temptation.
**
Breakfast is a lazy affair, marked by tired eyes and soft conversation. It’s the first day they’re allowed to really show how worn down they are. It’s hard to tell who’s hungover and who’s simply exhausted, but most of them probably fall under both categories.
Stiles takes it in quietly, his knee pressed against Derek’s leg, Scott pressed against his other side at the cramped table. He’s definitely exhausted, but content. He takes note of how easily Allison laughs at everything Scott says and how lovingly she smiles at the kids in Royales. He listens in on the roadies and shares a knowing smirk with Jackson when Danny let’s slip that he’ll be doing lighting for Royales’ tour.
The roadies head out first. They make their rounds, hug everyone, promise to see each other later on and look forward to future tours together. When Danny kisses Ethan goodbye, everyone boos them good-naturedly. And then it’s just the bands and Allison and Boyd.
“So can we get backstage passes?” Lydia asks Erica, petting her hair. “I’m talking VIP all-access passes…”
“Depends… Which date?” Erica asks.
“All of them! We’re going to need to come check up on you kids, make sure you’re behaving.”
“Car’s here,” Boyd tells them, and he sounds a little sad. Stiles’ stomach sinks.
Erica frowns and pitches forward to hug Lydia. “Yes, yes, of course,” she tells her.
Stiles claims the next hug from Erica while everyone else crowds around the twins. “Proud of you,” he says and kisses the side of her head.
“Proud of you too, Stilinski,” she coos, squeezing him. “Maybe you can open for us this time around, huh?”
Stiles pinches her side. “Down.”
“Actually,” she says, pulling away with a devious smile. “I have a demo to send you that I think you’ll love. If you don’t mind.”
“Send away.”
She grins and kisses him on the cheek before getting pulled into Scott’s bear hug. “It’s like the last day of camp!” she exclaims, sounding a little teary as she hugs him back.
Stiles hugs the twins and congratulates them and they all boo when they catch Boyd and Erica sharing a passionate goodbye kiss. Boyd flips them off and leads them out the door.
And then it’s just them. The restaurant is full of clinking plates and low conversation and servers bustling around, but it’s quiet. So, so, so quiet. The quietest it’s been in what feels like months.
They look at Allison expectantly. “Hm?” she murmurs, looking up from her third cup of coffee with a relaxed, sleepy expression.
“Don’t we have a lot to talk about?” Lydia prompts.
“Oh. We’ll talk back in LA. But uh, we have a meeting with the label in a couple days, then we’ll have a sit down with Kira at Vulpine Lupine when Lydia’s back from Hawaii.” She finishes off by flashing a smile at all of them and goes back to her mug.
“And what about these two?” Scott asks, pointing at Stiles and Derek. Stiles tries to suppress a smile as he steals a glance at Derek.
“What about them? Press is going insane, they took down Twitter last night, blah blah. Very big news item. We’ll deal with it later.”
“Anything we need to do or say?” Lydia asks.
She shrugs. “Tweet some support if you want. We’ll talk back home before the interviews start rolling in.”
Derek’s hand wraps around Stiles’ knee under the table and Stiles really wants to lean over and kiss him on the cheek but he doesn’t know if he should. He elbows him gently in the side and smiles at him instead.
Allison finishes her coffee as Boyd drags his feet back to the table and sits. “Our car should be here soon,” he sighs.
“Thank you, Boyd,” Allison says, her voice carrying more weight than what his announcement called for. They share familiar, loving smiles and Stiles gets it. He feels like he’s looking at his parents at the end of a stressful family vacation. They made it out alive, they did it together, everyone’s in one piece…
Stiles sighs and falls against Derek’s side. He noses his way under his jaw and lets his eyes slip closed when Derek wraps an arm around him.
“Gross,” Boyd mumbles. Stiles flips him off and goes in for the kiss.
Everyone boos.
**
November 16th.
Los Angeles, CA.
Stiles’ hands shake as he unlocks the door to his old house. Derek’s silent behind him. God, this is weird. He nudges the door open with his hip and leads them inside.
Allison had hired someone to do the packing. Without a new place to send his shit, he’d just had it shipped to the Sheriff’s. (“How many guitars do you need, exactly?” his father had asked him when the stuff showed up. “I mean, need and want are two different things,” Stiles had answered.) He just had a few things to tackle on his own. Well, not on his own. They’d gotten back to LA after midnight the day before and totally crashed at Scott’s. He’d woken up that morning in the guest room with Derek curled around him and then they met with the label and parted ways. Sat through some media training. Did some interviews. Knocked out at Scott’s again. Dropped Lydia off at the airport and now they’re here. Together. They’re like… together.
“Nice place,” Derek says. And yeah, it’s pretty nice. Nice big entry way, well-lit, gleaming wood floors. Stiles never did the place justice. If Derek had seen it with its unimpressive furniture and total lack of interior design, he might not be so complimentary.
“Yeah.”
Stiles feels cagey as he makes his way into the kitchen. He yanks the fridge open and it’s just as empty as when he left it – nothing molding or rotting in there. The freezer contains half empty handles of vodka and gin… leftovers from his night with Danny. He cringes even though that feels like it was years ago.
Derek leans against the island while Stiles takes a quick look in all the cabinets and drawers. They’d always been mostly empty anyway. He hardly lived here at all. He’d have liked to, maybe. Seeing Derek in it gave it a little something it always lacked…
Warmth. A sense of home. Something.
Comfort. Derek’s presence is fortifying. On stage, in private, and especially at the meeting with the label. He hadn’t said much but his hand on his knee had kept Stiles’ voice from shaking. He held hands with Lydia under the table and looked to Scott every so often to find him looking back. Allison and her father were calm and collected. Argent had slipped something in about the lawyers early in the meeting and that had pretty much been that. No breached contract. Leaving on good terms. Congratulations. Thank you for making us a lot of money. We wish you the best in your future endeavors. Stiles got the sense that there had been more under the surface, more conversations between label and management before they even landed… but he was fine not knowing.
And before they left the room, Derek leaned over and kissed Stiles right in front of all of them. Poetic justice. Stiles slipped him some tongue for his own justice and held his hand on the way out. Because yeah, that was a thing they could do now. Just… hold hands. Wherever they want to. Whenever they want to.
Stiles clears his throat and cocks his head back toward where they came. Derek follows him into the living room. It’s clean and empty. They head up the stairs.
“This is where I was standing when you told me you quit the band,” Stiles says softly when they get to the landing.
Derek’s hands are on his hips instantly, just a touch of comfort. He doesn’t apologize and Stiles is glad. He hadn’t been looking for an apology. He’d just been cleansing the air of the sharp hurt that had never stopped echoing…
Stiles pokes his head into all the empty rooms on the second floor before they head to the master suite. Derek leans in the doorway and Stiles heads over to the window seat. It’s a weird contrast to the image that’s stuck with him for years. Stiles standing in the doorway, Lydia crying on the window seat, Scott sitting somewhere on the floor in between in shocked silence…
Stiles smiles and sees his reflection in the window before he turns back around.
“I hated this place,” he says, crossing back to Derek.
Derek pushes off from the doorframe to free his arms. Stiles sinks into them easily and this feels better than every cheap fuck he got in this room. It feels better than every desperate, lonely thing he’d ever done in this house.
“Is it weird that I’m here?” Derek asks.
“Nah, it’s kind of nice.”
Stiles looks up in time to see his questioning face. “It’s just… it’s nice to see you in here. I don’t know why, but it is.”
Derek smiles and kisses him. And that’s a pretty chaste way to christen a place, but it’s enough. Stiles hopes the next people who live there will be happier than he was.
They leave with a couple more boxes that the movers had forgotten and Stiles takes the key off his key ring to give to Allison to give to the agent later. It’s final. And it’s good. Derek’s hand is on his thigh as he drives to Scott’s to pick him up for dinner at Allison’s. And that’s good too.
No matter how weird it all feels – leaving the label, seeing his empty house with Derek in it, everything— everything feels right.
**
November 21st.
Beacon Hills, CA.
Derek had cancelled his flight so he could drive up with Stiles instead. After a week of meetings and errands and press and paparazzi and evenings spent bundled up in Scott’s beach house, it was nice to be alone on the drive through the heart of California with him.
They spent the first hour of the drive passionately arguing over albums that they had never discussed and building the perfect driving playlist on Derek’s phone. They spent the second hour listening to that playlist in peace. They stopped at a gas station and spent too much time picking out snacks and coffee. No one recognized them even though, as Stiles pointed out, pictures of them from LA were splashed all over the front page of a tabloid that was on clear display by the cash register. (“Trouble in Paradise Already? Smokes for Harris frontman Stiles Stilinski and recently returned bassist Derek Hale argue outside a restaurant.” More like Stiles had been trying to coax him to make out with him in the backseat of Allison’s car while they waited for everyone else to come out. Derek had refused.)
It’s late when they pull into Beacon Hills. Stiles is asleep, using Derek’s jacket as a blanket, and Derek can’t stop smiling.
“Hey,” Derek says, shaking his shoulder when they get to an infamously lengthy intersection. Stiles stirs and blinks at their surroundings. “Did you want to stop by your dad’s?”
“Nah, let’s go home,” he mutters. Derek watches him snuggle further into the jacket and looks back at the road when the light turns green.
Home.
When they are home, they drop their bags in the living room and Derek kisses him. Derek leads him through to the kitchen and ends up backing him up against the kitchen table so he can kiss him some more. Everything that had happened the last time they were together in this room led to now… They kiss all the way down the hallway and into the bedroom.
Stiles laughs when his back hits the mattress and slides his hands into Derek’s hair and he tastes like coffee and corn nuts, which… not a great combination, but it’s Stiles. In his bed. In his house. Laughing and kissing him back after a long drive.
Stiles paws at Derek’s stomach and pulls his shirt up, trails his fingers up his ribs and hooks his leg around Derek’s to keep him close.
This would be a great time to tell him how much he loves him. This would be a great time to tell him that he knows this is going to get hard after the high of getting back together wears off and that he’s all in anyway. This would be the perfect time to tell him he’ll fight tooth and nail to keep him and that all he needs for the motivation to keep working is this… laughing in bed, tasting stale coffee on his perfect lips, his hot hands on his skin. He wants to tell him that he’s enough, more than enough, and that he never hadn’t been.
“C’mon, come back to me,” Stiles mutters after biting his bottom lip lightly.
“I’m here.”
“Get out of your head, then,” he says, giving him a lopsided smile as he reaches for Derek’s fly. “Want you,” he breathes. “Been in a car with you all—oh hello—“ Derek laughs and keeps pressing his hips down against him. “—all day. And I just,” Derek mouths at his neck and his breath catches in his throat. “I just want you,” he finished distractedly.
“Want you too.”
They undress each other slowly and carefully, taking in every new inch of skin as if it’s being revealed to them for the first time. There’s no threat of anyone knocking on the door, there’s nothing on the schedule to worry about. It’s just them. Alone and comfortable for the first time in years.
**
November 23rd.
Stiles is reading in the kitchen with a piece of bagel hanging out of his mouth when the doorbell rings. He sets the book down and tries to finish chewing on his way to the door. Not too many people know that Stiles is back in town, so whoever it was must be looking for Derek.
When he pulls the door open, he’s ready to tell them that Derek’s helping his sister in San Francisco and won’t be back until later, but a shock of red hair and Lydia’s big brown eyes make him choke on his half-swallowed food.
“Idiot,” she drawls before flashing a smile and pounding him on the back.
“You’re lost, Hawaii’s down south,” Stiles says once he’s stopped coughing. He moves to let her in and bends a little to grab her suitcase when she launches herself at his chest for a rib-crushing hug. “What’s wrong, Lyds?” he asks softly, hugging her back.
“I couldn’t relax, I just wanted to get back to work, I just missed you guys and I needed to see you and Thanksgiving is tomorrow and it’d be shitty of me to spend that away from family so here I am,” she says in a frantic stream of breathless syllables.
He pulls her and her suitcase inside without her ever letting go of him. “Breakfast?” he asks. She nods and sniffs against his chest and Stiles fights the urge to laugh at her.
When she peels herself off of Stiles, he leads her into the kitchen. “By breakfast I hope you know I mean cereal or a bagel or something.”
She rolls her eyes and starts rummaging through cupboards. “You two need to do some shopping,” she mumbles. “Where’s Derek?”
“Laura has him helping set up an installation in the city.”
She nods distractedly as she settles on a box of cereal and helps herself to it wordlessly. Stiles makes her coffee in the meantime.
“I’m trying to get Scott to fly in tonight, sent him flight information and everything. You should text him too,” Lydia says meekly once she’s sat down.
Stiles pulls his phone out and sends a very simple “get your ass on a plane, brother” text and sets it on the table. “Done. How was Hawaii?”
“Beautiful, nice, lonely. I should have planned it for December instead, let myself come down from tour first…”
“You missed us that much?”
“I got so close to losing my boys and then I didn’t. I think I still need to convince myself that it’s real.”
“It’s real.”
She smiles. “How’s Derek?”
“Great.”
“Are you happy?”
“Yeah.”
“You guys are doing okay? The week of press didn’t kill you?”
“We’re doing great. Press was fine.”
She nods and lets out a shuddery breath. “You need to take care of yourself, okay? I am not prepared for another emergency with you, do you understand?”
Stiles is genuinely surprised by the turn in the conversation. “I… okay, I am taking care of myself.”
“But you weren’t before he came back, you really weren’t and you can’t tell me that you were. I knew you weren’t… you know, using again, but… You had us so fucking scared, Stiles. Derek can’t be a band-aid, you have to be better. We need you better with or without him. I know you love him and I know you guys work well together but you need to just… I can’t see you in a hospital bed like that again, okay? And I don’t know what’ll happen to you if it doesn’t work again, do you understand? I need to know what’ll happen if things go to shit, I need to know what to expect, and I don’t want to expect a funeral, alright? Do you fucking get it?”
Stiles’ mouth is open a little and Lydia’s eyes are welling up and she looks furious and his heart is pounding in his chest.
“I do, I get it,” Stiles says finally.
She nods curtly and looks away to rub at her eyes. Her face is stern when she turns back to him.
“Is this what you were thinking about the entire week?”
“That and… Scott would never forgive himself if this doesn’t work out, I still don’t think he’s even forgiven himself for last summer anyway but he’s closer now than he has been. And god, Allison would be a wreck if we didn’t work out. She believes in us so much, I don’t want to let her down. And you know, I think even if we had quit and I got into all the schools I applied to and ended up going to one of them, I wouldn’t be happy and I wouldn’t be happy running away to Paris and I wouldn’t be happy traveling all the time by myself and I wouldn’t have the heart to start or join a new band, so what the fuck would I do? And what the fuck would happen to you? And Derek, god, he was straight on the road to being a soulless lawyer and he would have been living in Beacon Hills probably and he’d be constantly living with the memory of his dad and… god, that hurts. I just… Stiles, you guys are total assholes but you’re my life and I just want to keep doing this shit together and I don’t want to have to worry about you guys from afar, so if that means coming back from vacation early just so I can see all of us in the same space again then so be it. Hawaii can wait.”
Stiles whistles and gets back up from the table. “How long have you been holding that in?” He opens a cupboard and starts digging around.
“All tour, to varying degrees of madness.”
He closes his hand around the neck of a bottle of whiskey. “I’m going to spike your coffee and we’re going to have a great day, how’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
“We’re going to be fine, I promise,” Stiles tells her as he pours a shot or so worth into her mug. He kisses her on the forehead and she takes a deep breath. “And you look very tan.”
She laughs. “Thank you.”
A little while later finds them looking over an email full of real estate listings from Allison. Mostly, that means they’re laughing at the annotations Allison has added to all the properties. (“Fixer upper?????? WHAT?” “Cape Cod Style, have they been to Cape Cod?” “Stiles, no. Nope. No.” “What is this freaky little town let me find you a place in SF at least please?”)
Scott finally texts them both back right as Lydia’s launching into her argument in favor of a little place in SF that Allison had tacked on at the end. “Alriiiiiiiiiiiiiiight I’m packing, shut up. :)” And that shuts her up about the apartment too.
When Derek gets home that night, he has Scott with him and a relaxed set to his shoulders. He’s laughing at something Scott’s saying as they head back to the guest room. He kisses Stiles in greeting as he passes and Lydia’s face goes all soft and loving about it.
“If we’re going to be a bed and breakfast for our wayward band mates, we’re going to need a bigger place,” Derek says when he and Scott come into the kitchen. He picks Lydia up in a hug easily and Scott hugs Stiles before joining him in leaning against the counter.
“We, huh?” Stiles asks him.
Derek pecks him on the cheek. “Yeah, we.”
**
November 24th.
Beacon Hills, CA.
Derek watches with baited breath as his mother and Stiles come face to face for the first time in years. He lets out a sigh of relief when she pulls him into a motherly hug and kisses him on the cheek.
“We missed you,” she says soft enough that Derek’s pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to hear that. Stiles squeezes and mumbles a emotion-laden, “Missed you too.”
Scott struts up to the house, burdened with bags full of drinks, and Derek can see how charmed his mother is by him as usual. She kisses him on the cheek and shoves him lovingly into the house in front of her while she asks where his mother is.
Derek kisses Stiles on the porch and curls his fingers into the soft fabric of his sweater. “Told you she doesn’t hate you,” Derek says when Stiles pulls away to look at him.
He rolls his eyes and hugs Derek tighter in a gesture Derek assumes is meant to hide his own relief.
Derek watches the Sheriff’s car bounce up the driveway followed by the Martins’ SUV and he smiles against the side of Stiles’ head.
This house was built for foot traffic. It was built to contain loud storytelling and carols around the grand piano and bustling family dinners. It was built for holidays and out of town visitors and outdoor summer weddings. Before his father had died, he’d host big Labor Day weekend barbeques for the people at the firm and Derek had lost count of how many birthday parties, baby shower and anniversaries had taken place there. When his father died, his mother could hardly bear filling the place with sound as if she was afraid to lose the echo of her husband’s voice. But it had been the only place big enough for the band and everyone who came along with it. They spent every holiday together until Derek left and then it had fallen quiet again. This suited it better.
“Get a room!” the Sheriff calls once he steps out of his parked car. Melissa laughs as she slides out of the passenger seat. Lydia stomps her way up to the house in front of her parents who look like they’ve just concluded an argument. She doesn’t say anything as she passes them but he hears her and his sisters squealing with delight just inside the front door.
The Sheriff pats Derek on the shoulder and ruffles Stiles’ hair as he passes. Melissa runs her hand across his shoulder and flicks Stiles on the nose before being greeted warmly by Derek’s mother. Stiles reluctantly pulls away from Derek, grinning, and hugs Lydia’s mother before escorting her inside. Her father claps Derek on the shoulder and starts talking football.
The inside of the house smells like golden-skinned turkey and heaps of potatoes and pies and Laura’s autumnal decorating brings with it a hint of cinnamon. It’s loud and full and warm and Stiles is here, getting teased by Cora and begging Laura for intervention. Scott is here helping his mom set the table. Lydia is here having what looks to be a gossipy conversation with Derek’s grandmother and uncle.
The house had been built for family and friends who became family, and it hadn’t felt this right in years.
**
December 2nd.
San Francisco, CA.
The label, if one could call it that, occupies the top floor of a building in Telegraph Hill. Aside from stunning views of the bay out a wall of windows and exposed brick walls, there’s not much to it. Stiles loves it. Allison herds them from the elevator deeper into the uninterrupted space and chatters nervously about the benefits of smaller labels as if they aren’t already in love with the idea of it.
There’s a girl wearing leggings and an oversized neon pink sweater truly rocking out to something on her giant headphones while painting a non-brick segment of wall.
“Kira?” Allison calls, her voice echoing.
She keeps painting and bobbing her head in time to her music as they get closer. Allison stops a few feet away from her and stares. “Kira?”
Kira’s eyes slide her way and she jumps, yips and falls over. “Oh my god, oh my god, it’s already 2 isn’t it? I’m so sorry, I lost track of time, holy shit,” she starts babbling as she gets to her feet and tears off her headphones. She extends a paint splotched hand toward Allison, cringes and pulls it back slowly. “Hi, this is the worst first impression, I’m so sorry.”
Stiles is grinning too much to verbalize it, but he totally disagrees.
“You’re so cute,” Lydia says, fighting down a laugh.
“Oh god, you’re Lydia Martin. I’m going to go… wash my hands and try to get it together, there are snacks in the fridge, help yourself. Oh God.”
Once she’s out of earshot, Allison turns back to face them with a big grin on. “So that’s Kira.”
They’re sitting on a couple couches when Kira returns. The front of her sweater is wet in patches where she tried to get some of the paint off, but she at least looks calmer.
“I had a whole different outfit but you’ve already seen me like this so… oh well. I’m sorry I seem so unprepared, I’m really not. I am so prepared for this meeting but now I’m all nervous and…” She looks at Allison who quirks an eyebrow at her. “And I’m glad you could all make it,” she course-corrects, confidence seeming to bubble up through her radiant smile.
For the next hour she gives them an extremely detailed outline of what she plans on doing to grow the label and how she wants to run it. By the time she gets to talking about Smokes for Harris, her legs are curled up under her on the couch and she’s sparkling with excitement. She talks about capitalizing on their existing popularity and using their recent surge in press attention to catapult them onto a new path with a brand new, self-dictated image (“if you guys want, I mean, your current image works well, but I want you guys to be happy”). She concludes her pitch with a nervous tremor and a modest last stand.
“I just… I know this is, I mean, this would be a huge risk. But I love music and I love your band and I have a lot of heart. I have backers and support from people who know a lot more than I do and I am not afraid to ask them for guidance. My mom’s been with Columbia for so long and if everything goes to shit, I’m sure they’d be happy to pick up your contract or you know, anyone, considering…. You guys are… well, I just don’t plan on things going to shit anyway. So uh… I guess that’s the best I can offer you. I love music and hopefully this doesn’t fail.”
Stiles exchanges looks with his band.
“Obviously, you guys can take as long as you need to decide or you can ask me more questions, or we could set up more meetings if you want. I know you have a lot of things to think about and decide on…” She continues to nervously prattle on while Stiles assesses Scott’s hopeful smile and the gleam of adventure settling over Lydia’s features. Derek slips his arm off the back of the couch to wrap his hand around Stiles’ knee. “… I heard Universal is looking at you guys, and they’re so massive, you’d have sooo much financial support there, way more than here but I uh…”
“We’re in,” Stiles says to keep her from dragging herself further into a hole.
Her mouth drops open in shock. “No, no, you guys should sleep on it and talk it over and Allison, you can go over the profits and budget stuff with them more closely if you want. You’re definitely not just… in.”
Allison looks around at them and they all just nod.
“Nah, they seem pretty in.”
“But… What if I ruin your careers? You guys really should think about it. And we won’t be up and running for months. I can’t even get you guys into a studio for awhile, I am not ready to take on your band yet, so think about it, please.”
“How about,” Stiles says, leaning forward. “We’re in. You do what you have to do. Let us know when you’re ready for us. We’ll consider it a break.”
“You guys are idiots—OH my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that like… Allison, talk some sense into them.”
“These are not sensible people, Kira,” Allison says. “We’ll talk details as they come up, these kids need a break anyway.”
Kira gapes at all of them. “I am totally out of my league here.”
“Shh, don’t show weakness,” Allison scolds gently. “I showed weakness once and now they think we’re friends or something.”
Kira “heh”s nervously.
**
December 12th.
Beacon Hills, CA.
Christmas is in a couple weeks, meaning Stiles has been crashing at Derek’s place for close to a month. Derek doesn’t want him to go, so he never asks if he’s looking for a place. He’s reluctant to live by himself again and this month of co-habitation has been so nice… The first couple of weeks had been full of Scott and Lydia and when they left, they spent a lot of time trying to catch up on their two lost years. They’d had sex in every room, they’d fucked burning confessions out of each other on the dying breath of orgasms on every possible surface.
And even now, Derek feels jelly-limbed and can taste Stiles thick on his tongue while he tackles his stacks of still-packed boxes in the guest bedroom. Stiles is reading out in the living room, his body all soft and relaxed just how Derek left him, probably.
He tears open a box that had been shoved in the back corner of the closet behind an old electric bass. He digs through even more things he’d forgotten about – statistics textbooks and old notebooks from classes. They’re all from that first semester of school after he quit. He passively flips things over to see if there’s anything important and then his fingers call on a familiar soft leather spine.
Shit. Derek pulls it out and shoves the box away and yeah, there it is. He knew he still had it. Years worth of unused lyrics right here in his hands, the co-writer riding out his afterglow peacefully in the next room. Derek gets up and heads back to him without a second thought.
He pauses in the doorway and takes him in. His hipbones jut out just above the loose waistband of Derek’s sweatpants, his neck and chest are still flushed and bare, his hair is a wreck. Stiles doesn’t look up, he just smiles behind his book. Derek picks up his legs so he can sit with them in his lap. Stiles reaches out to brush his fingers over a bright new bruise blooming on his collarbone from where Stiles had bit him. Derek drops the notebook into his lap.
“What’s…” he starts, but his voice tapers off when he looks at it. He recognizes the wrinkled leather cover and the yellowed pages and the bits of paper sticking out at every angle. “Oh my god,” Stiles says, setting his book aside to get his hands on it.
He pulls his legs away from Derek so he can stand and pace and carefully inspect each page. He looks truly reunited with it, he stares at with shining eyes. Derek looks down at his hands, feeling like he’s intruding. His head is spinning with the memory of checking his mail and opening the envelope as he held his breath. It had hurt like a bullet wound. That’s when he knew they were done and that Stiles wasn’t going to fight for him. He’s staring at his hands but he can see Stiles’ pacing feet at the top of his field of vision. They stop in front of him.
“You kept it,” Stiles says, sounding overwhelmed.
“Yeah,” Derek says, feeling overwhelmed too.
“I love you,” Stiles breathes in a wavering voice. The sentence slams against Derek’s chest and makes him ache. They’d been able to say so many things to each other, but not that. Not yet. Just in case, just a precaution. Every syllable feels heavy and important and true. Stiles drops to his knees in front of him and looks up into his face. “I really do, so much. Derek, say something.”
He leans forward and hugs Stiles. “You have no idea how much it hurt to get that in the mail,” Derek says, voice thick with dormant hurt. Stiles wriggles out of his grasp and crawls into his lap. He cradles Derek’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead. His weight fills Derek with a sense of security and Derek wraps his arms around him and leans back into the couch.
“Then tell me,” Stiles says and Derek knows, he totally knows the second the words cross his lips, that this is going to be the start of a long and very important conversation. He wants to tell him everything. He wants to know everything. He wants to make the last two years make sense and he wants to set them aside for good and he wants to continue moving forward.
“I love you,” Derek whispers and he feels like it should hurt, but it doesn’t.
**
December 23rd.
Chicago, IL.
Stiles is pretty sure he’ll be walking away from this having failed. And with a bloody nose, probably. Isaac is definitely going to punch him on sight.
But this was it, this was necessary, this was the grand gesture. Stiles still carries this guilt like a knot in his chest and perhaps this will un-tie it a little.
Stiles had tried to get Scott to come along, but he’d sighed and his voice carried nothing but regret when he told him he couldn’t. And that was probably the first time Stiles truly realized that he wasn’t the only one carrying around this regret.
He shoves his hands further into the pockets of his puffy coat and the snow crunches under his feet as he walks and he’s pretty sure his eyes are freezing over. He wishes someone was here with him. He wishes Derek hadn’t had family stuff. Lydia had just laughed, said that she’d see them on Christmas Eve and hung up. And he could definitely hold that against her, but he won’t.
He had forgotten about listening to Erica’s friend like he’d promised. Too much had been going on. She asked him about it a few days ago and Stiles dug through his email to find the Soundcloud links she’d sent. The songs had been incredible. Technically perfect, interesting, well-written and expertly performed. Somehow familiar. The only identifier on the page had been the username: IdiotLullabies. The closer Stiles listened to the lyrics, the more fascinated he was and the clearer it became who this was, which friend of Erica’s this might be.
So here he is, finally standing outside of Isaac’s house, a house he’d only seen a few times. His own regret sinks deeper. God, he’d been a shitty friend.
The door pulls open and there’s Isaac… looking the same. Tall, thin, curly haired, blue eyes, nothing different. His face shows nothing but confusion.
“Uh, hey…”
“Have any Christmas plans?” Stiles asks, trying to keep himself composed.
“Excuse me?”
Isaac had spent every Christmas with them, either in Beacon Hills or on the road, since they met him. Thanksgiving too.
“I have a flight back to California in two hours and there’s a ticket for you if you want.” Stiles shrugs.
“You came all the way to Chicago to invite me to Christmas?” Isaac asks, skepticism written on his face.
“Yes.” No. Not just that. “No. I mean…”
Isaac raises an eyebrow.
“Can I come inside at least, it’s freezing. I need to talk to you.”
Isaac sighs and lets him in reluctantly.
They stand uncomfortably in the living room and stare at each other. “So?” Isaac asks. “What’d you want?”
“I’m sorry.”
Isaac’s shoulders relax and he rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, really, I have no hard feelings—“
“I heard your stuff and I think it’s really really good and you should come back to Beacon Hills with me so you can meet the people at our new label I set up a meeting for you for the day after Christmas if you want—“ Stiles blurts in one big breath, saying it while he still has a shred of bravery.
“Excuse me?” Isaac says, voice higher.
“We left the label, got signed by a new one that’s just starting out and they need more artists and Erica sent me your Soundcloud and you are…Kira is kinda old school, thought I should come talk to you in person first… you are so talented… and I don’t want you spending Christmas alone.” All true.
“You don’t want me spending Christmas alone so you’re going to offer me a record deal?” he asks with his crooked smile.
Stiles grins. “Something like that.”
Because maybe it does boil down to that. Maybe it is that simple. Isaac is a part of the family. He is important. He deserves this chance. And he definitely deserves some of Talia Hale’s famous Christmas fudge, regardless of what happens with Vulpine Lupine.
“Okay,” Isaac says in a soft, painfully open voice. He locks eyes with Stiles and smiles, drops his gaze and scratches the back of his neck. “I uh… thank you.”
Stiles can feel the adrenaline and bravery draining out of him so before it’s gone… “We’ve missed you. I’ve missed you.”
“But I’m no Derek—“
“So what?” Stiles says, unwavering. Isaac looks back at him. Stiles’ bravery is gone. “You should pack.”
Isaac hesitates, hands floating uselessly at his side. “I uh… missed you too.”
Stiles clenches his teeth to keep his grin at bay and nods. Isaac dips his head and turns toward his bedroom.
**
February.
Beacon Hills, CA
Lydia stands on the porch with her hands on her hips and a curious look on her face. “What am I looking at here, exactly?”
Derek looks over at her and sees Stiles approaching the door beyond her. “Flowers?”
Stiles snorts and ducks around her to get to the porch swing.
“I know they’re flowers, but what are you doing…?”
“Planting them?”
She raises her eyebrows and looks to Stiles as if searching for confirmation that it’s weird. But Stiles is too busy looking at Derek with glowing affection.
“What?” Derek asks him while smoothing soil over the roots of the cluster of bloomed white petunias with his hands.
“Nothing,” Stiles says softly. Derek shoots a smile at him and gets one back.
“So, is this a thing?” Lydia asks. “Flower boxes? Is this some sort of thing that was whispered under the sheets in Berlin or something? Did you guys cry and clutch at each other and promise to plant flowers in each other’s honor?”
“No,” Derek huffs.
“Because I hate to break it to you, but those are annuals and that’s not a symbol of longevity.”
“Who knows where we’re going to be in a year,” Stiles argues. Derek looks up at him and his heart rate spikes. “We might be touring Asia or Australia or South America or living in a mansion in Malibu or a flat in London. A lot can happen in a year.” And his heart rate settles.
She smiles and turns to tuck her chin against her shoulder to hide it. After awhile of silent observation, she heads back inside. Derek finishes transplanting the rest of the petunias into the box and waters them with the hose set to a fine mist while Stiles keeps looking at him. Derek sends a blast of gentle mist his way just to hear him laugh.
“This is the least rock and roll thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Scott announces from the doorway.
“We’ll make it up to you in the studio,” Stiles promises, tearing his eyes off of Derek finally. Scott bounces on his heels and starts singing a guitar line they’d figured out the night before.
Stiles stands and joins in, air guitaring for good measure.
Lydia appears behind Scott and starts slapping a rhythm out on his shoulders. “C’mon, wash up so we can go. Don’t want to be late on the first day of recording,” she commands Derek without missing a beat.
Derek’s body hums with excitement and nerves as he washes his hands in the kitchen. He can hear his band singing on the front porch. Scott’s cereal bowl is in the sink and Lydia’s lipstick stained coffee mug sits on the counter and there are signs of Stiles all over the kitchen – a sticky note about being out to lunch with his dad stuck to the bread box, the now viral picture of them kissing pinned to the fridge…
“Babe, c’mooon,” Stiles calls from the front door.
Derek dries his hands and shakes his head. “Don’t call me babe,” he yells back and walks toward the sound of their voices.
**
Epilogue.
July.
Beacon Hills, CA.
“Good evening, Beacon Hills!” Stiles says into the mic, his heart pounding with excitement. He’d been jittery all day but now he feels pretty invincible. “I hope you guys had a good time with Royales and Isaac. Aren’t they amazing?” He waits for the fevered cheering to settle down, beaming out at the audience. “I know they’re not from here, but the band and I would like to thank you for making them feel as if they were. You do us proud, Beacon Hills.”
Stiles looks over at Scott and then over at Derek. Lydia rattles her sticks against the rim of her snare to let them know she’s with them too. “It’s been awhile since we’ve done a one-off show, hasn’t it?” Stiles asks his band.
“Years,” Scott agrees.
“We’ve never had opening acts for one-offs,” Derek points out slyly. The pitch of the audience’s yelling ratchets up a couple notches like they know there’s something to be excited about.
“Would you say this is a special occasion then, Lydia?” Stiles asks, swinging around to look up at her.
She leans to the side and “hmmm”s into the mic, tapping her chin. “I guess it’s pretty special. It’s not every day we announce a new album to a sold out hometown crowd.”
The explosion of cheering shocks a laugh out of all of them.
“Just an album? Don’t we have a tour coming up too?” Stiles asks coyly, playing the opening line of the opening song on the album on his guitar.
“I think so,” Derek answers, casually plucking the bass line.
Jackson’s muttering in their ears about the wireless system taking years off his life and they can hear Danny laughing in the background. Boyd, Greenberg, Isaac, Erica and the twins are standing in the wings, watching with unabashedly eager smiles.
“Huh. Well, anyway, do you guys want to hear the album?”
“I think they do,” Scott says, starting to play his own part. Lydia waits a few beats before she starts drumming.
“Welcome to Annuals, everyone. We hope you like it.”
Later, when the interviews start rolling in and they get closer and closer to the actual release date, they’re going to have to explain themselves just like they always had. Tempest had been called what it was because getting signed and recording and everything had been like a perfect storm. And Gladiator had been Gladiator because they’d had to fight to keep going. The last one had been called Fingerprints because no matter how hard they tried, there was still some sort of trace evidence of their past lingering with them.
And now Annuals.
Because Lydia was half right and half wrong when she said that annuals weren’t a symbol of longevity. They bloom one season and never come back, but all you have to do is plant something new the following year. They require effort and care. They provide a constant opportunity for something new.
And so does this band.
Stiles is shining with sweat by the time they get to the end of the album. There’s nothing like playing these new songs – the ones he and Derek had written curled up together in the back lounge years ago that Stiles had thought were gone forever, the one that Stiles had peeled off his thigh in Paris with Scott waking up slowly next to him, the one Lydia had written on the back of a receipt after a shitty date with some male model in New York. There was absolutely nothing better than this.
Stiles downs a bottle of water and tosses it out into the crowd, paces the stage a little, takes deep and centering breaths. Derek holds his hand out toward him because he knows. Stiles goes to him and takes it, the first time he’s touched him on stage tonight (they don’t want to make the kissing thing a habit, they really don’t).
Scott and Lydia talk to the audience while Derek smiles at Stiles like he’s the only person in the whole arena. Stiles squeezes his hand and kisses him on the cheek before heading back to his mic.
“This last song is something Derek and I wrote together before he left.”
They know the story now, at least most of it, thanks to the mountains upon mountains of interviews from the first month post-coming out. They know how long he and Derek had been in love, they know why Derek left, they know that Stiles was devastated, they know that there had been a song involved and judging by the reaction, they know this is it.
He catches a glimpse of Allison just beyond the footlights, wearing her Moms for Scott shirt and grinning in a way that means she’s probably crying too. Stiles winks at her and she blows him a kiss. He makes eye contact with Scott and looks back to check on Lydia. Stiles looks over at Derek and Derek’s looking back. When he turns back to his mic and the writhing audience, this wall of upturned faces, he’s smiling so hard his cheeks hurt. He’s been waiting for this moment for years.
“This is Fair/Unfair.”