the one where stiles went to college, it was fine, he graduated, it was fine, and now he’s an adult. at least hypothetically. at least technically, in the most technical sense, but derek still has nothing to say to him at all.
and that’s cool, because he’s not… whatever, he wasn’t counting on it. did he have a theory? maybe. but whatever, it’s been debunked, it’s fine. neat, neat, neat-o.
scott’s in new york, he’s normal, good for him. werewolfing it up in the Village. or wherever he is. he’s never that specific, on the phone, it’s kind of weird. but stiles is done caring.
bein’ an adult! losing contact with everyone. and all your motivations. amazing.
but he has this book, he has pancakes at Lou’s, the only place that knows what a pancake is. like a kid’s drawing, or a cartoon, a flattened stack of circles and a square of butter, and the pancakes are speckled golden brown, and they smell sweet even before you douse ‘em in syrup, and for a second, everything feels right again.
so stiles goes to his diner. he reads his book. he goes home and works on his stupid neverending novel that no one’s ever going to read. he gets on tiktok and watches videos of cats setting off rube goldberg machines. he should get a cat, maybe. but that’s too much responsibility. stiles never wants to worry about another living thing, and cats? he knows nothing about cats. and he would, if he got one, he’d read everything. he’d never shut up about it, it would be his whole personality. oh, you wanna talk to me? that’s nice. i’m gonna go home and make sure my cat hasn’t died horribly. maybe tomorrow.
so, pancakes at lou’s. his terrible novel that he hates with every fiber of his being. getting published is the worst thing that ever happened to him.
because now he has to be something. now people expect something from him, all the time. expect an adult, expect the guy from his goodreads. expect him to smile, and hug them, and sign things, and write his fucking sequel on time without ending it all, and maybe he can’t! and honestly, he should’ve seen this coming.
derek came to his book signing. that’s somehow the worst part. his first one, before he was anybody. with all of three other people there, but it was his name on the sign, so he had to read his little excerpt, staring straight ahead, fully floating over his own face. looking down, wow, so humiliating. so embarrassing, for that guy over there.
“it’s really good,” derek said, after, with stiles still trying not to die. “i didn’t know you were—how long have you been writing?”
“well i journaled a lot,” stiles said. “but not, like… those were like letters.”
to my mom, he didn’t say, and derek didn’t say, thanks, that would’ve been really depressing to talk about, and also, i have way more dead family than you.
oh, i know, he didn’t say back, in response to that, and then, it’s all i fucking think about, actually.
and in real life, derek did say something, and to this day, stiles has no idea what it was.
“what?” he said. “i caught none of that, sorry.”
“it wasn’t important,” derek said, and then he said, “congratulations on the book, again,” and went off to haunt the rest of stiles’ life with not knowing.
i wrote you a letter, actually. i was thinking…
“what?” stiles said, and he ruined it.
or, “you could come by any time. if you wanted.”
or, “i kind of always hated you until right now.”
really, it could be anything.
probably best not to think about it.
which is so totally the opposite of how stiles’ mind works, it’s not even funny.
but by now, it’s gotten kind of tiring. “did you know i’m deeply in love with you?” “by the way, i’m getting married.” “i have a lovechild, and it’s yours!”
i want a beer so badly. you will die in seven days. do you know if there’s a bathroom around here?
anything. probably nothing, could be anything.
and then derek’s walking up to him, in Lou’s, pressing a copy of his own book into his hands.
“i want you to sign this.”
“what?” stiles says, and it’s that same look all over again. that instant change to, you know what? forget it.
but it changes back again.
“it’s a good book,” derek says. “i want a signed copy.”
“yeah?” stiles says. “trying out ebay?”
derek looks baffled by this, and stiles remembers, again, that he’s somehow never heard of the internet, apparently.
“because signed copies are kind of hot on there.”
“no,” derek says, just as seriously. “i wanna keep it.”
kind of looking down, the more stiles squints at him, and looking up again. “i just think it would be nice to have.”
“something to remember me by,” stiles says, and derek says, “yes.”
and—it’s a miracle stiles doesn’t start crying.
“oh,” he says. “yeah. yeah, sure, i’m on it. do you have a pen?”
and derek has one, and passes it to him, and their fingers brush, for a second, and stiles hovers on the ceiling, staring at himself.
he doesn’t know, he has no idea how to sign—To Derek, enjoy it, Stiles? Been too long, I don’t know what’s wrong with me? Can you just call me so I know it’s okay to call you? Can you just tell me it’s not like that, and it’s never been like that, and I’m delusional, and I’m insane?
To my number one fan, he writes, and derek looks down at what he wrote and laughs, and time freezes completely, and stiles freezes completely.
and if he’s insane, so then fine, he’s insane. he adds his number.
derek staring, staring at it for a second.
“don’t think it’s, like,” stiles says, regretting it instantly. “an obligation, or anything.”
“that’s your number,” derek says, and stiles still has absolutely no idea what he means.
thanks for ruining the moment, asshole. this was gonna be a really sweet sendoff, and now i have to purposefully ghost you.
i’m gonna, i’m gonna call you right now. stiles, i’m gonna—
what’s this for? i don’t have a phone.
“don’t worry about it,” stiles says, and derek says, “i would’ve called, if i thought…”
if i thought you could handle it. without making it so fucking weird, oh my god.
if i thought you liked phone calls, but don’t you have Do Not Disturb on permanently? and hate people, and calling, and getting calls, and getting texts, and having to reply?
and the truth is… yeah. yeah, mostly.
mostly, stiles could be alone forever, he doesn’t care.
it feels better than this.
“don’t worry,” he says, and derek says, “stiles, i wanted to.”
and now stiles’ eyes are burning.
“sure thing,” he says, and forces a smile, and pushes the book back into derek’s hands. “well, nice seeing you.”
“wait,” derek says, and stupidly, stiles does, and derek doesn’t say anything again.
“did you forget where you parked your car, or something?”
“what?” derek says, and then he shakes his head. “stiles. i wanted to say—i don’t—”
“don’t worry about it,” stiles says, and he’s sick of this. home, he’s going home, he’s gonna watch video essays in bed and try not to think about his brains splattered on the ceiling. or the walls, you know, he hasn’t fully nailed down the physics of it. maybe a little of both.
“wait,” derek says again.
“getting a little tired of waiting, dude,” stiles says, and that’s a little too real for him, and it clots in his throat, and now he’s really gonna go.
“stiles,” derek says, and all stiles’ brain can think anymore is death. death. god and death, death and god and death. please just fucking stop trying.
“stiles,” derek says again. “i haven’t had a relationship in—a really long time.”
ever, maybe. after paige, after kate.
which it kind of feels cursed to even know about. when derek didn’t tell him about either of them, he didn’t want to.
it just kept coming up, supernaturally.
“i know,” stiles says, and derek says, “i don’t know if i’d be good at it.”
“oh,” stiles says, and kind of looks at him, taking that in, and derek nods.
his eyes dropping, and now it’s stiles saying it.
“wait,” he says. “wait, what are you saying?”
“nothing,” derek says. “just—that i’d understand, if you didn’t want… or, if you did, and then realized it wasn’t—”
but he cuts off, shakes his head. “this is—a lot to put on you at a diner. and—you were busy.”
eyes cutting over to the pancakes, already cold, always a shame. and dropping again, looking past him.
“wait,” stiles says again. he kind of feels stupid, and numb, like he’s been hit over the head. like he’s in slow motion, or everything else is, but that kind of dream slow motion where everything else keeps getting further away. “you’re just, like, worried…”
that he’d be a bad boyfriend. could that be it? it can’t be that.
“you won’t,” stiles says. still in thick mud, struggling. “what? you’re not, you won’t be.”
derek looking, and looking at him, and stiles’ head swims, and he might be sick.
but he read that right. he did. didn’t he?
“i absolutely want to date you,” he says. “if that’s at all on the table, if i’m not, like, totally mishearing…”
“you’re not,” derek says, and stiles nods, and nods, neat. neat, and cool, he’s very normal! super normal, and he knows exactly how he’s feeling, and it’s the height of sanity.
he says, “so you’re gonna talk to me now?”
derek’s eyes widening, and stiles is already sorry. of course he’s been all torn up, and conflicted, eating himself alive with worry. never knowing what to say, his life’s a crime scene.
“not that you have to,” stiles says. “i can talk. i’m big on talking.” wow their version of flirting is very weird and formal. “i’ve missed you so much, dude, i haven’t seen you in a thousand years.”
derek’s eyes on him again. “really.”
“i have literally staked out your apartment,” stiles says. “like, planning what i would say, if i was going inside.”
okay, that’s too weird. back up, stiles.
“i have a schedule,” he says. “of… your book things.”
“events,” stiles says, and derek nods. “so we’re both weirdos.”
derek laughs again. it’s like, the best sound.
“can we get out of here?” stiles says. “i’ve actually started hating pancakes. too much of a good thing.”
derek hearing that, and faltering.
“that’s not like some grand message,” stiles says. “or like, foreboding… i’ve just been coming here every day to overthink, and it’s kind of ruined the pancakes for me.”
“what’s going on?” derek says.
and stiles tells him: the stupid book he’s not writing, and how scott’s being weird, and the expectations, and how wound up he’s been about what derek was thinking that day.
“and also, i swear something’s up with those trees on Elm,” he adds. “were there trees on Elm yesterday? no, right?”
“we could check,” derek says. “right now.”
“hell yeah,” stiles says.
