Closely Monstrous

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64186225

Bitterness in Our Mouths

Stiles takes a bite of his wedding cake.

His eyes widen briefly before a blank look crosses his face.

Lydia and him agreed not to smash each other's faces with cake - Lydia's makeup looked immaculate and she spent a long time on it, as did Stiles' hair.

She looked gorgeous as always, even more so by the gentle darker colors surrounding her emerald eyes and ruby red lipstick, now ever so slightly smeared with cake where one couldn’t tell if they weren't standing so close to her.

Stiles swallowed, a bitter taste filling his mouth where the sweet cake once sat.

“What did you do?”

Lydia paused, another forkful halfway towards her mouth as she smiled for their many friends and family taking pictures.

Green eyes slid over to Stiles’ own chocolate ones. Stiles could read her well enough now to see the slight apprehension she hid well.

“What do you mean, sweetie?”

Stiles turned to face her fully, no emotion showing on his face. “What did you do to the cake?”

Lydia reached forwards with dainty hands, her perfectly manicured fingernails plucking a tiny crumb off of Stiles all black tuxedo. “I'm not sure what you're talking about, babe. The cake's wonderful, everything's wonderful.”

Without a word, Stiles turns around, heads towards the trash can, and throws away the rest of his piece of the cake on the little red paper plate.

He can practically feel the tension suddenly ripple through the small crowd of their friends and family members, everyone who was watching and taking pictures suddenly became very quiet.

“Stiles?” Scott calls out, taking a careful step towards his best friend. Stiles gaze slides over to where Scott and his dad are walking towards him, concern on each of their faces. He shrugs Scott's hand off his shoulder when he reaches out. He turns towards his bride to be.

“The one thing, Lydia. The one thing I asked you not to mess with.” He grits his teeth as his bride narrows her eyes at him. She delicately sets her piece down before turning her full attention to her groom.

“Are you really upset over cake?” She lifts a narrow brow at him, disapproval written all over her face while her lips purse. Normally, Stiles would feel chastised, or even embarrassed when being called out by her.

Instead, tries to swallow his sudden rage. Anger, regret, and hurt.

“Don't pretend like you don't know what this is really about.”

Lydia huffs out a put upon sigh. “You're really going to make a big deal out of this? It's just cake.”

Stiles gapes at her in disbelief. His chest hurts, aches, as he suddenly sees his future crystal clear with the woman who stands in front of him. He opens his mouth, only to close it as his eyes flicker over the crowd who has now gathered around them. The man looks at his bride for a few seconds longer, before turning on his heel and walking quickly away. He doesn't stop, even as he hears multiple footsteps follow behind him, until he exits the reception room and into the hallway, near the upscale restrooms that came along with the expensive venue he and Lydia rented for the day.

Stiles tries to reign in his emotions, but they're bubbling up all over the place. He should've known it would end up like this. Looking back, it's clear as fucking day that it was going to go like this.

“Stiles!” His dad reaches him first, Lydia, Scott, and Derek, not far behind him. “What's going on?”

Stiles shakes his head, taking another deep breath.

It doesn't help much.

Lydia is suddenly in his face, anger written on her own. “Are you serious?” She hisses, trying to keep her voice down but also getting her point across, “storming off like that during our reception? In front of everyone! Over a damn piece of cake!”

Her anger looks different with his new perspective. That glint in her eyes doesn’t look as inviting or even scary anymore. It looks cocky. And afraid.

He rounds on her, not letting her gain any ground to stand on. Not in this. “No, are you fucking serious?” He pauses as Lydia's eyes widen in shock, trying to arrange all his thoughts and emotions, before spewing angrily, “The one thing we both agreed on, and you had to go and ruin it!”

Lydia laughs harshly. “Ruin it? I didn't ruin it.” She shakes her head slightly, her long red curls bouncing on her slender shoulders, “you just ruined our reception by running out like that!”

“I didn't ruin anything. I'm finally seeing things for what they are. I should've known you'd pull something like this.”

“Something like what?” Lydia snaps, sneering up at him. With her perfect reception ruined, she's beyond furious but trying to mask it, albeit a bit unsuccessfully. “Adding a little something to the cake?”

“Yes!” Stiles barks, forcing himself to lower his voice after the initial outburst, “you promised me you wouldn't do anything to it, yet you did. You lied!”

Lydia rolls her eyes, crossing her arms defensively. But Stiles can see her apprehension growing more and more. “I just tweaked the recipe a little, why's it such a big deal?”

“You know why.” Stiles' voice is deadly, and quiet.

The redhead says in forced nonchalance, “I fixed it.”

Stiles feels his jaw go slack in disbelief. “You…” he pauses, shakes his head, takes a small step away from her, unable to be near her after hearing those words. “Are you serious?”

“Yes! I fixed it. It needed a little tweaking, so I fixed it. It's fine.”

Stiles can't believe what he's hearing. He rubs his hands angrily across his face. “The one thing, Lydia. The one thing.”

“You keep saying that like that's so important in the grand scheme of things, it's not-”

Stiles cuts her off harshly, barely aware of their little audience, “It is important, because my feelings are important.”

Lydia stiffens slightly, and Stiles knows she's not going down without a fight.

Fuck it.

Lydia opens her mouth, yet all Stiles' rage suddenly spills over.

“I let you decide everything. The venue, the colors, the flowers, the food, the drinks, the fucking tablecloths, but the one thing I asked you not to mess with - no, the one thing I pleaded with you not to mess with - was the cake. Because you agreed with me that you were absolutely okay with using my mother's recipe. You promised me you'd let me handle the cake, and in return, you could do whatever else you wanted to do for our wedding.” Stiles took a step closer, voice lowering, “but you just couldn't let me have that, could you? You just had to ruin the one thing I wanted in our wedding, because it didn't match what you wanted. It didn't match perfect little Lydia's perfect fucking day. In the end, it didn't matter what I wanted because god forbid it wasn't all about you today, huh?” Stiles laughs cruelly and smiles dangerously with all teeth. “Do you even care about my feelings? Because you knew how much it meant to me using my dead mom's recipe for the cake, how excited I was over the idea of using it. You say you love me, but your actions scream otherwise.” Lydia goes to retort, but Stiles presses on, voice now slightly trembling. “I kept my mouth shut, because I care for you. Because I love you. Because I wanted you to have your perfect day. But you couldn't let me have this! I fucking hate the flowers you picked - they're tacky, and the color is gross to me, but it didn't matter because you were happy. I hate this venue! It's too upscale, too expensive, too not me, but you were happy. I hate this goddamn tux but you were so excited picking it out that I kept my mouth shut!”

By now, there's tears glistening in both their eyes, and not for the reason either of them thought they'd be there today.

Stiles stares at his bride - the one who was there for him through tragedy after tragedy, who kept his deepest secrets, who he loved so very much - with sorrow in his eyes. Lydia, now, in her gorgeous, curvy red dress for the reception, her green eyes filled with tears, her ruby colored lips ever so slightly trembling in emotion, her fiery curls flowing effortlessly down her back and shoulders - and realizes -

He doesn't want to marry her.

“Stiles,” the young woman breathes shakily, taking a small step towards her groom, “I-I didn't mean to hurt you. You have to know that.”

Stiles sighs heavily, shoulders dropping. “Yeah, I know.” Hope begins to grow in Lydia's eyes, but Stiles’ next words crushes it.

“The wedding's off.”

“What?!”

Scott's voice startles him, and he's suddenly aware that his dad, Scott and Derek have been here for the entire conversation.

Derek places a hand on Scott’s shoulder, easing him away from Stiles and Lydia. “Scott, don't.”

The true Alpha shoves Derek's hand off. “No! You've got to be kidding me! You're ending the wedding because of this? Are you out of your mind?!”

Stiles tries to ignore the certain words Scott decided to string together - void's gone void’s gone you're not crazy void's gone - and turns to face his brother in all but blood. “No. In fact, I'm thinking more clearly than I have been in these past six months.” He turns back towards Lydia, who looks like she knows what Stiles is going to say. His heart aches at the crestfallen and heartbroken look that's now on her face as a few tears begin to slide down her cheeks.

“I hate it's taken me until now to realize this, but I'm not going to marry you, Lyds.”

Without another word, he walks out.

***

Stiles figures everyone would be questioning and comforting Lydia for the rest of the day - besides his faithful father - but he is surprised when Derek silently follows him outside. They both sit on the sidewalk, and Stiles lights up a cigarette he promised Lydia he hadn’t kept stashed in his car anymore for emergencies.

The pack stayed unopened for months - until today.

The smoke burns pleasantly, and Stiles can’t say he didn’t miss the smell. Beside him, Derek holds out his hand a bit in view, two fingers slightly more extended than the rest, and after a few drags, Stiles passes the cigarette to Derek. They both sit like that for a while, passing it back and forth, until it’s gone.

“I’m sorry about your wedding.”

Derek’s voice is soft, quiet.

Sincere.

It makes Stiles smile a tiny bit.

“I honestly half expected this.”

Derek turns his head to look at him, green eyes glinting in the sun, and Stiles’ heart trips over itself. If Derek heard it, he gives no sign.

“Why’d you agree to marry her then?”

Stiles understands the question, and sighs heavily. It takes a few moments to get the words right, and Derek is a patient man - even though once upon a time he hadn’t been much into patience- but once Stiles does find the words, they start flowing effortlessly, “For awhile now, I’ve not even been fully in her and I’s relationship. I started noticing things - small things - but they added up. I talked to her about it. We both were having some issues in our relationship. But I thought, ‘If we could survive the end of high school, college, funerals, work trips, a fucking 1,000 year old dark fox spirit, we could survive this.’ ” Stiles pauses, toying the end of the cigarette butt he dropped on the asphalt with the toe of his dress shoe. “But… then she started having these visions. And they kept getting worse. She started to become very controlling - choosing what I wore, what we ate, where we went, what car I could drive, when I could visit my dad, even when we could have sex. So. We both went to therapy, separately and together - found someone who was in the know - and things started to look up again, even with the visions.”

Derek carefully inserts his question. “What were the visions about?”

Stiles has to look away. “Me dying.”

Stiles sees Derek stiffen out of the corner of his eye, but they both stay silent for a minute, processing. They both know that a Banshee’s visions are premonitions. Stiles swears Derek seems to know Stiles has more he must get off his chest, and that he’s silent for that reason.

“I thought we were okay. She started loosening up a bit, and I thought the visions had stopped.” He meets Derek’s eyes when he sighs out defeatedly, “But they hadn’t.” Glancing away again, the young man crushes the cigarette butt under his shoe. “During this time, I proposed. We were happy again, or so I thought. But, it felt off. It didn’t feel like I thought it would. Or how I thought it used to feel, I should say. I felt like I had… settled. I talked to dad about it, and he said it was normal to feel that way after being together for years. The relationship ‘lost it’s spark’, or whatever.” Stiles shook his head, looking back over at Derek. “But it didn’t feel like that. It felt like I was just going with the motions, hoping everything would go back to normal after we married. So I dove into planning the marriage and the preparations and the wedding, because Lydia made it clear she wanted a huge and fancy wedding.” The young man blinks back sudden tears, unable to keep looking into Derek’s kaleidoscope eyes. “Even if I didn’t want that.”

Stiles doesn’t mention how he had secretly been fantasizing about someone else during this dark time. Someone with green eyes and dark hair and scruff that he wanted to feel leaving beard burns along the inside of his thighs-

Stiles clears his throat, pushing those thoughts away. Because Derek didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to be lusted after, not after Kate, and Jennifer.

Derek deserved to be treated with all the kindness in the world. Derek is grace, and beauty, and intelligence, and kindness. Not many people saw, but Derek was soft. Under all that anger and growling and posturing, was a sweet, gentle soul who had been hurt so badly repeatedly until all that was left was the thorns of defensive anger, and reactive fear and pain and loneliness.

But Stiles saw under that facade. Had for years, after helping Derek search for Erica and Boyd the summer after his Sophomore year of High School.

Sure, Stiles thought he was very attractive, but also found his dry sarcasm hilarious and his mind cunning and bright.

Stiles knew he was Derek’s anchor.

They had become good friends at one point. Stiles couldn’t recall when it had happened, but that it just had.

Stiles mentioned to Lydia that he was glad Derek was opening up to someone, especially after Brayden had left. He had slipped up in admitting how hot he found Derek, mind and body, and Lydia had chuckled and said that Stiles has always had a thing for unattainable people.

Stiles pointed out that she hadn't been as unattainable as he once thought.

Lydia had looked at him for a long time after that.

“It felt like she didn’t care what I wanted. And, in a way, that was true. She was more worried about keeping me alive.” Stiles lowers his voice as it cracks and breaks and bleeds vulnerability, “But she didn’t see she was steadily killing me like that. I… I had started to want to be dead, to just get it over with, so I wouldn’t feel like I was suffocating slowly anymore.” Tears leak down his face, and he brushes them off with his shoulder, not looking at Derek’s face, scared of what he might find. “I felt so on edge with everything. The visions of death looming over my head, Lydia’s controlling behavior, losing my job - it was all too much-”

He cuts off as his voice breaks even more.

“When did you lose your job?” Derek rumbles, having scooted close enough to press his shoulder against his packmate’s in silent comfort and support.

Stiles can’t help but let out a weak, watery chuckle. “A couple years back, actually. I kept it hidden. Mainly because I didn’t want you to feel a certain way.”

The werewolf gives him a very confused look.

Stiles bites his lip, and pretends he doesn’t see Derek’s eyes dart down briefly to his mouth. “The FBI found out that I had helped hide you and helped you escape. Let’s just say, they were not happy.” He blows a raspberry. “It was hard finding a job after that. Nobody wanted someone who got fired from the FBI for hiding a wanted criminal at the time. So all our expenses fell onto Lydia, which didn’t help either of our stress. I felt like such a loser. What kind of man couldn’t support their fiancee?”

Derek glares at Stiles. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

The human scoffs and says harshly, “And what could you have done? Hold onto even more guilt for things that weren’t in your control and avoid me in the process because you’d convince yourself it’s what would be best while simultaneously punishing yourself? Yeah, no thanks.”

Derek has the decency to look slightly cowed, because they both know that’s exactly what would have happened.

Stiles softens his voice, “You already have a guilt complex, Mr. Martyr. I didn’t want to add to it. Please understand that.”

“I do,” the ‘wolf says immediately, just as soft, “I’m still sorry, though.”