#anon'd

It’s a sunny day in Beacon Hills, and summer has been good to Stiles Stilinski. He saved enough money to fly home for the summer from George Washington to see his dad and his friends.

And of course, Derek.

Despite Stiles’ constant efforts to convince Derek to move DC with him, Derek stayed in Beacon Hills, living with Cora and owning a bookstore, which was more Cora’s idea than anyones. So Stiles cherishes times like this, where he can walk hand in hand with his boyfriend down the street, even if it’s only for a couple times a year.

“You know, we’ve never talked about what we’ll do when I graduate.” Stiles turns to Derek, squeezing his hand in his as they walk past some restaurants, towards the park.

“You still have another year before you graduate college.”

“Which means we only have a year to plan the rest of our lives together!”

Derek chuckles.

Stiles continues to egg him on, and they find a park bench to themselves, dog walkers and children on bikes pass them, but they fall comfortably against each other, hands still twined together in Derek’s lap.

“You’ll be working for the FBI when you graduate,” Derek says, as if this isn’t something Stiles brings up daily to him.

Stiles turns to him, his brows upturned. “Your point?”

“I don’t want to distract you, you know that.” Derek sighs.

“Hate to break it to you, big guy,” Stiles presses closer to Derek. “But that’s the whole point of relationships. You distract me constantly. That’s how it works.”

“You don’t distract me,” Derek says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

This time, both of Stiles’ brows raise. “Oh yeah? So you’re telling me the picture I sent you last month didn’t have you hiding in your office for an hour at the bookstore?” he smiles smugly. As much as Derek likes to act cool and collected, he can’t deny that after four years of dating, Stiles knows all his weak spots.

Derek’s ears grow rosy, and Stiles outright laughs. He doesn’t stop himself from leaning in and peppering kisses to Derek’s cheek and neck, and it makes his heart swell how Derek doesn’t even squirm away, just melts into it.

When Stiles deems his attack sufficient, he presses his chin to Derek’s shoulder, letting Derek rest his head against his as a cool breeze hits them.

“Promise me I won’t lose you?” Stiles whispers, his breath tickling Derek’s ear as his gaze falls to a little girl and her puppy in the grass in front of them. Because he’s always feared that, in the back of his head. That the time they spend apart will show them that they do best just like that; from a distance.

He feels Derek’s hand grow firm in his, a thumb sweeping on the back of his hand. It’s comforting, almost like Derek doesn’t have to say anything. But, Derek does say something, because if he’s known Stiles for this long, he knows words mean more than anything.

“You won’t lose me.”

“What are you doing here?” Stiles spits out immediately, and he doesn’t have time to assess if his tone was more scared than stern, but Derek is just standing there, behind the counter of the bar, a binder in his hand, and his eyes wide and mouth slightly open. And Stiles feels just as stunned as Derek looks. 

Derek blinks again, and has a look of realization that he’s actually living this moment. “I- I own this bar.”

“What?” Stiles asks, not even trying to hide the shock in his voice. 

It’s been two years since he’s seen that face. Which means Stiles and Derek hadn’t seen each other in three years. No visits, not calls, no texts. Not even a pass by. 

Derek looks… older. Not just by age. He looks exhausted, like he’s aging too fast. Which, makes no real sense considering he’s a werewolf. 

“Stiles, you didn’t tell us you were friends with the bar owner. No wonder you chose this place.”

He whisks his head around so goddamn fast. “Shut up, Ed!”

He turns back, and Derek is still standing there, and Stiles notices his jaw is clenched, like he’s gearing for battle. “I had no idea, really.”

“What are you doing in Chicago?” Derek asks, tucking the binder in his hand in a space under the shelf. 

“We’re here for a convention. For work,” he gestures to his friends, knowing it’s enough information for Derek to know it’s for the FBI. 

Derek just nods once at him, and Stiles really can’t figure out how they’re supposed to feel right now, in this moment, looking at Derek Hale. He’s about to ask Derek something, anything really. How have you been? Why are you here? Since when did you own a bar? But he doesn’t get the chance, because-

“Mario?” Derek calls, and a guy ringing up orders on the other end of the bar, look back. 

“Yeah, boss?”

“Put their tabs on my name, I’ll take care of them.” He gestures to Stiles’ and his coworkers. His eyes fall back to Stiles, who just blinks, still in a bit of shock. 

“Uh, you don’t have to d-” Stiles starts, but Derek raises his hand, and it shuts Stiles up. 

“Have a good night, Stiles.” is all he says, and before he walks away, Stiles swears he sees the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. A ghost of a smile that Derek used to brandish for him in their most private moments, when he needed it the most. 

Before Stiles can even say thank you, Derek is walking back into a small hallway, probably heading back to his office.

Stiles plops back down on his bar stool, silent, and the glass of whiskey in front of him looks like the last thing he wants in his body, stomach churning at the sight. 

“Dude!” Karl says excitedly, “Your friend is the best, Stilinski.”

Stiles turns to his coworkers, who nod agreeing. 

“He’s not my friend,” Stiles says, and well, he’s not wrong. 

“Pretty cool for someone who’s not a friend,” Jack adds, taking the opportunity to wave Mario down to order another round.

Ed quirks a brow. “ Wait, if he’s not your friend, who is he?”

A hundred names run through Stiles’ mind at the question. Memories, conversations. Private moments. Things that have been suppressed bubble up in his subconscious again, and his mouth feels dry. 

Against better judgment, he throws the rest of the whiskey back, letting the sting in his throat remind him of the last three years before he turns to Ed.

“He’s my ex-husband.”

Derek pushed the door to the hotel room open with one hand, the other splayed across Stiles’ back. Stiles would help him really, but he has his hands buys running through Derek’s hair, his mouth occupied by pulling Derek’s bottom lip between his.

There’s flowers and balloons covering the room, but neither one of them seem to notice, the only thing seeming to matter is the other in front of them; brushes of lips, whispers of admirations, sure movements.

Derek pushes Stiles towards the bed, letting it hit the back of his knees and fall on his back, but not before he pulls Derek down with him by his tie.

Derek falls over him with an ‘umf’, and Stiles actually giggles. And pretty soon, Derek is joining him until they’re a mix of laughter and soft kisses in dress shirts.

“We’re married,” Stiles sighs, and he’s giggling again. “Like, actually fucking married.”

Derek’s grin is soft and happy. “Yeah, I was there, Stiles.”

They both were. And so were all their friends and family, all together to celebrate them finally tying the knot. It was a beautiful ceremony, and an even more amazing celebration, but Stiles was practically buzzing the last few hours of the party to just get back and have some alone time with his husband. His husband.

“It just took us so long to get here,” Stiles sighs, nudging her hose up against Derek’s cheek. “I was getting a little nervous after eight years of dating.”

Derek sits up, cradling Stiles lap between his legs. Stiles’ hands instinctively move to rest on Derek’s thighs.

“I love you, Stiles,” Derek says, a serious look on his face. “And I promised you I wasn’t going anywhere. And I meant it. You’re it for me.”

Stiles feels his heart swell at the words. He knows Derek is usually the quiet one. Stiles is the loud, chatterbox with something to say. But he knows that Derek tries to put more effort into using his words, especially around Stiles.

Really, you should have heard Derek’s vows. Stiles was so shocked that Derek even had that much to say, let alone have the beautiful stream of words be meant for him. He was bawling almost instantly, barely holding it together to recite his vows back to Derek.

He reaches up to grab Derek’s neck, his fingers grazing the hair at the nape of his neck. Derek leans back into it

“Holy shit, I love you so much Derek,” he whispers fondly, slowly dragging Derek down to greet his lips with a kiss. “Get ready to spend the rest of your life with this dork,” he mumbles in between kisses.

Derek pulls away just a breath. “Can’t wait.”

It’s 2:30 AM in Chicago, and Stiles should really be in bed. After the convention and the night of drinks with his coworkers, he’d love nothing more than to have curled into a ball in his hotel room and fell asleep. But he’s always been a restless soul, especially when he has something eating him away.

Which is why he finds himself outside the bar he was at earlier- Derek’s bar, which he now can see the sign outside the door. The Fox and the Wolf.

Clever, Stiles thinks to himself.

It’s well past it’s closing time, and through the small window in the door, he can see the bartender, Mario, cleaning up. Which means Derek is inside, too.

So, Stiles does the only logical thing he can think of in that moment.

He paces.

He walks up and down the pavement, hands shoved in his pockets, mumbling to himself. He literally hasn’t seen Derek in three years, and he’s had enough experience with the supernatural that things just don’t happen in the world. There’s a reason for everything. So, logically, there has to be a reason that of all the places Stiles could have gone for a convention, it just so happens to be across the street from the bar Derek just happens to own, right?

Or maybe he’s over-thinking it?

There’s one thing Stiles does take into consideration; he thought he’d be more upset seeing Derek after so long. He always had the thought in the back of his head, of what would happen if he ran into Derek after the divorce. Would he glare at him? Yell? Or ignore him completely?

What he didn’t expect was to feel…nostalgic. It was like looking at a different life, right in the face. Right in front of him.

He was with Derek for eleven years, dammit. He was a 32 year old FBI agent, he can walk inside a fucking bar and talk to his ex-husband like a normal person, okay?

Stiles is amping himself up with those words, and it’s enough to give him the courage to take a deep breath, put on his game face, and beeline for the door.

His plan is derailed, however, when the door swings open outwards and hits him right in the face.

“So, that’s it, then?” Stiles says, his voice low, trying to keep it from cracking.

Derek sits across from him at their dining room table, hands folded at the edge of the table, and the coward can’t even bear to look Stiles in the eye.

Between them, a manila envelope.

“Stiles, please.” Derek pleads, his voice soft, and Stiles fucking hates him for using that voice. For taking something he always associated with comfort and joy, and use it now so he’ll only remember it like this.

He feels tears well in his eyes again, but he doesn’t move to wipe them away.

Stiles doesn’t think either of them expected it to go this far. What started with Stiles’ busy work schedule manifested into a spiral of arguments and distrust, until it seemed like every part of their marriage was just…frustration.

And Stiles tried, he really did. He cut back on hours, he worked from home when he could. And Derek made an effort to try to be more open, to trust Stiles more.

But apparently it wasn’t enough.

The thing is, after eleven years, you think you know everything about a person, down to what they’ll do next. You’d think that much time meant you had know every inch of a person. But sometimes you come home to your husband and a stapled packet of divorce papers, and you realize that you could be with someone your whole life and still never really know them.

He crosses his arms. “We’re not going to try to work this out? You’re just giving up on us?” Stiles bites, glaring at Derek, who stays quiet.  “Would you fucking look at me, at least?”

Derek slowly meets his eyes, and there are tired lines around his eyes and mouth. Despite his features, he looks younger, hunched in on himself like a child.

“What else can we do, Stiles?” He says slowly, and Stiles knows he’s trying to keep his cool, which just pisses him off even more. Like they’re just having a casual discussion about forgetting to pick up some milk, not their entire relationship.

It’s quiet between them for a long time, because Stiles had already done his fair share of yelling and screaming, and crying for that matter. And he’s tired.

“You promised,” is all Stiles says, and he pushes back from the table, standing up, and padding upstairs to the bedroom, leaving Derek alone with his envelope.

“Holy fuck!”

Stiles brings his hands up to his nose, and he already knows it’s bleeding, so he tips his head back.

“Stiles, are you okay?”

Derek is there, next to him, and Stiles is able to catch his furrowed brows as he glares at his bloody nose.

“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he says, but he can already feel his head getting light, and there’s a throbbing in his temple.

He feels a hand on his back, and he’s being directed inside, Derek following behind him.

“Come on, go sit. Get you cleaned up.”

The bar is empty now, and Stiles defeatedly takes a seat at a stool at the bar while Derek goes behind it, and throws a cloth napkin at Stiles’ face.

“Hey!” he yells defensively, using his free hand to try (and fail) to catch it. He quickly replaces his bloody hand with the napkin and finally tips his head back down, and when he catches Derek’s eyes, he really wasn’t expecting them to look so soft. He remembers those eyes.

It’s quiet between them for a long time, only the faint sound of drunk strangers walking down the street and the occasional car horn filling the bar.

“So,” Stiles draws out, napkin still pressed to his nose. “When did you start owning bars?”

Derek sighs, arms crossed and looking a little huffy.

“What are you doing here, Stiles?”

“I asked you first.”

Derek gives in, only because Stiles is pretty sure he knows that he could hold this argument all night. Stiles was always the persistent one.

He watches Derek rest his forearms on the bar. “I bought it when I moved here.” When Stiles doesn’t say anything in response, Derek takes it as a tell that it’s not a sufficient answer.

“Cora found us a new pack, after-” Derek gestures between the two of them, and it’s enough of an answer. “They’re nice. The alpha had this old shop he didn’t know what to do with, and Cora convinced him that we were prime retail owners since we owned the bookstore.”

Derek glances around the bar, and Stiles watches a small smile spread on his lips, and he can feel the pride Derek has for this dingy bar. “He let me contract it, and I’ve always kinda wanted to own a bar. Books were always Laura’s thing.”

“You found a new pack?” Stiles asks, because of course that’s what he took away from the story. But Derek knows him to well, and raises a brow.

“Stiles,” he says, which makes him rolls his eyes.

“Okay! I just, I don’t know. Something just compelled me to come here.” He throws the napkin down on the counter, and Derek walks around the counter to sit in the bar stool next to him, and Stiles is hyper-aware that this is the closest they’ve been to each other since three years. “Can you blame me?”

“Are you mad at me?” Derek asks.

Logically, he should be. Derek had opted for a divorce, before even considering how they could work out their issues. He had left Stiles to pick up the pieces of what had been almost a third of his life, and just move on. Talk of building a house, having kids, growing old together, all thrown away.

But, Stiles also knows that he didn’t make it easy. As he looked back at their marriage, most of their problems revolved around his stubbornness, and Derek’s trust issues. But, he should have given Derek more credit. After Kate, and Jennifer, Stiles had tried so hard to be the love Derek deserved, but as years went on, he got comfortable. Which meant Derek grew skeptical again.

“I used to be,” Stiles says, quietly. “I used to be so fucking mad. And not just you, but myself, too. I would lie awake every night for the first few months, just trying to figure out where exactly it went wrong. But eventually, I got over it. I realized what my part was in this, and found out how to forgive myself.”

Derek just nods.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” Derek says quickly, shaking his head. “I was never mad at you. I was mad at myself, if anything. I was a coward back then.”

“Are you kidding me?” Stiles argues, and turns in his stool to have his body face Derek. “I was the one in the wrong. And I didn’t do anything but make you feel like you had to put up with it. And with everything you’d been through, that was royally fucked up with me.”

“I know this is weird of me to say, but I’m proud of you for ending the marriage.” Derek gives him a weird look. “Okay, that was weird phrasing, I’ll admit. I wasn’t happy about it. But if there’s one thing I look back to now, it’s that I’m proud that you were able to be strong enough to realize when you were unhappy and leave.”

He knows Derek is clicking to what he says. Stiles was the only person Derek had dated after Kate and Jennifer. And both of those relationship made Derek felt guilty enough to stay in them. So if Stiles was going to take anything good out of their divorce, it’s that he’s glad Derek could be strong and stick up for himself.

“Is that why you didn’t fight it after I gave you the papers?” Derek asks. Stiles looks away, and stays quiet. He just shrugs.

They both draw out long breaths, and sit in silence for a few minutes. And to Stiles’ surprise, it’s not awkward. If anything, it’s kind of comforting.

“I miss you,” Derek suddenly says, and it’s so quiet, that Stiles barely hears it in the empty bar. And when he looks at Derek, he sees streams of tears running down Derek’s cheeks.

And Stiles can’t really help it, but he feels his eyes well up, too, because after three years, he’s never admitted out loud what he feared would break him.

“I miss you, too.” Stiles says back, and their gazes lock, and despite the tears spilling, Stiles give Derek a small smile.

After a few more minutes of silence and wiping of tears, they deem the night an end. Derek walks Stiles out the door, locking the bar up behind him.

“I’m sorry, again, for just showing up.” Stiles says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Derek shakes his head, pocketing his keys. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Welp,” Stiles looks back towards his hotel. “I guess I should head back. Busy day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Derek agrees.

It’s awkward for a second, but Stiles’ mind kind of just goes ‘fuck it’, and he steps forward, arms outstretched, and he feels a little better when Derek’s arms open as well, and they hug.

His arms wrap around Derek’s middle, and he feels Derek’s arms wrap around his shoulders. And really, he intended for this hug to last a second or two, but…

It feels like home, Derek’s arms. If he doesn’t think, and breathes in, he remembers the good. The small moments of love and happiness that filled their relationship, like how Derek would always be waiting in the airport for Stiles when he’d fly home, arms open and grin wide. Or how he’d sneak up behind him in the mornings that Stiles would make breakfast, wrapping his arms around his waist, and kiss his neck in the early morning light.

He wonders if Derek is thinking of the same things, because he doesn’t move to part either, and Stiles swears he feels him nuzzle into his neck and breathe in. It makes him wonder if Derek’s wolf still considers him home, too.

It’s a minute or two before they let go, and Stiles steps back.

“I’ll see you, Derek.”

Derek nods.

“See ya, Stiles.”

He unlocks his hotel room door, and Ed is passed out in the Queen bed closet to the door, his snores echoing in the room. He has the urge to call Scott and tell him everything, but he deems that a morning conversation. Overcome with exhaustion, Stiles strips down to his boxers and drags himself to bed, hoping to at least get some sleep before the rest of the day. But right before he dozes off, his phone lights up on  the nightstand.

He picks it up, and his heart skips a beat at the name, one he never really brought himself to delete from his phone.

Derek:

Would you want to get dinner tomorrow?

And in the privacy of his room, he allows himself to smile wide, for no real reason than his euphoric feeling of being a teenager again.

Derek’s chimes again.

If you want.

He types back a reply.

Stiles:

I’d like that. Pick a place and I’m there.

Derek types back almost immediately.

Promise?

It’s just one word, but it weighs so heavenly between them. But Stiles doesn’t believe in fate, no. Only in the order of the universe. And maybe, the universe is giving him a fresh start. A chance for new promises. And maybe the first promise can just be a dinner.