#sterekweeklyconfess

“It’s very soft,” was Derek’s reply.

Stiles nodded. “Baby alpaca wool is supposed to be the softest.”

That was why he’d picked it, after all.

Derek just gave him an amused look in response.

He went home soon after, still thinking about Derek and that little smile and the way that sweater might as well have been tailored for him and his ripped muscles, only to find his dad waiting for him, arms crossed.

“C’mon Stiles, just confess already,” his dad said with a sigh when Stiles told him he wasn’t hiding anything. “Are we really going to play this game?”

‘Confess what?!’ Stiles wanted to scream, but then—

Oh god.

He was hiding one thing, his feelings for Derek, but there was no way that was what his dad was talking about.

Right?

…Right?

Stiles’ hands grew clammy and his dad just stood there looking profoundly stern and unbudging and oh god, he knew his dad had detective skills, but this was just freaky, because he was pretty sure he hadn’t been obvious about it, so maybe his dad could just read minds…?

His dad sighed again and tapped his foot, and Stiles cracked under the pressure.

He didn’t even know what all he babbled and rambled about, but it went something along the lines of fine, so what if he liked Derek, it wasn’t like it was ever going to happen and they were just friends, and it wasn’t weird that he’d secretly sent him a Valentine’s Day gift because that was what Valentine’s Day was for to begin with, right? And he didn’t even know Derek had opened his gift for sure until tonight when he wore that sweater, and you know what, he might be a genius because that sweater looked fucking amazing on Derek and Derek looked fucking amazing and he looked so content and relaxed and happy, and Stiles was just glad that Derek had maybe liked his gift because Derek deserved to be happy. Plus Derek had mentioned at the pack meeting that he was thinking about building himself a small house in the woods and he’d looked so soft when he said that, and of course Stiles had volunteered to help and he was happy if Derek was happy and he was fine, just fine, really—

“Stiles, I was talking about the lasagna you hid that Melissa brought over,” interrupted his dad just before he really spiraled. “Not your, uh…secret feelings.”

And Stiles just stood there slack-jawed in shocked, humiliated silence, like a moron, while his dad rubbed his temples.

(then)

Derek hadn't seen the curb. Of course not. His eyes were closed as he chased the most amazing scent. Seriously, it was better than his mom's freshly baked chocolate cookies.

And now he wanted cookies. Great.

But first, he needed to get up from where he'd fallen. His bike was on its side, the wheels still spinning as Derek sat hunched over from where he'd caught himself before he could go splat. From the pain in his knees, he knew they were scraped.

Well, that sucked.

"Are you otay?"

Derek looked up at the little kid walking over. He was a few years younger, probably close to Cora's age. She'd just turned five a month ago. His hair was brown, long enough that it flopped over his eyes. They were kind of brown, but also not. All Derek noticed was that they were so bright they seemed to shine gold in the sunlight.

"I'm fine," Derek grunted as tears stung his eyes. He wasn’t going to cry over this. Instead, he pushed up from the ground, inhaling sharply as he went as he got a lungful of that scent, and it was as if the wind was knocked out of him. It was sweet and perfect, and Derek wanted to roll around in it, only he couldn't because it was coming from the kid.

The kid scooted closer, head ducked as he tried to look at Derek's knees. "You gots ouchies."

"I'm a werewolf. They're already healing." To prove his point, Derek lifted one knee. It was covered in blood, dirt, and even a small twig, but no more scratches.

"You gotsta clean that. My mommy says if ya don't, you could gets inflections."

"Infections," Derek corrected because he might only be nine, but he was smart. Smart enough to take the kid's hand when he offered help. Something in those big brown eyes said he wouldn't take no for an answer.

Together, they hobbled closer to the house by a water hose.

"My name is Stiles," the kids said. "What's yours?"

Derek had no idea why he was letting this kid—Stiles—help him. He didn't need it. His scratches were healed, and he could easily go home and clean up there. But there was something about him, more than his scent, that made Derek stay.

"Derek," he said, leaning against the side of the house.

Stiles picked up the hose, holding it away from them, and turned the knob to the faucet. It squeaked and then sputtered a few times before a steady stream of water came out of the nozzle. Stiles leaned down and took two big gulps, making a big production of sighing in relief as he wiped at his mouth.

The water was cold, and Derek almost yelped when Stiles aimed it at his legs, rinsing him clean.

After he was done, Stiles ran off, dropping the hose. Derek turned the water off and heard the front door open and then slam shut. When Stiles wasn’t back after a minute, he wondered if he should go. He counted to twenty and then forty. When he got to sixty, he started walking toward his bike. There was no point in sticking around if Stiles was done with him, but then the front door opened again, and Stiles was back.

"Wait!" Stiles called out, racing toward him with a towel and first-aid kit.

Derek stood stock still as Stiles dried his legs, then took out a box of Batman Band-Aids from the kit.

"I don't need those," Derek said, making no move to stop Stiles.

Stiles smiled up at him, his face breaking out into a crooked grin, and said, "But they make everything better. Duh."

Derek’s heart fluttered in his chest. It was as if his whole world tilted on its axis, and somehow, he knew Stiles was special. Derek wanted to keep him. Especially after Stiles had carefully placed three bandages on each knee.

He was in awe of Stiles. He'd never met anyone like him and knew that he needed Stiles in his life—that this was the beginning of something great.

"Stiles," Derek said, drawing out his name as he put the box of Band-Aids back in the first-aid kit.

"Yeah?" Stiles looked up, a question in his eyes.

"Will you be my friend?"

Stiles beamed. "Yes! Best friends forever?"

Derek nodded, a smile spread across his face.

"Best friends forever," he repeated as his heart filled with warmth. Somehow, he knew that their friendship was going to last a lifetime.

-

(now)

The sights and sounds of the party were an assault on his enhanced senses. Derek wasn't even sure why he was there. But then he saw Stiles across the bonfire and was reminded that tonight was for him. Stiles had graduated high school and was, in his words, free. Well, at least until the fall when it was time for him to leave for college.

The school was about four hours away, and Derek wasn't sure he was ready to be that far from Stiles. Hell, Derek had stayed in Beacon Hills just to stay close. He’d attended Beacon Hills Community College, getting his associate's degree before applying to be a deputy for the Beacon County Sheriff's Department. Some scoffed at his decision, but he knew what he wanted.

Stiles.

Derek’s thoughts were interrupted when someone stumbled into him. He didn't recognize the guy but helped him to his feet, then gave him a gentle shove away from the fire. He looked around again, rolling his eyes as Stiles's classmates yelled over each other and danced to the music blaring through the Bluetooth speakers someone had brought.

The fire was warm and bright on Derek's face, so he closed his eyes, listening to it crackle and pop while twigs, branches, and leaves crunched beneath everyone's feet as they trampled around the preserve.

Then he heard it. Stiles's laugh. The sound was melodic, instantly drawing him in—the way only Stiles could. When Derek found him again, his head was thrown back, one arm slapped across his stomach as he laughed at whatever Danny said.

Derek hated it. He hated it so much because Stiles was his. Derek should be the one making him laugh.

He didn't usually think of the word beautiful when it came to guys. Handsome, yeah. Good-looking, sure. But to Derek, Stiles was beautiful. All that messy chestnut hair and those big, amber eyes that twinkled with mischief. Stiles was everything Derek needed to avoid in one beautifully wrapped package.

Because Stiles didn't feel the same.

For the longest time, Stiles had a crush on Lydia. It was practically legendary. Danny became the focus of his infatuation during his senior year, not Derek. Never Derek. Because they were friends. Best. Friends. And it sucked so much because Derek was in love with Stiles.

He couldn't remember the exact moment he'd realized it, but that was probably because he'd always felt so strongly for Stiles. Ever since Stiles stuck those stupid Batman Band-Aids on his knees.

Derek's feet moved, subconsciously drawing him closer to Stiles until he was practically plastered to Stiles's back. Stiles didn't flinch, and no one gave him a second glance—too used to seeing them glued together. Always StilesandDerek.

"Dude," Stiles didn't look over his shoulder, but Derek knew Stiles was talking to him.

And sure enough, Stiles finally turned, not bothering to move away because neither of them knew the meaning of personal space when it came to the other. "What does a ghost call their partner?"

Derek raised a brow as he peered into Stiles's eyes. They were alight with amusement, his face flushed—warmed by the fire. Or flirting with Danny, but Derek didn’t want to think about that.

"C'mon, Der."

Derek narrowed his eyes because he hated the nickname, and Stiles knew that. But Stiles also knew he was the only person who could get away with it unscathed.

"Don't call me that."

Stiles pouted, puffing out his bottom lip. Like an asshole. "Please?"

And now he was just trying to see what he could get away with. Derek hated how much he loved it. How much he loved Stiles and all his ridiculousness. "No."

"Fine, I'll call you grumpy asshole then. I just thought Der sounded nicer."

Derek rolled his eyes but huffed a laugh. "You're a dork."

"Yeah, but I'm your dork."

Derek's heart tripped over itself at the declaration. God, he wished that were true.

"Now answer the question," Stiles continued. "What does a ghost call their partner?"

"I don't know. What?"

Stiles chuckled, pushing up on his toes even though they were almost the same height. His breath ghosted over Derek's face, and Derek swallowed thickly as he leaned in. "My…boo."

Then he cackled and laid his head on Derek's shoulder, relaxing against him. They fit perfectly together as Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles, and he couldn't help but rub the small of Stiles's back as they stood there.

Derek was never one for public displays of affection, but Stiles was the exception to the rule. Always Stiles.

Only Stiles.

The few people he’d dated hated it. Because while Derek couldn’t even be bothered to hold their hands, Stiles could plop down on his lap and Derek would hold him close.

"That was funny, right?"

Derek's lips twitched. "Yeah, that was funny."

He wished this moment could last forever but knew it wouldn't. At least not the way he wanted it to. Not when Stiles didn't feel the same, so he wasn't sure why his brain and mouth betrayed him as he blurted, "I love you."

It wasn't a normal I love you—the kind they'd expressed over thirteen years of friendship. The in love had gone unsaid, but it could be heard in how Derek's voice cracked, emphasizing love. That one word containing only four letters somehow expressing the depth of his feelings for Stiles.

It was more than a word. More than that simple yet complex emotion. It was more than love. Stiles was his person. His everything.

Fuck. Derek hoped Stiles hadn't heard it, but the world was obviously against him because Stiles stilled in his arms. His entire body tensed for one, two, three of the longest seconds of Derek's life before lifting his head. Derek was scared to meet his gaze, but he also couldn't help it, always so drawn to Stiles.

"Really?" Stiles whispered, and God, Derek could feel his heart thundering in his chest. It matched Derek's, beat for rapid beat.

Part of him wanted to take it back. To save his heart. But it was already out there, so he nodded.

"Yes."

It was a whispered confession, but Derek felt as if he'd yelled it through a bullhorn. Time seemed to stop. Everything around them ceased to exist as Stiles sucked in a breath.

Derek closed his eyes, not wanting to see the pity or guilt in Stiles's eyes when he said he didn't feel the same. But then Stiles's cupped his face, and Derek had no choice but to meet his gaze again.

"I love you, too." Stiles's smile was soft, and Derek's breath caught in his throat. God, he was so beautiful. "I have for years. I just didn't think you felt the same."

Derek's heart swelled with relief. He couldn't believe he'd been so blind to how Stiles felt about him. All these years, they'd both been hiding their feelings for each other. But now it was out in the open, and it was as if the weight of the world had lifted off Derek's shoulders.

Stiles leaned in, their lips meeting in what was barely a kiss. Just a gentle sweep of Stiles’s lips on his. Yet, Derek’s whole body came to life as a fire ignited within him. Every inch of his skin vibrated with need as a sense of rightness and completion engulfed him.

Stiles smiled at him as they broke apart, his eyes shining with emotion. "Hey, Derek?"

"Hmm?" Derek brought a hand up and brushed his knuckles down Stiles's cheek. He could feel the heat of everyone’s stares, heard them whooping, and someone mutter, ‘Fucking finally,’ but he ignored them.

"What did the lamp say to the other lamp?"

Derek kissed the tip of Stiles’s nose and pressed their foreheads together, already smiling at whatever ridiculousness Stiles was about to spout. "What?"

"You turn me on."

Derek threw his head back and laughed. "Again, you're a dork."

"But I'm your dork." Stiles smirked, and Derek wanted to kiss it off his beautiful face. So he did.

Because he could do that now.