derek doesn't doubt him. how could he? stiles has been nothing but kind and devoted and brave since the second they met. fuck, he first saw stiles while he was trespassing on private property, helping scott search out his inhaler, hours after his dad had caught him snooping around in the reserve. it took derek a while to see it, but being devoted to the people he loves and having an innate willingness to be hurt for them is just - who he is.
though - that's not entirely true, is it? that wasn't the first time they met. stiles was that poor, sad kid left behind at the station that derek only caught a glimpse of after the fire, when they were both struggling to figure out what to do now that their moms were gone. they've always had that connection; an innate relationship with death, and the fear of loss that it carries. the guilt of being the one who survived.
derek cycles through a dozen and one responses. a thousand different ways to say i love you surge through him, but none of them feel like enough. he's still struggling to reply when he hears steps leading up to the den, and his mood significantly lightens when stiles drops his keys - twice - like a fucking idiot. he snorts, but he doesn't move to get up. he rests his phone on his chest with one hand, covering his eyes with his other forearm.
the door opens, and derek smells a cat.
he doesn't answer, when stiles calls out for him. he half-sits up, bending his waist and resting on his elbows, and he distantly hears stiles giving orders to the cat, which absolutely doesn't do anything to ease the apprehension rising in his spine. the cat runs past the living room and doesn't even notice him, just cockily traipsing along down the hall like its lived here for years, and derek watches it go, mildly annoyed. not all that annoyed, actually. kind of hard to be annoyed at anything, after the love of your life tells you they'd die before they break your heart.
the cat comes back, having wandered in from derek's gym, and stiles finally takes the time to join them. the cat's jaunty and confident until it lays its eyes on derek, and it's like his own apprehension is reflected back at him. its back arches and its tail goes straight, flicking lightly at the very tip, and it doesn't move. derek wishes it would move. it's just - staring. is this how people feel when he stares at them? fuck, how invasive. derek looks at stiles, and - ]
Jesus Christ. You were getting a cat? Kind of wish you'd just dumped me.
[ - sighs, resigned. he can't bring himself to be all that angry, so there's no risk of him freaking out here, but he'll admit, if pressed, that he would have preferred to be consulted about this. if stiles wants a cat, then - fine? derek wouldn't have said no. he just... would have made it clear that it's stiles' responsibility and not his own, and then given a restrictive list of things it can and can't do. at threat of execution.
which is maybe why stiles didn't tell him he was getting a cat, he guesses. derek rolls his sleeves up his arms and boosts himself up, forcing himself to sit up straight. he crosses his legs, brushes his fingers through his hair, then scratches the very tip of his nose. the cat still looks like it's having a standoff with a ghost, and derek nods his head towards it. ]
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derek doesn't doubt him. how could he? stiles has been nothing but kind and devoted and brave since the second they met. fuck, he first saw stiles while he was trespassing on private property, helping scott search out his inhaler, hours after his dad had caught him snooping around in the reserve. it took derek a while to see it, but being devoted to the people he loves and having an innate willingness to be hurt for them is just - who he is.
though - that's not entirely true, is it? that wasn't the first time they met. stiles was that poor, sad kid left behind at the station that derek only caught a glimpse of after the fire, when they were both struggling to figure out what to do now that their moms were gone. they've always had that connection; an innate relationship with death, and the fear of loss that it carries. the guilt of being the one who survived.
derek cycles through a dozen and one responses. a thousand different ways to say i love you surge through him, but none of them feel like enough. he's still struggling to reply when he hears steps leading up to the den, and his mood significantly lightens when stiles drops his keys - twice - like a fucking idiot. he snorts, but he doesn't move to get up. he rests his phone on his chest with one hand, covering his eyes with his other forearm.
the door opens, and derek smells a cat.
he doesn't answer, when stiles calls out for him. he half-sits up, bending his waist and resting on his elbows, and he distantly hears stiles giving orders to the cat, which absolutely doesn't do anything to ease the apprehension rising in his spine. the cat runs past the living room and doesn't even notice him, just cockily traipsing along down the hall like its lived here for years, and derek watches it go, mildly annoyed. not all that annoyed, actually. kind of hard to be annoyed at anything, after the love of your life tells you they'd die before they break your heart.
the cat comes back, having wandered in from derek's gym, and stiles finally takes the time to join them. the cat's jaunty and confident until it lays its eyes on derek, and it's like his own apprehension is reflected back at him. its back arches and its tail goes straight, flicking lightly at the very tip, and it doesn't move. derek wishes it would move. it's just - staring. is this how people feel when he stares at them? fuck, how invasive. derek looks at stiles, and - ]
Jesus Christ. You were getting a cat? Kind of wish you'd just dumped me.
[ - sighs, resigned. he can't bring himself to be all that angry, so there's no risk of him freaking out here, but he'll admit, if pressed, that he would have preferred to be consulted about this. if stiles wants a cat, then - fine? derek wouldn't have said no. he just... would have made it clear that it's stiles' responsibility and not his own, and then given a restrictive list of things it can and can't do. at threat of execution.
which is maybe why stiles didn't tell him he was getting a cat, he guesses. derek rolls his sleeves up his arms and boosts himself up, forcing himself to sit up straight. he crosses his legs, brushes his fingers through his hair, then scratches the very tip of his nose. the cat still looks like it's having a standoff with a ghost, and derek nods his head towards it. ]
These things don't like me. Just so you know.