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. ]
[ stiles honestly doesn't know who he's telling not to freak out. the cat itself looks plenty freaked out already, which is - not all that surprising, considering what scott told him about the cats at deaton's when he first started working there, and how much they hated him. he stands there with his hands out still, his eyes darting back and forth between his boyfriend and the cat he's been feeding for weeks now.
derek seems... fine. a little pissed off, which is also not that surprising, but is still kind of annoying because - this is not how he thought this was gonna go. the plan was to go out while derek was out, get a ring made, chill with this cat while he waited, pick the ring up, and then get the nervous sweats up until he decided to give derek the ring in his pocket just - because.
and how he's got a cat that looks like it's stuck in the middle of its flight or fight response, and a boyfriend who looks less than impressed with him... who also thinks he was out adopting a cat.
stiles rears his head back a little and drops his hands a little too quickly, palms slapping against his thighs. he straightens up, takes his eyes off the cat to look at derek, his brows furrowed sharply and his eyes narrowed. ]
... What? No. What? I wasn't getting a cat, I was getting— I wasn't getting a cat.
[ stiles loaf-hands for a second and then slowly starts to step toward the cat in question. he speaks to derek without looking at him. ]
It... followed me home. I've been feeding it since before we moved here, back when I still lived— back before the den. And I was feeding it today while I was waiting, and it followed me. I was going to leave it outside, but it just - I told it it was trespassing. Let me just—
[ stiles purposely steps in front of derek so he's blocking him from the cat's view, and then carefully starts to drop into a crouch, holding his hand out. he speaks to it quietly, trying to coax it closer while also inching closer himself. the cat still seems unsure, tail a little fluffed up near the base, body listing to try and see around stiles. stiles carefully touches his fingertips to its head, between the ears, and smooths its fur back. ]
There you. Come on. Let's get you back outside. Where there is - one less werewolf, huh? I tried to tell you.
[ he inches forward a little more, then scoops the cat up, his knees popping quietly as he stands. he keeps one hand on the back of the cat's neck, his other arm supporting the rest of it and holding it to his chest. he takes it to the front door, where he struggles to unlock it with one hand while holding a slightly-wriggling cat, but he gets it open far enough to deposit the cat back outside. stiles sets it down, strokes its head once almost somewhat apologetically, keeping his voice low. ]
Sorry, buddy. If I knew you were following me so you could commit a B&E, I'd have stopped you before you got on the train. ... Okay, technically just an E, but. I'll come see you tomorrow, dude.
[ the cat just - meows at him and plops down on the top step in the sun. which is good enough for stiles, so he sighs and closes the door back up. he comes back to the living room, stops. stands there kind of awkwardly. ]
[ well, the cat's not jumping on him and trying to claw his eyes out, so honestly, as far as his experiences with animals go - this one barely scratches bottom 15. derek's still too at peace with himself and with stiles to really do much more than bristle, but the ugly, horrible thing stands there like a stunned mullet, and it's really starting to creep him out. he sighs through his nose, lifts his hand to massage a kink in his jaw, and the cat startles and jumps like it's expecting derek to take a fucking run at it.
stiles says he wasn't getting a cat, and derek gestures at the terrified little pissball standing a few feet away from him like he's presenting a fucking shamwow. stiles keeps talking, says it followed him home, and derek sighs, because that makes more sense than the alternative. of course stiles would have talked to him. they're supposed to talk to each other about everything. derek's slow to do that sometimes, if only because he's spent years and years and years getting used to keeping things to himself, but stiles is socially adjusted and capable of overcoming his traumas without turning into an incompetent fucking statue, so. of course he would talk to him about a cat.
derek gets hidden behind stiles' legs and stiles takes the thing outside, and derek watches him go. he feels guilty. he feels guilty, and when he watches stiles kneeling down, dropping his voice like he doesn't want to be heard by any keen werewolf ears, and talks to the cat like he's already in love with it - the guilt gets worse.
then stiles is back, creeping through the sliding door and shutting it behind him, and derek takes the time to properly stand, smoothing down his sweater and hitching up his sweats after they start to ride down. stiles is this awkward, bony thing standing in the archway like he doesn't know what to do with himself, and derek's the lumbering, hulking idiot who feels weirdly uncomfortable.
derek looks at stiles. wets his lips. feels tense. and -
very quietly, like he fucking knew he was going to regret saying this, even before the words left his mouth - derek winces, looking at stiles with a resigned grimace. ]
You can't just leave it outside.
[ cats are outside animals. wolves are outside animals. they could definitely just leave it outside, and derek, more than anyone, deeply, concretely understands that it would be completely fucking fine.
[ derek looks - cozy. that's the first thing he notices now that he's not distracted by an intruder and the potential for animalistic disaster. he looks clean and warm and stiles kind of wants to rub his face against his shoulder, which is weird. so he doesn't. instead, he rocks his weight back onto his heels and slides his hands into his pockets because he doesn't know what to do with them. or he tries to, anyway, but his ring catches on the edge of his pocket, which just makes the movement more awkward, so he tugs that hand free and lifts it to scratch along the edge of his jaw instead. his other hand sinks in smoothly, fingers pushing up against the little cloth bag tucked in his pocket.
stiles swallows quietly, trying ignore the small surge of nervousness that rolls through him rather suddenly, and then tension he's starting to pick up from derek. he flings his hand out from his jaw toward him, literally a second away from apologizing for the stupid cat even though it's not like he led it back to the den on purpose, and he definitely didn't invite it inside.
derek beats him, though, so he's just left standing there with his hand out and his mouth open as he tilts back onto flat feet. stiles blinks, then cranes his hand over toward the front door. ]
... It came from outside. Like, it's - from outside. It's a stray.
[ he looks confused? but also like he's... not really sure what he's saying. like, he's obviously stating facts her, but he looks like he kind of wishes he wasn't? his face is a mess, basically. he drops his hand. ]
I'm not leaving it— I put it back where it came fr— I'm confused. You thought I went and adopted a cat and hated the idea even though that's - not what I was doing. I put the cat outside, where it came from - but I can't put - the cat outside? ... What?
[ stiles is cute, and that's all very well and good, but derek doesn't have time for that right now. the heel-rocking, the forced posture. derek watches the shitty, fish-out-of-water impression he does with his hand, slapping it awkwardly against his pocket before trying to find some saving grace with his jaw. derek looks at him sympathetically, for that one, but offers no comment.
stiles doesn't seem to get what he's saying, and maybe that's for the best, but at the same time - he can hear the cat outside, pacing towards the front door, refusing to leave. he can practically imagine the afternoons stiles spent with that thing, handfeeding it scraps of dry tuna sandwich he got from the cafeteria when he was a sub, and then he imagines how fucking excited he must have been when derek signed a contract with him, offered him real food and finally gave him something decent to take back to housing.
it feels like there's - something here. derek's vaguely aware that he projects his own feelings and experiences on other people, finding comfort or contempt in comparing his situation to theirs, and, for once, he can see himself falling down that hole. stiles gave a stray animal love and affection when nobody else would, and now it won't leave him alone. derek, uh.
derek doesn't want to leave it outside. ]
You can't just leave it outside?
[ is he seriously going to have to spell this out? derek sighs, frustrated, and raises his hands in surrender. trying to show that he's not carrying any weapons, not carrying any secret intentions here. this isn't a trap. listen to him. he'll say it again. ]
[ derek just - repeats himself. he says the same exact thing like stiles didn't just literally walk him through why it's okay for him to put a cat that came in from outside back outside. stiles just narrows his eyes a him a little more, squints at him and stares, mouth pressed into a thin line and curved downward just slightly.
he's not stupid, but he feels like it. derek puts his hands up in a way that's very don't get mad at me, i don't make the rules, and stiles thinks he's picking up what derek's putting down - but it's the opposite of every signal he was putting off when he thought stiles had actually gone out and spent the afternoon adopting a cat to bring home without consulting derek about it first, which he'd never do. well, no, he'd probably adopt a cat, but he'd definitely never do it without taking to derek beforehand.
stile takes a slow step back, yanking his hand out of his pocket so he can gesture kind of vaguely with both hands in the direction of the front door. ]
So...
[ he still seems a little unsure, but he keeps backing up util he's at the door. he lets both hand settle on the door and continues to look at derek like he's waiting for him to interrupt, maybe call him an idiot for misunderstanding what he's trying to say to him. ]
... You're saying I should let it back in. Like if I do this—
[ stiles pushes the door open about a foot, raising his eyebrows a little. the cat, wandering past the door, pauses for a moment to peer back inside the den, slightly wary. it rubs its face against the edge of the door, looks up at stiles, meows - and then walks right back in. stiles watches it for a moment, only looking away once it's down the hall slightly off to the right. ]
[ stiles is suspicious. stiles is suspicious, and that's annoying, and derek realizes very quickly that he's dating a fucking cop. straight up. stiles is a cop. he's already said it once before, but jesus, look at him. radiating cop energy.
he rolls his eyes. it's a go-to move for him, but sometimes it's what the situation merits. stiles gestures at the door, and that's when he does it, shooting his eyes upwards and ruining all his attempts at good-natured passivity. he breathes in, sighs with his shoulders, and looks at stiles like he's fucking stupid.
but by the time he does it, stiles is opening the door, asking if he's cool with it, and derek watches the cat disappear towards their bedroom. probably to piss on the fucking mattress, because it's a cat, which is disgusting, but also because he's willingly let a competitor for stiles' affection into his home, and now it's going to try to take him and own him and keep him to itself and derek is going to get jealous of a fucking.
cat.
christ.
but yes. he's cool with that. ]
It's not sleeping on the bed.
[ not that it'll want to. derek puts his hands down - one of them, at least, because the other rubs his neck while he inhales, looking away from stiles, staying in profile while he stares out over the ocean through the floor to ceiling windows. they're going to need some supplies. food, at least. ]
We've still got some chinese. I checked. Cats eat chicken. So.
[ hhhhhhhe looks back to stiles. ]
You'll have to keep feeding it. It won't eat anything I give it.
[ stiles is still standing by the door, waiting for an answer like he's just going to be able to call the cat back and direct it back outside with zero issue if derek says no, he's not actually cool with it. which is what stiles expects - for derek to not be down with a cat in the house, which is fine, because this wasn't in today's - or any day's - plans.
but derek just makes a comment on where it's allowed to sleep, which sound kind of like acceptance, so stiles starts to slowly pull the door closed. his eyebrows are still gently creased, like he's still not quite certain of what is actually happening right now. the mixed signals are confusing. derek sighs and rubs his neck and looks away and stiles interprets it as discomfort. like derek's only agreeing to this because he thinks it's what stiles wants.
not that stiles doesn't want his little cat friend to be more accessible. visiting the down just to see the cat isn't terrible, but it is kind of going out of his way every single time. he'd be satisfied if it just decided to stick around by the house outside, maybe hang out in the woods instead of by the edges of a crumbling apartment building, hoping for a couple bites of dry tuna fish.
stiles gets the door closed and - that's that, apparently. he locks it back up, derek mentions chinese which throws stiles for a second because it seems like a random topic to start in on until derek clarifies. stiles blinks, looks at derek when derek looks at him, and just says, ]
... Okay.
[ and then he starts to move toward the hallway, curiosity drawing him in the direction the cat last wandered off. he stays facing derek, moving backwards. ]
But. I mean. Like, you don't have to feed it if you don't want to, but this - doesn't actually have to happen, you know. If you two aren't going to get along. I'm not gonna be - heartbroken or sad, if that's why you're— home is supposed to be comfortable.
[ he stops moving backwards, stopping just before their bedroom door. finally, stiles looks away from derek, leaning backwards a little to peer into the room. his eyebrows lift slightly, and then he takes a step back so he doesn't have to lean, and a soft, amused little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
the cat is sitting on the edge of the dresser like a gargoyle, eyes closed and tail flicking minutely where it's curled around all of its paws. stiles clears his throat, pulls himself back to the conversation he's trying to have. ]
Uh. Anyway, my point: we got this place for us. And this wasn't my plan so we didn't actually get to talk about this because - it wasn't... my plan. So. I don't know. I don't want you to feel like you just have to roll with it?
it takes stiles a while for him to acknowledge what's going on here, and even when he does, he gets all weird about it. he starts breaking down the reasons why derek doesn't need to deal with this, and it's-- annoying, and the more stiles talks, the more confusing derek's signals get. he tenses and prickles and works away at some tension in his jaw, like stiles is-- not exactly pissing him off, but certainly saying the wrong things. he's looking at this from the angle that derek's only doing this to be nice, and that's-- okay, that's not exactly wrong, but-- it's wrong? it is wrong. it's wrong enough for derek to be largely affronted, at least.
stiles smiles. derek softens. his voice doesn't soften, but the rest of him does. he just barks out a quick - ]
No.
[ - which sounds harsh and sharp and unfair, and derek seems to realize that, because his hands are back out in surrender. a silent hold on, that's not what i meant. he chews nothing, puts his arms down by his side, where they feel stiff and lifeless and forced. he needs to do something with his hands, but he doesn't know what to do with them, so. he folds his arms over his chest instead, tucking them away beneath his biceps. security blanket-style. ]
It's a stray. It loves you. You were there for it. Supportive. Now, it's yours.
[ denying it more time with stiles would be - cruel. they're together, now. they should always be together. derek slides one hand out from behind his arm, doing a sideways, lazy loaf hand. ]
Please don't tell me I have to explain why I'm empathizing with this fucking cat.
[ stiles doesn't exactly flinch when derek barks at him, but he does just kind of freeze for a second or two. he tilts his head slightly, looking at derek more from the corner of his eye than head on, and he raises his eyebrows as if silently asking derek to continue whatever thought he's currently having, because no doesn't really cover a lot.
unless that's his answer regarding the cat in general: no. in which case, he should have just said so before confusing stiles into letting it back into the den. derek puts his hands out though, so stiles relaxes a little and he waits, and if he crosses his arms over his chest in a weak imitation of his boyfriend, well. then that's what he does and no one can say anything about it.
derek elaborates, and the more he does, the more stiles softens. by the end of his explanation, stiles is pressing his lips together, teeth pressing into the bottom one a little like he's trying to stop himself from smiling. for a handful of seconds after derek finishes, stiles just looks at derek with this vague-but-knowing look in his eye, and then he just - laughs. it bursts out of him, sudden and short, and he shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and holding up his hands in surrender. ]
No. No, you don't, I— [ he drops is hands, laughs a little more to himself. god, derek is - something else. stiles kind of wants to kiss him for a million reasons, and he probably will, later, maybe, but for now he just looks at him fondly after taking a quick glance back into the bedroom where the cat is now looking out the window from its perch on the dresser. ] — guess we have a cat, now. Okay.
[ which means he's going to have to take another look at the budget he's worked out and work this in, but that's fine. he can handle that, he can do that later. ]
[ ugh, derek has a headache. it's great, really, that stiles can connect the dots here, sift through derek's bullshit and eventually comprehend his feelings on everything, but it took too long and now derek's drained and mildly grumpy and kind of embarrassed. it's a good thing he's a sentimental, sappy piece of shit, because the sun is shining on stiles through the window and making him glow, and when he laughs, he looks beautiful enough for derek to not hate his stupid horrible ass.
mostly.
either way. whatever. guess they have a cat now. derek sighs, running his fingers back through his hair and scratching at his scalp. he figures he'll... read, or something, maybe try to see what he has in their bedroom that the cat hasn't immediately torn to shreds or chewed on the edges of. he walks, starting to go somewhere, but he gets maybe three, four steps before something clicks into place. ]
Wait - you said something was up.
[ something serious-that-doesn't-have-to-be-serious. doesn't seem like stiles meant the cat. ]
[ derek starts to leave which stiles takes as a sign that the conversation about the cat is over. he blinks, then snaps his fingers and fingerguns kind of awkwardly because he doesn't know what he's supposed to say or do now. he could... go hang out with the cat. that's probably not a bad idea. make a list of shit he needs to pick up either later or tomorrow, like actual cat food, probably a litter box, although maybe it could be an indoor/outdoor cat? come and go as it pleases?
stiles hasn't really moved from the hallway, staring into the bedroom kind of distantly for all of those fives seconds before derek seems to remember something. he says wait, and stiles snaps his attention to him, blinking with a little bit of confusion written into his features because last he checked five seconds ago, derek was the one wandering off to go do something.
but then derek reminds him that there was an entirely different conversation stiles had been meaning to have with him before all of this cat business took over. a conversation that derek originally thought was leading to a break-up, which is laughable, but stiles doesn't laugh. all of the anxiety and nervousness that had been building up inside him while he was walking home suddenly comes rushing back, flushing through him like a hot wave. his hand moves automatically, spreading over the outside of his pocket, fingers squeezing, but it kind of just looks like he's anxiously gripping at his thigh.
stiles swallows hard. ]
Uh. What?
[ he kind of wishes he'd just adopted a cat instead of - gone out and had a ring made out of a piece of scrap metal salvaged from an old leaf blower from a place that nobody should want to remember. stiles takes his hand off his leg and forms a loose fist, clapping his other hand over the side of it kind of loudly. he laughs, but it's awkward and he knows it. ]
Oh, no, it's - nothing, don't even worry about it.
[ but then he thinks about the conversation they had over text, about what derek wants and what stiles wants and what their future could be, and the ring in his pocket doesn't have to mean - all of that. stiles didn't have it made with any sort of intention other than to just - show derek that he loves him, and that there are parts of their lives here together that are significant to him.
derek once talked about marking stiles as his, so everyone would know he was derek's, and so everyone would know derek was his exclusively. granted, that had been in the middle of some decently-heavy phone sex, but the idea still kind of stuck with stiles after that. derek bought him a ring for his birthday, had it engraved with his jersey number, and he's worn it every day since, like a brand or a mark or a - symbol of how he feels about derek, his importance, even if nobody else knows its significance.
it scares him to think that there's a possibility derek might not see things the same way. even after everything they've talked about, there's still doubt in stiles' mind that a lot of this is just - too good to be happening to him. good things don't really happen to stiles, not since he was a kid. derek's probably the first really, truly good thing that's happened to stiles in a really, really long time, and it terrifies him that he could so easily ruin everything.
stiles blinks. he feels like he's been standing in the hallway for an hour, but it's been less than a minute, hardly even thirty seconds. he swallows again and he makes himself look at derek, pushing his hands into his pockets again. ]
Actually - that's... not true. It's not— it's not nothing.
[ stiles' heart trips up a little as it picks up the pace, but he just takes a slow, deep breath through his nose, opens his mouth - and panics a little. ]
Can I just - get some water first?
[ he drags his hand out of his left pocket, gestures with it somewhere behind derek, starts to move out of the hallway to brush past derek toward the kitchen. ]
[ anxiety has a very specific smell. it's acidic and bitter and burnt, overpowering and concentrated. stiles' anxiety feels a little different to everyone else's, because derek's spent enough time with him by now to pick up subtleties in him he can't pick up in anyone else; he can tell when stiles' anxiety is a fuse leading up to anger, like when he was reeling from their fight on the full moon. he can tell when his anxiety reflects a feeling of being overwhelmed, like on nights when the two of them are staring at his evidence board together, piecing together what they can. he can tell when stiles is anxious from a bad night's sleep.
but this is confusing. derek doesn't know what this anxiety means. his eyes very pointedly look down to stiles' thigh, brows pinched together. he smells for-- blood, or something, which is kind of invasive, but it doesn't feel like stiles is hiding an injury, which means he's probably just groping at his leg to keep his hand busy. derek runs his hand over his chin and just... silently lets stiles stumble through everything. one minute this isn't important, and the next, it is. one minute he's told not to worry about it, and the next, well. he's allowed to worry about it.
derek really isn't good with uncertainty. he never has been. he's willing to take risks, because risks are justifiable within the context of themselves. if he knows he's going to get hurt, knows he might die, he can prepare for that. if he knows something bad might happen as a consequence for a choice he's made - at least he's still the one who made it. something like this, though? seeing someone he loves feel shaken by something that's so completely unknown to derek, so completely out of his hands? he hates that lack of control. he hates knowing that he's not a part of something big, and he hates knowing that all he can do is stand on the sidelines and wait for things to change without him.
luckily, he trusts stiles. more than he's ever trusted anyone before, which is scary, in its own right, but ultimately what saves him from spiralling back into irrelevant thoughts of breakups and illicit confessions. stiles asks for some water and derek nods, not really sure what else he can do. if stiles needs some time to talk, then derek will give him that. he figures he'll just - find somewhere comfortable to sit, so stiles doesn't have to talk to him about this while they're both standing semi-awkwardly by the hallway.
he drops into one of the leather couches in the living room, immediately feeling uncomfortable. he scooches to the other end of it and rests his elbow on the armrest, keeping his legs tense and together for about two seconds before slovenly manspreading and trying to act more relaxed than he is. he watches stiles meander towards the kitchen, keeping his eyes on him while he gets his water, and if his knee starts to bounce while stiles isn't looking, he stops it before he does. ]
So, uh.
[ ... that's all he's got. his knee bounces again, probably right when stiles is looking back at him, and he sighs through his nose, roughing up his hair on the back of his head. the den is getting kind of dusty and the sun's hitting him in a way that makes him feel like he's going to sneeze, which he petulantly thinks is sort of unfair, because again, stiles looks fucking beautiful in the sun, but.
whatever. derek folds his legs up underneath him, tapping his fingers against his thighs. selfishly - unfairly - it crosses his mind that stiles might... want to tell him that he's changed his mind, and that he wants the bite, and it makes his heart skip in anxious sort of thrill. derek doesn't want to bite him, but knowing that it could be a possibility - knowing that stiles could come around, it's -
irrelevant. that's not what this is. he knows stiles. he knows that's not what this is. he wouldn't even want it to be. this fucking biological impulse to bite the mate he wants to be with is kind of fucking killing him. feels like he's in middle school getting unwanted boners in gym class again.
he's not going to think about bites. or gym class boners. he's just going to think about stiles. ]
[ rejection is not a new concept to stiles, but the possibility of being rejected has never felt as terrifying as it does right now - and it's stupid. it's just a ring. there's nothing riding on it, their relationship isn't hanging in the balance, waiting for derek to either accept or reject stiles' gift. stiles will still love him even if derek thinks it's dumb or - or clingy, or just. stupid. derek will still love him and all of his stupidity, too. hopefully.
stiles bumps his hip pretty hard against the island counter as he rounds the corner toward the sink, distracted by his own nerves and bested by his general clumsiness. he winces and swears quietly under his breath, stumbling a little - but he's fine. just annoyed and embarrassed and incredibly anxious the longer there's a ring waiting in his pocket. he braces his hands against the edge of the sink, then takes a mug from the drying rack next to the basin, filling it from water from the tap. he can hear the soft creak of worn leather, little distant from somewhere behind him when derek sits down.
for moment, stiles doesn't move, one hand one the faucet, the other holding his cup over the sink, water filled a little too close to the brim for his slightly shaking fingers. he breathes in slowly, then breathes out, and only startles minutely when derek calls out to him. stiles turns a little too sharply, both hands holding his mug to disguise that his hands might be shaking. he brings his cup up and watches over the rim of it as derek's knee starts to bounce, watches him muss up his hair a little. he's making derek nervous, and he hates that almost more than he hates being anxious himself.
he drinks slowly. stiles doesn't even really want water, he just wanted to stall, and he still wants to stall, but he also just kind of wants to get this over with, too. he wants to stop worrying about whether derek will like it or hate it or think it's - funny or stupid or just—
derek doesn't snap at him, but stiles can hear the exasperation in his tone, even as subtle as it is. he coughs a little into his cup, which is just - careless, and water dribbles down his chin and he has to catch it with the back of his wrist and derek is definitely going to yeet this dumb ring into the sun after this but. stiles moves. he sets his mug down on the counter, rethinks that and picks it up to set it in the sink instead, wiping his hand over his pants again, right over his right pocket. ]
Sorry. Sorry, okay, uh.
[ he crosses the space between the kitchen in the living room, slows down a little when he comes closer to derek, but instead of sitting on any of the other seats in the living room, he sits on the edge of the coffee table instead. immediately, one of his knees starts to bounce, but he slaps his hand down over it kind of obnoxiously, which - kind of does nothing, but at least he tries. ]
Right. Okay. So.
[ he loafs his hands, then kind of turns them outward just slightly, looking at a random spot at the base of derek's throat, so it kind of looks like he's looking at him, but definitely not making eye contact. ]
Do you remember— that's a dumb question, of course you remember. Let me— let me start over. [ stiles drops his hands against his thighs. ] So... when you got handcuffed to the table at the fort. The... second? Time? Whatever, the time you got handcuffed over those crayons, and I had to come and bust you out. I - kind of had to improvise, so I... went and took apart that leaf blower. From the - landscaping shed. Found a narrow piece of steel, popped the lock - I mean, you were there for that.
[ stiles clears his throat, wets his lips. his knee bounces again, but he doesn't try to stop it this time, lifting one of his hands to pick at the edge of his jaw. he looks sideways for a moment, then back at derek. ]
I, uh. I kept it. Not the leaf blower. Obviously. But the... piece? I guess. Kind of as a just in case if you got cuffed again, but also just because it came from somewhere - important?
[ the place where stiles asked derek to sign a contract with him. the place where stiles asked derek to trust him as much as stiles trusts derek. ]
I had it with me when we left the fort, and I've had it with me since then, just. In bottom of the front pocket of my backpack, but I wanted— you said something to me, when we were on the phone, and I've wanted—
[ he's tripping up and his nerves are doing nothing to get him through this, and he feels like he's starting to sweat, which is gross and unfair and embarrassing. stiles closes his eyes and drags a hand over his face, blowing out a breath, and then he just - drops his hands and leans back and digs into his right pocket. he tugs the little cloth bag free, holds it in both of his hands for just a moment, and then he holds it out to derek, fingers slightly tangled in the thin drawstring. ]
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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.
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derek seems... fine. a little pissed off, which is also not that surprising, but is still kind of annoying because - this is not how he thought this was gonna go. the plan was to go out while derek was out, get a ring made, chill with this cat while he waited, pick the ring up, and then get the nervous sweats up until he decided to give derek the ring in his pocket just - because.
and how he's got a cat that looks like it's stuck in the middle of its flight or fight response, and a boyfriend who looks less than impressed with him... who also thinks he was out adopting a cat.
stiles rears his head back a little and drops his hands a little too quickly, palms slapping against his thighs. he straightens up, takes his eyes off the cat to look at derek, his brows furrowed sharply and his eyes narrowed. ]
... What? No. What? I wasn't getting a cat, I was getting— I wasn't getting a cat.
[ stiles loaf-hands for a second and then slowly starts to step toward the cat in question. he speaks to derek without looking at him. ]
It... followed me home. I've been feeding it since before we moved here, back when I still lived— back before the den. And I was feeding it today while I was waiting, and it followed me. I was going to leave it outside, but it just - I told it it was trespassing. Let me just—
[ stiles purposely steps in front of derek so he's blocking him from the cat's view, and then carefully starts to drop into a crouch, holding his hand out. he speaks to it quietly, trying to coax it closer while also inching closer himself. the cat still seems unsure, tail a little fluffed up near the base, body listing to try and see around stiles. stiles carefully touches his fingertips to its head, between the ears, and smooths its fur back. ]
There you. Come on. Let's get you back outside. Where there is - one less werewolf, huh? I tried to tell you.
[ he inches forward a little more, then scoops the cat up, his knees popping quietly as he stands. he keeps one hand on the back of the cat's neck, his other arm supporting the rest of it and holding it to his chest. he takes it to the front door, where he struggles to unlock it with one hand while holding a slightly-wriggling cat, but he gets it open far enough to deposit the cat back outside. stiles sets it down, strokes its head once almost somewhat apologetically, keeping his voice low. ]
Sorry, buddy. If I knew you were following me so you could commit a B&E, I'd have stopped you before you got on the train. ... Okay, technically just an E, but. I'll come see you tomorrow, dude.
[ the cat just - meows at him and plops down on the top step in the sun. which is good enough for stiles, so he sighs and closes the door back up. he comes back to the living room, stops. stands there kind of awkwardly. ]
... Sorry. Hi. That wasn't - supposed to happen.
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stiles says he wasn't getting a cat, and derek gestures at the terrified little pissball standing a few feet away from him like he's presenting a fucking shamwow. stiles keeps talking, says it followed him home, and derek sighs, because that makes more sense than the alternative. of course stiles would have talked to him. they're supposed to talk to each other about everything. derek's slow to do that sometimes, if only because he's spent years and years and years getting used to keeping things to himself, but stiles is socially adjusted and capable of overcoming his traumas without turning into an incompetent fucking statue, so. of course he would talk to him about a cat.
derek gets hidden behind stiles' legs and stiles takes the thing outside, and derek watches him go. he feels guilty. he feels guilty, and when he watches stiles kneeling down, dropping his voice like he doesn't want to be heard by any keen werewolf ears, and talks to the cat like he's already in love with it - the guilt gets worse.
then stiles is back, creeping through the sliding door and shutting it behind him, and derek takes the time to properly stand, smoothing down his sweater and hitching up his sweats after they start to ride down. stiles is this awkward, bony thing standing in the archway like he doesn't know what to do with himself, and derek's the lumbering, hulking idiot who feels weirdly uncomfortable.
derek looks at stiles. wets his lips. feels tense. and -
very quietly, like he fucking knew he was going to regret saying this, even before the words left his mouth - derek winces, looking at stiles with a resigned grimace. ]
You can't just leave it outside.
[ cats are outside animals. wolves are outside animals. they could definitely just leave it outside, and derek, more than anyone, deeply, concretely understands that it would be completely fucking fine.
but it followed stiles home. ]
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stiles swallows quietly, trying ignore the small surge of nervousness that rolls through him rather suddenly, and then tension he's starting to pick up from derek. he flings his hand out from his jaw toward him, literally a second away from apologizing for the stupid cat even though it's not like he led it back to the den on purpose, and he definitely didn't invite it inside.
derek beats him, though, so he's just left standing there with his hand out and his mouth open as he tilts back onto flat feet. stiles blinks, then cranes his hand over toward the front door. ]
... It came from outside. Like, it's - from outside. It's a stray.
[ he looks confused? but also like he's... not really sure what he's saying. like, he's obviously stating facts her, but he looks like he kind of wishes he wasn't? his face is a mess, basically. he drops his hand. ]
I'm not leaving it— I put it back where it came fr— I'm confused. You thought I went and adopted a cat and hated the idea even though that's - not what I was doing. I put the cat outside, where it came from - but I can't put - the cat outside? ... What?
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stiles doesn't seem to get what he's saying, and maybe that's for the best, but at the same time - he can hear the cat outside, pacing towards the front door, refusing to leave. he can practically imagine the afternoons stiles spent with that thing, handfeeding it scraps of dry tuna sandwich he got from the cafeteria when he was a sub, and then he imagines how fucking excited he must have been when derek signed a contract with him, offered him real food and finally gave him something decent to take back to housing.
it feels like there's - something here. derek's vaguely aware that he projects his own feelings and experiences on other people, finding comfort or contempt in comparing his situation to theirs, and, for once, he can see himself falling down that hole. stiles gave a stray animal love and affection when nobody else would, and now it won't leave him alone. derek, uh.
derek doesn't want to leave it outside. ]
You can't just leave it outside?
[ is he seriously going to have to spell this out? derek sighs, frustrated, and raises his hands in surrender. trying to show that he's not carrying any weapons, not carrying any secret intentions here. this isn't a trap. listen to him. he'll say it again. ]
You can't. It followed you home.
[ come on, man. don't make him say it. ]
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he's not stupid, but he feels like it. derek puts his hands up in a way that's very don't get mad at me, i don't make the rules, and stiles thinks he's picking up what derek's putting down - but it's the opposite of every signal he was putting off when he thought stiles had actually gone out and spent the afternoon adopting a cat to bring home without consulting derek about it first, which he'd never do. well, no, he'd probably adopt a cat, but he'd definitely never do it without taking to derek beforehand.
stile takes a slow step back, yanking his hand out of his pocket so he can gesture kind of vaguely with both hands in the direction of the front door. ]
So...
[ he still seems a little unsure, but he keeps backing up util he's at the door. he lets both hand settle on the door and continues to look at derek like he's waiting for him to interrupt, maybe call him an idiot for misunderstanding what he's trying to say to him. ]
... You're saying I should let it back in. Like if I do this—
[ stiles pushes the door open about a foot, raising his eyebrows a little. the cat, wandering past the door, pauses for a moment to peer back inside the den, slightly wary. it rubs its face against the edge of the door, looks up at stiles, meows - and then walks right back in. stiles watches it for a moment, only looking away once it's down the hall slightly off to the right. ]
—you're cool? With that?
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he rolls his eyes. it's a go-to move for him, but sometimes it's what the situation merits. stiles gestures at the door, and that's when he does it, shooting his eyes upwards and ruining all his attempts at good-natured passivity. he breathes in, sighs with his shoulders, and looks at stiles like he's fucking stupid.
but by the time he does it, stiles is opening the door, asking if he's cool with it, and derek watches the cat disappear towards their bedroom. probably to piss on the fucking mattress, because it's a cat, which is disgusting, but also because he's willingly let a competitor for stiles' affection into his home, and now it's going to try to take him and own him and keep him to itself and derek is going to get jealous of a fucking.
cat.
christ.
but yes. he's cool with that. ]
It's not sleeping on the bed.
[ not that it'll want to. derek puts his hands down - one of them, at least, because the other rubs his neck while he inhales, looking away from stiles, staying in profile while he stares out over the ocean through the floor to ceiling windows. they're going to need some supplies. food, at least. ]
We've still got some chinese. I checked. Cats eat chicken. So.
[ hhhhhhhe looks back to stiles. ]
You'll have to keep feeding it. It won't eat anything I give it.
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but derek just makes a comment on where it's allowed to sleep, which sound kind of like acceptance, so stiles starts to slowly pull the door closed. his eyebrows are still gently creased, like he's still not quite certain of what is actually happening right now. the mixed signals are confusing. derek sighs and rubs his neck and looks away and stiles interprets it as discomfort. like derek's only agreeing to this because he thinks it's what stiles wants.
not that stiles doesn't want his little cat friend to be more accessible. visiting the down just to see the cat isn't terrible, but it is kind of going out of his way every single time. he'd be satisfied if it just decided to stick around by the house outside, maybe hang out in the woods instead of by the edges of a crumbling apartment building, hoping for a couple bites of dry tuna fish.
stiles gets the door closed and - that's that, apparently. he locks it back up, derek mentions chinese which throws stiles for a second because it seems like a random topic to start in on until derek clarifies. stiles blinks, looks at derek when derek looks at him, and just says, ]
... Okay.
[ and then he starts to move toward the hallway, curiosity drawing him in the direction the cat last wandered off. he stays facing derek, moving backwards. ]
But. I mean. Like, you don't have to feed it if you don't want to, but this - doesn't actually have to happen, you know. If you two aren't going to get along. I'm not gonna be - heartbroken or sad, if that's why you're— home is supposed to be comfortable.
[ he stops moving backwards, stopping just before their bedroom door. finally, stiles looks away from derek, leaning backwards a little to peer into the room. his eyebrows lift slightly, and then he takes a step back so he doesn't have to lean, and a soft, amused little smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.
the cat is sitting on the edge of the dresser like a gargoyle, eyes closed and tail flicking minutely where it's curled around all of its paws. stiles clears his throat, pulls himself back to the conversation he's trying to have. ]
Uh. Anyway, my point: we got this place for us. And this wasn't my plan so we didn't actually get to talk about this because - it wasn't... my plan. So. I don't know. I don't want you to feel like you just have to roll with it?
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it takes stiles a while for him to acknowledge what's going on here, and even when he does, he gets all weird about it. he starts breaking down the reasons why derek doesn't need to deal with this, and it's-- annoying, and the more stiles talks, the more confusing derek's signals get. he tenses and prickles and works away at some tension in his jaw, like stiles is-- not exactly pissing him off, but certainly saying the wrong things. he's looking at this from the angle that derek's only doing this to be nice, and that's-- okay, that's not exactly wrong, but-- it's wrong? it is wrong. it's wrong enough for derek to be largely affronted, at least.
stiles smiles. derek softens. his voice doesn't soften, but the rest of him does. he just barks out a quick - ]
No.
[ - which sounds harsh and sharp and unfair, and derek seems to realize that, because his hands are back out in surrender. a silent hold on, that's not what i meant. he chews nothing, puts his arms down by his side, where they feel stiff and lifeless and forced. he needs to do something with his hands, but he doesn't know what to do with them, so. he folds his arms over his chest instead, tucking them away beneath his biceps. security blanket-style. ]
It's a stray. It loves you. You were there for it. Supportive. Now, it's yours.
[ denying it more time with stiles would be - cruel. they're together, now. they should always be together. derek slides one hand out from behind his arm, doing a sideways, lazy loaf hand. ]
Please don't tell me I have to explain why I'm empathizing with this fucking cat.
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unless that's his answer regarding the cat in general: no. in which case, he should have just said so before confusing stiles into letting it back into the den. derek puts his hands out though, so stiles relaxes a little and he waits, and if he crosses his arms over his chest in a weak imitation of his boyfriend, well. then that's what he does and no one can say anything about it.
derek elaborates, and the more he does, the more stiles softens. by the end of his explanation, stiles is pressing his lips together, teeth pressing into the bottom one a little like he's trying to stop himself from smiling. for a handful of seconds after derek finishes, stiles just looks at derek with this vague-but-knowing look in his eye, and then he just - laughs. it bursts out of him, sudden and short, and he shakes his head, uncrossing his arms and holding up his hands in surrender. ]
No. No, you don't, I— [ he drops is hands, laughs a little more to himself. god, derek is - something else. stiles kind of wants to kiss him for a million reasons, and he probably will, later, maybe, but for now he just looks at him fondly after taking a quick glance back into the bedroom where the cat is now looking out the window from its perch on the dresser. ] — guess we have a cat, now. Okay.
[ which means he's going to have to take another look at the budget he's worked out and work this in, but that's fine. he can handle that, he can do that later. ]
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mostly.
either way. whatever. guess they have a cat now. derek sighs, running his fingers back through his hair and scratching at his scalp. he figures he'll... read, or something, maybe try to see what he has in their bedroom that the cat hasn't immediately torn to shreds or chewed on the edges of. he walks, starting to go somewhere, but he gets maybe three, four steps before something clicks into place. ]
Wait - you said something was up.
[ something serious-that-doesn't-have-to-be-serious. doesn't seem like stiles meant the cat. ]
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stiles hasn't really moved from the hallway, staring into the bedroom kind of distantly for all of those fives seconds before derek seems to remember something. he says wait, and stiles snaps his attention to him, blinking with a little bit of confusion written into his features because last he checked five seconds ago, derek was the one wandering off to go do something.
but then derek reminds him that there was an entirely different conversation stiles had been meaning to have with him before all of this cat business took over. a conversation that derek originally thought was leading to a break-up, which is laughable, but stiles doesn't laugh. all of the anxiety and nervousness that had been building up inside him while he was walking home suddenly comes rushing back, flushing through him like a hot wave. his hand moves automatically, spreading over the outside of his pocket, fingers squeezing, but it kind of just looks like he's anxiously gripping at his thigh.
stiles swallows hard. ]
Uh. What?
[ he kind of wishes he'd just adopted a cat instead of - gone out and had a ring made out of a piece of scrap metal salvaged from an old leaf blower from a place that nobody should want to remember. stiles takes his hand off his leg and forms a loose fist, clapping his other hand over the side of it kind of loudly. he laughs, but it's awkward and he knows it. ]
Oh, no, it's - nothing, don't even worry about it.
[ but then he thinks about the conversation they had over text, about what derek wants and what stiles wants and what their future could be, and the ring in his pocket doesn't have to mean - all of that. stiles didn't have it made with any sort of intention other than to just - show derek that he loves him, and that there are parts of their lives here together that are significant to him.
derek once talked about marking stiles as his, so everyone would know he was derek's, and so everyone would know derek was his exclusively. granted, that had been in the middle of some decently-heavy phone sex, but the idea still kind of stuck with stiles after that. derek bought him a ring for his birthday, had it engraved with his jersey number, and he's worn it every day since, like a brand or a mark or a - symbol of how he feels about derek, his importance, even if nobody else knows its significance.
it scares him to think that there's a possibility derek might not see things the same way. even after everything they've talked about, there's still doubt in stiles' mind that a lot of this is just - too good to be happening to him. good things don't really happen to stiles, not since he was a kid. derek's probably the first really, truly good thing that's happened to stiles in a really, really long time, and it terrifies him that he could so easily ruin everything.
stiles blinks. he feels like he's been standing in the hallway for an hour, but it's been less than a minute, hardly even thirty seconds. he swallows again and he makes himself look at derek, pushing his hands into his pockets again. ]
Actually - that's... not true. It's not— it's not nothing.
[ stiles' heart trips up a little as it picks up the pace, but he just takes a slow, deep breath through his nose, opens his mouth - and panics a little. ]
Can I just - get some water first?
[ he drags his hand out of his left pocket, gestures with it somewhere behind derek, starts to move out of the hallway to brush past derek toward the kitchen. ]
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but this is confusing. derek doesn't know what this anxiety means. his eyes very pointedly look down to stiles' thigh, brows pinched together. he smells for-- blood, or something, which is kind of invasive, but it doesn't feel like stiles is hiding an injury, which means he's probably just groping at his leg to keep his hand busy. derek runs his hand over his chin and just... silently lets stiles stumble through everything. one minute this isn't important, and the next, it is. one minute he's told not to worry about it, and the next, well. he's allowed to worry about it.
derek really isn't good with uncertainty. he never has been. he's willing to take risks, because risks are justifiable within the context of themselves. if he knows he's going to get hurt, knows he might die, he can prepare for that. if he knows something bad might happen as a consequence for a choice he's made - at least he's still the one who made it. something like this, though? seeing someone he loves feel shaken by something that's so completely unknown to derek, so completely out of his hands? he hates that lack of control. he hates knowing that he's not a part of something big, and he hates knowing that all he can do is stand on the sidelines and wait for things to change without him.
luckily, he trusts stiles. more than he's ever trusted anyone before, which is scary, in its own right, but ultimately what saves him from spiralling back into irrelevant thoughts of breakups and illicit confessions. stiles asks for some water and derek nods, not really sure what else he can do. if stiles needs some time to talk, then derek will give him that. he figures he'll just - find somewhere comfortable to sit, so stiles doesn't have to talk to him about this while they're both standing semi-awkwardly by the hallway.
he drops into one of the leather couches in the living room, immediately feeling uncomfortable. he scooches to the other end of it and rests his elbow on the armrest, keeping his legs tense and together for about two seconds before slovenly manspreading and trying to act more relaxed than he is. he watches stiles meander towards the kitchen, keeping his eyes on him while he gets his water, and if his knee starts to bounce while stiles isn't looking, he stops it before he does. ]
So, uh.
[ ... that's all he's got. his knee bounces again, probably right when stiles is looking back at him, and he sighs through his nose, roughing up his hair on the back of his head. the den is getting kind of dusty and the sun's hitting him in a way that makes him feel like he's going to sneeze, which he petulantly thinks is sort of unfair, because again, stiles looks fucking beautiful in the sun, but.
whatever. derek folds his legs up underneath him, tapping his fingers against his thighs. selfishly - unfairly - it crosses his mind that stiles might... want to tell him that he's changed his mind, and that he wants the bite, and it makes his heart skip in anxious sort of thrill. derek doesn't want to bite him, but knowing that it could be a possibility - knowing that stiles could come around, it's -
irrelevant. that's not what this is. he knows stiles. he knows that's not what this is. he wouldn't even want it to be. this fucking biological impulse to bite the mate he wants to be with is kind of fucking killing him. feels like he's in middle school getting unwanted boners in gym class again.
he's not going to think about bites. or gym class boners. he's just going to think about stiles. ]
Sit down already, jesus.
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stiles bumps his hip pretty hard against the island counter as he rounds the corner toward the sink, distracted by his own nerves and bested by his general clumsiness. he winces and swears quietly under his breath, stumbling a little - but he's fine. just annoyed and embarrassed and incredibly anxious the longer there's a ring waiting in his pocket. he braces his hands against the edge of the sink, then takes a mug from the drying rack next to the basin, filling it from water from the tap. he can hear the soft creak of worn leather, little distant from somewhere behind him when derek sits down.
for moment, stiles doesn't move, one hand one the faucet, the other holding his cup over the sink, water filled a little too close to the brim for his slightly shaking fingers. he breathes in slowly, then breathes out, and only startles minutely when derek calls out to him. stiles turns a little too sharply, both hands holding his mug to disguise that his hands might be shaking. he brings his cup up and watches over the rim of it as derek's knee starts to bounce, watches him muss up his hair a little. he's making derek nervous, and he hates that almost more than he hates being anxious himself.
he drinks slowly. stiles doesn't even really want water, he just wanted to stall, and he still wants to stall, but he also just kind of wants to get this over with, too. he wants to stop worrying about whether derek will like it or hate it or think it's - funny or stupid or just—
derek doesn't snap at him, but stiles can hear the exasperation in his tone, even as subtle as it is. he coughs a little into his cup, which is just - careless, and water dribbles down his chin and he has to catch it with the back of his wrist and derek is definitely going to yeet this dumb ring into the sun after this but. stiles moves. he sets his mug down on the counter, rethinks that and picks it up to set it in the sink instead, wiping his hand over his pants again, right over his right pocket. ]
Sorry. Sorry, okay, uh.
[ he crosses the space between the kitchen in the living room, slows down a little when he comes closer to derek, but instead of sitting on any of the other seats in the living room, he sits on the edge of the coffee table instead. immediately, one of his knees starts to bounce, but he slaps his hand down over it kind of obnoxiously, which - kind of does nothing, but at least he tries. ]
Right. Okay. So.
[ he loafs his hands, then kind of turns them outward just slightly, looking at a random spot at the base of derek's throat, so it kind of looks like he's looking at him, but definitely not making eye contact. ]
Do you remember— that's a dumb question, of course you remember. Let me— let me start over. [ stiles drops his hands against his thighs. ] So... when you got handcuffed to the table at the fort. The... second? Time? Whatever, the time you got handcuffed over those crayons, and I had to come and bust you out. I - kind of had to improvise, so I... went and took apart that leaf blower. From the - landscaping shed. Found a narrow piece of steel, popped the lock - I mean, you were there for that.
[ stiles clears his throat, wets his lips. his knee bounces again, but he doesn't try to stop it this time, lifting one of his hands to pick at the edge of his jaw. he looks sideways for a moment, then back at derek. ]
I, uh. I kept it. Not the leaf blower. Obviously. But the... piece? I guess. Kind of as a just in case if you got cuffed again, but also just because it came from somewhere - important?
[ the place where stiles asked derek to sign a contract with him. the place where stiles asked derek to trust him as much as stiles trusts derek. ]
I had it with me when we left the fort, and I've had it with me since then, just. In bottom of the front pocket of my backpack, but I wanted— you said something to me, when we were on the phone, and I've wanted—
[ he's tripping up and his nerves are doing nothing to get him through this, and he feels like he's starting to sweat, which is gross and unfair and embarrassing. stiles closes his eyes and drags a hand over his face, blowing out a breath, and then he just - drops his hands and leans back and digs into his right pocket. he tugs the little cloth bag free, holds it in both of his hands for just a moment, and then he holds it out to derek, fingers slightly tangled in the thin drawstring. ]
Just - here.