[ 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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no subject
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.
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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.
no subject
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.