[ stiles - doesn't want to talk about it. but he's the one who brought any of this up in the first place, and they're supposed to talk about things. stiles said he would try to be better about keeping things to himself, but all he wants right now is for derek to just forget he said anything at all. about scott, about humans and packs.
and it's stupid, that he still carries scott's rejection with him even now. they got over this - they made up, back home, but stiles isn't good at letting go of the things that hurt him, and scott kicking him out cut deep. put some things in perspective.
[ something's cut pretty deep here. it took months of being together for stiles to breach this, and... on the one hand, derek understands better than anyone, the need to stay quiet and reserved about the things that hurt. on the other hand, being kicked out of scott's pack feels like it might be a leading item on a list of things stiles might want to talk about it, and derek's admittedly thrown by only hearing about it now. they've always been inseparable. that's what derek thought.
he doesn't push the conversation any further. he shuts his phone off, gives stiles some space, and he does what talia did, when she knew a night was going to be hard. when she knew she had to break the news that someone had been hunted, or that someone had left a pack. he cooks dinner. it's not hannibal lecter-tiers of culinary proficiency, and it's not the first time he's cooked a meal for stiles since moving into the den, either, but it's the first time he's done it like this.
he's dishing up when stiles gets home. it's just - pasta and chicken and a clumsily thrown together salad, but it's not chinese or pizza, so at least it's a change. hopefully it's as good as talia's dinners, even if it's nothing like her thanksgivings.
derek doesn't... say hello, he just... briefly looks up at the door as it slides open, adding the last bit of silverware. he's not hungry, but. tradition is tradition. ]
[ the sun is only just beginning to set by the time stiles makes for home. it's not a very far walk, but the bus would get him there faster. still, he opts to go on foot if only for the little extra time to be alone, to - not have to look at someone he loves and tell them that he killed someone. to not have to stand there and watch the disgust cross over their face, the disappointment, the repulsion, like he did with scott.
stiles stands at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the den for a solid thirty seconds, fingers twisting and pulling at the ring on his right hand, the ring he's been thinking about moving to his left, because that's where derek wears his, and he's not sure if it means anything, but there's a part of him that wants it to. it probably won't really matter by the end of the night.
he feels a little bit sick as he makes his way up the stairs. stiles doesn't know if derek is home, hasn't looked at his phone since the last text he sent him, but. this is something he can't avoid, now that it's out there. still, he lingers at the top of the stairs for a handful of moments too, then takes a deep, steadying breath, and unlocks the door. he slides it open quietly, eyes purposely downcast as he steps inside and turns to lock everything back up. when he turns back around, he's only a little bit surprised to see derek in the kitchen, setting cutlery down next to what looks to be a home-cooked meal.
stiles stands there awkwardly for a moment, maybe uncomfortably, but he offers a small, tight-lipped smile, gesturing kind of vaguely at the hall to his right, murmuring because he knows derek will still hear him. ]
I'm... just gonna change really quick.
[ the walk back home was kind of warm, and while he's not sweating, the subtle heat still clings to his clothes, the layers making him feel a uncharacteristically claustrophobic. stiles takes a few backward steps, then turns and disappears down the hall into the bedroom. he's not gone for long, though, trades his flannel and his undershirt out for a simple t-shirt, swaps his jeans for sweatpants, slides out of his shoes.
when he comes back, he slides into a seat at the kitchen island, and he seems a little more lively, but the contrasting anxiety and fear and self-loathing building up inside of him only make it obvious that he's trying too hard.
he doesn't look at derek, focusing instead on the meal, fingers playing with the silverware by his plate. ]
Did you make this? [ dumb question, but it fills the silence. ] It smells really good.
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and it's stupid, that he still carries scott's rejection with him even now. they got over this - they made up, back home, but stiles isn't good at letting go of the things that hurt him, and scott kicking him out cut deep. put some things in perspective.
he needs to do better. ]
If that's what you want.
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[ something's cut pretty deep here. it took months of being together for stiles to breach this, and... on the one hand, derek understands better than anyone, the need to stay quiet and reserved about the things that hurt. on the other hand, being kicked out of scott's pack feels like it might be a leading item on a list of things stiles might want to talk about it, and derek's admittedly thrown by only hearing about it now. they've always been inseparable. that's what derek thought.
he doesn't push the conversation any further. he shuts his phone off, gives stiles some space, and he does what talia did, when she knew a night was going to be hard. when she knew she had to break the news that someone had been hunted, or that someone had left a pack. he cooks dinner. it's not hannibal lecter-tiers of culinary proficiency, and it's not the first time he's cooked a meal for stiles since moving into the den, either, but it's the first time he's done it like this.
he's dishing up when stiles gets home. it's just - pasta and chicken and a clumsily thrown together salad, but it's not chinese or pizza, so at least it's a change. hopefully it's as good as talia's dinners, even if it's nothing like her thanksgivings.
derek doesn't... say hello, he just... briefly looks up at the door as it slides open, adding the last bit of silverware. he's not hungry, but. tradition is tradition. ]
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stiles stands at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the den for a solid thirty seconds, fingers twisting and pulling at the ring on his right hand, the ring he's been thinking about moving to his left, because that's where derek wears his, and he's not sure if it means anything, but there's a part of him that wants it to. it probably won't really matter by the end of the night.
he feels a little bit sick as he makes his way up the stairs. stiles doesn't know if derek is home, hasn't looked at his phone since the last text he sent him, but. this is something he can't avoid, now that it's out there. still, he lingers at the top of the stairs for a handful of moments too, then takes a deep, steadying breath, and unlocks the door. he slides it open quietly, eyes purposely downcast as he steps inside and turns to lock everything back up. when he turns back around, he's only a little bit surprised to see derek in the kitchen, setting cutlery down next to what looks to be a home-cooked meal.
stiles stands there awkwardly for a moment, maybe uncomfortably, but he offers a small, tight-lipped smile, gesturing kind of vaguely at the hall to his right, murmuring because he knows derek will still hear him. ]
I'm... just gonna change really quick.
[ the walk back home was kind of warm, and while he's not sweating, the subtle heat still clings to his clothes, the layers making him feel a uncharacteristically claustrophobic. stiles takes a few backward steps, then turns and disappears down the hall into the bedroom. he's not gone for long, though, trades his flannel and his undershirt out for a simple t-shirt, swaps his jeans for sweatpants, slides out of his shoes.
when he comes back, he slides into a seat at the kitchen island, and he seems a little more lively, but the contrasting anxiety and fear and self-loathing building up inside of him only make it obvious that he's trying too hard.
he doesn't look at derek, focusing instead on the meal, fingers playing with the silverware by his plate. ]
Did you make this? [ dumb question, but it fills the silence. ] It smells really good.