Stiles wasn’t even sure why he took it.
It’s not like he could even see Derek’s face in it, nor would he want to. It was a terrible mugshot and he had been exonerated, anyway. And yet, none of these things stopped Stiles’ wandering hands from slipping the picture into his pocket from his dad’s case files. He smoothed it out with his fingers, keeping it between his thumb and his forefinger as he pretended as though he hadn’t just stolen a picture, of all things, from the sheriff’s office.
Still, the greater mystery was why Stiles had kept it. He tried not to think too much about it. He hadn’t seen Derek in years and it wasn’t as though they used to be on the best terms.
Perhaps it was because it reminded Stiles of a different time in his life. Yeah, that was it. Back when all he had to worry about was Derek Hale potentially pinning him against a wall. Back when he could get a good night’s sleep without waking up and having to count his fingers over and over again. Back when he could close his eyes without seeing his own hands killing innocent people.
Back when Stiles was still whole.
He told himself that was it. Every time he opened his desk drawer to look at it, to feel the curling edges of the picture, he told himself that it was simple nostalgia.
But, nostalgia couldn’t explain the way that Stiles felt the wind being knocked out of his lungs when he came home to Derek Hale standing in his room, his fingers tracing over Stiles’ bookshelf.
Derek turned towards Stiles as soon as he heard him come in the room. Damn that werewolf superhearing.
“What are you doing here?” Was what came out of Stiles’ mouth, before he could think better of it. He hadn’t seen the man in over five years, and that was his first question?
Derek snorted lightly. “Nice to see you, too, Stiles.”
Derek kept tracing his fingers over Stiles’ room - first starting with his bookshelf, then making his way around the walls, all the way to his desk. And that was not good. That was very much really not good.
“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Stiles asked, hoping his heartbeat wasn’t giving away the fact that Derek should not be so close to his desk. “Actually, have you ever heard of a door? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you use one.”
The corner of Derek’s mouth twitched up slightly as his fingers made their way to the handle of the top drawer on Stiles’ desk.
“Dude, boundaries?” Stiles practically squeaked, aiming for casual, but most definitely achieving panicked.
Derek’s eyebrows knitted together, his eyes dancing with amusement and, great, now he’s even more interested in what Stiles is hiding in his desk.
No, Stiles told himself. He’s not hiding anything. There was nothing to be ashamed of. It was just a picture. He tried to convince himself of this fact, but he could hear his heartbeat hammering in his ears as Derek opened the drawer and asked, “Why do you have a picture of me in your desk?”
Stiles swallowed. Some sort of sick sentimental value, his brain helpfully supplied, but his mouth started moving without his brain’s permission. “Oh, I don’t know, Derek. Maybe because nobody’s seen you in five years and for all we know you could’ve been dead? Y’know, I should be grateful, really, that the last time you took off, you at least had the courtesy to mention it to Scott. Not like you owed any of us a ‘goodbye’.”
A heavy silence filled the room that reminded Stiles just how important it was to think before he speaks. Because that… Well, that sounded as though he were hurt by Derek’s swift departure from Beacon Hills. And he wasn’t. He really, really wasn’t.
“You’re anxious.” Derek said finally, as though Stiles had never said anything at all.
“No fucking shit, I’m always anxious.” He rolled his eyes. “Listen, as much as I’m enjoying this little reunion special where you look through all my stuff and use your werewolf-y senses to smell my emotions and listen to my heart rate or whatever you’re doing right now, why don’t you just tell me who died and why that brought you to my bedroom?”
Derek shook his head and closed Stiles’ desk drawer gently.
“No one died.”
“So, why are you here?” Stiles’ voice came out more high pitched than he was expecting and he cleared his throat.
Derek shrugged and didn’t answer for a long time. Just when Stiles was about to attempt physically throwing him out of the house, he spoke, his voice low.
“Because, maybe I should have said goodbye.”
Stiles frowned. That was… Wow, that was unexpected.
He should’ve asked ‘why now?’. He should’ve told Derek that it didn’t matter, because who cares if he didn’t say goodbye? But, what came out was, “Why didn’t you? Say goodbye?” And he silently cringed at the way his voice came out so damn soft.
Derek sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, looking down at the ground. “Because, if I did… Maybe I would have never left.”
Stiles swallowed hard. There was something in the air that he couldn’t quite name, and he wondered if, after all this time, he was hearing what he had never allowed himself to want. The words that could explain exactly why he kept Derek’s picture in his desk. Why he held on so tightly to the only piece of the man that he had left.
“And why did you leave?” He asked quietly, his voice practically a whisper.
Derek’s eyes shot up to Stiles’ and, god, blue was such a pretty colour.
“I couldn’t stay.” He said, as though it were simple. And maybe it was.
“And now?”
Derek stared at Stiles for a few moments, before shaking his head and letting out a small laugh that sounded light and airy, but felt as though it could knock Stiles to the ground with the weight of it.
“And now, I’m not sure I can stay away.”
Stiles saw the recognition on Derek’s face as his heart skipped a beat. His eyes narrowed slightly, as though he was finally figuring out the answer to a math problem that had been bothering him since the seventh grade.
Stiles swallowed before speaking, his voice low and more breathless than he had intended it to be. “So, don’t.”
That seemed to be everything that Derek needed to hear, because all of a sudden he was lunging towards Stiles and grabbing him, pressing his lips against Stiles’ and making a sound of relief as though he had been waiting for this his whole fucking life.
And, yeah, Stiles knows why he had taken the picture. Because he really had been waiting for this his whole fucking life.
