Derek stands by the window and watches as Stiles’ reflection appears and leans by the doorframe.
He ran away from their conversation (confrontation?) earlier, and Stiles is kind enough to follow at a more sedate pace.
Derek expects a reprimand, a word vomit of how not-okay it is to just run off mid very important conversation. But Stiles keeps quiet, arms crossed, face carefully neutral. He looks unimpressed by his tantrum but determined to patiently wait him out.
The rush of confusion and jumbled mess of thoughts in his head make Derek cave in.
“I don’t even know you,” he continues from where he left off earlier, “but I remember…I remember loving you.
He can see Stiles hold his breath.
“I remember a pool,” Derek goes on, “I remember you and me in a car with my arm bleeding. I remember watching you leave.”
He looks away from Stiles’ reflection and into the trees.
“I remember leaving. And then staying. For you.”
Derek clenches his hands into fists, his claws coming out and digging into his palm as the frustrating block of darkness sips into his mind again.
“I can’t remember who I am, where I am, or anything else. I don’t remember you. But I remember loving you.”
He wants to look at Stiles again, but also not. He chooses the latter as he gives in to the question at the tip of his tongue.
Stiles is standing straighter when Derek whips around to face him and his answer. His arms are now at his sides, and there’s a furrow between his brows as he takes a careful step towards Derek.
“Yes, but you didn’t know. I didn’t tell you,” he keeps walking towards Derek until they’re much closer in front of each other, “and you never told me.”
There’s a challenge and confrontation in those last words, but Derek doesn’t have an answer. Only more questions.
“So what does that make us?” he asks. Because Stiles is the one with the answers, Derek also remembers that.
Stiles gives him a look of disbelief for a moment, an unspoken how dare you turn this on me on the upturn of his brow and the slight opening of his lips.
Then he drops his head, huffs, a disguised laugh Derek thinks.
“That makes us two morons who have a lot to talk about. And a lot of dates to go on.”
Stiles shakes his head and gives Derek another look. He searches for something there, seems to find it.
Then, without any more hesitation, he takes Derek’s hand and leads him back out of the room, “after we get your memory back, you big failwolf.”
Derek remembers how easy it is to just hold onto Stiles and follow.
