Not that he would admit it to anybody, of course. It wasn't his friends’ fault for quite literally forgetting his existence. It was just... Well, after the whole world forgetting about him, it was fairly self explanatory.
When he started his internship with the FBI, he felt it worse than he ever had before. His friends still called him, of course, and Scott would text him daily. But, there were times when his pack would be too busy to message him. There were mornings where he would wake up to no texts and no emails. He would stand in front of the mirror, unsure if it was really him staring back. Some days he wouldn't even see himself. Instead, he would see... a shadow. Someone who was long gone but continued to haunt him. He would look in the mirror and see the smirk of a murderer, rather than his own smile.
That was, until Derek fucking Hale.
Sure, he was a fugitive of the law, but when Stiles had realised that he was alive - that he hadn’t just been hiding from the pack - it was like... another opportunity. He hadn't even realised it until Derek himself was holding him, carrying him out of a building full of people after him, rolling his eyes at Stiles’ dramatics.
He had looked at him afterwards, though - really looked at him - and had said, “It’s good to see you, Stiles”.
He had seen Stiles every day after that. At first, it was because they were travelling back to Beacon Hills together. Then, it was because they had to do the whole ‘fighting evil’ thing. But, then it was... Different. He would bring Stiles coffee, or come over with a new book that he had found in his family’s vault, or some other excuse. It was as though he understood it. The need to be remembered. The need to be thought of.
“I started reading that book you recommended”, he would say. Or, “I found this cafe you would love”. Sometimes even, “I thought of you the other day”, although that was a rarity.
Stiles didn’t think that Derek knew what he was doing until he had walked right into Stiles’ room when Stiles had been crying. Derek had found him, standing in front of the mirror and sobbing, trying to make sense of himself, and he had said his name.
“Stiles.”
Right. Stiles.
“Stiles, you’re alright. You’re safe.”
He was, wasn’t he?
“You’re here. I see you. It’s okay.”
He was here? He was here.
“I remember you. You’re here. You’re you.”
By the time Stiles was convinced of this fact, he realised he was wrapped in Derek’s arms. He didn’t think he ever wanted to leave. Derek sounded safe, and he smelled like fresh coffee and he felt like home, and Stiles was still crying, but Derek was still holding him, anyway.
“You’ll be okay.” Derek said and, for once, Stiles was starting to believe him.
“You remember me?” Stiles asked, his voice small and hoarse and muffled against Derek.
