Hey! In one of your posts you mentioned in the tags that the phrase "I'm talking to that person" was confusing and I'm just curious how it's used because I've never heard it and want to know? (love your blog btw!)
YES OKAY so specifically in conversation it would be:
“Have you been to the new Italian place?”
“Yeah, I went there last weekend with that girl I’m sort of talking to.”
Hope you'll enjoy this and feel free to come talk to me about this/anything if you wish!
Stiles stands alone at the side of the ballroom, surreptitiously shifting his weight from one foot to another and grimacing lightly. Even after 2 years of dancing more than his fair share in multiple balls throughout the year (the blue bloods sure like to have their fun, Stiles thinks wryly) his feet still ache quickly. He had made sure his rounds were complete, dancing first with his husband, and then his mother, sisters and cousins. By the fourth dance he’s had quite enough and excuses himself off to the side.
The minute he’s off the ballroom floor though, he’s approached by a never-ending stream of relatives and friends of the Hale family, all wanting to grant him well-wishes. He plasters on a smile and plays the role of perfect hostess, thanking each person for their kind words graciously, smiling at their small talk—the way a model wife would, he thinks to himself. The way Lord Hale’s treated him so far, polite but distant, you’d think that was exactly what he was.
He’s just about to escape to the balcony to avoid further mindless chatter when a familiar, cheery face appears in front of him. Oh thank heavens, my savior. “Lord McCall,” he greets customarily, tilting his head slightly, because there are Very Important People here that he’d rather not offend indirectly by not following protocol. Protocol could kiss his derriere, Stiles felt personally.
Scott smiles at him, probably the most genuinely out of all those he’s seen thus far tonight and nods in return. As if reading his mind, Scott hands him a flute of champagne (oh, a true savior) and guides them in the direction of the transparent balcony doors.
Outside, where the sound of the never-ceasing background noise of the ballroom eases to a barely noticeable hum, Stiles can finally relax his carefully postured stance. He takes a gulp of his champagne, swallows it down and relishes the burn against the chilly night. “Truly a savior, Scott McCall,” he declares.
Scott huffs out an amused breath that forms a puff of smoke in the cool air. “You looked about ready to collapse. And that smile, too, it looked like the winter had frozen your face like it had the lake.”
There’s a pause, and then Scott continues with a careful, almost gentle tone that almost immediately makes Stiles tense. “Stiles… are you sure you’re alright? I know it’s your mother’s—” He cuts himself off, stealing a concerned look at Stiles’ face.
Stiles sighs. “You can say it Scott, it’s been a year. My mother’s death anniversary. A fortnight ago. And a week to Derek’s and my wedding anniversary.” At that, he gives a short bark of laughter.
Stiles still remembers his feelings, sharp bitterness and furious hatred rising within him as he stared at his then husband-to-be, Lord Derek Hale. Resentment at Lord Hale burns an acidic taste up through Stiles’ throat. A mere three weeks after his mother—
No, he tells himself firmly now, that way lies madness. It’s been a year, he needs to stop. Distracting himself from that train of thought, he takes another sip from the flute in his hand, looking back through the ballroom doors into the brightly lit ballroom. From its arches and delicate gold-plated leaves adorning the walls and ceilings to the vividly colored carpeted floor.
Unconsciously, his eyes are drawn to his husband, gracefully taking one of his cousins—Malia, Stiles guesses—through twirls and steps. Derek’s body is a fluid line of motion, the familiarity of his dance partner bringing a soft, relaxed expression to his face. Stiles suddenly aches with a deep longing to be in Malia’s position, to be the recipient of that smile. And kiss him, Stiles’ mind supplies unhelpfully. He flushes at his wildly inappropriate thoughts, tries to shut that down immediately.
He has no business wanting his husband the way he does—Derek, nay, Lord Hale, had made that very clear from the very start. He remembers how Lord Hale had glanced over him head to toe on their wedding night, remembers how he had abruptly dismissed Stiles, a rough “go to your room” and turned back to his writing, picking up his quill and proceeding with his letter as if—as if Stiles had been some lowly servant. Stiles had felt a wave of humiliation wash over him as he left the room and crawled into the bed absolutely defeated. In that moment, Stiles remembered, the fury had roared back to life. He had willingly presented himself to his husband and yet he was openly rejected. Was he that repulsive? As he lay in bed, he was determined to give Lord Hale the worst treatment he knew.
Stiles tried a chilly demeanor toward Lord Hale, giving only short responses to everything he directed toward Stiles. He'd then used a cutting approach, refuting whatever Lord Hale said in the most caustic way possible.
And yet. And yet. In the months following, Stiles’ perception of Lord Hale changed. Being obligated to at least give the impression of dutiful, devoted husband, Stiles had to follow Lord Hale around, to his various banquets, meetings and events. He had started noticing things, things like how Lord Hale was kind to everyone, even servants. He asked after their families, made sure they were sufficiently fed and kept.
He was also fiercely loyal to his loved ones, to his squadron of men--even to Stiles: Stiles, who was no more his husband but in name, their marriage only a product of a fight for peace. He'd overheard Derek defend him a number of times to snobbish relatives who insinuated he was less than dirt for not being of blue blood, replying icily "it is of no matter, he has now joined the family ranks. I would kindly request you speak of him in a manner befitting that position." The first time Stiles had heard that, he had to admit he was taken completely by surprise: remembering the time he'd been harshly dismissed by Lord Hale, it seemed almost laughable that he would bother to defend Stiles. And then he realized: it was a matter of pride. He was wed to Stiles, and likely wanted to protect his own reputation. The warm glow Stiles basked in immediately dissipated, leaving an unnamable cold, heavy feeling settling heavy in his belly. Except... This had repeated a few more times, and each time Lord Hale defended him. How in heaven's name was he supposed to interpret this? It was infuriating to say the least; how was he supposed to hate Lord Hale like this?
To be quite fair, Lord Hale had remained quite the civil if distant man throughout Stiles' less-than-pleasant treatments. At social events, he always made sure Stiles was comfortable, fetching drink without being asked, requesting leave on Stiles' behalf if he felt even the slightest tad unwell. It was truly the most maddening--he wasn't helpless and he could very well take care of himself without external help!
Even through his annoyance, he can't help but feel a warm flush spread as he remembers Lord Hale's warm, large hand a light and comforting pressure on the small of his back all the times he guides Stiles from the room. Back then, he'd tried to discretely move as far from the touch as possible, anger and resentment at his husband overpowering any other emotion. But now...now that the haze of anger had faded, all he could think of was how he...craved the reassurance that Lord Hale's warm hand brought.
"Stiles?" A voice brings him back to the brightly coloured present, and he snaps his head towards the source.
Scott quirks a knowing smile and teases, "Thinking about your husband again, Stiles? You should dance with him," and lowering his voice slightly, "I'm sure both of you would enjoy the close contact."
Maybe it's the fact that his anniversary draws close, or that Stiles is tired, but he doesn't continue the banter he normally would. Instead, he turns to face Scott fully and haltingly begins.
"Scotty, I'm just-- I'm confused. Derek treats me well, but it feels almost perfunctory, like I'm a duty to be carried out..." He trails off, unable to bring himself to bare himself fully.
"Stiles," Scott replies, "we've talked about this before. How could you ever know how he feels until you talk to him, properly? Look, he's standing at the side of the dance hall; now's your chance."
Stiles looks to where Scott's pointing, and it's true, Derek's nursing a drink, his gaze somewhere on the dance floor. He feels a light shove from Scott, who says behind him, "I've always got your back, Stiles. I'm sure it'll work out well.
Stiles thinks Scott's always been the optimistic one, but he gives his childhood best friend a grateful smile nevertheless and walks towards the ballroom doors, trying to build up the courage to approach Derek and finally talk it out.
Just as he's passed through the glass doors, he sees someone approach Derek and Derek's face breaks into a full smile (extremely rare). Stiles notes all this with mild annoyance, because, what bad timing, and he walks faster. He isn't going to let someone upset his plans.
Except, when he walks closer to them, he gets a glimpse of the person's face, and the ground drops out from beneath his feet and his heart plummets as well.
It's Lady Paige Krasikeva, Derek's previous betrothed.
Dude!! OMG! SCHOOL! Thats so fucking aweseome and amazing you will do wonderfully and fantastically and blow all their minds with your awesomeness. What classes are you taking? And yay you!!! Lots of love, Caroltn
Aw gee thanks! I’m taking psychology, sociology, intro to lit and english comp
