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It’s just that Derek barely has any time to stop to eat on the best of days, so wandering the streets and going looking into a bookstore isn’t quite high up on his list of priorities (which, right now, consist of eat, sleep, get promoted at work). It’s rare enough that he gets to see the store open anyway, what with getting into work so early in the morning he can see too many sunrises.
So it's a surprise that he ends up right in front of the bookstore one time (he doesn’t even remember what day it is because they all blend into each other) during his lunch break, his sandwich halfway to his mouth and the desire to just walk in and get lost for the one hour of free time he’s got overwhelming, making his knees go a little weak. He’s always loved books, the way they smell and the way they feel under his fingers, but he’s lost the pleasure of sitting down with a good tome a long time ago, when he started working in marketing and realized time was precious, time was money and productivity and deadlines and clients to satisfy.
But today, today time feels fleeting, something Derek suddenly has plenty of. He gives the rest of his sandwich to a homeless guy sitting at the corner of the street, brushes his hands against his jeans and walks down the street, wanting nothing more than to lose himself in a book, right now.
The bookstore is surprisingly full of noise when Derek walks in, taking in the high ceilings and the Neverending Story feel of the room with its bookshelves up to the roof and books crammed around everywhere, only a few small windows to avoid too much light. It’s almost like a maze made of books, and Derek makes his way through carefully to the source of the noise, staying himself as quiet as he can. There are cling and clatter and pirate-sounding exclamations that make Derek smile as he takes in the scene before him, in what seems to be a clearing in this forest of books.
Two kids in shorts and flip-flops, wielding cardboard swords at each other while dancing around the room, one of them also wearing a makeshift eye patch, and a young man, sitting on top of a desk, a book open in his hands, reading out loud the story the boys are playing out.
“Suddenly he – the captain, that is – began to pipe up his eternal song:
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest –
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!
Drink, and the devil had done for the rest –
Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”
The kids sing along with the man, arm entwined as they twist around, knocking over some books with their flailing limbs. Derek is entranced – by the man’s voice, the accents it takes, the changes in his tone as he tells the story, the way his whole face moves as he reads – and stuck in place, listening intently, feeling like he’s wearing a tricorn hat and rags and suffering from delirium because of a lack of drink and food, stuck on a boat on his way to a treasure. He’s so taken by it all he doesn’t even register when the guy turns to him, grins at him while still reading, like he knows the story by heart, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to Derek’s mind, opening it up to his imagination in a way Derek doesn’t let it anymore. He forgets about the audit he’s working on, the two meetings he’s got in the afternoon, the fact that he’s only had half a sandwich and no coffee; he forgets about time, and space, and lets himself be part of a story bigger than him. When the guy stops reading, it’s like a sudden hole carved in the deep of Derek’s chest, and he pulls back suddenly, a broken spell making him blink and resurface. The quietness in the store is a little deafening, and Derek realizes then that the kids have disappeared, probably ran off back to school, or to their homes. The reading guy is looking at Derek intently.
“Hi,” he says, a smile on his lips. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to stop and interrupt the boys, and they were really into it. It’s kind of a thing we do. I’m Stiles, I work here; do you need something specific?”
The whole thing is out of his mouth in a second, so quick Derek feels a bit winded just listening to Stiles. It’s endearing, though, because he was reading much slower earlier, taking on a completely different role than who he actually is. Derek finds himself tilting his head, quite taken by the whole experience.
“I don’t think you have any books on JavaScript programming?” Derek asks even though he’s already got two books on the topic, but it’s like he needed something to land on, something to hold on to; he’s not been this unsteady on his feet and with his words in a while. He’s not one to get all charmed by someone else, and it’s making him a bit uncomfortable.
Stiles makes a face, like he’s disappointed. “Ah, man, you need to loosen up, read something more fun! But, as a matter of fact, we do have programming books. Follow me.”
Stiles hops down from the desk and walks away from Derek, into a corner of the room which appears to actually be a corridor, filled with books from top to bottom, a long cave full of treasures like the one Stiles was reading about earlier. The light here is yellow and dusty, but it seems to be enough for Stiles who stops in front of a shelf, pointing at it to Derek.
“There you go. However, my advice is to read some Jules Verne.”
Derek opens his mouth, looks at the books, looks at Stiles, before glancing down at his watch. “Ah, shit, gotta go. I’ll, um, I’ll come back. Tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you more about Verne. He’s got some great adventures for you.” Stiles grins, open and sweet and a little excited in the way he bounces on the balls of his feet, and Derek huffs out an involuntary chuckle.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
;;
Isaac sits right by Derek, on the empty desk that usually keeps most of Derek’s current project files and to-do lists. Isaac is sitting right on top of most of them like they don’t even exist, and it makes Derek itch to push him off, just because.
He doesn’t, though; Isaac’s smirk is intriguing and Derek likes to keep on top of the office gossip. It makes it easy for him to get ahead that way. He’s always got the answers and he’s always proactive. Thanks Isaac.
“There’s something different about you,” is what Isaac opens with, which is not exactly what Derek expected.
“Oh, man, if we’re going to have a talk, you could have also brought coffee.”
“Aw, come on. Meet a girl? Find a new job? Get a raise? You never smile like this in the office, you’re all ‘business business business’, like there is the only thing in your life, for real.”
Isaac mimes furious typing at a keyboard, just as Derek turns back to his computer screens. There’s no way he’s going to become the gossip; that is just not happening, not in a place like this, where he’s surrounded by sharks who want nothing more than his job and cushy position. Plus, it’s not like there is anything to say, since nothing happened; Derek hasn’t met a girl, found a new job, or got a raise, and life is business, business, business, for him.
Isaac huffs out a noise. “Liar.”
“I didn’t say anything, Zac.”
“Yeah, but you know what? Since you came back from your lunch break, you’ve been smiling. You never smile at work when client meetings are not involved. So you’re lying by omission; I don’t care.”
“Why are you asking if you don’t care?”
Isaac rolls his eyes and jumps off the empty desk, sending papers fluttering to the ground in his wake. Fucking kid.
“Pedant. You know I always end up knowing everything, Derek. I’ll know about this too.”
It sounds vaguely like a threat, and it makes Derek raise an eyebrow at Isaac, completely unimpressed. He’s not going to get intimidated by a child, even less so when really, nothing is going on.
Even though he can’t help but think that he really doesn’t ever want to see Isaac in the bookstore he just discovered. It’s like a treasure, just like the story Stiles was reading to the kids, a treasure hidden deep in the city, and it’s for no one else than Derek to enjoy, right now. He’s not selfish enough to wish for no other customers for Stiles, but definitely no one Derek works with, that’s for sure.
So Derek goes for soothing. He leans forward in his chair, looking at Isaac straight on. “I promise, if something was really going on, I’d tell you, okay? You’re imagining things. It’s that overactive head of yours.”
Isaac huffs again, but he looks sort of relaxed, now, like he just wanted Derek’s assurance that he’d be the first to know whatever is going on. Which is nothing.
“Now, if you don’t plan on getting me some coffee any time soon, I do have some work to do, and I’m pretty sure you do too.”
“PRs to write, for your accounts,” Isaac replies, which makes Derek grin wolfishly at him.
“You love me best.”
;;
“Yeah, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy.”
“Programming JavaScript?”
Derek lets out a noise, shrugging a shoulder.
Stiles unfolds himself from whatever position he was behind the books, going to his full height and showing Derek he was drinking a cup of coffee, now half empty.
“I’m not supposed to drink it, but it’s an addiction, you know.”
“Is that why you’re hiding?”
“Hiding? Oh, no, I was just reorganizing.”
Derek decides he doesn’t really want to know about a system that involves stacking books up until the pile is a fragile tower of Pisa, even if he does wonder how Stiles manages to find anything in this mess of a store.
“It’s a wonder you sell anything,” he can’t help but say, and Stiles’ face takes on this pinched frown that makes Derek want to swallow his words up and forget they ever existed.
“Hey, I sell plenty, okay, people come here for the atmosphere and because they never get hassled like they do in chain stores. They can sit anywhere and read if they want and it doesn’t matter. They buy, even when they’ve read the whole book. And then they bring their kids to Adventure Read Sundays, and they buy then too.”
Derek holds up his hands. “Sorry, I didn’t mean anything by that. I agree, the atmosphere here is incredible.”
It’s true; when you walk through, passing by books by theme makes you wander from the plains of Africa to the cold landscapes of Antarctica, and in the middle of it you walk a couple of cobbled streets of London circa 1800’s and you hide in a dank New York alley during the prohibition, to end up in a Russian submarine side by side with James Bond. It’s strange, it’s like experiencing all of it by just being in the middle of the books and the words, all of it enveloping and safe, a bubble of adventure and romance that feels almost real, almost like something you can touch and feel and taste on the tip of your tongue like snowflakes.
It’s an atmosphere, all right, and it makes Derek want to curl up in a sofa in the back, surrounded by walls of books while he lets himself forget entirely about the real world and his real responsibilities. It’s fascinating, but it’s also a little scary, because Derek can’t be losing track of time whenever he walks in, it’s just completely at odds with who he is and what he does, where time is, indeed, money.
Stiles loses the frown almost immediately, wrapping his hands around his coffee mug as he smiles to himself. “It’s a bit disorientating, that's true.”
“Isn’t it the whole point?”
Stiles shrugs. “Maybe. I tend not to think about it. This store was my mother’s, and I didn’t really do much with it until after she passed away, and my dad wasn’t really coping, so someone had to take care of the business. She’s the one who came up with the way the store looks, and I’ve never felt the need to change it. It’s good, isn’t it?”
“It’s an adventure in itself,” Derek replies for lack of anything better to say. Then, he straightens himself. “I’m sorry about your mother.”
“Thank you,” Stiles replies, nodding at Derek. Derek has met so many people that got angry at those words, or dismissive; hell, he’s been one of these people. But Stiles just takes it, accepts it, smiles a little like Derek’s condolences actually do help him. “Anyway, are you here for Verne?”
“Huh?”
“Verne, Jules? Writer of, notably, Around the World in 80 Days?”
Derek flushes. “Oh! Oh, well um, yes. I mean no, it’s not what I’m here for, but I was looking for something to read, so I came here?”
“Something other than books about your job, I hope?”
“Hey, JavaScript could be a passion,” Derek replies with a thought back to his younger years, many of them spent learning how to code.
“It's still your job now.” Stiles assesses with a critical look up and down Derek’s body, not unappreciative.
“Not entirely, but close enough.”
“Then it’s good enough for me. All right, so what are you in the mood for? A road trip? A hot air balloon? The depths of the ocean? The Moon?” Stiles’ face is so animated; it keeps on taking Derek apart, undoing him time and time again.
“The Moon?” Derek asks, disbelieving.
“Ah-ha! From the Earth to the Moon, it is. You know, Verne wrote 55 different novels that, all together, make his Voyages Extraordinaires,” Stiles exclaims in a thick French accent as he starts moving through the bookstore, and Derek follows helplessly, held by that voice, so rich and captivating. “He wrote other stuff as well, of course, but this is this series of books that are the most famous. The man had a crazy imagination for his era, and he actually got it right sometimes. Steampunk at its best.”
They’ve stopped in front of an alcove, lined from floor to ceiling with books, some of them looking so old it’s a wonder they’re still in one piece, although Derek isn’t going to try and pick one up. Stiles is perched on a shelf, his knee perched precariously on the cracking wood as he reaches for a volume, pulling it out and dropping it in Derek’s hands before jumping off easily, like it’s something he does every day. And come to think of it, it probably is something he does every day, monkeying his way around the library like in those Discworld books Derek’s dad used to read.
“Please tell me I don’t have to explain steampunk to you,” Stiles says once he’s back on the floor, dusting his hands off on his jeans. On anyone else it’d sound condescending but Stiles says it with a crooked smile and bright eyes, and he manages to make it sound a little exasperated, but mostly fond, like he has to do it every day and it’s okay, he deals.
Derek grips the book in a hand, thumb brushing against the rugged leather of the cover. “Actually, you don’t.”
Stiles gives Derek a look that is appreciative and maybe a little intrigued, his smile growing a bit bigger, if that’s even possible. “Cool! Okay, sit,” he orders, pointing to a worn-looking armchair a few feet away. Derek flails a bit with the book still in his hand.
“Oh no, I can’t, I have to get back to the office, I'm working on a pitch right now, it's really busy. I was just picking something up to read later.”
Stiles’ face falls, and he blinks a couple of times rapidly, like he’s absolutely confused by Derek’s words. “You can’t just buy without sampling. What if you hate his writing style? That’d be wasted money, and wasting a book someone else might enjoy more. No, sit. Sit.”
Stiles’ tone is so suddenly strong that Derek stumbles the few feet to the chair and then drops into it, the chair apparently out to eat him; the springs are loose and he goes so deep into it he’s not sure he’ll ever manage to get out, but at the same time it’s surprisingly comfortable, and Derek can feel his legs curl up into his favorite reading position, with his knees up and his feet tucked close. Stiles is still around, and Derek gives him a look before opening the book.
“When’s your lunch hour over?”
Derek checks his watch. “In forty-five minutes.”
“I promise to shake you in thirty-five.”
Derek nods.
;;
Derek sits, with the other members of The Gun Club, his suit neatly tailored and pressed, his hat by his hand on the table in front of him. It’s all very formal, the way they all sit and look up at Impey Barbicane, taking in every word as he speaks in a rich voice, full of tones and wonder. He looks strangely like Stiles.
“There is no one among you, my brave colleagues, who has not seen the Moon, or, at least, heard speak of it. Don’t be surprised if I am about to discourse to you regarding the Queen of the Night. It is perhaps reserved for us to become the Columbuses of this unknown world. Only enter into my plans, and second me with all your power, and I will lead you to its conquest, and its name shall be added to those of the thirty-six states which compose this Great Union.”
Derek is roaring with everybody else around him as soon as Barbicane is done, his hand in a fist. “Three cheers for the Moon!”
Derek allows himself to be enthralled by the idea of hippos and bats on the Moon, lets himself be enchanted by ivory and gold and walking on the Moon, being the first one up there, where no one else has ever been before. Barbicane’s idea of a gun shooting them up to the Moon is simplistic, if brilliant; why not, if a balloon almost managed?
Derek, like the rest of the gentlemen of The Gun Club, is out of breath with excitement when Barbicane announces his desire to build the gun; it’s so tempting to believe they can do it, together, endeavour in this mad idea and go to the Moon. There’s clapping, cheering around the room, and Derek is stuck in his seat, eyes wide open and his mouth open in an enthusiastic smile, no sound coming out of him besides his labored breathing. He is too excited by the prospect to even talk, or move, or fire his weapon like so many around him are doing.
He can’t stop imagining himself walking on the Moon.
;;
Derek looks up suddenly when a hand lands on his shoulder, startled like he’s being shaken awake. He’s panting, but he feels elated, a smile stretching his lips as his thumb brushes against the book page, making a faint rustling noise. When his eyes focus again, he’s looking straight at Stiles, who’s smiling at him softly.
“It’s been thirty-five minutes, Derek.”
Derek’s heart is beating wildly with excitement, and he can still taste the coffee he had at The Gun Club, can still feel his fellow members’ hands shaking his own, a little clammy. It’s like he was there, right there, living the book so vividly he’d lost track of time and place, forgot about the bookstore, about work, about clients and meetings and pitches and audits, too focused he was on going to the Moon, launched from a gigantic gun. As he was reading, it sounded like a tremendous idea.
Derek, as he uncurls himself out of the armchair, realizes that he hasn't felt this relaxed in a long time. He feels looser, his mind jumping from one thought to the other without consequences or stress weighing on everything as usual, and he hasn't felt this way in – well, long enough that he doesn’t actually remember when the last time was. Stiles looks at Derek with something like fondness. Derek shakes himself once he’s up, like a puppy, like he used to do after lacrosse practice, a lifetime ago.
“Is it good? I haven't read that one in years, actually, it’s making me want to get back into it,” Stiles asks, taking the book from Derek’s fingers, turning it over in his hands.
“Yeah, it’s good. Thanks for the rec.”
Stiles shrugs with one shoulder, but the smile on his face tells Derek he’s proud that he made the right choice. Stiles is probably one of these salespeople that try to guess what every customer likes by the way he looks. He wonders what it means to Stiles, too, whose store is called an adventure. “All right, let me ring you up so you can get back to work, before you’re late.”
“You should have more than one reading session a week, Stiles,” Derek says without even thinking about it, and Stiles raises his eyebrows at him, tilting his head in question. Derek continues, “I mean, you should organize lunch time or early evening sessions, for adults, where they can come in and read. The atmosphere in here really is quite special.”
He’s not quite sure why he’s saying this; it might just be how deeply he fell into the book while curled up in a chair in the store, surrounded by books and their unique smell, the dim lights and comfortable atmosphere all around him, like a safe haven, a cocoon inside which being a responsible adult didn’t matter. He’s going to come back if only for this, and he’s pretty sure tons of busy, stressed-out people would make the most of it too, if they could. If they knew.
Stiles gives Derek a look Derek can’t quite figure out, but it’s soft, definitely fond, and Derek might be reaching but he thinks there’s some amazement there too. He flushes, looking down suddenly and scratching the back of his neck, ready to mutter an apology for overstepping, when Stiles huffs out a breath.
“Know what? I always think about kids and how their imagination needs to be nurtured and preserved, but it shouldn’t only apply to them. It’s...Derek; it’s a fantastic idea, thank you.”
Derek looks up and meets Stiles’ eyes, sees his brilliant smile, and his heart skips a beat, feeling stupidly proud. “Any time.”
“I could have themes!” Stiles is obviously about to start an excited diatribe just as his eyes shift to the clock on the wall behind the cash register, and he closes his mouth with a snap. “But you’re going to be late. So we’ll have to talk about this later.”
“I’d like that,” Derek replies at Stiles’ hopeful tone, all too pleased to be asked to help out.
Derek owns From the Earth to the Moon ten minutes later, and the air on his face outside the bookstore feels fresher, the smells coming from the coffee place around the corner sharper, and the sky is bluer; like Derek has had his senses scrubbed clean from all the pollution he’s been carrying around with him. He’s not naive or blindsided enough to believe it’s going to last, but it’s a good feeling to have for a while. It’s crazy that it comes from spending half an hour completely immersed in a book, but for once he let go of all the small nagging worries eating away at him all the time, and just let his mind wander away from his life. And it feels good.
The office feels quieter than usual that afternoon, and Derek gets stuck into work easily, more productive than he’s felt in days; his colleagues don’t seem to want to bother him for once. Even Isaac stays in his corner. Derek keeps the book on top of his messenger bag, glancing at it every so often and allowing himself to wonder what’s going to happen next, where will this book and his imagination take him to next.
For once, he’s got something to look forward to when he gets home, and it’s new and unusual enough that it makes him smile at the report on his screen, glancing at the clock and wishing it to go faster.
;;
He doesn’t have time for lunch because he’s late delivering documents for another client, and Erica from finance keeps bothering him over purchasing orders he doesn’t even remember filling out, bothering him so much he doesn’t even offer to buy her a coffee as he usually does when he manages to piss her off. It’s a lot of give and take with his coworkers; half of the time they think he’s a smart-ass that enjoys brooding too much for his own good, but he’s learnt a while ago that giving them a little – a smile for Isaac, a coffee for Erica – goes a long way to keep the rumors about him from flying too high. It’s not much sacrifice to be mostly left alone.
But nothing is going his way today, everything such a mess that when he gets home he goes straight for the liquor bar his roommate Boyd makes sure to keep well stocked and pours himself a whiskey, ignoring the curious look Boyd throws his way.
“Everything alright?”
“Long day.”
“I’m making pasta carbonara. D’you want some?”
Derek and Boyd, despite living in the same apartment, don’t actually spend much time together, since Boyd is an EMT. But sometimes, when it counts, they end up helping each other up, and it’s actually a good thing they’ve got going on, if Derek is honest with himself. He didn’t used to want to share, but prices in California are crazy, and it ended up being his only viable solution. Now, he can’t really complain about it.
“Sure. I’ll pay for Chinese this weekend.”
“Cool.”
And that’s all there is to the talking, which is fine by Derek, and another reason why their cohabitation works as well as it does; they’re both economic when it comes to their words, and even though their conversations are always short, they’re always to the point and they don’t waste time, which is more than Derek could ask for in a roommate. The fact that Boyd is also a mean cook is the cherry on top of an already pretty awesome roommate.
It’s only much later – after dinner, an episode and a half of CSI, and another drink – that they resume their conversation. Boyd is nursing a beer, leaning back on the armchair he brought in with him when he moved in, some throwback from college that had some kind of emotional value to him, when he looks straight at Derek.
“So what went so wrong with your day that you need two whiskeys on the rocks?”
They always leave the conversation open enough that the other can exit without much ruffled feathers – well, Boyd does anyway. Derek doesn’t have all that tact.
“You know how sometimes you get terrible old people that don’t want to get in the ambulance?”
Boyd nods, picking at the label of his bottle; he’s spent a few evenings ranting about the stubbornness of the elderly.
“Well imagine a shift where you only have that kind of calls. And in between the calls you have traffic jams. And a headache. That was my day, more or less.”
Boyd makes a small sound as he swallows around a mouthful of beer. “Wow. Sounds fun.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Man, sorry. It can only be better tomorrow?”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell myself. I need a vacation.”
“Well I’ve been telling you that for a while. How long has it been? A year?”
“And a half.”
“Yeah, you need a vacation. Your coworkers must be sick of seeing your face.”
Derek tips his glass towards Boyd, smiling crookedly. “You are a true friend.”
Boyd laughs, tilting his head back on his ugly brown leather armchair, and Derek finishes his drink, grabbing their dinner plates from the coffee table as he stands up.
“I’m just going to clean this up and then I’ll hit the sack.”
“Alright. But seriously, Derek, think about it. A week away, you know, no internet, no telephone, no TV. Bring some books with you. It will probably do you some good.”
Derek imagines it, for a moment. It sounds a little like what Heaven probably feels like.
“Yeah, I will.”
;;
Derek goes back to Adventure Time two days later, From the Earth to the Moon tucked under inside his jacket to protect it from the rain coming steadily down. Inside the store, it's just as warm and cozy as it's been every time Derek visited, the overhead lights dim and comfortable, an old yellow that is still strong enough to read with, but the complete antithesis from the harsh lighting in Derek's office.
Stiles is nowhere to be found at first, but Derek can hear noise, a rhythmic voice that tells him Stiles is reading out loud again, and Derek walks towards the sound, finding Stiles in the small mezzanine in the back of the store, surrounded by around five kids, none of them apparently older than six years old. Derek realizes there are adults too, on the ground level, most of them lost in their own readings, books open over their laps or right in front of their faces. Derek smiles, and decides to wait it out; he sits right on the floor, his shiny slacks be damned, and listens to Stiles tells the story of Jack and the magic bean, with some elegant twists and turns that avoid any children being eaten.
When Derek comes back from the magic land beyond the clouds, it's because Stiles has finished the story and is carefully handing the kids back to their parents - Derek has never seen so many children in the same room being so calm, but it's an easy procession, making Derek want to slow clap at Stiles' impressive babysitting abilities.
"Hey, Derek!"
Once he's done with the little ones and their parents, Stiles plants himself right in front of Derek, an amused smile on his face. Derek must look ridiculous in his suit, sitting on the dusty floor of the bookstore. The dust sticks to his hands a little where they’re still wet from the rain, but Derek ignores it; he's too busy trying not to lean against the shelves behind him, not to ruin any books with his wet hair.
"Hi, Stiles."
"Are you back for another book?"
"Yeah, think so. I was wondering though - you, well, you seem to have a number of vintage books here, do you have some sort of recycling scheme? I could give you the Verne back. You seemed intent on having someone who liked it read it."
Stiles' face falls. "You mean you didn't like it? Oh, man, I was sure you would..."
"No, no, I did! I read it in one evening, couldn't put it down. But wouldn't it be better here than collecting dust on a shelf in my apartment?"
Derek never talks this much. Even with clients, he's not so quick to apologize and explain himself, and he's always as short on words as he can be. But Stiles seems to bring out the blubbering idiot inside Derek, the one who desperately wants to please.
Stiles considers this for a moment, like it never actually occurred to him, and he grins suddenly at Derek, large and bright and happy.
"You know, I never thought about it, but it sounds like a great idea! I could get some books back from people who don't have the space and all. Usually I restock from flea markets and whatever I could have books brought directly to me. It's genius, Derek!"
Derek flushes, pleased. Yep, definitely an idiot. "I work in marketing; it's the kind of thing I think about."
“Well, it’s an awesome idea, just like the one you gave me last time you came in. I hope they pay you a lot,” Stiles says with a wink, holding his hand out for Derek, who takes it, pulling himself up.
“Not enough considering I haven't been on vacation in over a year,” Derek grumbles to himself softly as he opens his jacket to get the book.
Stiles gives Derek a raised eyebrow, “Didn’t catch that.”
“What? Oh, it’s nothing, don’t worry about it. Here,” Derek replies, handing over the book and hoping he hasn't left a bunch of greasy handprints on the pages. Stiles inspects it for a moment, flipping through it, his brows creased in concentration as Derek’s eyes focus on the cluster of moles on the side of Stiles’ mouth; Stiles has a constellation of them on his face, and they could be a story Derek definitely wants to hear.
Which, huh, is kind of a not really appropriate thing to be thinking about. And yet Derek can’t stop it, even as Stiles deems the book still suitable for his mess of a store and smiles brightly at Derek.
“Do you want your money back?”
“What? No! Consider it a rental. It isn't good business if you give people their money back.”
“True.” Stiles stops for a second, looking straight at Derek with a crooked smile on his lips. “You know, that’s something I like about you. You challenge me to think differently.”
Derek smiles, biting the inside of his lip as he scrambles for an answer; this is not something he was expecting, and it’s incredible that Stiles would be the one saying that out of the two of them, when Derek has been the one with his mind reopened to things he’s lost, thanks to Stiles. “Believe me, you challenge me just as much,” he ends up replying, and Stiles grins, lighting up the whole room.
“Are you getting another book?”
Derek checks his watch and winces. “Have to get back to the office. But I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Stiles nods, holding From the Earth to the Moon against his chest. “I’ll be sure to have a selection of books ready for you. And I’ve got ideas for reading theme nights you might like to hear about!”
“Definitely.”
Derek can’t help but think he’s getting some special treatment, even if he’s probably not. Stiles is just that nice and friendly and a little flirty and charming. Maybe. He nods anyway, smiles, and leaves the bookstore slowly.
;;
“I’ve been working here over a year now, and you’ve never taken a day off work. Are you sure you’re okay?” Isaac says three weeks later, landing down heavily in the empty chair next to Derek’s. He looks genuinely worried, which is nice, Derek guesses.
“I’m fine, Zac. I’ve been pushed into it, if that makes you feel better.”
Isaac breathes loudly, a hand over his heart. “A little bit, I’ll admit. Where are you going then?”
Derek shrugs, leaning back in his chair, his eyes moving from the presentation on his screen to Isaac’s eager puppy face. It makes Derek smile despite himself.
“Dunno yet. Don’t want to go far, just somewhere quiet. Hole myself away for a week, eat ramen, read books.”
“Sounds extremely boring.”
Derek huffs out a laugh. “My life is plenty exciting in this job, I’m okay with boring.”
Isaac leans forward, looking a bit too conspirational for Derek’s good. “If I were you, I’d go skiing, or rock climbing, or I’d go jump from a plane, or I’d go to Hawaii, you know? Make the most of it, because you never go anywhere.”
Surprisingly, Derek feels oddly touched by Isaac’s concern for his well-being, and he pats Isaac’s shoulder, a genuine smile on his lips.
“I want to go somewhere quiet where I can just stop thinking about everything. I’ve got more than enough adrenaline in my everyday life, but thanks for wanting me to make the most of it. In my own way I think I will. But when you get some time off, you go rock climbing for the two of us.”
Isaac grins. “Deal. So books and wine and hot baths, that’s your plan?”
“Yeah, that’s my plan.”
“Seems really romantic.”
Derek snorts, pulling himself straight again, fingers already moving towards his keyboard. “Sometimes I treat myself.”
Isaac winks as he stands up. “Maybe you should do it more often. You’re very tense.”
Derek flips him off.
;;
It’s a Tuesday; Derek realizes he always comes on Tuesdays, but he tries to also come on Fridays and sometimes Mondays. He’s been coming more and more often, sometimes grabbing a random book off a pile and sitting down to read for a while, lost in the atmosphere of the store, sometimes to help Stiles hone out the details of his first themed reading evening for grown-ups – it’s a crime special, since it’s a favorite of many of Stiles’ regulars.
He has managed to find, possibly by magic, the travel section of Adventure Time. He’s surprised enough that there is one, but then again if Stiles is storing programming books, why not travel books? And rounding a corner adorned with random Italian and Greek cookbooks, he found what he was looking for.
He hasn’t seen Stiles yet, but he can hear noise in the back, something rhythmical that makes him raise his eyebrows as he looks at the volumes in front of him, deciding to pull out a Discover California book, leather bound and probably way out of date, but still interesting. Derek did say he didn’t plan on going too far.
As soon as he's opened the book, he’s travelling through vineyards, discovering skiing spots and long white beaches of perfect pearly sand, shining in the sunlight. He’s surfing the best waves of the region and he’s watching the sun go down over the ocean. It’s all blindingly beautiful and he’s never realized this about a place he lived in for most of his life.
“Hey Derek!”
Derek looks up suddenly, blinking in the dusty light of the store; he'd been completely in his own head, but Stiles’ smile is indulgent and his hand is warm around Derek’s wrist.
“Oh, hi. Sorry.”
“It’s okay. You were lost in that book,” Stiles smiles, peeking over to check what it is. “You’re going to travel?”
Derek nods. “I’ve taken some time off work, in a couple of weeks. I want to go somewhere not too far, but quiet.”
Stiles seems to light up from within, like he’s not the brightest thing about this whole place already. It’s the most ridiculous thing Derek has ever thought in his life but he also can’t quite help it. There is something that radiates warmth in Stiles, and Derek wants to curl up close to it.
“And you want to stay in California?”
“Ideally, yeah. Why?”
“My hometown, Beacon Hills. It’s in Northern California, and it’s quiet – seriously, my Dad’s the Sheriff and he only needs like, three deputies for the county. The most disrupted it got was when I was a bored teenager, it’s that quiet. It’s surrounded by woods and there are little old ladies that know everybody by name and sit on park benches, and the only sort of bad neighborhood is around the abandoned factories, kids plan raves there now. But it’s kind of idyllic, and there’s this house in the woods that is isolated and super nice and it’s been turned into a vacation cottage, so you could totally go there. See, it burnt down like, 15 years ago or something like that, and the family that owned it sold it over to the state, which didn’t do anything with it. So my dad kinda decided to buy it over dirt cheap and rebuild it after my mom died, it was kind of like therapy for him. Now he rents it out.”
Derek stands there, the book in his hands, wondering if he just got hit by a tsunami, the words having flooded his brain completely with their speed and strength. He blinks, swaying a bit on his feet, and Stiles makes a sound in the back of his throat, scrunching his face up.
“Oh, man, I am so sorry, I totally went overboard here, like, took over your vacation plans. Never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”
“Actually, it sounds like a good place to go, Stiles. You don't have any info somewhere? Pictures, prices, availability?”
After all, Derek doesn’t have a defined plan yet, and Stiles described pretty much exactly what Derek has been looking for, so why not helping Stiles’ dad at the same time if he can? If the cottage actually fits what Derek would like for his holed-up-with-books-and-wine vacation, he’s not going to complain about having it all given to him without having to do any research.
Stiles seems to hesitate for a moment, like he’s shocked Derek would actually be interested, but then he holds up a hand, finger in the air. “Yes, yes! Give me a second, I'll get my laptop for you. I set up a website for it!”
Stiles is three steps away already when Derek has the time to stop him, grinning to himself helplessly. “Wait, I – I have to get back to work – as usual. Text me the website URL and I’ll check it out later on.”
“Yeah? Okay,” Stiles replies, trotting back to Derek and fishing his phone out of his pants. It’s a terrible way of getting Stiles’ number, Derek has to admit, not very sneaky and if he ends up having to go spend his vacation in a hellhole just because he wants a phone number, he can only blame himself. But Stiles doesn’t hesitate, gets Derek’s number and then texts him right away, a winking smiley face.
“Cool, I’ll text you the URL as soon as I get to my laptop. I’ve got a list of books for you too; do you have time to check them out?”
Derek looks at his watch. Oh, well, the office can deal with him being ten minutes late.
“Lead the way.”
Stiles punches the air, and that’s enough for Derek.
;;
“Cool.”
Stiles pushes his hands in his pockets, rocking himself on the balls of his feet as he looks out, the wood of the porch creaking under his movements. “So, you like it?”
Derek keeps himself from saying he liked it from seeing the couple of photos on the website Stiles linked him to; he feels a bit pathetic thinking that but being in the cottage definitely seals the deal for him. It’s a cozy, open space filled with light and tasteful furniture, and bookshelves running along the wall separating the kitchen and the living-room. There’s also a fireplace, and a pile of firewood by the side of the house, and plush rugs in the living-room Derek can’t wait to dig his toes into while reading. It’s exactly what he’s been wanting, far enough from the town that he’s not disturbed by anything else than the sounds of Nature all around, but close enough to only be a short drive to the town center and the stores.
“Yeah, I definitely like it.”
Stiles claps once, rubbing his hands together with a grin. “Great! I should probably leave you to it, then, I promised my dad I’d meet him for lunch. Here are your keys,” Stiles finishes, handing over a key ring. Derek grabs it and their fingers brush for a second, which does not do anything to Derek. He is not a pubescent boy.
“Enjoy lunch, then. And thanks again,” Derek says with a smile, pocketing the keys. He follows Stiles back to the front door and they stay here for a moment longer, looking at each other from either side of the door, stupid smiles on their faces.
“And you enjoy your vacation. Don’t let anything ruin it for you, okay? I added a couple of books to your list because I think you’ll really like them, and when you’re done you can always bring them back. The return-your-books scheme is working really well, by the way; I’ve barely had to restock since I put it in place, and people are super happy with the idea. It makes them feel vintage, or something. I don’t know, I just know it works and people are even talking about it on the web and all. On the internet, Derek!”
Derek laughs, way too amused and taken by the way Stiles looks completely enraptured by the whole thing, like the internet is this magical place full of mysteries. It’s Derek’s job to understand these mysteries, after all.
“I’m glad it’s working. People would be stupid not to take you upon it, though, it’s a great idea. People never have space anymore in San Francisco anyway, so you’re helping them just as much as they’re helping you.”
Stiles nods, tapping a rhythm with his fingers over his thigh. “Thanks again for the idea. It’s great for business. Anyway, I should let you get your vacation started. You wanted peace and quiet, not my yammering!”
Derek leans his head against the door, his stomach in his throat when he speaks next, “I don’t actually mind your yammering.”
Stiles opens his mouth, and closes it again, his lips turning up into a smile. “Well. That’s – good. I’ll huh; I’ll see you later? Soon?”
Derek nods. “Soon.”
;;
Derek spends his first day turning everything off; he unplugs the TV from the wall and turns his phone off, pushes it to the very bottom of his bag. He hasn’t brought a charger, hasn’t brought his laptop, decided to completely disconnect himself from work and real life. He’s determined to make the most of his week away by staying away from everything he knows, and not get stressed by what ifs and could bes. It’ll be all there for him when he goes back to the office.
Once he’s taken care of the electronics, he makes himself a cup of coffee and sits in the middle of the living room, on the rug, and opens the bag of books half purchased from Adventure Time, and half given by Stiles. Another Verne, Good Omens and a couple of Discworld books, On The Road, by Jack Kerouak. Stiles has added David Mitchell’s Cloud Atlas, Peter Brett’s The Painted Man, and, surprisingly enough, The Time Traveler’s Wife, by Audrey Niffenegger, which Derek is sure is a tearjerker aimed at middle-aged women.
But Stiles has stuck a post-it on the cover, saying don’t knock it until you tried it, so Derek puts it in his pile with a grin as his third book to read, starting with Good Omens and Cloud Atlas.
Then he arranges the bedroom, unpacking some of his stuff and changing the bed sheets out of habit, before hauling some firewood to the side of the fireplace in both living room and bedroom for later.
Only after being completely satisfied with the set up of the house does Derek allow himself to stop. He makes himself another coffee before grabbing Good Omens as he lays on the couch, stretching to his full height, feet propped up on the opposite arm, head cushioned by a couple of fluffy pillows. The sofa is ridiculously comfortable, plump all around Derek’s body, and it’s a million times better than Derek’s own at home, fake leather too noisy and too stiff. He’s been saving to be able to buy himself a real leather club chair, with an ottoman, when he got promoted, but he’s far off still – these chairs are incredibly expensive.
This couch is not a La-Z-Boy but it’s as close as right now, when Derek’s muscles are tense from everyday stress and his mind is filled with the worries and annoyances of life in the big city. Here, and now, time and space don’t matter, money doesn’t matter; all that matters is Derek. And Derek finds he likes that.
He reads for a couple of hours, takes his time with the book, savoring the cleverness of the writing, but something keeps on grating, right there at the edges of his mind, reminding him of other times where he’d fell completely and utterly into books, lost hours of his life just reading, having to be shaken out of it. This doesn’t happen here; Derek is all too conscious of the wind blowing in the trees outside, the tick tock of the clock in the kitchen, the creaks and cracks of the house. He’s focused on the words he’s reading but he’s not losing himself in them, and it’s allowing a small grain of irritation to grow slightly bigger with time passing.
It’s like an itch under his skin; some sort of memory he can’t make heads or tails of, but that means something, that pushed him into this, now, that shaped the past month or so in his life. Like an idea, vague and blurry and moving about, but something Derek knows means warmth, and content, and safe, somehow, safe just like his mother’s hugs used to feel when he was a little boy. He can’t let go of the world like he has before, like he remember doing, like maybe it’s not so much connected to the books he’s been reading but where he’s been, who he’s been with.
In the end, Derek gives up, plugs the TV back on, and watches mindless shows until he falls asleep. It’s far from satisfying.
;;
Groceries shopping is, Derek admits, a necessary evil. He’s planning on stocking enough ramen and beer to survive the week without having to leave the cottage again if he doesn’t feel like it, but the contents of his cart are getting him some weird looks from moms-of-two and the pair of old men chatting about horse races by the potatoes, which Derek takes in stride. Maybe they may have another reason to stare than his dubious choice of diet; Stiles explained to him that Beacon Hills is a quiet place where there aren’t that many visitors.
Squaring his shoulders, Derek ignores the looks as he chooses some coffee, then turns around to grab some Doritos and three different types of cookies, dropping them unceremoniously in his cart. He’s planned on doing some cardio and work-outs while staying at the cottage, so he doesn’t even feel bad about dropping the strict diet he usually sticks to.
He’s determined to let go, but he keeps on thinking about all the different little things he would be doing if he was in his usual routine: work better, make sure to exercise three times a week if not more, keep from drinking too much, keep caffeine intake down so as to not punch coworkers, sleep a solid seven hours a night. And it makes him feel boring, and old, and unadventurous – he wants to shake it all off him, peel it off like another layer of skin he can leave behind and forget about, if only for a week. It’s surprisingly hard, but he’s only been at it for a day and a half, surely he can get there.
“Hey, Derek!”
Derek turns around, finding himself face to face with Stiles, a box of rice dangling from one hand and, huh, a child in his arms. This is not exactly something that Derek expected to see, and he blinks a few times, his hands holding onto his cart tighter than they were a second ago.
“Stiles, hi,” he manages in the end, swallowing around the bile in his throat. He’s an idiot for thinking maybe Stiles was interested in him as more than a customer, than possibly at the very best a friend. Obviously Derek is way out of his league here.
Stiles grins down at the kid currently playing with the lapel of his jacket, completely uninterested in what’s happening around him, “This is George, my godson. George, say hi?”
A wave of relief washes over Derek in such a rush that his chest feels like it’s breaking, and he finds himself suddenly grinning at the boy when he turns to look at Derek and wave a hand.
“Hi, George. I’m Derek.”
“Derek is my friend from the city, G. He’s pretty great.”
Derek barely manages to keep in the gargled sound that threatens to spill out of his lips, looking away quickly and counting to ten before speaking again. He has no idea what he’s ever done to be granted this compliment, mostly haunting the maze-like Adventure Time like a lost soul while Stiles takes him travelling in places of wonder through his books and his passion for them. Really, out of the two of them, Stiles is the one deserving of the praise.
“How come you’re not back in Frisco?” He asks Stiles, trying his best to keep the stupid grin off his face.
“Oh, well, I wanted to spend some time with George and his parents – my best friend Scott is his dad. He and Allison – his wife – jumped on the fact that I was around to foist George on me. It’s their anniversary on Wednesday, so I thought I’d stick around for a while and offer to baby-sit. And my dad complains he never sees me enough, so it felt like as good a time as any.”
Stiles suddenly eyes the contents of Derek’s cart, which makes Derek want to cover it all with a tarp and pretend he’s buying all sorts of healthy shit. He lets out a nervous chuckle, scratching the side of his throat.
“Looks like you’re having a healthy week.”
“I’m trying the whole...letting go thing. Not worry about everything. I can’t seem to be able to get lost in a book like I manage at the bookstore, though.”
Stiles makes a noise, shrugging a shoulder. George is babbling at them in his own baby-speak, which makes Derek grin at him. He hopes he doesn’t look wolfish to the kid, he’s not very used to smiling. Or to kids.
“You might want to give it some time, to acclimate and all. I’m sure you’ll manage. Are you enjoying the cottage?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Very peaceful. Awesome couch, too.”
Stiles grins, turning his attention to George for a moment, and the funny feeling in Derek’s stomach comes back full force as he watches Stiles whisper something to the boy, sweeping his free hand through George’s curls. It looks – it looks like a family does, like Derek himself has not known in so long. It looks comfortable and easy, like something Derek yearns for sometimes, even though he doesn’t like to admit it.
Stiles looks at Derek again, all bright eyes and happy grin. “Awesome! So glad you enjoy it, it really is a nice place to stay at.”
“Definitely. And speaking of which, I should probably head back. Don’t want to keep you, you probably have a lot of people to see.”
“Oh, no, not really. Just Lydia and Danny, but we’ve made plans already. I should probably try to get this little one to have a nap, though.”
“Yeah...yeah. Okay. By the way, I started on Good Omens – I understand why it’s a cult book.”
Stiles’ eyes light up. “It’s great, isn’t it? My, I love this book, it’s so funny and crazy. All of Pratchett, really. Can’t get enough.”
“Yeah, I got a few others to read. My dad was into them when I was a kid, but I never got around to read them myself. Better late than never, right?”
“Oh, totally! You’ll love them!”
And this is how Stiles ends up walking with Derek to the cashiers, holding George close to him as he digs in his pockets for enough change for that box of rice he’s buying, and they keep on chatting all through the two of them getting their shopping sorted, until they’re in the parking lot, until Derek’s done loading his groceries into the boot of his Camaro.
“So basically what I’m saying is that comics are just as good as books sometimes, and parents shouldn’t tell their kids to learn to read real books, comics work too.”
“All right. I’ve always had the impression that comics don’t hold the same literary substance than books but hey, you’re the expert here,” Derek winks at Stiles as he says it, pulling open the driver’s door of his car.
“I’ll prove it to you, you’ll see,” Stiles lets out, almost vehemently, daring, and Derek grins.
“Deal,” he replies, slipping into the driver’s seat of his car and into his sunglasses, before starting the engine. He waves at George, feeling suddenly invincible. “Bye, Stiles.”
Stiles smiles, taps his hand against the hood of the car. “Bye, Derek.”
;;
He starts reading; it’s distinctly about love and Derek isn’t sure he understands Clare’s feelings at the very first words, because he’s never felt this way and has no idea if he ever will. The thought alone makes his chest tighten – it’s something he does want, when he allows himself to think about it, and it’s something his mother and sister would have wanted for him, too. But teenage infatuation does not equal love, even if he thought so at the time, and now he doesn’t even have a family to love unconditionally like he used to. Maybe that’s what the hole in his chest craves, something that feels like family, and companionship, and people Derek can talk about everything and anything without being judged for it. Maybe that’s all there is to it.
Maybe he should write a book about his experience, about the trials of living alone with Laura when he was just seventeen and heartbroken, how losing his parents as a teen and Laura as a young adult turned his life upside down so quick and so hard he’s still unsure if he’s got his feet back on the ground now that he’s 28, a proper adult with taxes and bills and a career. There are days he can barely get out of bed, and days where his only wish is to be able to talk to his dad, but he gets over it, he moves past it. And maybe that’s why he’s confused by Clare’s feelings, but Derek pushes through, determined to give this book a shot, even if love stories are usually a genre he tries to avoid. Stiles recommended this book to Derek, which makes Derek want to like it, if only because he hates the beaten puppy look Stiles gets when he’s disappointed.
Derek is in 1991 when there’s a knock on the door, and Derek raises an eyebrow as he walks to the door, book still in hand, his thumb keeping it open at the page he was reading. Stiles greets him when Derek opens the door, a six-pack in one hand, a pack of comics in the other, and an uncertain smile on his face.
“Hi! I hope I’m not bothering you, I’m sorry to barge in, I probably should have called, thinking about it. It’s just that I kept thinking about our talk on comics and I thought I’d bring you some that I think are awesome, so maybe I could change your mind, and then I thought I should probably also bring beer, because that’s only polite, so, um. Yeah. Hi?”
Derek grins, unable to help himself, and opens the door wider to let Stiles in. He’s stupidly happy to see Stiles here, with his flaily arms and his stream of consciousness explanations, and his comics, and he’s been thinking about Derek. It’s all pleasing to Derek, and he doesn’t mind the break in his peace and quiet for a single moment.
“Hi, Stiles. Come on in,” he answers, gesturing at the living-room. Stiles steps in gingerly, toes off his battered Converses and walks into the living-room, turning to look at Derek.
“Are you sure I’m not bothering? I can come back another day! Or give you these when you’re back in Frisco.”
“It’s fine, Stiles, really. You’re not bothering me.” Derek smiles, hoping he’s looking sincere. He doesn’t want Stiles to leave so quickly. Stiles nods then, moving to the kitchen. Derek listens to some cling and clatter as he sits on the couch, and Stiles comes back with two open beers.
“Here.”
“Thanks.”
Stiles tilts his head, pointing at the book in Derek’s hand.
“So what do you think?”
Derek shrugs, turning the book over. “Not sure yet, I’m not far along. It’s not my usual genre of book.”
“Oh I know, I didn’t think I was going to like it either, but then I stayed up all night reading it cover to cover, it’s so enthralling. And sad. But I thought you’d appreciate the ethereal and bittersweet tone of it, and also, Henry, as a character. I think you'll like him. Feel free to tell me I’m wrong!”
Derek smiles. “I probably should read some more of it, first.”
Stiles nods, solemn. “You definitely should. Know what, it’s been a while since I’ve read these comics myself, so you were doing that before I came in, and I don’t want to keep you from it, and it was the main reason for your vacation, so please, read.”
“No, it’s fine, I can wait –“
“Seriously. You know, I’m staying at Scott and Allison’s at the moment, because my dad is like, in this new relationship and I don’t really want to be walking in on them canoodling, or whatever, while I’ve been walking in on Scott and Alli since high school. So yeah, I’m staying with them, and George, and that house is loud, okay; with the addition of little old me, there is barely any moment of quiet there and I’m so used to the bookstore and how peaceful there I’m going a bit stir-crazy in that house, so really I wouldn’t mind an evening of reading and calm. If that’s okay with you, of course?”
Derek feels winded again, another one of Stiles’ speeches that leaves him wanting more and at the same time, completely overwhelmed. He opens and closes his mouth.
“Yeah, of course it’s okay with me.”
Stiles grins, beaming. He clicks his bottle of beer against Derek’s. “Awesome.”
;;
It’s 1977 and Derek is in the Meadow, cold and hungry and naked. There are no clothes in a box hiding under a stone, which means it’s a time before he’s met Clare, which is worrying, painful. There’s a stab of something he doesn’t understand in his chest, and when she appears, a child running to the clearing still wearing her school uniform, the pain untangles itself from Derek’s heart and stomach, makes it easier to breathe.
He hides, but she sees him, hears him. When she looks up and stares right at him, Derek can’t help but associate her features, that of a child, with someone he knows; Stiles. Her jaw is sharp and her cheeks are round and her eyes are kind over a nose that turns up at the end, freckles dusted over her face. She looks like a childlike version of Stiles, a feminine version of him. Derek stays in the shadows.
She throws a shoe at him, makes him bleed, but she keeps talking to him as he tries to explain to her who he is, what he’s doing here. Time-travel, and she tells him he’s a liar but she still hands him her towel, lets him sit not too far away from her. She also gives him some chocolate, and shows him her penmanship. He goes away after asking her if she’d bring him some pants, next time, and she watches him go uncertainly.
He comes back and goes away; they meet in the same timeframe and, as an adult, Clare looks even more like Stiles, big brown eyes that shine brightly in the sunset and Derek is intensely in love with her, visits her as a child, as a teenager; before surgery and for their wedding, he comes and goes and watches her lose too many unborn children, hurts more with every tear she refuses to shed. Alba is beautiful, though, the most beautiful little girl, with Clare’s eyes and Derek’s nose, a solemn little human that Derek doesn’t get to see grow up like he wants to.
This is love, tearing Derek apart every moment he’s away from Clare, breaking him up further when he cannot give her what she needs from him. He wishes he could stay, be consistent to her and not be the fickle time-traveling husband she ends up with. He wants more for her, he wants the whole world for her, but she doesn’t let go, ever. This is love.
;;
When Derek wakes up, The Time Traveler’s Wife is closed over his lap, his legs are resting at odd angles on the couch, and Stiles is sleeping on his shoulder, snoring lightly. The fire has burned itself to ashes, and sunlight is streaming through the windows. Derek doesn’t remember going to sleep.
He moves just enough to put the book down on the arm of the couch, but Stiles jerks awake, snorting a breath loudly as he jolts up, looking around as if he’s wondering where he is. Then his eyes meet Derek’s and he blinks a few times, a soft smile gracing his features. “Hey, hi,” he says softly, his hand reaching to wipe at Derek’s arm where he’s been sleeping.
“Morning,” Derek replies, before frowning and trying to find a clock. “I think.”
Stiles snorts and looks down at his wrist. “Morning, yeah. It’s about 9:30 am. Hey, did you finish the book?”
“Yeah. Don’t even remember falling asleep. I was so into it.”
Stiles beams at him. “Told ya! I mean, if you liked it, right?”
“Oh, I liked it. It was very…intense.”
If that’s the right word. Derek lived the book through and through as he read it, like he experienced it all, like a punch in the gut, a bullet in the chest. He feels destroyed by the story and how deeply it touched him, and he keeps thinking that he doesn’t have any time to waste. It’s like the book gave him a sense of urgency; every moment counts when it comes to love and family. It’s funny how Stiles feels like love and family.
“Yeah, yeah, intense is the word for it. I’ve read it like, five times. I get so sucked in by the strength of it, you know?”
Derek nods, because he’s at a loss for words looking into Stiles’ eyes and how obvious it is that he believes love like this exists, making Derek want to believe it too.
For a while they just sit there in silence, content, until Derek finds his words back. “Breakfast?”
Stiles raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t buy any breakfast food at the supermarket.”
“I had some pancake mix left in my apartment in San Francisco. My roommate wasn’t going to make them so I took it with me.”
“Pancakes! Amazing!” Stiles actually lights up at the offer, which – it’s only pancake mix, Derek is not offering a big homemade breakfast, but he’ll do anything for that smile. And Stiles is the first one up and pulling at Derek’s hand, dragging him to the kitchen and going right for the coffee pot. They move around each other easily, like they’ve been doing this for years; Derek tries to avoid Boyd in the kitchen at all times, so it’s not like he’s used to it, but moving around Stiles is simple, and bumping into each other only makes them grin and chuckle and keep on.
There are a pile of pancakes and a pot of coffee on the table before they even feel the need to say anything else, and Derek is surprised to be the one to initiate conversation, but the words are threatening to hurt if he doesn’t get them out.
“Hey, Stiles, I wanted to say – thank you. For last night. I’ve been looking to get back into this frame of mind, where I could really get lost in a book, and you got me there when I wasn’t expecting it anymore. So thanks.”
Stiles considers Derek for a moment, surprisingly not saying anything, just leaning against the fridge and looking at Derek until he strides forward, closing the distance between them. He closes his fingers around the collar of Derek’s shirt and when he pulls, Derek goes, their lips meeting just as easily as everything else this morning has been. Stiles’ lips move against Derek’s like he’s shaping words, like he can’t help it, and it makes Derek smile, move into it, using his body to push Stiles against the side of the fridge and keep him there, the kiss a little frantic, definitely making Derek lose track of time.
It ends in a chuckle, Derek’s hands on Stiles hips and Stiles arched into Derek, the two of them slotted like two pieces of a puzzle Derek has tried to solve for most of his life without managing. And now that he’s there and it feels right, he can’t help but laugh and allow Stiles to nip at his bottom lip, a frown on his face.
“What, what, did I do something wrong? Something funny?” He asks, looking concerned, and Derek moves half a step closer, his thigh right between Stiles’ legs.
“No, no. You did everything right.” It’s not something Derek wants to say; should say, probably, but he can’t quite help himself, and watching the look of worry melt off of Stiles’ face is enough for Derek not to regret them.
Stiles grins. “Good.”
;;
When knocking wakes Derek up on Tuesday morning, his fourth day at the cottage, he stumbles down the stairs while pulling on a shirt, bleary eyed as he tugs at the waistband of his sweats to make sure they’re in place. He’s barely opened the door that Stiles is striding forward, curling a hand around Derek’s neck and pulling him in a brief, dry kiss that makes Derek hold onto the door handle a little tight. Stiles smells of crisp autumn air and damp leaves, and his cheeks are red when he smiles at Derek, bright.
“Morning! I bring you goodies,” he declares, holding his hand up to show a bag of pastries. “I admit, I bought them for breakfast with my dad, but he got an urgent call so he couldn’t stay.”
Derek grins, his stomach rumbling at the warm smell of freshly baked food. “Lucky me.”
He pulls back so that Stiles can step inside the house properly, and closes the door behind him as Stiles takes off his shoes, shuffling inside the house, right to the kitchen; if it was anyone else stepping in Derek’s space he probably would feel uncomfortable with it, but here it just feels right to be woken up by Stiles, to share breakfast and chuckles before nine am. He’s happy Stiles had gone after their first morning together to spend time with his family and friends, because it’s a vacation for him too and he’s got other people to spend time with than Derek, but Derek would be lying if he didn’t admit to wishing he’d gone to sleep with Stiles again.
He’s getting plates while Stiles fiddles with the coffee maker when Stiles speaks up. “By the way, do you want to come for dinner at Scott and Allison’s tonight? They’d like to meet you.”
When Derek looks up, his eyes meet Stiles’, hopeful and slightly pleading. Derek’s no good with social – anything – but the way Stiles is looking at him is making it hard to say no. He really is a sucker for Stiles, it's obvious how weak Stiles makes Derek, willing to give him about anything to make him happy. It’s not a feeling Derek is used to, but it’s making his chest feel tight and warm, fills a void in his stomach that is hungry for more.
“Yeah, okay. But you can’t blame me if I kill the conversation with awkwardness,” Derek replies, pointing a finger at Stiles, who laughs as he takes hold of it, moving closer to Derek.
“You’ll be fine. They’re great, they just want to know about this guy I keep talking about.”
Derek raises an eyebrow at that, wiggling his finger in Stiles’ grasp. “Oh really?”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Yeah, they know all about this ugly guy who kept on harassing me at work,” he says with an amused voice, moving close enough to Derek that Derek is leaning on the kitchen table, Stiles right there against his front.
“Sounds like a charmer,” Derek lets out, his voice lower than usual. He runs his fingers up the back of Stiles neck, scratching blunt nails against Stiles’ scalp, smiling when Stiles closes his eyes, leaning into the touch.
“Hmmrrmm,” is Stiles answer, and fuck it, fuck breakfast, Derek can barely keep his own groan in check as he moves forward and kisses Stiles, already feeling a little breathless. Stiles responds in kind, his fingers digging into Derek’s hips as he moans, pushes his tongue against Derek’s and wraps an arm around Derek’s neck, pulling himself as close as he can, overwhelming Derek in the best way possible.
Stiles breaks the kiss as Derek’s brain gets stuck on a loop of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, chasing after him, lips curving over Stiles’ jaw when he tilts his head back, letting out a low, throaty groan, his fingers opening and closing into Derek’s shoulder. “Oh my God, Derek, you need to fuck me.”
Stiles punctuates his words with a roll of his hips that is more than telling, and Derek pulls back, amazed by how big Stiles’ eyes are, and Jesus Christ he’s not about to say no to this. They’ve been dancing around it since that first kiss, since before that really, and Derek is not going to deny himself when Stiles asked so nicely. Stiles smiles, bumping his nose against Derek’s, and Derek realizes he hasn’t said anything yet.
“We don’t have to, you know, it’s okay if you don’t want to,” Stiles says, looking so genuinely okay with that turn of events that it twists Derek’s insides dry.
“I want to, Jesus, I do, you have no idea,” Derek replies, a little out of breath and smiling stupidly big, and he doesn’t waste a single second more, pulling Stiles to him, the two of them walking through the cottage, up the stairs, stopping long enough for kisses, for bruises bitten into skin, moans muffled against palms and collarbones. There’s no way Derek is fucking Stiles for the first time anywhere other than a bed, he’s got manners and he’s not going to debauch the pastries he’s still planning on eating later.
Stiles launches himself on the mattress with a laugh when they get into the bedroom, bouncing on it a couple of times before holding his hand out to Derek, looking so damn wanton and eager Derek blows out a loud breath, crossing the space to the bed and kneeling on it, shuffling closer, Stiles bracketing him with his legs as their fingers tangle by the side of his head. Stiles grins up at Derek, fingers squeezing, and Derek kisses him, unable not to.
Stiles is surprisingly quiet as Derek peels his clothes off him, pliant and enthusiastic in how he touches Derek, pulls his t-shirt up his arms and off in small, jerky movements; the way he runs his hands over Derek’s ribs and chest. He looks at Derek with his lips parted and his eyes bright, gasps when Derek leans down and nips at the flesh of his stomach, and Derek feels muscles tense under his mouth, licks his way up to a nipple, grinning at the way Stiles arches against him.
Stiles’ jeans and boxers are shucked away, followed by Derek’s sweats, and Stiles lets out a low groan when he realizes Derek had gone commando, which makes Derek smile somewhat sheepishly. “You woke me up this morning,” he says by way of explanation, and Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up.
“Which means you sleep naked?”
“I run hot.”
Stiles laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he rakes his fingers up Derek’s thigh to his hip, settling in the dip there. “Yeah, you can say that. Jesus, Derek.”
Derek isn’t about to play innocent; he works out a lot and it’s for a range of reasons, and the look on Stiles’ face as his eyes flit up and down his body is definitely one of them. He guesses that moving stacks of books around is enough of a workout for Stiles, and he doesn’t need more, his body toned and tense in a multitude of amazing ways that Derek wants to explore, look and touch and smell and kiss.
He doesn’t say anything in answer to Stiles’ soft whisper, instead Derek kisses Stiles, open mouthed and filthy, groaning when Stiles pulls him closer, their thighs slotting together as the world fades away, ending at the edges of the bed, ending at the end of Stiles. Every press of Stiles’ hands or mouth make Derek feel this much more alive, shaking off that shell he continuously builds around himself, unnecessary protection around Stiles, who’s so open and genuine and wants Derek, whole.
Slick-slip slide of skin against skin, wet growls and these chuckles that escape Stiles from time to time when Derek brushes his fingers against a ticklish part of his body, it all leads to Derek burying his face into Stiles’ shoulder as they roll their hips into one another, a solid rhythm that only stutters when Stiles grabs a handful of Derek’s hair, a thrill of pain shooting down Derek’s spine.
“Maybe I’m losing my mind because,” Stiles pauses when Derek bucks his hips into Stiles’, a sharp move that has them both groaning, “this is, really nice, but I’m sure we talked about fucking earlier. Am I losing my mind? Because I still would really like it if you’d fuck me, like, now, and I'm not too proud to beg. I beg very well, I’ve been told.”
Derek stomach bottoms out at the words, because he’s only human, and he groans against Stiles’ cheek, eyes forcefully closed.
“No begging, don’t think I could take it.”
Stiles runs a hand over Derek’s jaw, fingers dragging through the four-days stubble there. “Okay. But you do need to fuck me now.”
Derek nods, reluctantly disentangling himself from Stiles, who flops back on the bed, starfish spread and looking way too inviting for Derek not to hurry to the bathroom. He grabs lube and condoms from his toiletries and he’s barely keeping himself from running back, throwing the items by Stiles’ side when he gets back to the bed, his hands curling around Stiles’ calves and moving up slowly, coarse hairs under his fingertips. Stiles sighs, relaxes in the touch, rolls his shoulders in the mattress as Derek kisses his way up along his hip, one of his hands reaching up to stroke Stiles’ cock, a lazy loose movements.
“Okay okay I said no begging but you’re asking for it now, Derek, c’mon,” Stiles says in a rush of breath, and Derek moves back, kneels back between Stiles’ legs, lubing up his fingers with Stiles’ hungry gaze all over him.
Stiles go quiet again when Derek pushes a first finger inside him, slow and steady, observing Stiles’ features for any sign that he should stop, but Stiles goes slack after a moment, lips bitten red, eyes hooded as he watches Derek watch him. He moves his hips in lazy circles, three of his fingers trapped between the back of Derek’s thigh and his calf, like a brand right into Derek’s flesh. They slip away as sweat builds up, skin shiny in the October cold sunshine of their Californian morning.
And then is no sense of urgency as Derek works a second and third finger in, slow steady rhythm that he thinks he’s going to be able to maintain, until Stiles decides he’s had enough anyway and he suddenly moves up, sitting up as Derek’s fingers slip out of him, surprise halting his movements. Stiles smiles, sinful, and straddles Derek’s thighs, arms wrapped around Derek as Stiles kisses him wet and loud, cock leaking over Derek’s stomach.
“’M ready, ready, c’mon Derek, want you inside me,” Stiles pants between kisses, sounding breathless and a little crazy and it punches Derek right in the stomach, making his gut twist as he reaches for a condom and slips it on with trembling fingers. Stiles lets out a moan, a soft desperate noise that turns into a shiver down Derek’s back, electrifying. Stiles takes hold of Derek’s cock, fingers slipping along Derek’s own, and together they guide Derek inside Stiles, impossibly hot and tight, making Derek choke on his next breath.
Derek is not used to not being in control; every hour of every day control is something he strives for, more comfortable when he knows exactly what’s happening and where he’s going, who he’s seeing and what he has to say to them. Control in his job, in his workouts, in his diet, in every aspect of his life, is what helps him make sense of every day with no one around to help him out. But Stiles has shaken that to the core, allowing Derek to lose control every time they’ve found themselves together, losing track of time and space so many times, and now is another time where Derek is letting control slip away from his fingers like Stiles’ sweat-slicked skin, as Stiles rides him and decides on the rhythm and pace, his head thrown back and his fingers digging blunt nails into Derek’s shoulders.
All of the noises he’s letting out, too, he’s not in control of, the groans and grunts he buries in Stiles’ neck and collarbones, his muscles clenched as he holds Stiles and fucks up into him when Stiles’ movements falter, the two of them working together, and it’s unbearably hot, how Stiles looks and sounds, how he grips desperately at Derek’s hair and how he pants in his ear, how his hand joins Derek’s over his cock, skin burning up. They jerk Stiles off together, off rhythm with Derek’s thrusts, but it’s okay, it’s okay when Stiles clenches his muscles around Derek’s cock and makes him dizzy for a second; and when Stiles comes all over Derek’s chest he trembles and holds on tight as Derek tilts them back on the bed, Stiles under him. Derek fucks into Stiles hard and fast for a few beats, Stiles’ moans music to his ears as his orgasm takes hold of him, a white hot wave of pleasure washing over him and leaving him wrung out, panting over Stiles’ chest.
Derek blinks sweat out of his eyes, listening to Stiles’ beat a mile a second right under his ear, making him smile satisfyingly. They’re filthy but Derek could care less when Stiles’ finger is tracing random patterns over his shoulder blade, and when Derek looks up, he meets Stiles’ smile.
“Well,” he says, his hand moving up to Derek’s hair. “I think we can safely say we’re pretty fucking good at this.”
Derek laughs, dragging himself up to kiss Stiles, even though his now soft cock slips out of Stiles, making them both wince lightly. “Let’s not talk about that during dinner tonight, though.”
“Spoilsport.”
;;
Turns out that dinner at Scott and Allison’s also involves Lydia and Danny, who show up five minutes after Stiles and Derek with looks expressing that they’re only here to grill-the-new-beau, if that’s something Derek can call himself.
Which is not to say they’re not fun – Scott is suspicious in a way only best friends can afford to be, but Derek warms up to him when he sees how he looks at his wife Allison, who is all angles and bright smiles and hugs, and she smells like baby powder and Derek likes her instantly when she comes in for a hug. Lydia is gorgeous and pouty, standoffish enough that Derek knows she and Stiles have baggage between the two of them, but she’s still charming and shakes Derek’s hand firmly, smiling a little like Stiles does. Danny is the all-American boy, tall and warm and sweet, bringing a pie and a huge grin as he greets Derek and says, welcome to the family with dimples in his cheeks.
Stiles bumps Derek’s hip as they make their way into the living-room, grinning at him. “See, told you they’re not scary,” he whispers, making Derek chuckle.
“Not sure Lydia doesn’t want to gouge my eyes out, actually,” Derek replies, and it’s Stiles’ turn to laugh, shaking his head.
“Well, yeah, she is pretty scary. You’ve got nothing to worry about though, she’s just protective.”
“You mean you two didn’t date?”
“Oh, God, no. I had this huge crush on her for the longest time, but then it sort of...faded. I dated Danny, though.”
Derek raises an eyebrow, whistling low under his breath. “Well, look at you, stud.”
Stiles laughs again, louder this time, and pushes Derek inside the living-room and back into the fray. The conversation is revolving about current news at current jobs, and quickly Derek tells them all about his job, and his career, and how much he enjoys it, while he tries to throw questions back, asking about Danny’s PE teacher and coaching job, Lydia’s research lab, Scott’s nursing and Allison’s currently on hold kindergarten teacher career; and they tell him things he already knew anyway, when Stiles started talking about them, but he listens and nods and smiles and takes it all in.
“Have you met Stiles’ dad yet?” Scott asks him after a while, when they’re on the main course and George has fallen asleep on his knee. Derek flushes, shaking his head. Scott is the only one who still seems a bit wary, like he’s still trying to gauge Derek, make sure he’s good enough for Stiles; Derek doesn’t blame him exactly, but he finds it funny when even Lydia warmed up to him after ten minutes.
“No, I haven’t.”
“He’s a good guy. He’ll blow your kneecaps off if he has to, though.”
Derek chuckles. “Yeah, well, I think it’s something a lot of parents are willing to do,” he says slowly, a lump in his throat that he hopes he manages to cover up.
“Yeah, yours too?” Scott sounds more sympathetic this time, an encouraging smile on his face. Derek bites the inside of his lip, before answering. Fuck this, he’s not going to lie and pretend, not about this.
“Wouldn’t know, my parents died when I was sixteen. Didn’t get to introduce my then-girlfriend to them, and she was the first girl I’ve dated seriously. But if I had to guess, I’d say my mom wouldn’t have hesitated.”
Scott opens his mouth as Derek picks up on the sudden silence around them, but it’s Stiles that speaks up next, a hand on Derek’s thigh, warm and reassuring. “Derek, I’m sorry.”
It strikes Derek that it’s really not how he would have liked to tell Stiles about his parents, but what’s done is done, and he smiles, squeezing Stiles’ fingers in his own. He’s not mad, nor upset; it’s a feeling he’s long been used to now.
“It’s fine,” looking around, Derek gestures at Stiles’ friends. “It’s fine, please keep eating. See, Stiles? Told you I’d manage to kill the conversation.”
Stiles chuckles, not embarrassed or awkward, and gently pushes the conversation into another corner, his hand still resting on Derek’s leg. Soon enough the clatter and buzz of conversation is back on, and Derek finds himself trading baseball data with Danny while talk about birthdays and parties fly around them. Before dessert he’s invited to Lydia’s luscious birthday bash and also to come for Thanksgiving if he can.
And for the first time in a long time, Derek feels like he might manage to find his own kind of family.
;;
Derek spends the next three days between the depths of Ankh-Morpork and the Disc with Rincewind and spending time with Stiles, a blurry haze edge between the two sometimes, like he’s living the books or dreaming Stiles. It’s a safe place, though, and many times he jerks out of a story to find himself with his legs resting on Stiles’ lap as Stiles reads his own book, a hand wrapped around one of Derek’s calves.
It’s companionship, the place still quiet and peaceful like Derek wanted it to be, his nights full and long, but he’s not alone in his space and he doesn’t feel crowded either. He and Stiles just move together effortlessly, in a way Derek has only known with Laura, after long practice. It’s not perfect; Stiles is messy where Derek isn’t and Derek is pessimistic where Stiles isn’t, and they both have habits that they have to curb, being in the same space so much. It’s only been three days but Derek has a feeling he can accept that Stiles doesn’t mind going for a piss while Derek is brushing his teeth, and he’s glad Stiles hasn’t been complaining about his own hogging the covers bad habit.
It’s little things, little things that matter and feel good or not-so-good, it’s sitting together in the couch in the evening with the fire crackling and all the electronics off, books over their laps but they chat for a while; Stiles talks about his mother a lot, and it helps Derek talk about his parents, too, the things he remembers vividly and the things that are starting to fade. They talk about Laura too, just a little bit – that pain is fresher in Derek’s mind and it hurts more. Stiles goes on and on about Scott, and Lydia, and Derek gets that they’re his family just as much as his father is, and he listens and absorbs everything he can because it matters to Stiles and since it matters to Stiles, it matters to Derek.
They curl up together and it might have been only a couple of months since Derek met Stiles, but it’s like he’s found a way back to trust and communication and getting himself out of this glass house he’s been keeping himself in, on the inside of his own head looking out but unable to reach for anything, anyone. Stiles had broken down a wall with his story-telling voice and his smiles and his books, his multitude of books that sparked Derek’s imagination again, lit a flame in his mind and told Derek it was okay to let go sometimes. Stiles showed him it was okay to be a child at times, to give up the stress and the struggles, just enjoy a well-written story, live adventures, fight pirates and go to the Moon and fall in love through words, weaved together expertly like ink on Derek’s skin. Somehow, everything he’s read since he met Stiles he’s experienced, lived through and through, every bullet going right through his flesh, every tear soaking his own clothes, every laugh ringing in his ears.
It might only have been a couple of months since Derek met Stiles, but in those couple of months, he’s seen, touched, laughed, cried and felt more than he had in years.
;;
So it’s not as much routine as it’s guts and blood and laugh lines and soft snores and texts in the middle of the afternoon and sometimes radio silence for a couple of days, but Derek tumbles into it easily. He takes it in stride even when it scares the shit out of him, because he goes to Scott and Allison’s for Thanksgiving with Stiles a month later, and he meets Stiles’ father, feels like he is part of something again, and he doesn’t to fight it, he doesn’t want to not have this again now that he does.
He’s wanted a family for so long; tried to fill the gap with a career and too much work, too long hours and not enough sleep, but now he might finally be getting there, building something with Stiles, something easier than he ever thought a relationship could be, even when they fight, even when they don’t talk to each other for days for the pettiest reasons. It’s still easy, and Derek clings to it, content when Stiles clings back just as hard.
They don’t spend Christmas together, Stiles back in Beacon Hills while Derek stays with Boyd and Isaac for a booze-filled night of watching cheesy Christmas movies, like they’ve been doing for the past couple of years. Three kids with no family to go to finding comfort in creating their own traditions, and this year it’s perfect to Derek, because for the first time since Laura died he doesn’t feel lonely over the holidays. Stiles calls him after dinner, full of turkey and his voice sleepy, and Derek reads to him until he hears Stiles snoring in his ear. They fight over the phone the next day, Derek hungover and Stiles stubborn, and they don’t make up until Stiles is back from Beacon Hills, a couple of days before New Years.
New Years, however, is pretty awesome. They end up in Stiles’ dingy little flat with friends and again, too much alcohol, and Stiles kisses Derek sloppy and giggly at midnight, sprawled over him on the couch. Derek doesn’t let him go, and they fall asleep there, wake up under a blanket thrown over them and Isaac curled up in the loveseat a few feet away.
It doesn’t take very long for Derek to start forgetting how he used to live his life before Stiles barged in it.
;;
“Okay, I am officially confused,” Derek announces a Saturday afternoon, sitting cross-legged in his favorite armchair of Adventure Time, and Stiles looks at him from over his shoulder, a hand on a pile of books high as his hip wobbling by his side.
“What about?”
“I just don’t get Extremis,” Derek shrugs as he holds up the comic book with what feels like a baffled expression on his face, which makes Stiles smiles indulgently.
“That storyline isn’t for everybody. You should read the new Hawkeyes instead,” Stiles replies, pointing at the stack of comics on the little side table near the chair Derek is sitting on. There are still Christmas decorations strewn about in the bookstore, some Derek is pretty sure have been up all year long, but it gives the store another layer of character; Derek is to the point where Adventure Time is almost another person in his life, meandering and complicated and sometimes seemingly infinite, a complete entity with its own quirks – Derek is still certain that some corners appear and disappear at will when he’s specifically looking for something.
“I’ve started, now. I just don’t get why anybody likes Tony Stark.”
Stiles gasps, and the pile of books he was keeping steady goes toppling down, making Stiles give Derek a dark look when Derek smiles helplessly, biting his lip as Stiles groans and dives down, trying to save whatever system he had going on there.
“You should not be allowed near comics, I take back what I said before, I was just trying to be hip and trendy and seduce you, comics are not for everybody and obviously if you don’t get the power of Tony’s genius anti-hero selfless sacrifices and issues you should not be allowed to read any.”
Derek laughs into the neck of his sweater as he listens to Stiles grumble on to himself while gathering the books spread around on the floor, going off on a tangent about the art of writing characters and alternate timelines, which lulls Derek as he sits more comfortably in the chair, eyes drifting closed for a while, just enjoying the warmth and quiet of the bookstore. He doesn’t get to completely doze off, though, because it only take a couple of minutes for Stiles to startle Derek back to the moment when he straddles Derek’s lap, curling himself up into Derek’s space. Derek looks at the mess of books on the floor, raising an eyebrow, but he still wraps an arm around Stiles’ middle.
“Did you get bored?”
“You know, me and my attention span.”
“What about potential customers?”
“Hey, I’m alone working in this monster of a store, I can’t get to everything at once, you know? I’m only human,” Stiles replies with a shrug, lifting his head to plant a kiss on Derek’s cheek, hand fitting right under Derek’s jaw.
“Hmm.”
“Speaking of, now that you have been introduced to super-heroes, if you could be one, which one would it be?”
Derek doesn’t need to think long about this because it’s something he’s already pondered in the past, even if he wouldn’t admit it; he’s not quite ready for the constant ribbing. “Black Panther.”
“Oooh, nice. Unusual. I’d have to say though you’d probably look sexy in a Wonder Woman outfit. Black Panther is close to your usual attire, come to think of it.”
“I don’t exactly strut around in a leather condom, Stiles.”
“Close enough,” Stiles replies, earning himself a poke in the side that makes him squirm and laugh, punching Derek in the chest. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it. And before you ask, I’d be Gambit. He’s always been my favorite.”
“Haven’t read much X-Men.”
“Yet. It’s next in my list of things to teach you about .”
“I’m so lucky,” Derek smiles, a little mockingly, and Stiles nods, leaning in to brush his nose against Derek.
“Don’t forget it,” he says, just as the door chime goes off, ringing through the store. Stiles rolls off Derek’s lap gracelessly, just out of Derek’s grasp when he tries to catch him for at least one kiss.
“Customer! Get back to reading, Derek!”
Derek sighs, and picks up his comic book again.
;;
Derek’s stomach twists as he walks to the conference room he’s been summoned to, wondering exactly what this meeting is all about. He hasn't changed anything about work; despite having Stiles to go home to more often than not, Derek still puts in as many hours as he used to, and is still as dedicated and focused as he was before. He’s managed to keep a lid on his new relationship, with the help of Stiles, too – being so damn charming to Isaac and Erica have kept them from spreading inane gossip like they do usually.
The meeting wouldn’t be about that, anyway – why should his boss care about whether or not Derek is getting laid, and reading every book he can lay his hands on? It has to be something else, and Derek can’t help the worry from spreading through his limbs, like he’s about to get fired, like he’s done something wrong, fucked up a pitch maybe, lost a client – he can’t stop his mind from going to all the worst scenarios.
When he’s seated in front of Alice and Frank, his boss and HR senior, Derek feels even worse. He might be sick in a minute; he loves his job, loves the rush of it, and he doesn’t want to get fired. He has plans, and a career path, he doesn’t want to derail now when things had been going so well otherwise. Maybe it’s been going too well, and now karma’s coming back on him.
Alice smiles at him reassuringly; they’ve worked together enough that she can probably tell how badly Derek is shitting himself right now. “Hey Derek. If it's okay with Frank, I’ll start, okay? Don't want to leave you hanging for too long.”
Frank nods, looking too serious. Derek forces his knees to stop bouncing under the table.
“Cool. So Derek, you know we love you around here, you do a great job for us, and you’ve proven yourself to be almost indispensable. I say almost, because as it stands, might be that we’re going to have to learn how to deal without you around.”
Derek feels blood drain out of his face, his fears becoming true, right in front of him.
“We know you’ve been waiting for a promotion for a while, and we feel like you totally deserve one. There’s an opportunity at the moment for a senior consultant, and we want to offer it to you, Derek.”
Derek blinks, confused by the conflict in what Alice is saying, and fighting really hard to keep his face as blank as possible while he waits to know exactly what’s going on. He’s not getting fired, so that’s a good thing to start from, and he’s being offered a better job, but there is a catch, he can see it in Alice’s eyes.
“It’s for our new office, in New York. So obviously, you’d be relocating there.”
And there it is. Derek leans back like he’s just been slapped, blinking rapidly in shock. He had no idea this would be the catch, but he should have expected something this big. The opportunity is golden, and six months ago Derek would not have hesitated a single second to say yes, right on the spot. He had nothing tying him to San Francisco, after all.
“What happens if I don’t want to relocate? Do I lose my current job?”
Frank shakes his head, pushing a letter over to Derek’s side of the conference table, with the company’s logo at the top, all neat. An offer letter.
“No, you’d keep you job, but as it is. The promotion to senior consultant will only be for New York.”
Derek scans the letter, too many thoughts circling over and over in his head. “When do you need my decision for?”
“Friday. You’d be starting shortly after.”
Friday. Today is Monday. Well then. Derek nods, and stands up, ignoring the obvious surprise Alice is showing.
“Okay. Thank you both for the opportunity. Means a lot to me.”
Alice tilts her head, smiling at him. “You’re welcome. You deserve it,” she replies, and it’s clear that it’s a no-brainer for her – Derek not taking the job would be a waste in her eyes.
And she’d probably be right.
;;
There’s a part of Derek that wants to rush out to Adventure Time and tell Stiles, but that part is overpowered by the dread Derek feels at actually telling Stiles, at Stiles doing the right thing. Because that’s what he’ll do, Derek knows already - there is question about it, that Stiles will be delighted for Derek and his opportunity, that he’ll never ask Derek to stay here in San Francisco with him, not when it means shooting Derek’s career in the foot.
So Derek waits. He waits until Tuesday evening, staying late in the office on Monday to have a solid excuse to bypass seeing Stiles. He knows it’s cowardly; he can’t help himself, and he feels shit for it. He’s not backing out anymore, getting in the bookstore five minutes before closing time to avoid a locked door, and he flips the sign on the door behind him, even if it will make Stiles grumble.
For once, the store feels oppressing. It’s late enough that it’s dark outside and shadows grow long on shelves, looming tall and frightening over Derek as he advances in between stacks of books. Derek feels too small and he’s walking with his shoulders hunched over his ears, like he’s expecting the books to start raining down on his head. It’s like the store is mad at him already, or molding itself to Derek’s mood, Derek isn’t entirely sure.
He finds Stiles in what currently seems to be the thriller section, stretched on his tiptoes as he places a series of books on a high shelf. Derek doesn’t say anything until Stiles is in a stable position again, knowing all too well how clumsy Stiles can be, and really not wanting any book to fall on anyone right now.
“Hey,” he murmurs, looking around, half expecting the store to growl at him. Stiles, though, turns around and grins, striding forward to curl his fingers in Derek’s jacket, pulling him close enough for a kiss.
“Hey. You finished work at a decent hour this time, I see.”
“You know how it is, sometimes you just have to finish something you’re working on.”
Stiles nods, wrapping an arm around Derek’s waist. “Everything okay? You look frowny.”
Words feel like molasses in Derek’s mouth, and his stomach hurts with how tight it’s clenched as he looks right into Stiles’ eyes. “I was offered a promotion,” he says slowly, and the brilliant smile Stiles give him in answer is making his knees go weak.
“And that is making you frown? It’s amazing, Derek! Congratulations!”
Stiles pulls Derek into a hug, and Derek buries his face in Stiles’ neck as he digs his fingers in Stiles’ shoulder and ribs, closing his eyes forcefully. It’s like his chest his being ripped open when they pull apart and Stiles keeps on smiling at him like that, when all that Derek wants is to curl up into a ball and forget about it all.
“We have to go out and celebrate.”
“Stiles. The job...it’s in New York.”
Stiles’ face falls instantly, and his fingers tighten around Derek’s arms.
“Oh.”
Fuck, Derek’s been finally getting his own sort of family around him here, finally filling out a gaping hole in his chest since his parents and sister died, and now he’s supposed to let go of them all and start again on the other side of the country? He’s not sure he can go through this kind of heartbreak again; he doesn’t want to, that’s for sure. The mere thought makes Derek feel sick, like he’s about to throw up and cry like he did at his parents’ funeral. He loves his life as it is, he loves Frisco, he loves Stiles, for fuck’s sake, and he has to give it all up now?
Derek can’t breathe right, raggedly coming in and out through his nose, a bit loud, and Stiles swallows hard, stepping close and resting his forehead against Derek’s, his hand at the nape of Derek’s neck, fingers in his hair.
“What do you want to do? Do you want to go?”
“What do you want me to do?” Derek croaks, and Stiles smiles crookedly, huffing out a breath.
“Not my choice, Derek. I can’t make this decision for you, and I’m not going to tell you what you should do.”
Derek sighs, turning his head and looking at the store around them, wondering if it would miss him as much as he would miss it. Stiles stays close, forehead against Derek’s temple, breathing steady but hard, and Derek clenches his jaw, squeezes Stiles closer to him. He wants Stiles to tell him he should go, or that he wants Derek to stay; he wants the decision to be easier, and to be laid out in front of him in simple answers, simple actions that don’t break his heart in the process.
“Do you ever regret leaving Beacon Hills?” Derek finally asks, when they’ve been holding each other for long minutes, in the middle of the dimly lit bookstore that means the world to Stiles.
“No. But I’ve never been alone,” Stiles replies, gesturing to the room around them. “You can always come back, Derek. You write the ending you want, don’t let anyone else do it for you.”
Derek breathes out brokenly and nods as he brushes a thumb under Stiles’ eye. “I guess I owe it to myself to go.”
Stiles smiles sadly. “I thought you were going to say that.”
Derek doesn’t say all the things he wants to say, the I’ll miss you and what are we going to do and stop me, Stiles; instead he kisses Stiles, a bit desperate and a lot sad, the two of them clutching at each other like time will stop if they wish it to hard enough.
Derek wishes it very hard.
;;
New York is beautiful, crazy, fast and a little overwhelming, and Derek has the strongest love hate relationship he’s ever had with it. Because the city should be giving him everything he’s ever wanted; the job he deserves, good pay, amazing challenges, but his priorities have shifted so much in the past six months that he ends up having all he thought he wanted, and finds himself completely dissatisfied with it.
He should be living the high life, completely happy with where he’s at, but he spends so much time missing his friends he can’t enjoy New York like he’s supposed to. He owed it to himself, to take the plunge, to do exactly what he’s been aiming for, for so long, but to do it when he was finally settled in his personal life left him with a new gaping hole in his side, right next to the one Stiles filled up.
It’s an odd thing, a conflict that tears Derek right up when he sits up in bed at night and calls home - home. This is exactly where the pain and regret lies, where his heart bleeds out of his chest; New York will never be home, no matter how hard Derek tries to pretend it could be. Every time he picks up a book he notes the things he wants to discuss with Stiles about it, keeps in mind the passages that would make Stiles smile or laugh, memorizes paragraphs he wants to read out loud to Stiles and he hates, physically aches whenever he’s got to pick up the phone to be able to do any of it.
Stiles’ absence at Derek’s side is a permanent pain, like Derek has a ghost limb. Sometimes he’ll wiggle his fingers and believe that Stiles is squeezing back; he’ll find himself hugging pillows in bed, waking up to realize he’s still alone.
They speak, often. Stiles keeps Derek up to date with everything and everyone, with new regulars at the bookstore and that girl Isaac is dating that is making Erica jealous, Danny’s team successes, small details and big news that Derek takes in, always enraptured, always missing them more than is comfortable. Sometimes he feels like he’s being suffocated by just how much he misses it all. He can’t find words to reply to Stiles and lets his silence speak volumes.
It’s the things they don’t say that carve a whole new wound right in the pit of Derek’s stomach. The probability that, with time and experience, the pain will be dulled and they’ll start missing one another less. They’ll find someone else to love, Stiles will at least, for sure, someone who isn’t afraid of the words and will tell him, tell him, because he deserves it and so much more. Someone who will be there for him, not like Derek, thousands of miles away trying to pretend he is sleeping fine and eating fine when he’s got no appetite and hasn’t slept a full night in a month. Someone like that, not like Derek.
And Derek will have New York.
;;
“So, we had our vampire themed night yesterday,” Stiles says around a yawn, making Derek smile. He’s futzing around in his kitchen, trying to decide if he wants to order some food, or bother himself with making a sandwich. He can hear Stiles pouring himself coffee on the other end of the line. “Way too many grown women reading Twilight, in my opinion, but who am I to judge?”
“You did like The Da Vinci Code.”
“Exactly! I can’t judge. It was a success, anyway. We had like, 40 people in the store, some were just sitting on the floor, it was kind of crowded, but really good. I wish you’d been there,” Stiles’ voice trails off, like he’s not sure he should be saying that. Derek’s heart feels fractured.
“Me too, Stiles.”
“You should send me a naked picture or two, by the way,” is what Stiles chooses to go on with, startling a laugh out of Derek. He should be used to Stiles jumping from one topic to the other by now, but it’s still endlessly endearing.
“Should I, now?”
“Mmhmm. My imagination is very good, but it’d be even better if I had pictures. Dressed, too, because people don’t believe me when I talk about my hot boyfriend.”
Derek’s stomach clenches. Soon enough they’re going to have to talk about this, about where they’re going with their relationship, and how viable it is with the two of them on either side of the country. It’s easy to pretend they’re not doomed, but it’s not going to last forever.
“You’d be more convincing if it was a picture of the two of us together, you know.”
“Oh, yeah, like, making out or something.”
“Is this devolving into phone sex? Because I need to move from the kitchen to my bedroom if it is.”
“Oh, no, I’m not good at phone sex.”
“I beg to differ.”
Stiles lets out a little noise in response, making Derek smile at nothing in particular. He misses being with Stiles so much he feels sick to his stomach.
“Tell me more about the vampire night,” Derek ends up saying, when they’ve been silent for a moment, contemplating where to take the conversation, and Derek opts for the side of it that will probably hurts him less; a different kind of pain, less acute but longer lasting. He leaves the kitchen with no food and gets into his bedroom, sitting cross legged on the bed, forehead against the window.
He might be a bit of a masochist, but he wants to take everything Stiles tells him and write it on his own skin, create a map of Stiles all over his own body and forbid himself from forgetting anything. He wants every stupid little detail so he can pretend he is still a part of this life he left behind, and Stiles, bless him, starts talking, tells him about everything, from what people read to the funny vampire themed cupcakes Boyd made for the night, and how long it took to clean up and put everything away afterwards.
Stiles speaks for a solid five minutes, excited and amazing, and when he finishes Derek lets himself listen to Stiles breathe for a while before he talks.
“How long do you think we can do this, realistically?” he asks, and by the way Stiles’ breathing changes, he has no doubt Stiles understand exactly what Derek is talking about.
“I’ve got nothing better to do,” Stiles replies, a hard edge to his tone, determined, like he’s prepared for Derek angling for a fight. Derek isn’t.
“Okay. Well, neither do I,” he says in reply, and closes his eyes to counter how much they burn. He probably will never have anything better than Stiles, and he still moved away. With every passing day, it’s making less and less sense.
Stiles takes a slow breath down the phone, before he says, “Good. Tell me about what you’re reading right now.”
Derek settles, and starts talking.
;;
. . . it is for Ulysses that my heart bleeds, when I think of his sufferings in that lonely sea-girt island, far away, poor man, from all his friends.
Derek looks up from the book in his lap, turning it around in his hands. It was at the very bottom of Stiles’ latest care package, buried under a batch of Boyd’s cookies and a selection of Isaac’s PRs, a bunch of pictures – including one of Stiles wearing very little in a Myspace overhead pose, complete with a pout, which Derek protectively hides in his copy of The Time Traveler’s Wife and obsessively looks at whenever he’s in his room.
The book was unwrapped at the bottom of the package, with a post-it stuck to it, Stiles’ strangely neat handwriting looping letters together on it. Write your own ending, it says, stuck just under the title of the book, The Odyssey, a book Derek remembers picking up from the library once when he was 13. He’s never actually read it, returned it after three pages, but now he can barely stop reading when he gets to his subway stop to work.
He’s captivated by the story in a way that reminds him of reading with Stiles; it’s not quite as vivid and he doesn’t lose all sense of time and space, but he’s still engrossed, at times feeling like he’s standing right next to Ulysses on his raft, struggling and longing to get home. It hits close to home, too close to home.
Whenever Derek thinks about Stiles, and that’s often, it hurts when he breathes. It’s like his heart is actually broken, jagged pieces stabbing his lungs when he looks at the pictures, remembers Stiles’ brilliant smile and kind looks, the way Stiles laughed sometimes, when it was just the two of them and he was being completely himself.
And maybe it's fate, even thought Derek doesn't really believe in it, that a book would make him realize just exactly what he's losing, staying away from Stiles, and the family he's cobbled together in California. Because it all started with a book, with a bookstore, a magnificent place full of history and memories and secrets that Derek still has to discover, a store Stiles is devoted to, caring for it so much he's given it a personality. Maybe the store has kept a tiny bit of Stiles' mother in its walls, and maybe she's impregnating the whole place with her presence. Maybe it's just Stiles, and the books he collects and keeps in all sorts of high and low shelves, in piles and mounds and corners and shadows.
But it all started there, with a book and half an hour of Derek's time. His life started changing and what has New York done, if only taking it away from him, all over again?
No. No, he's not doing that. He's not losing Stiles, and the life he's grown to love so much, cherish so much. Waking up in the morning is easy in San Francisco but it's getting harder and harder in New York, like he's got lead on at his feet, making every step slow and dragged, heavy. He wants to be home. Like Ulysses, he's craving something he will never get if he doesn't go back.
He needs to be home.
;;
The first thing Derek does once he’s made his decision is to call Stiles. He’s got so much to sort in a very short amount of time; he wants to be back in Frisco as quick as possible, but logistics are against him. His phone rings and rings, and Derek’s heart is beating a million miles a second, ready to burst out of his chest when Stiles picks up.
“Derek?”
“Stiles –“ Derek pauses, closes his eyes as the office cleaners turn on the vacuum, a loud buzz he’s completely ignoring. Usually they come in a solid hour after everyone has left the office, but they’re early today. Derek wishes he could be alone with Stiles for this. “Stiles, can I come home?”
Sharp intake of breath, a sweet, soft sniffling noise. “Yes.”
They both know he’s not asking to come for a visit, but that is a permanent thing. Derek’s face breaks into a smile, feeling about ready to faint, he’s so relieved. He is writing his own story, and it involves Stiles, and family, not loneliness. Derek’s tired of being lonely.
“Okay. Okay, well, I handed my notice on Friday, and I’m taking all of my holidays at once so I only have to be here for one more week. I need to get out of my apartment here, and get plane tickets, but I can be home next weekend, and Boyd will probably let me crash –“
“You can stay with me,” Stiles says softly, breaking Derek’s stream of consciousness babbling. Derek laughs, because he’s not a babbler, and he’s going home, to Stiles; he feels a little delirious, like maybe none of this is real. “I’ll come pick you up at the airport when you land. Just tell me when. I need to get my Jeep back from the garage. But I’ll do that today if I can and then I can come pick you up, and we can deal with your furniture and all that together once you’re home.”
“Okay,” Derek says, barely a whisper, wishing he could transport himself through the phone wires like his words are, wishing he could curl up next to Stiles right now. It’s an intense feeling, deep in his gut, the way Stiles said home, how home is right there with Stiles. Home is where the heart is, a terribly cliché saying that used to make Derek roll his eyes, but it’s never rang truer than it does now.
“Derek,” Stiles says, and Derek grips his phone tighter, like he could push through. “You know I never wanted you to leave, right? I didn’t, but I couldn’t say anything, it was your choice to make.”
Derek can’t quite breathe, his lungs burning with how stupid he feels for having almost lost everything. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”
“What? No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Stiles takes a deep breath. He must know he’s got Derek’s heart right in the palm of his hand right now, he has to. “No choice was wrong, you know? It’s not like I thought I wasn’t good enough for you, I understand that you needed to see this through. I just meant – I’m just glad you’re coming home. I miss you, so much, it’s in my chest every day and the thought I might have to move on was making me miserable, because I love you, and I’ve been wishing for this call every day since you left.”
Derek exhales hard, the air punched out of him by Stiles’ words, like so many times before. He can’t back out now, he’s all the way in.
“Fuck, from the first day I knew it was a stupid idea. Stiles, I love you too, you know that, right?”
Stiles lets out a sound, half between a whine and a keening noise, making Derek smile helplessly to himself. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I know. Just come home, Derek.”
Derek nods to himself. “I am.”
;;
Stiles lets out a breathless chuckle as he pulls Derek against him, sliding his thigh up along Derek’s waist, keeping him in place as the shelves behind them tremble, making them laugh some more. Derek’s laughter trails off into a groan when Stiles slips a hand inside his pants and boxers, fingers wrapping around Derek’s cock, sighing against Derek’s neck.
They really shouldn’t be doing this, in the back room of Adventure Time while they have an array of guests about in the bookstore, when they can do this whenever they want at home, but it’s too tempting and Stiles is in a daring mood. They’re celebrating the anniversary of the opening of the bookstore, today, just a little younger than Stiles himself, and everyone made it for the occasion, even Sheriff Stilinski and Allison’s father, along with their friends and a whole lot of regulars to Stiles’ themed reading nights and quirky bookstore.
And they’re all out there, reading or chatting, a low buzz of noise filtering under the door of the back room, barely covered by Derek and Stiles’ pants and wet noises when they kiss, rutting against each other after shimmying their jeans down to their knees. Stiles keens when Derek wraps a hand around both their erections, and his knees almost give out, forcing Derek to press him tighter against the wall, growling into Stiles’ neck when Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders and rolls his hips.
It’s over ridiculously fast, the thrill of being right next to so many people, the mild danger of embarrassment urging them on, and Stiles keeps on chuckling, even when he comes, messily, over Derek’s t-shirt and his hand, clutching at Derek’s neck and kissing him with laughter in his mouth, sending Derek right over the edge with him.
“You’ll be the death of me,” Derek says between pants, lips against the cotton of Stiles’ shirt. Stiles laughs again.
“Yeah, well, you might get me arrested and be the death of my store and my reputation.”
“A fate worse than death.”
“Huh-uh,” Stiles replies, a grin on his face when he pulls Derek’s head up to kiss him again, his hand brushing sweat off Derek’s forehead.
“We should get back.”
It takes a few moments longer, getting cleaned up and dressed again, but when they walk out of the back room it seems like nobody has even realized they were gone for quite a while, everybody engrossed in books or discussions. The store itself seems to be thrumming with contentment, the sun shining high through the windows and casting a glow over the gleaming oak of the shelves, making the gold-lettered titles of the classics section sparkle. It’s warm, and cozy, every nook and cranny inviting a sit-down to read. Derek walks around, hand brushing the spine of so many books he still has to read, but he’s got all the time in the world – he knows he’s got this.
Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair one last time before he trots away, to his dad and Mr. Argent, chatting near the table set up for cakes – more of a wood plank propped on top of piles of books closely put together for sturdiness – leaving Derek to sit next to Lydia on a pile of cushions. She leans into him with a smile without even looking up from her book, and Derek reaches out for the book he can grab; it’s Treasure Island. Derek knows he shouldn’t exactly be surprised, but he can’t help his chuckle, reminded all too well that Stiles had been reading it out loud the first time Derek walked in the store. Looking up at the walls of books surrounding him, Derek winks; at no one in particular, at everything at once. At Adventure Time.
