Kings of the Moonlight

Demons

Don't get too close, it's dark inside, it's where my demons hide. It's where my demons hide.

-

Derek is three hours deep into his work in his office, his real office that is, all the way over in the centre of town, when a knock on his door rouses him from his concentration.

He looks up to find his best friend in the door way clad in a long, midnight-black dress, a battered old canvas bag strapped across her chest and holding two bags of takeaway in her hand.

"Lunch?" Erica smiles, walking in and closing the door behind her.

Her hair falls soft and straight in a high ponytail, swishing from side to side alongside her gait as she walks towards him.

There's no-one but Derek in the office; his new associates haven't been hired, and the selected ones from the city aren't due to transfer for a couple of days yet.

So his office is quiet and still, a little eerie in his sole presence but it isn't something he's unaccustomed to.

As it is, Derek holds on to the vague sense of the oncoming weekend; Derek has all the hours between his and Isaac's Friday appointment at Doctor Morrell's and Little League on Sunday, to which Isaac insists on going, to spend close and comforted at home.

The quiet hum of the systems in the building, a low backdrop to the silence, has helped him to concentrate and truth be told, Derek's just glad that Lydia took the reins when she did and was able to keep him afloat through all of this.

Erica and Derek settle on the floor behind Derek's desk, looking out at Beacon Hills through the wide windows with containers of food from the Italian restaurant from down the street lying in the small space between them.

The waning sun dips behind the grey clouds gathering in the sky, making it look like ancient air, musty and humid. But it's a warm day nevertheless and the Beaconian people mill about the streets like worker bees - tiny from this perspective, hurrying about with a learned expedience.

Erica slips out of her black stilettos and presses her bare feet to the cold glass in front of her, dress spilling around in a silken mess as she leans back on Derek's desk.

They're sitting pretty close together, a void between created only for their food. Erica knocks her shoulder gently into Derek's, asking, "How are you feeling?"

Derek shrugs, digging his fork into his linguine container with a forced vigour, "Same old."

When he eventually looks back her, he balks a little at the stern look of disapproval in her face.

"I'm serious, Derek."

Derek sighs and thuds his head back onto the drawers of the desk, he closes his eyes and licks his lips.

He doesn't even know where to start. He doesn't want to speak, doesn't want to say a single word because he knows that he'll have to hide things from her, that he'll have to skirt around the truth in order to not hurt her.

It's not the first time that Derek has had to lie to Erica of course, but experience still doesn't make it any easier. She's been a constant in his life ever since they were twelve years old. She's not even his friend anymore, Erica is his family, and there's nothing Derek hates more than lying to his family.

Yet, there's an unspoken agreement between he and Stiles to keep this thing between a secret for the time being. It's much too new and much too soon for it to be anything other than theirs.

It's tentative going, this. And now Stiles is frustratingly careful in his treatment of Derek, the man is aware of his every single movement, and Derek can feel the hesitancy rolling off of him in waves.