Love Me Softer • Sterek

Chapter 3

Stiles was infamous for his stories.
He would come into school glowing with excitement, unraveling stories to his friends. He would get so wrapped up in sharing the memories, his face radiating joy each time. His friends loved them, each day they would await what Stiles had to share, anxious about every twist and turn the plot would undoubtedly entail.
Stiles would tell fascinating tales about his dreams he had that night. Each one more exciting and curious than the next.
Even when alseep, Stiles' unique imagination ran wild, creating stories for him to share the next day.
But not anymore.
Every morning he would jolt awake, silent screams erupting from his throat.
Every dream was the same.
The horrifying image of his fathers death, even though he didn't see it, his brain had a way of contorting twisted plots of his fathers last moments. Stiles felt the bullet rip through him as he saw it happen, he felt the pain as though he'd been shot himself.
Then he'd awake, sweat dripping down his forehead and pooled on his chest. His eyes would be raw with tears he didn't know he'd shed.
He looked over to his bedside table, an old glass of water staring back at him. Along with his phone, something he'd quickly come to hate.
The messages flooding the device were meant to be sweet, but made him feel sick to his stomach. Comments on social media from people he barely knew saying things such as "I'm always here" "we can talk whenever"... It almost made him laugh, these people didn't really care, hell they didn't even have the audacity to talk to him at school normally, but now they were acting like his best friends.
Pitiful.
A knock on the front door broke Stiles from his bitter train of thought. Usually he just ignored it, but something inside him was telling him to answer.
He stood up from his bed, but instantly fell down, he had no energy. He pulled himself off the floor and made his way to the stairs using the railing as much as he could to stabilise himself.
When he finally made his way to the door, the cold metal of the handle made his heart jump.
He opened it hesitantly and was faced with none other than Derek Hale.
"Um, hi" Derek spoke, swaying slightly on his feet.
"Hey" Stiles replied, he hadn't spoke in 3 days and his voice barely formed the word. He let out a weak cough and continued to talk.
"You can come in" he motioned lightly, trying not to fall from not holding onto the door.
They both walked silently into the kitchen, the only sound was the wooden chairs sliding against the cold floor as they sat down.
"Why are you here" Stiles asked, he hadn't intended on it sounding so blunt, but truthfully he didn't care, manners weren't his priority right now.
"I um, spoke with the pack and I think it'd be best if you came and lived with me"
Stiles left out a dry laugh, looking down at the table in front of him.
"You? You hate me Derek and you certainly haven't been shy about telling me" Stiles said bitterly, a twang of sadness passing through him unknowingly.
"Stiles... I don't hate you, I just- I'm not great with people" he mine muted the last part, roughly biting the inside of his cheek.
"I- No I need to stay here, this is his house I can't leave him" Stiles choked out, tears brimming at his eyes.. He couldn't even say 'Dad', it would physically break him, he avoided the word as much as possible.
"We're worried Stiles, you're not okay on your own here" Derek exclaimed, genuine concern lacing his voice. Stiles looked blankly down at his hands on the table, the bones were prominent and sharp. His wrists were so small you would confuse them with that of a child, he hadn't eaten in so long that he didn't even feel hungry anymore.
"Stiles?" Derek questioned. Stiles didn't even notice a tear slipping from his eye and hitting the table.
"Stiles I have savings, a lot of them, I'll buy the house and you can come and see it whenever you want.. It'll always be yours and the sheriffs" Derek pushed, picking at his nails with nerves, social interactions certainly weren't what he was known for.
Stiles felt a wash of sadness at the mention of 'Sheriff' the thought that someone else would be taking his place made him feel sick, but he suppressed the feeling to answer Derek's proposition.
"Do you promise? You can't give it to someone else.. It's his" Stiles eyes met Derek's weakly and Derek gave him a firm nod that spoke a million words.
"I promise"
And that was the beginning, Stiles could barely process his thoughts as he aimlessly filled a bag with clothes and other essentials. His bedroom door was aligned with his dad's and he looked over to see the sheriff jacket hung on the dresser, untouched.
If he tried hard enough, he could imagine his dad walking out of his room, slipping the bulky jacket around his shoulders and giving Stiles a smile before he left for work. The thought brought a small smile to Stiles lips.
He walked in the bathroom, pulling one of his fathers old grey sweaters that he'd left hanging over the drying rack on that day... He clutched it to his chest and placed it gently into the bag, unlike his other clothes that he'd aimlessly thrown in.
Derek soon came upstairs, leaning on the doorframe of Stiles' bedroom. For some reason he felt intrusive being in his room, Derek had been in there before but it felt different now, he just hesitantly hovered at the entrance.
"I-I'm ready" Stiles spoke. Derek gently grabbed the bag from Stiles' frail hand and they headed downstairs.
Derek could see the younger boys weak stature, struggling to make it down the stairs, both arms clutching at the railing like his life depended on it.
They finally made it to the door and Stiles felt a wave of sadness crash over him, he was abandoning his dad.
Derek saw the look of regret on his face and squeezed his hand reassuringly. The sudden action was strange for Derek but Stiles took great appreciation from the gesture. He took a last look at the house and stepped out.
He suddenly felt like he could breathe a bit more, the sadness encapsulate in his lungs was crumbling a bit and it was all because of Derek.
Derek Hale... Of all people.