A Question Of Roomates

Ch. 3

We were pushing month two when we were sitting on the dorm room floor having dinner. It was a thing we did, and I never noticed it until that night. When ever we found ourselves both in the dorm with nothing to do one of us would make dinner and invite the other to join. Stiles would ramble half the time, mostly about art, something I knew nothing about. Stiles sure was passionate about it, and he certainly had a talent at it. But the word vomit I got that night was different.

"Thank you by the way" he said out of the blue.

"Huh?"

"I can be myself around you. I mean most people hate the hyperactive spaz that is my personality but you seem to take it in strides. Either that or you just haven't found a way to tell me to get lost, in that case I'm giving you your out now and I really advise you to take it because I'm really starting to like you"

And without stopping myself I told him "I'm not going anywhere" he smiled so big that it made me feel sorry for this false hope. To be fair I didn't know that's what it was at the moment.

That night after the dishes were cleaned and the leftovers were put away I snuggled under my warm blanket with the thought that tonight would be an okay night and I could stay in my own bed. But as my eyes started to drift I heard something drop to the floor. Then it came again followed by curse words. I hopped from the bed to find Stiles setting up art equipment. It was almost one in the morning.

"Sorry" he said scooping up the paintbrushes scattered along the floor "Did I wake you?"

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice scratchy and filled with sleep.

"Well I couldn't sleep so I thought I'd get a head start on my project I was telling you about"

"It's one in the morning"

"I know!" he smiled "Nothing is better than when inspiration hits and you've gotta just do it right then and there" All I could do was drift back into my room. He didn't play music that night, but the loud humming and shuffling on the other side of my door did make it hard to go back to sleep.

I put in the transfer request the next morning.

And I was gone two days later. Stiles was out of the room when I moved my things out. I thought about leaving a note, or maybe a nice text. For a second I even considered waiting for him to come home to tell him face to face. But I didn't have it in me for any of those things.

So I left him, without a goodbye, without an apology. And I didn't ignore the feeling in the pit of my stomach as I walked away. I tried to tell myself it was something different, but in the back of my mind I felt as though I'd miss him. Why else would it feel so hard to walk away?

Jackson Whittemore. He wasn't a bad guy, he just wasn't my type of friend. He was cocky, and arrogant, flashed his money and all in all was a total tool. But he kept to himself and was somewhat quiet, aside from the nights he'd sneak girls in his room. There was no interaction between us which would sometimes make me miss the dinner nights with Stiles. No connection or even conversations, I might as well had been living alone. But Erica would just laugh and tell me I was being crazy before she went back to whatever she was talking about.

I made the first attempt wanting something to happen. I tapped a few times on his door before it swung open and the look on his face was far from amused.

"Just wanted to know If you'd want to grab lunch?"

"Unless you can afford the hundred dollar plates at the Miata I think you'll be dining alone" and the door was slammed shut. It was then I can say I wasn't afraid to admit I missed Stiles.

I was in a communications class that week, when a kid I had never noticed walked in. He had sun kissed skin, and an uneven jaw that seemed to fit his face. He found me in the crowd or at least the empty spot next to me and strode over.

"Is this seat taken?" he asked. And with the slight shake of my head I told him no. He sat down getting his bags situated before he turned to me  "I'm Scott McCall"

"Derek Hale" and at the mention of my name the smile left his face and he was turning in his seat again. All I could think was how I had been there three months and already had an enemy. I was not one for confrontation. But the way he had switched on me so suddenly had me tapping his shoulder "Did I uh do something wrong"

He groaned "No. I just make it a point not to befriend people that hurt my best friend"

"Do I even know your best friend?" I laughed, trying to relive any bit of tension.

"Stiles Stilinski" he eyed the expression on my face then nodded knowingly "Judging by the look on your face I guess you do. Look I'm just gonna say one thing and that'll be it. He's lost a lot of roommates, but for some reason you seemed to hurt the most. Stiles is a great guy, a great friend, he's honestly one of the last good guys left. And people treat him like shit-why? Because he has a little more energy than the rest of us. If that really bothers people then to hell with them. I'll be just fine taking my chances with Stiles" and just as he finished the professor walked into the class, but I couldn't seem to focus because Scotts words just continued to swirl around in my head.

Class ended and I was 99% sure I hadn't heard a single thing that was taught. And as if I needed any more embarrassment Stiles was waiting, surprisingly calm, outside of the classroom for Scott. Before he could catch glimpse of me so I could even chance a really awkward 'hello' Scott had his arm around his friend leading him from the class.

I sulked my way back to my new dorm. When I did make it back I was met with Jackson, and his girl of the week on the sofa without a care in the world. At least until she was squealing at the sight of me and hurrying to hide in his room. A shirtless Jackson was displaying a cocky grin as he stood "Sorry man, you know how it is" putting my keys away I shook my head "You know? Hot girl. Boobs for days. You get it where you can"

"I guess" I laughed "I mean I'm gay but I kind of get it... Not really though" But his expression was serious as he eyed me up and down then covered his chest, retreating to his room without another word.

That afternoon I went out on a whim. And at the end of it I was Stiles' roommate, yet again.