The first time Derek and Stiles disagreed, when words were thrown hatefully across the room, Stiles had a cold shoulder and Derek had sat in the old house brooding. But it didn't last long. Two nights later the jeep pulled up to that old house and Derek ran to Stiles and everything was okay,

But it kept happening, and each time after that was worse.

A painful shove into a door knob.

A knock at Stiles' window.

A plate thrown towards Derek's head.

A late September morning full of apologies.

Each time worse and worse, both times hurt time after time. There had been too many "I'm sorry"s uttered, too many "not again"s promised.

The latest argument had ended with Stiles claiming he was done as he drove away in the old blue jeep. Done. For good.

He knew Derek had heard, but yet there that damn fool was, knocking on the window pane in the pouring rain.

Stiles hesitantly let him in.

"I'm sorry, I-"

"You're always sorry," Stiles cut off Derek's whisper, "I told you I can't do this. I can't Derek." He slammed his palms into Derek's chest, "You're always sorry. And it nev-"

But suddenly they were kissing and he didn't want to stop. Everything about him, them, was wrong. But he needed it.

"This is the last time," Stiles threatened as Derek unbuttoned his jeans. "This is the last time I let you come through that window."

But as Derek pulled him closer he wasn't sure it was.

They had done this a million times before, but this time it was different. Never before had it been so painful. It was dark and cold and hateful. There was nothing romantic about it. It was rough and apologetic and confusing. Their tears mixed and melted between their bodies pressed together.

When it was over Derek broke down, sobbing, apologizing. But Stiles couldn't comfort him anymore. Stiles didn't know how to deal with his feelings to help himself anymore. How could he help this stranger crying in his room.

He slipped out towards the bathroom, his own tears once again falling down. He looked in the mirror and asked himself why. Why did he continue to crawl back. He begged his cracked reflection to make the same mistake again as he washed the blood and glass out of his hands.

He went to the bedroom ready to hear more apologies. But this time the "I'm sorry" was left scribbled on a piece of paper in an empty room.

Stiles tried to go to sleep, but his bed smelt like Derek, and his room looked like Derek.

This had to be the last time.

They weren't right for one another.

But despite the fact they didn't want each other, they needed to be together. There was a string between the two of them and when it was broken, they were incapable of functioning.

Because stiles couldn't focus without the heavy hand on his shoulder.

And Derek couldn't lead without a loud opinion from across the room.

But this was the last time.