Stiles closed his eyes and pressed his face against the wall of the shower, grumbling. This was happening too often lately. Way, way too often. It was starting to become a problem.
Something must be wrong with him, right? Wires must be crossed in his head—or maybe he'd been knocked around one time too many—but he clearly had problems.
When it was Lydia, at least he had been able to explain that. It was a childhood crush, one that had never gone away. It had developed into this crazy obsession that he couldn't stop, whether she had returned his feelings or not. It was stereotypical, really, which Stiles found comforting. Geeky elementary boy fell in love with the pretty, popular girl in his class. As they grew up, boy got more geeky and awkward, girl got prettier and more popular, boy still loved girl. Yeah, she could be bitchy and cold to him, but he had liked her since he was a kid, and couldn't just suddenly turn it off. Completely normal and acceptable, really.
What was not normal was this new…development. Because while he may have a thing for girls who were all gorgeous looks and sharp edges…he wasn't supposed to like it when they caused him pain. When they left bruises on his skin. When they whispered in his ear that they wanted to rip his throat out with their teeth.
That was not normal behavior, Stiles knew. He should be scared of her—which, okay, he was. He should try to avoid her—which he did, actually, but she usually showed up anyway. Even if she was the hottest thing on two legs Stiles had ever seen, with her flawless face and those eyes, god, those eyes—
Stiles groaned in frustration and hastily turned the water to cold, wincing as it chilled his skin but telling himself he deserved it. That's what you got when you thought about Derin Hale like that. Nothing good could come of following that line of thought.
It wasn't as if anyone could blame him, though. Derin Hale was like Beacon Hill's very own Lara Croft, mind-blowlingly attractive and able to without a doubt kick your ass if you so much as laid a finger on her. No (straight) man around stood a chance against her, werewolf or not. And maybe it wouldn't be so bad, if she hadn't chosen Stiles as her very own chew toy.
But she had a thing for singling Stiles out, for pining him against whatever was handy at the moment and showing him who was boss. Every snarky remark he made was met with a glare that made the pit of his stomach clench, every time she pressed her nails into his skin he had to fight to keep his knees from going weak. It drove him crazy, how much she affected him.
That's what he was. Crazy. Crazy for not being able to stop thinking about the girl who excelled in making his life miserable.
XXXXX
And sometimes she did catch him. Sometimes his mind would drift, and he would find himself staring at her. She would clear her throat loudly, making it obvious she had noticed, and Stiles would jerk his eyes away. One time he had watched her work on car, ducked under the hood, and she had turned around to see him very blatantly checking out her behind. She had rose her eyebrows at him and stared until he noticed, and as his face began to heat up and he opened his mouth to defend himself, she just rolled her eyes and said, "If you're going to stare, at least be helpful. Hand me that wrench over there."
Stiles wondered if she was just so used to men staring at her that she didn't even care anymore. As if she expected it, and had decided to not let it bother her. Maybe she figured it wasn't worth her time.
But there were some things she just had to notice. Stiles had no doubt that her super-sniffer could smell the arousal that was doubtlessly rolling of him half the time he was around her. And there was no way she hadn't noticed that one time (which Stiles tried not to think about, unless he was home alone in the privacy of his bathroom) when she had shoved him up against his Jeep and, much to his humiliation and distress, had gotten a hard-on. Derin hadn't commented on it, but Stiles was 99.9% percent sure she had to have felt it when she leaned over him.
But she kept doing it, like she either didn't realize or didn't care (Stiles strongly suspected the latter, because there was no way Derin was so oblivious to what she did to him). She stuck to that same damn wardrobe of tank tops and tight jeans and leather jackets (a kink Stiles didn't even know he had a while ago). In fact, she walked around with this air of careless self-confidence that was so strangely similar to Lydia and yet opposite at the same time it made Stiles want to explode.
The more he felt himself attracted to Derin, the harder he tried to cling to his love for Lydia. He started comparing them, confident that seeing Derin pitted against the girl he'd loved for years would make him lose interest. Surely Derin could never stand up to Lydia, his flawless ice queen.
Lydia was always so polished and put together, never a hair out of place. He was sure that she chose each outfit she wore with care, meticulously matching it with shoes and accessories and perfume and make-up. He'd never met anyone, male or female, more brilliant than her.
Compared to her, Derin looked…rough. Polished was the last word Stiles would ever use for her. He'd seen her wear the same shirt three days in a row, and he was pretty sure the only reason she'd changed it was because she'd gotten blood on it the third day. He doubted she'd even know how to use an eyelash curler if anyone handed it to her.
If Lydia was ice, then Derin was fire. Raging, burning hot fire, that would devour him if he got too close.
So why was Stiles finding himself more and more attracted to her?
XXXXX
The first time Derin makes Stiles wonder if something might be there, he's taken by surprise.
The two of them had been at a bar, trying to track down what they thought was a lone werewolf who might have wandered into town. Naturally, Derin being Derin, some of the bar patrons had taken an interest in her. Stiles had already been getting aggravated, after having to watch all the men leer at her, when one of the more drunken ones had reached out and taken a grab at her.
Derin had merely glared at him and stepped out of his reach, and that would have been that, if Stiles hadn't shoved the guy. One thing led to another, and Derin dragged Stiles out of there, his lip bloody and his knuckles bruised.
"You're an idiot," she told him for the third time, as she dabbed at his black eye with a washcloth.
"He grabbed you," Stiles retorted angrily, but kept his gaze on his feet. Shame was rolling through him. Not only had he gotten his ass kicked right in front of her, but she had had to finish his fight for him! Way to make himself seem like a man. Good job, Stiles.
Derin sighed. "Exactly. He grabbed me, not you. You didn't have to get involved."
"Sorry I don't have your level of self-control, then," Stiles snapped, jerking away from her fingers. "We can't all go through life with the emotional range of a rock like you do."
"Yeah, well, keep acting stupid like that and you won't have a long life to life through!" Derin grabbed his chin and made him face her. "I can take care of myself, stupid."
Stiles didn't try to pull away from her grip. He knew she was stronger than him, and he would only embarrass himself even more. And she was too close, with her face right next to his. It made it hard to think. "I'm not stupid for wanting to…"
"Protect me?" Derin questioned. "Stiles, he was a forty-something guy who was drunk off his ass. I don't think he posed much of a threat." When Stiles just huffed at her, she softened her tone. "Look, it's not like I don't appreciate the gesture." She moved her hand to his mouth, and carefully thumbed over his split lip. Stiles felt his heart give a little lurch. "It's just…I don't need you to act as a bodyguard. I need you for…other things."
Derin placed her other hand on his neck, and suddenly Stiles felt the pain lift away. Gone, just like that. Before he could say anything, Derin cocked her head at him. "Now, get some sleep, okay? We still haven't found that Omega."
Her hands lifted off him and she was gone, but Stiles could still feel her touch, burning against his skin. He turned to the window. "What kind of other things?" he asked, voice squeaking just a bit.
He didn't get a response.
XXXXX
Later that week, she catches him. Stiles had been dreaming blissfully away, reliving that night he and Derin had been trapped in the pool. Except in his dream, they weren't trapped. There wasn't any blood-thirsty Kanima patrolling the edge, watching them. And Derin certainly wasn't paralyzed, in danger of drowning without him. Though she certainly was clinging to him tightly.
Stiles woke with a cry, eyes flying open to see his bedroom ceiling. He lay there, panting for a moment, and then realized what had happened. He grimaced and pulled his hand out of his pants, making a face at the stickiness.
Just as he sits up, out of the corner of his eye he spots it. The end of a black ponytail flicking out his window.
Stiles stares open-mouthed, at the spot, completely horrified. Derin had just seen him come in his pants while he slept.
A scream is forming in his throat, because his life is now over, when another realization hit him.
Derin had watched him. She hadn't just seen, she hadn't just been on the window, about to come in. She had been inside his room and watching.
Stiles still feels like screaming.
XXXXX
As time goes by, Stiles tries to convince himself he had been imagining things. He had just been dreaming about her, it wasn't too much of a stretch that he would think she was in his room when he had just woken up, right?
Right?
Except, the next time they run into each other, there's no doubt about it. Derin had been in mid-sentence, speaking to Erica, when she noticed Scott and Stiles enter. She had faltered, stumbled over her words, and quickly turned away from the two of them. Erica had noticed and frowned, glancing between them. Derin didn't act like that, something must have happened.
And if Stiles hadn't been so utterly terrified and baffled by the whole situation, he would have been laughing his ass off. Derin Hale, embarrassed! Nervous, even! Hilarious, right?
Not for Stiles. He had no idea how to deal with the situation. Had Derin acted like her usual, gruff self, Stiles would know what to do. He would confront her about being a creepy voyeur; what Stiles did in the privacy of his own room was his business, and she had no right to invade his space.
Except, she wasn't acting like the Derin Hale he knew. She was—she was blushing, for god's sake! How was he supposed to deal with that?
How dare she act like the embarrassed one, when he was the one who was clearly humiliated? It wasn't as if Stiles had seen her in the middle of pleasure-land…
And then the thought hits him. What if…what if Derin knew what he had been dreaming about? About the two of them, together? Stiles knew that he had a habit of talking in his sleep. What if he had said her name? While he…
Stiles thinks he is going to throw up. He considers asking Allison to shoot him with her crossbow.
XXXXX
Things are definitely looking up for Stiles the next week, though he isn't sure how it happened. He just knows that Derin is in his lap, squirming a bit too much for comfort, with her mouth latched on to his. His hands are splayed across her back, because he doesn't know what to do with them. He's dying to touch her more, but the suddenness of whole situation makes Stiles worried that if he did anything she didn't like, it would be over in a heartbeat.
He had just been lying there on his couch, explaining to Derin—as she paced back and forth across his living room—about how he wasn't sure if what they were looking for was a lone werewolf at all, when she just suddenly pounced on him.
Not that Stiles minded. A little warning would have been nice, hey, he might have thrown on some chapstick or something, and probably some deodorant, but Derin was acting like she couldn't care less. All she wanted was more of him, pulling him to her by his shirt collar, other hand on the back of his neck, teeth nibbling his lip.
Stiles hadn't done anything, he was merely trying not to have a heart attack, but something spooked her. In an instant, she jerked her mouth away from him and sat up straight, turning her head towards the front door. And without saying a word the entire time, she was gone, leaving Stiles out of breath and totally lost.
When his father had walked through the door and seen his son sprawled on the couch, looking like he had just been hit in the face with a ton of bricks, Stiles couldn't come up with a reply. He had merely mouthed something unintelligible and held up his hands, as confused as his father was.
XXXXX
Stiles considers asking Allison if Scott acted like that every full moon, because maybe it was a werewolf thing. He actually had his phone in his hand and was about to call her when he stopped himself. He really didn't want to know more about Scott and Allison's relationship than he already did, and he didn't want to have to explain why he was asking.
But yeah, werewolf thing. That made sense, right? Full moon and whatnot? Maybe Derin's hormones were all over the place, and she just needed someone to suck face with. Maybe, she was in…heat, or something?
Or it could be just a girl thing. And if that was the case, Stiles was even more worse off. Werewolves, he could get. But girls…there was no hope of understanding them.
XXXXX
Stiles loses his virginity in Derin's Camaro. He's still not sure how he feels about that.
Very quickly, Stiles learns that Derin runs hot and cold. He'll never know what nights Derin will swing by, but he always leaves his window open. Sometimes she doesn't come by for weeks at a time. Other times, she'll be there every night. Sometimes, she wants to make out and have a quick tumble, and then she'll be out of there. Other times, she'll stay. There are a few days that she doesn't want to be touched, and other times when she can't seem to keep her hands off him.
And some nights, Derin will slip into his bed and just curl up next to him. Sometimes he won't even be awake, but when he is, he'll make room for her. If she'll let him, he'll put his arm around her, and fall asleep like that. If Stiles is being honest with himself, those are his favorite nights.
The only pattern Stiles can see with everything is that Derin always seems rushed. She can't stand it when Stiles tries to slow things down, tries to take his time. She acts as if they don't get it done as soon as possible she'll explode. She also hates when Stiles tries to leave the lights on. And forget it if Stiles actually tries to talk to her afterwards, because she'll take off in a heartbeat.
Her attitude about the whole thing makes Stiles start to wonder if she's ashamed of what they're doing. To him, it seems like Derin doesn't want to admit it. If she doesn't talk about it, doesn't see it, then that means it isn't real. She's just scratching an itch, and Stiles just happens to be the best one at it.
Or at least, Stiles thinks he is. For all he knows, he might not be the only guy whose window she creeps through at night.
Stiles tries to not let it bother him. He tries to focus on the good stuff. Because hey, Derin Hale is in his bed. He's no longer a virgin, and gets mind-blowing sex on a regular basis! What high school kid doesn't want that?
But slowly, it starts to wear him down. He begins to notice more when Derin doesn't met his eyes when they're together. How she always turns away from him when she stays the night. He can't help but notice the way the pack treats him differently, now, either one-on-one or when Derin is around. They can all tell that Stiles is Derin's new favorite toy, and they can see how she pretends that Stiles isn't on her radar during the day. They all keep their mouths shut, seemingly as confused about the whole thing as Stiles is.
And it starts to get to him. He considers locking his window every night, but somehow that seems cruel. Instead, he pretends to be asleep when Derin comes by. But she can tell whether he's awake or not by his heartbeat. The first time it happens, she merely figures he isn't in the mood, and silently slips next to him. When he wakes up in the morning she's gone.
The second night, when she carefully moves by his bed, Stiles can feel her hesitate. And he can't bear it. He gives in and rolls over, reaching for her. She leaves immediately after they're done.
The third night, Stiles is angry. Angry at himself for giving in, and for her for not staying. It's foolish and stupid and doesn't make sense, but he wanted her to stay, that night. So this time, when she slips through his window, Stiles keeps his eyes closed and wishes her away. As if she can hear him, she leaves after standing by the window for two minutes, listening to his heartbeat.
She doesn't come by for a fourth night.
XXXXX
Stiles doesn't know what he hoped to accomplish by giving Derin the cold shoulder, but he knows this wasn't it. He never talked to her. Never confronted her. He just stopped putting out on demand, and she had walked away.
Which, in itself, was a big dick move on her part. But that wasn't the point. Or at least that wasn't all of it.
Because he didn't want to not…have something with her. He just wanted more. More…trust. Understanding, conversation. More of an actual relationship, not just a hook-up service.
Stiles wasn't interested if that was all Derin could offer him—but that was the thing. He felt that she had so much more to give, she just didn't want to.
Why not, he wanted to know. Was it him? That didn't really make sense. Why visit him every night for sex if she didn't like him?
Could it be a 'it's not you, it's me' kinda thing? Was this about her family, somehow? Stiles could understand how having something as horrible as that could seriously fuck with someone's trust issues, but hadn't Stiles proved that she could trust him?
Well, Stiles had no idea, because Stiles had never tried to talk to her about it. He'd been too busy playing doctor to care.
XXXXX
He had resigned himself to sleeping alone, so when he woke up in the middle of the night with Derin in his room, he's confused. Before he can form coherent words, his mind still half-asleep, she's out the window. He's about to call after her, asking her to come back, but he doesn't. He keeps his mouth shut, because he doesn't even know what to say to her.
He doesn't know what to say to her, and he doesn't even know how he feels about this. He doesn't know what he wants.
Part of him wants to analyze what it meant that she was in his room again, but he gives up and goes back to sleep.
XXXXX
The next day when he wakes up, Stiles sits down at his desk and pulls over a notebook. He tries to figure out on paper what he can't sort in his head. In the end, the page ends up a complete mess, cross outs, circles, and underlines covering it.
His next try is a little bit better.
XXXXX
The next time he runs into Derin, he actually tries to talk to her. But the others are around, and she brushes him off. Stiles tries hanging around, to wait for the others to leave, but Derin doesn't let that happen. She says what needs to be said to her pack and leaves before Stiles can try to pull her aside.
He ends up taping a letter to his window that night. In the morning, it's still there. He leaves it overnight again, and that morning, it's gone. Stiles hopes that means that Derin has been by, and that it didn't just get blown away while he was sleeping. He wishes he had tacked it to the sill, and not just taped it.
XXXXX
He knows that he should be getting to sleep. He has a big test first thing in the morning, and he knows that he's not doing well in that class. But Stiles doesn't want to risk that Derin might actually come by when he was sleeping. He was sure that she would leave if that happened.
So he tries to compromise, sitting up against his headboard with a textbook in his lap for the night. He promises himself that by the time he finishes the chapter, and if she still hasn't come by, he'd turn out the light.
He's halfway through the third chapter when he looks up to rub his eyes and sees Derin perched on his window sill, watching him. Stiles almost wet himself, tossing up the textbook and biting back a yelp.
She waits for him to calm down, keeping her eyes on him even though the textbook does an impressive bounce off the mattress and onto the floor. After Stiles' heartbeat returns to normal, she says quietly, "You wanted to see me?"
"Uh, yeah. I did." Stiles licks his lips. "You got the letter?"
"You mean the note that you taped to the window? Yeah, I got it. You know that your handwriting sucks?" she took a stab at humor.
"Yeah, I've been told that."
Silence fell, and both of them looked down. When they tried to speak, it was at the same time, and they both stopped talking. Derin sighed and rubbed her chin with her knuckles. She decides to just spit it out. "I didn't mean to make you feel like I was using you. Which I guess I was. I just figured…that you were okay with it."
"I was—I am okay with it." Stiles stops, then starts again. "I mean, it wasn't like I was telling you no or anything."
"No, you certainly weren't." Derin bites her lip after saying that, wishing she hadn't brought back those memories. She cleared her throat. "But I got the message, okay? I won't bother you again." Having said what she wanted to, she leaned back and began to pull her legs out of the window.
"Wait!" Stiles moved towards the foot of his bed, holding a hand out. "That wasn't the message I was trying to send."
Derin stilled, waiting for him to continue.
"Okay, it kind of was, but not completely. I just…what I'm trying to say is…look, can you come inside, and sit down or something? I don't like talking to you when you can just swoop out of here like that."
She hesitates for just a moment, as if unwilling to leave the protection of being next to an easy exit, and then lifts her hands in supplication. She easily hops into his room and pulls out his desk chair, turning it towards him and seating herself. She hunches her shoulders up and looks uncomfortable, but she waits for Stiles to start talking.
"Okay. Alright." He plopped back onto the bed. "Look, I don't know about you, but I kind of wish we could actually talk about this. About everything." He saw Derin's lips tighten just slightly, and he hastened, "Now, I know that talking about feelings isn't exactly your forte, but you need to quit the emotionally constipated act, alright?"
She scowled at him, but kept her mouth shut.
"Derin, I have no freaking clue how any of this happened. One day you were threatening to rip my throat out with your teeth, and then the next you're yanking my pants of in your Camaro. Can you blame me for being a little confused? And you have never once mentioned anything about how you felt about this whole situation."
"I kind of figured that my actions spoke for me," she said tightly. "There aren't too many meanings in telling you to get naked."
"But, see, there is!" Stiles threw up his hands. "You act like having sex explains how you feel, but newsflash, it doesn't. There's lots of different kinds of sex! There's happy sex, and angry sex, and I-hate-you sex, and I-love-you sex, and hey-I'm-just-bored sex, and drunk sex—"
"I get the picture, Stiles."
"But I don't! I have no idea what the hell is happening between us, because you never said anything, and you always left when I started to! I want to know what's going on in your head!"
"You know, Stiles, my life doesn't revolve around you," Derin snapped. "It's not like you're constantly on my mind, whenever I came over that was just a small part of my time—"
"Oh no you don't, don't you try to get bitchy on me," Stiles glared. "You're not going to make this a fight so you can get away without answering me."
"God, Stiles, what do you want me to say? That I'm madly in love with you? I'm not, alright? I like sex. I have so much shit going on right now, excuse me for taking a moment to enjoy myself."
"Be nasty all you want," Stiles said stonily. "You're not going to make me mad. If you want to keep doing this, then you're going to be honest with me, not throw up smoke-screens."
"I don't want to keep doing this, not if it's going to be like this!" she snapped. "The only reason I was coming here was because it was easy. If you're going to make it difficult then I won't bother anymore." Derin moved to get out of the chair.
"Oh, so you have someone else to put out on demand for you?" Stiles asked calmly. "The nights you weren't here you were with someone else?"
"No!" Derin replied, anger in her eyes at such a suggestion. "Christ, Stiles, I'm not a cat in heat. I don't need sex every single night."
"Then why did you come by here so often, huh? Sometimes you were here every night of the week."
"I didn't hear you complaining," she said testily.
"Yeah, well, why would I when I had this amazing girl in my bed every night?" Derin opens her mouth to retort, but gets confused by the sudden compliment. Stiles barrels on. "If you're not going to tell me how you feel, then fine. I'll just be the one who talks.
"Do you have any idea how much crap you dumped on me, when this started? I'm sure this isn't news to you, but you were my first. And I know guys aren't supposed to get all emotional about that or whatever, but that's fucking bullshit. Without any warning a smoking hot girl who I thought hated me took my virginity. It knocked me on my ass, alright? There wasn't even any buildup, just all of a sudden you wanted sex with me every night. How the hell was I supposed to react? Turn you down? Of course not! But Christ, Derin, you turned my head all around. I mean, you still treated me like you always did during the day. I thought that it was supposed to be a secret, or something, so I didn't tell anyone. You acted like you were ashamed of what you were doing, ashamed of me—how was I supposed to deal with that?"
Derin doesn't know what to say, because all of a sudden Stiles is pacing in front of her, waving his arms. And he's angry at her. It wasn't as if they had always gotten along, but this time, Stiles was legitimately angry with her. Not the least bit scared, or intimidated by her, but angry. She doesn't know how to deal with an angry Stiles.
"Derin, if this ends like this, I'm going to be seriously fucked up, alright? The first girl I ever fell in love with is an evil ice queen, and the first girl I ever slept with is an abusive sex addict. I'm going to end up with a serious women complex."
"I'm not a sex addict," Derin muttered, not able to muster any defense to his rant. "And I'm not that abusive. Am I?"
Stiles stopped pacing and turned to face her. She was just sitting there, staring at her hands that were in her lap. She looked like she had just been thoroughly scolded by a schoolteacher. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "Look, all I can say is that Doctor Phil would have a serious bone to pick with you. And do you see what happens when you don't talk about things? This happens. Me, freaking out in the middle of night, after weeks of not having any idea what to do. And neither of us want that."
Derin picked her head up. "I don't know what you want from me, Stiles."
"I want you to be honest with me. Can you do that?"
She doesn't say anything, but that little duck of her head might have been a nod. Stiles is going to pretend that it was. "Did you like having sex with me?"
She jerks her head up, making a face. "What kind of stupid question is that, of course—"
"Answer the question."
She glares at him and lets out a huff. "Yes. I do."
"Are you ashamed that you've had sex with me?"
"Stiles—"
"Yes or no."
She works her mouth, and then looks back at her hands. "No."
"Are you being honest with me?"
"Yes!"
"Then why did you hesitate?"
"Because I don't like that you would even think that!"
Not really satisfied with that answer, Stiles decides to move on anyways. "Am I the only one you've been sleeping with?"
"Does that matter?"
"To me it does."
Derin sighs and throws up her hands, telling him that yes, he's the only one.
"Alright then." Stiles nods, and then asks the question that has been bothering him since all of this happened. "Why me?"
"What?"
"Why did you pick me? You could have any guy you wanted, and yet you came to me. I want to know why." He manages to keep eye-contact with her, even though his heart is pounding against his chest and he's kind of afraid of the answer.
If he didn't know any better, he would say that the slightest hint of a blush graced her cheeks. "God, Stiles," she grumbled. "Do you want me to stroke your ego? Come on, don't be stupid."
"I mean it, Derin. I don't get why you would choose me, if I was the only guy you were doing this with."
Derin tries not to squirm in her seat as she replies, "Because you're you, you idiot. I'm not just going to have sex with some random guy, despite what you seem to think of me."
"So you slept with me just because you know me? Because I was there?"
"No!" Derin rolls her eyes. "It's you, okay? I like you. You're talking like this is some weird werewolf thing, but it's not. I wanted to have sex with you, so I did, okay? People do it all the time."
"Then why didn't you act like it? Why did you act like you didn't like me at all?"
"Oh my god, Stiles, were you even there?" she gets to her feet. "I don't know what you remember, but I thought I was pretty obvious about what I liked."
Stiles feels his face heat up, at her words and her closeness. He tries to push his embarrassment aside. "Yeah, you were obvious about what you liked, but it was never me. It was just what I—provided," he said awkwardly. "You made me feel like I was just…just a toy, for you to use whenever you wanted. You never acted like you actually liked me."
Derin stares at him for a moment, and realizes he's being completely honest. He thinks that she saw him as just a toy that she played with when she wanted to get off. Just like that Argent had toyed with her to get what she wanted. Stiles thinks that she was just using him, just like Kate used her.
And Derin immediately feels like trash. That wasn't what she wanted. Of course it wasn't. She had never intended to make anyone, and certainly not Stiles, to feel like they were being used. All those nights together, and all she was doing was making him feel like an object. That must have been great for his self-esteem. "Stiles, I didn't mean…I never thought you would feel that way. I just…I thought that you were happy with it. I thought we were both helping each other get what we needed. I…I don't think of you like the way you seem to think I do."
"You never acted like I was more to you," Stiles says quietly, looking down at his feet.
Derin stumbles over her words as she tries to explain. "Stiles, you are. More. I'm just—I'm not good with this kind of stuff, okay? I never have been. You said it yourself, I hate this emotional stuff. Physical stuff is always easier, at least for me. It's simpler. Emotional stuff is messy, and complicated—"
"The physical stuff can get messy too," Stiles joked, and Derin pushed him.
"I'm trying to talk to you here, okay? That's what you wanted, isn't it? Look—I don't like the emotional stuff, but that doesn't mean it isn't there. I just don't want to…examine it. Or explain it, or think about it. Ignoring it is easier for me."
Stiles looks at her for a moment, and then says, "Okay. I can live with that."
"You can? Good. Because I don't want to have to explain it again." Deciding that they had come to an agreement, Derin moved to the window.
Stiles grabbed her hand. "Where do you think you're going?" When Derin just looks at him, Stiles says, "I never said that you made it up to me."
Derin blinks, surprised. "I thought that…um, alright. If you want." She begins to reach for her belt.
Stiles laughs and grabs her other hand. "That's not what I'm talking about. You said you don't like the emotional stuff, so I'll meet you halfway. I want to cuddle."
"You want to…cuddle?" she echoes, giving him an incredulous look. "Are you joking right now?"
"Nope." Stiles smiles at the face she makes. "You want to make me happy, right? Well, I want you to get in that bed, and curl up with me for the night. And not just tonight, any night that I want cuddles. Those are the conditions for you getting a piece of me whenever you want."
Derin glances down at their entwined fingers, and then over at the bed. "I'm not sure if you're worth it, to be honest. I hate cuddling."
"I'm just going to have to teach you to like it…like you taught me how to like all that other stuff," Stiles smirks. He squeezes her hands. "Now come on woman, we've got some serious bonding to do. Be glad I'm not asking you to talk to me anymore."
Derin allows him to tow her to the bed, and reluctantly gets under the covers with him after kicking off her shoes. She tries not to squirm as he wraps himself around her, though he feels stifling. After Stiles has settled in and drifted off, Derin turns her head up to look at his face. She watches him for a moment, and then thinks that maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe she can handle this, maybe she won't ruin it. She nestles her head against his shoulder and closes her eyes, rubbing her thumb over the palm of his hand.
He closes his hand around hers in response, pressing a kiss against her hair. Derin can't help but smile in response.