The texture of the red twine had grown tight and thin as it rolled about in his fingertips. Hours he had sat, simply playing with it, unsure where this one might lead. Unlike the others, each either hanging or pulled taught throughout his room, this particular one didn't seem to lead anywhere. Though he tried, its destination alluded him, or perhaps it was just simply he could not bring himself to let this red tether lead to where it belonged.

Frustrated, Stiles let open his hand slowly and watched the sting roll its last over his fingers, before falling to the floor. No more for today, no more dwelling on things, no more mysteries; it was time for a change, if only that of scenery.

Snatching up his keys from the corner of his desk, he hurried down the stairs, ignoring the distant call of his father as he darted out the door to his jeep. A drive would do some good, rid his mind of everything, clear his thoughts. Maybe he'd drive as Lydia so often did, mindlessly, and find himself somewhere horrifying, at least there always came a great deal of distraction whenever a new murder happened. What an awful thought, at it, Stiles winced, scrunching his face as he hesitated, key in the ignition, and promptly turned it.

The jeep roared through Beacon Hills, aimlessly turning this way and that through the streets, as he'd hoped to lose himself. All the while his mind played over everything he had hoped to ignore, including the sensation still tingling about his fingers from the red string he had been playing with. Down a side street he turned, as the image of the temple flashed in his head. Past a stop sign he completely ignored, as he recalled stepping out of the van to the sight of Derek on the ground, dying.

Finally he stopped, tires screeching and jeep skidding along the deserted lot. His eyes looked on to the distance for some time, lost as he felt himself back in that place, the darkness engulfing him, as he turned back to hear Derek urge him to go on without him. But it hadn't been that, it wasn't the fact he was leaving the dying man behind when they needed him, though they had needed him.

All the mistakes he had made, all the discomfort he had felt as he tried so hard to be all that Malia deserved, to have what he'd always wanted with Lydia; none of it felt right, none of it fit perfectly in place or made him feel even an ounce of what he'd felt that night. Everything in him wanted to stay, wanted to let the others go and rescue Scott and Kira, everything told him his place was there with Derek. But Braeden had him, she held her hand on his heart as he lay wounded, bleeding, as he called out to Stiles to go save Scott, as if telling him it was all right to go and find his brother. Then why was it so hard to turn away? Why had he hesitated? Why had he even turned around?

The answer was clear, though his emotions would not allow his thoughts to be. Nothing could keep Stiles from rescuing Scott, he was everything in the world to the awkward boy, the one thing he knew would never change; yet it had. They were both growing up, gradually growing apart, the evidence of it sat beside him in the jeep in the cold absence of his friend, whom Stiles could not breathe a word of this to. It was too huge, too difficult to put into words and explain in a way that wouldn't manage making him feel worse than it already did. Not that Scott wouldn't understand, but he wasn't the brightest bulb, let alone, Stiles still wasn't entirely sure of anything anymore, let alone confident enough to even attempt telling his best friend what tormented him.

Putting the jeep into park, he turned off the engine and leaned onto the wheel to look where he had wound up. Before him loomed Derek's building, a tinge of sarcastic irony itching under his skin as he bitterly scoffed at himself and leaned back in his seat, defeated. Where was that red string?

With a huff, Stiles exited the jeep, making his way up to Derek's loft. He might as well, now that he was here; what harm could come of it? Tons, a good deal of pain and anguish, not to mention the immense weight of regret. This was a bad idea, hands down, worst idea ever, yet he took the lift up and counted the seconds down until he stood before the large, heavy door.

What would he say? Why was he even there? As if Stiles needed some ulterior motive to simply show up at Derek's loft, he played over a number of truly horrible lies he could attempt to deflect what had really driven him to arrive here so suddenly. All this in a matter of a breath, and before any of it could make any sense or before he could make up his mind which lie to use, the door opened. His eyes met with the werewolf, eyes burning right back into his core, and felt his hands shake.

"Uh, Derek, I-" Nervously he chuckled, shoving a hand up through his hair, and could feel his brain melt and heart explode out of his chest.

Derek merely quirked an eyebrow at the human before him, quickly shaking his head with a turn, and left the silent invitation for the boy to enter. Following after a second's hesitation, Stiles closed the door behind him, and remained but a few paces from it, holding back the urge to run, but allowing for a hasty escape if he felt the urge grow too strong to ignore.

"Braeden's not here."

"O-oh?" A curious bit of information for the man to so suddenly offer. Stiles quirked an eyebrow and cocked his head toward the back of Derek's, aware he could not see his familiar expression, and glad for it.

"She found a clue on the Desert Wolf. Followed it." Turning to face the boy, Derek leaned back against the table, framed by the window of his loft, and folded his arms over his chest. "Have you found anything?"

He'd been staring. God! he'd been looking at him like a piece of meat! How long had he been lost in the line and ripple of the man's shirt as it clung to him? Examining him as if he was still wounded, Stiles found himself admiring parts of Derek openly, finally allowing himself the forethought of looking, simply taking him in. He'd done this so many times before, unaware he had even done it, only now it left him blushing, shaking his head and opening his eyes wide, tearing them upward toward the man's lips.

"Found what!?"

"On Kate? Maybe the Desert Wolf? Look, Stiles, don't hold out for Malia's sake, Braeden isn't going to hurt her mother."

"What? No! I mean-" Where were all those lies he'd been thinking up just a minute ago? Why was his mind suddenly silent and thoughts failing him?

Derek furrowed his brow at the boy, aware Stiles was never one to behave as a normal person would, but familiar enough to know when he was struggling. "What happened?" Obviously something was bothering the boy, something had rattled him, and after everything they had been through, he knew when to worry, and this appeared as good a time as any.

"Uh, n-nothing," Stiles stammered, playing over in his mind as quickly he could what options he had. Either stay and face rejection after a painful confession, speak and flee, or just run and ignore it like he had been. His options didn't seem promising nor pleasant, but something in him wasn't going to let him leave without saying something; it burned inside him like a raging fire that would only grow hotter and consume him, rather than snuff itself out. Taking a breath, Stiles composed himself for the waiting werewolf, and finally let the words come. "I didn't mean to come here today, but I think I did. I know I did. For- Since the temple I've been... struggling with this... This thought keeps going through my head. It's not like a thought that comes with words or a way to describe it, more like a feeling, and even that just..."

Derek did his best to follow the rambling thoughts spewing fourth from Stiles' pursed lips, watching as the boy bit at them and puffed his cheeks with every frustrated sigh. He searched the boy's expression, so sad and terrified, not as if anything had happened to Scott or the boy's father, but something else, something almost familiar. Then it dawned on him, though all of his mumbles and half-spoken sentences, what the boy was trying to say. "Stiles, don't," he pleaded.

The boy stopped abruptly, unsure why Derek had halted him, or what he had even been saying at that point.

"You don't know what you're saying. Take a step back, think of Malia, and-"

This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, not that he had expected anything other than disaster, but usually his expectation of such has some form of a happy ending, or at least he imagined perhaps his luck might allow for such a thing. He couldn't reject him before he even said his peace, that wasn't fair. "No! She doesn't- No, Derek, I need to say this."

"Please don't."

"Why not? I've been... This has been eating away at me, gnawing at my stomach for weeks. I need to say it. Just let me say it, then I'll leave, and it won't matter anymore."

Derek lowered his eyes as he shook his head in disappointment. If only the boy could see what he had realized a long time ago; despite how much he felt for the boy, they could never be together, it wasn't for them. "Stiles-"

"Derek, just shut up. Shut up for one second and let me say this... Please."

His eyes closed as he braced for the boy's words. It would only hurt them both, for Stiles to say it and for Derek to hear it. If things had been different, if the world they lived in wasn't the way it was; if only their story could be different.

"I-" the words stuck in his throat a moment, but with a cough shook loose from where they clung, "I love you. I saw you dying and all I wanted to do was stay and... I didn't think I would ever see you again, and I couldn't stand it. Ever since... You're all I can think about, you're in everything. I can't... I can't get past this thought that maybe- I think I've been in love with you since-"

"Since when?" called a voice from behind him. Stiles turned to see Braeden standing in the doorway, the sound completely ignored as he let his heart spill out. Both his and Derek's eyes were fixed on the woman as she stood smirking at the pair of them, eyes narrowed at the shaking boy she blocked from his immediate escape.