Summary: He told himself; it was okay if he only liked him for his looks. He told himself it was okay, because he was only attracted to his looks and could never like the moody sour-wolf for his less-than-crappy personality.
He told himself; it was okay if he only liked him for his looks. It was okay, because he was so much older than Stiles and would never be interested and his own interest stayed strictly between him, his imagination and his hand. He told himself it was okay, becuase he was only attracted to his looked and could never like the moody sourwolf - who took every opportunity to throw Stiles up against something solid and just a little painful - for his less-than-crappy personality.
He told himself; he was scared of the big, bad wolf - though he knew his increased heart rate was not out of fear.
He joked, about Derek dying or disappearing, through his heartache at the mere thought, because he had to refuse that the sourwolf meant something to him. He joked to keep everyone fooled. He joked because his life was so much simpler before Derek-fucking-Hale returned to Beacon Hills and inserted himself into Stiles' life so...wonderfully.
He told himself; the ache in his chest when Derek was actually on the brink of death was nothing, it's tough watching anyone die, it didn't mean anything.
He admitted to himself; when he truly wanted to punch Scott for making Derek the most wanted man in the state; okay, maybe, he did have the tiniest crush on a certain sourwolf.
He pleaded with himself; find someone else to obsess over. Literally anyone else! Allison even! No- wait, not Allison, Scott would kill him... But anyone else!
He told himself; it's just a silly teenage crush, that would eventually go away - after every night in his bed. While his breathing was evening out and he was slowly coming back to earth, he told himself this was the last time - next time he'll go back to thinking about Lydia or some other girl... Or...maybe some other dude...
He told himself; he was imagining it, whenever he thought he saw a glimmer of...something in Derek's eye. Or maybe a hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. Or a lingering hand. Or a concerned look. Or- no. Derek didn't feel anything for him, it's all in his head.
He told himself; he was a horrible person, when he couldn't find it in him to feel bad for Scott for more than a week after Derek ripped (literally) his best friends' only hope at a normal life, from existence.
He punch a wall one night; halting an internal argument, focused on how easily he hid his feelings from the wolves. They're supposed to be able to tell when someone is lying or hiding something!
He admitted he'd been kidding himself, that he had far more than a little crush on the sourwolf, when said sourwolf took his hand and glared at the bruised, not-quite-but-very-close-to-broken, knuckles in concern, gently running his thumb across them. Then asked him, in a painfully soft voice, if he was okay. If Stiles knew anything, he knew that Derek heard the way his heart skipped a beat at that - even if the man (um... wolf?) showed no reaction.
He knew he was so fucking screwed, the first time Derek kissed him. It had been soft and fast and after a too-close-for-comfort-brush-with-death on Stiles' part. Derek hadn't said anything after, only refused to look at Stiles while he held him tightly in his bed and quietly slipped out when the teen finally fell asleep - a small smile on his face.
He knew he loved the wolf the second after the words fell from his lips, along with tears. Derek was dying in his arms - again. But this time there was no one coming to save them, they were alone and so far from home, with absolutely no hope and saying their goodbye while still praying for some miracle. The words just slipped out, in between heaving sobs. Derek smiled, his own cheeks wet with tears, "I know. I love you too, you idiot."