Chapter 1: Hollow

Derek lay naked next to his beautiful girlfriend.

As he stroked her back, he contemplated the best day to break up with her. Valentine's Day was coming up on Tuesday. Breaking up with her on Sunday would crush her, he was working Monday and breaking up on Valentine's Day was the dickest move to ever exist. There had to be a buffer of a week or so, or else she'd think he was waiting until Valentine's Day was over, which he was, but that would make things worse on her.

Girls always say they want to hear the truth when it happens—the moment where the magic is lost. They don't. No one does. The truth hurts them more than it does him. Kate hadn't done anything wrong. There were no problems in their relationship—if anything, she was the most understanding and thoughtful one he'd had in a while. He wished there was a problem. Wished she was selfish or that they fought, but he never cared enough to get angry or jealous. Either she was too polite or didn't have any grievances for him in return.

He'd be thrilled if she'd suddenly break up with him; to hear a girlfriend say she was tired of him after a single fuck. Even if the feeling wasn't mutual, he could relate.

As if she could read his mind, she turned and looked at him with those hazy brown eyes and smiled like he was the only thing left in the world. What a euphoric vision she was with her dark hair framing her face and that quiet upturn of her lips. He smiled back and let her pull him into a kiss, let her roll onto him, and let the rest of the night pass in a carnal haze.

Tuesday went worse than he thought it would. He'd gotten Kate some chocolate out of obligation, but he knew she had an obsession with some dumb werewolf movie, so he got her the stuffed wolf as a small addition. That was a mistake.

She saw it and her face lit up and she brought him in for an excited kiss.

"I love you!" she exclaimed.

Kate was flustered and blushed with a kind of heavy embarrassment that only came from people who said and meant that phrase for the first time. Since he'd forgotten to break up with her over winter break and found it more manageable to text or call, they'd technically been dating four months. When she was looking to him with doe-eyed nervous anticipation, he knew what she wanted him to do. What he was expected to say.

Derek chuckled and distract her with another kiss, hoping that'd be enough of an excuse for him not to say it back. The hell was wrong with him?

He went out with her and the rest of the friend group to a local college bar. He got drunk enough to consider standing up and walking out; maybe into the street to see if he got hit, or just downtown until he got too tired to take another step. The girls left early to go to a play, and Kate took the opportunity to stroke his hair and kiss him a loving farewell. She tasted like the cheap liquor.

"Damn, I wish I was the one who could have asked her first! You're damn lucky, Derek!" Ronald, their group loudmouth, snapped once they were out the door. Despite his puffed chest, Ronald would have never asked Kate to go anywhere, and that infuriated Derek about him.

"I wish I could find my soul mate. I guess for now, I'll keep Terrie. But there was this blonde chick the other night at Chrissy's party…." started Mark. Derek needed another drink if he was going to listen to Mark go into some dumbass story that was more than likely a lie. Somewhere between his group's banter and the shots, he found himself counting the seconds ticking by on the old analog clock so intensely that the bartender below it thought he was eyeing her up.

He got another free drink out of that, and plenty of comments from the guys.

"Kate's got some real competition."

"How is it that you manage to get all the attention?"

"Can I tell Kate the news, maybe she'll go for me?"

Derek knew he was handsome by most people's standards. He'd have to thank his friend, Stiles, for teaching him how to dress and hold himself so that he didn't come off as a complete fuck boy, but what he was born with didn't hurt either. Natural dark eyes and hair, and an angular jaw managed to give the impression that he was the mysterious type. Derek never had a reason to own that persona until he came to college, where "mysterious" translated into being observant until he wanted something, then striking after it.

"That reminds me of this one time with this Colombian chick back in…."

Derek started eyeing up the street again, listening to the ticking of the clock and falling into a lazy meditation until someone would finally call a break-up to their meeting. He walked home too sober to think he hadn't wasted his entire night. What else was he going to do with it?

The buffer came and went and Derek broke up with Kate on leap day, which became an unanticipated black mark. He'd wanted to do it sooner so that she wouldn't hold off any plans she might have in anticipation that he'd invite her three states away to his home in New York over spring break. Turns out, she'd bought both of them tickets early and made a point of throwing them at his face a couple days after the breakup. He almost laughed at her flare for drama until he saw the price tag.

Just another week, he reminded himself. Another week and he'd be free of this.

Not that going home was of any excitement to him. In fact, he was just planning to stop in, wave to his dad and sistersister and then pack his stuff to drive to Beacon Hills as fast as possible.

Before that, of course, he had to deal with the "divorce." Kate and he shared a friend group, hung out with them every day, making the new situation a potentially straining one. Kate was the emotional kind; bent on not being friends at the end of a relationship. Derek knew that going in. Part of him admitted that's why he asked her in the first place.

He made the choice for the group easy and stopped hanging around them. Nothing was lost from the split besides a few free beers on Friday.

It was eerie how easy it was to be alone.

He was packing for spring break when Kate came to his door. Apparently, she'd been texting him and he'd been ignoring her. He wasn't interested in fixing anything, explaining anything, or even telling her he wasn't interested. Cutting all ties with her was preferable to him, but she wasn't having it.

She banged on his door and called until he opened. She demanded the train tickets back—but that obviously wasn't why she was here. They were digital and she could cancel them if she wanted. He offered to pay and she said she wanted the tickets. She slipped into his apartment and the conversation quickly went from the train to "What went wrong? Please. I have to know."

Derek didn't have an answer, but she refused to leave. His train—or any train—left at eight in the morning. He had to hold out for twelve hours.

She wanted to know what was really going on.

"Kate, I don't know what to tell you. It didn't work out. That's that," he said, tossing the last of his shirts into the suitcase. Kate stood with her arms crossed at the doorway of his bedroom, fuming in anger.

"That's that? I ask you why and you can't give me a reason? Derek," she sighed. Her eyes fixed on his suitcase. While Derek was fishing for a fresh pair of socks, he heard clothes shifting. Kate was digging through his bag. "Kate, what are you doing?"

Kate paused in her search and shifted her hip to be set against the bag in a way that made her skirt ride up at the hem. She knew what she was doing. "What's the real problem? I won't let you close me out, okay? You always do this and you can do it to the guys and to our friends, but you can't do it to me. Derek, what's wrong? You haven't been cheating have you?"

"Woah, no!" Derek snapped. The damn thought that he would ever—"Kate, I don't…no."

"You're withdrawn. I don't see you as often, and now this out of nowhere! I'm not stupid!" she said, digging back into the bag. From there, she pulled out a small newspaper-wrapped box with a string attached. "What's this?"

Derek sighed and took Kate by the shoulders to steady her. "Kate, that's for my sister. Her birthday was last month," he lied. She flushed redder than before, her pointed nose scrunching in embarrassment. Her forehead fell into his chest and he could feel her start to cry as her shoulders shook in his arms. "Kate," he decided to go the more honest route as he drew his hands to her chin to tilt her eyes up, "It's not you, it never was you. Okay? There was never anyone else, and you're great, but…."

"Is this because I said I loved you too early? You know I don't expect you to love me back all at once," she probed, unsatisfied with his answer.

"That's not it," he said. Why couldn't she let it die?

"Listen, I know it might be new for you, but it doesn't change anything. Just because your sister…." She faded to a whimper and he knew she was reacting to him. His face had gone tight and his jaw set, he couldn't help it. He really wished he never told her any of that. "You have to talk to me."

He had to talk to someone, maybe, but not Kate. She seemed to think she had passage into him that no one else did, but he didn't hold anything close to a key to his heart. All the masses she discounted were the people she was unknowingly apart of. But, how could he tell her that when he'd been handed her heart and a road where she told him things she'd never told anyone before? "Nothing happened," he said, drawing another dissatisfied scowl from her red lips.

"You wouldn't hurt me like this. You can't do that kind of thing," she said with a kind of knowing finality that he wanted to prove wrong the minute the words left her lips.

He brought her lips to his and pulled her into a carnal kiss giving her all the grief and rage that didn't exist but she expected. As she melted into him and clutched his hair, he could only think of how tasteless she was. She licked into his mouth and pulled desperately at his clothes. She drove him further back into the bed.

He went through the motions, of course. Kate was still cute and skilled with her mouth. He didn't have any problem getting it up; though plenty of other exchangeable faces came to mind when he was grinding into her through her silken dress.

Hot, slick and passionless. That's how he could surmise every instant of that night, down to the climax. Yet, Kate nuzzled against him and whispered those three words again, panting in satisfaction.

Kate slept in his bed while he packed, showered and wrote a quick note. He took the valuable shit more than clothes, and didn't think of the consequences of leaving for the train without waking her. He didn't want to talk. Yet another in a series of open, dickish moves he was willing to make. Anything she did to his apartment in rage was preferable to the "that was a stupid fight" conversation that would inevitably happen if he stayed.

He bought his own last-minute ticket for the train and called it about even though it wasn't.

Besides a passing nod to his neighboring passenger, Derek got to close his eyes and watch the suburbs and inner-cities in a washed haze. About three hours into his ride, he got the text.

Kate: We need to talk.

"No, we don't," Derek tried lying to himself. He set his forehead deeper into the window watching the texts and calls from Kate pile up. Yeah, he'd made the problem a lot worse, and all it did was give him the only real emotion he could get out of this relationship, heavy anxiety and regret. Her efforts died down in a half-hour. Another hour later, he got texts from people in the friend group.

None of them got him mad until Ronald, because, of course, Ronald.

Ronald: Jackass, you have to call her back! She's been crying in our apartment for an hour! What kind of boyfriend are you?

Not an ounce of bullshit compensation coming from that guy, no. Derek wasn't sure why he kept checking his texts. Then, the answer came. His phone blinked alive with a new text.

Stiles: Train kill you yet?

Derek couldn't help but smile, a raw levity sinking into him, cutting away the rest of this overdone drama.

Derek: Not yet. What's up?

Stiles: Near Cali yet?

Derek: Yeah.

Stiles: I'm at the station. Dumbass boyfriend bought a bus ticket. So, if you haven't passed Union yet… I'm stuck here for another hour, at best.

Derek chuckled. He could picture Stiles right now, dying of boredom in that beat-up car. It only made sense to take the guy up on his offer. Derek wasn't planning on staying home for longer than it took to get his car-keys anyway. He didn't want to go back home to a litany of questions. His sister had found out about Kate through Derek's slip-up and knew she wanted to come down for spring break. His phone still rang out with irrelevant text messages from everyone at the campus and Derek…just…couldn't take it.

When Union Station was announced, Derek slung his bag over his shoulder and followed the line out the train and to the parking lot. He didn't want to think about Kate buzzing in his pocket. He didn't want to think about what a mess he'd left behind. Any memory of going home—any memory of the past four months—could be blotched away and he would be thankful. Why stop there? He'd exchange the past two years, all his time in college, maybe just one more day back before everything slipped from his grasp, before it all faded to a numbed gray.

It took half a second to notice Stiles' dented Camry hiding in the corner of the parking lot. For the first time in months, Derek wouldn't deny he was feeling his heart race in real excitement. He made sure to hide his childish smile before he was close enough to be in Stiles' view. Blaring headlights splashed color into his steps as he helped himself to the front seat.

"Hey, loser," Stiles said when Derek opened the door. He took off his reading glasses and tossed his book to the backseat, clearing out his backpack and some empty water bottles from the passenger's seat to make room for Derek.

"Stiles, you have so much crap in this place," Derek teased, kicking aside a soda can, "New guy cure you of OCD?"

"I blame D2," he sighed, gesturing to a sport's bag thrown behind him. A faint blush appeared at the top of his cheeks when his gaze skimmed over the backseat. "But, yeah, Isaac may also factor into the equation."

Isaac Lahey…of all people? Derek still couldn't get over it. They'd gone to high school together, but Derek only remembered him being well-meaning but annoying. If he thought hard about it, it sort of made sense. Both Lahey and Stiles were obnoxiously defiant people when they wanted to be.

"He sounds more fun than you. I'm not sitting in the backseat, if I'm right," Derek said, settling his feet on the dash.

Stiles flushed and let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm not even gonna...I mean...Yeah, no point in trying. Uh...Fair warning, he's a little dramatic and more…uh…gay than me?"

"What, is there a percentage system I should know about?" Derek quirked a brow.

Stiles paused to find the right word. "Flamboyant."

"Oh…OH…oh shit! Has your dad met him yet?" Derek frowned.

"Not yet," Stiles said, releasing a deep, practiced breath. He turned and smiled at Derek with a genuine gratitude in those light puppy eyes. "I'm glad you decided to take the detour. I was sort of freaking out in the car and, I thought I was gonna throw up. Is that too much information? It feels like it. I mean, I'm just glad I get to talk to more than the radio about that incoming situation. Can't exactly tell Isaac to stop being Isaac when he meets my dad so...yeah."

Mr. Stilinski was a nice guy overall, and a loving dad, but he was one of those strict old-fashioned types who associated being gay with being a twink. When he learned about Stiles, he wasn't angry, just uncomfortable and concerned. Basic math means that Stiles learned to keep all boyfriends on the down low to avoid the subject. Still, Stiles compensated a lot for something that didn't really exist when it came to his dad.

Stiles wasn't willowy nor imposingly tall, and put no pitched flair in his voice. He was smaller than Derek by a longshot, but was still toned from taking up lacrosse late in high school. He made a point to keep his brown hair neat, his face clean shaven, and to never wear shorts in winter. After that, though, no one ever thought he was gay until he was introducing them to his boyfriend—

Or, in Derek's case, confessing his crush to you in sophomore year. Derek was a textbook description of straight-white-male, and he was dating a girl at the time. It goes without saying, the confession made an awkward situation. It was the kind of thing that killed relationships, especially in high school. Stiles' prefers to forget about it, and still thinks of it as a humiliating dent in their friendship. But, for Derek it was kind of the opposite.

Stiles used to be one of those kids he was okay friends with, but it was neither here nor there, until that confession. Stiles moved on from the rejection after a month, started talking to him again after two, and Derek came out of the entire weird phase of their friendship admiring him for it. It took guts to admit you liked someone when you knew rejection was the only possibility. That's what he liked about Stiles, unlike Ronald or Kate, there wasn't any bullshit or denial. He dealt the truth and he took the truth just as well.

Of course, they'd known each other since middle-school and they mostly had a friendship built on competition, insults, and sarcasm, but that one night in sophomore year was always Derek's defining moment with Stiles. Stiles' prefers to forget about it, and still thinks of it as a humiliating dent in their friendship. The moment he knew the guy was worth sticking around for.

"So, how's things with Kate?" Stiles asked.

Derek groaned in reflex. "How do you know about her?"

"Your sister called me up to see what she could force out of me. They say she's your first college girlfriend?"

"First one they knew about," Derek said. "Broke it off with her already."

"She's the first one I knew about," Stiles said in a kind of tone that wasn't exactly at ease. Derek couldn't decipher what it was. A kind of nonchalant hurt? This was sort of a hang-up on the gay thing. They didn't talk about girls often. Though Stiles had no problem with it, Derek felt like it was a one-sided conversation. Stiles was pretty brief with boyfriend updates, but wasn't withholding anything either. They were friends after all. Still, there was some stuff Derek didn't tell him. Couldn't tell anyone.

"They didn't last long enough to mention," Derek said.

"Well aren't you the classic man-whore?" he teased. "What? You go through a girl a week?"

"It's only been three girls total," Derek lied. It had been, maybe, been one a month (if he discounted one-night stands). He hadn't felt too much regret or care about that until Stiles was the one asking. He was quick to turn his attention to the radio. "Anyway, what's this acid rap you're playing? Don't you have anything good?"

"Hey, don't turn off A$AP for some ACDC bullshit again!"

"ACDC is great!"

"Yeah, and so are the five songs you play over-and-over. Expand your damn horizons."

"I'll do it with songs that don't sound like dirges."

Though he protested, Derek was still smiling through the new playlist of weird indie songs Stiles had dug up over the semester. Stiles kept pitching one artist after another in-between his rants about college, work, and life in general. Derek would insult a couple of tracks but never made a motion to change anything. This is what Derek would trade two years for. One night sitting in this old dented car with his best friend and little more than a care in the world.

a/n: Drop a review if ya like or if you don't like. It happens. This is gonna get...intense. And Quick early catch-up. AU where no werewolf powers. Derek and Stiles are same-ish age. Derek 21, Stiles 20. College-ish AU.