Recommended listening: Hoobstank - The letter

Meet me there at midnight. Same place we always go. Are you absolutely sure he doesn't know? I've missed you so much. I just want you to be mine. I don't want to share you anymore.
Please, come back to me. We both know that I'm so much better for you.

Stiles's hands shook, the paper in his fingers slipping from his grasp and fluttering to the floor. Cursive writing mocked him as he held back a small sob, bringing his hand up and pressing his dry, cracked lips against his knuckles.
The young man sat on the edge of the large queen sized bed he shared with his boyfriend, staring down at the letter on the floor, unable to understand why. They had been together for four years, four god damn years, and everything had been perfect.

Sure they fought over trivial things, but that's what every couple did. It wasn't all sunshine and bumblebees. But they always made up. They'd always end up curled together under the sheets, holding each other tightly and whispering their apologies, wiping away any doubt of the other no longer loving them.
But this, this wasn't something Stiles could forgive Derek for.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles jumped up from the bed and grabbed the frame, pulling until it was far enough from the wall for him to reach behind it. He shouldn't be doing it, but he just had to see if there were any other letters. If it was just this one. If it was just a mistake that Derek made.

Pressing himself along the wall, Stiles reached behind the bed, his breath hitching as the tip of his fingers felt more paper. Straining slightly, the boy reached further and dragged them out. All of them.

There wasn't just one letter. There was a dozen, all shoved behind the headboard of their bed. Derek didn't even try to hide them, it was like he wanted Stiles to see them. Like he put them there so Stiles would find them, take the hint and leave. Like he couldn't tell Stiles he was a bother so instead he used the stupid letters of his secret fuck.

It felt as though someone was holding Stiles's throat between their fingers, squeezing as tight as they could. He couldn't breathe. He could barely even see through the tears that had swarmed his vision.

When can I next see you? I've been counting down the days. I promise you our secret will be safe. It's so lonely in my bed at night. All I dream about is being in your strong arms and making you mine.

It hurt so much more that it was a woman. Derek had told him that after Kate, he'd never looked at a woman the same way. That he couldn't stand them.
Yet here were the letters to prove that it was all one big lie.

Standing up stiffly, Stiles glanced over at the clock on the wall. 1:38. Derek wouldn't be home until 7, once he drove through all the afternoon traffic.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles decided that he'd write his own letter to Derek. He'd stop being such a burden to the man that he loved. Because even if it hurt Stiles, he'd rather Derek be happy than trapped in a relationship with some overly hyperactive and useless human boy.

Numbly walking over to the desk, Stiles sat himself down in the plush office chair he had insisted on buying because it was just so irresistibly comfortable. God, it seemed so long ago.

The letter wrote itself really. It was like Stiles was watching someone else write how he felt. Out of body experience or some shit like that.
It didn't matter though. Once he finished the letter, he'd pack his jeep with his things and go back to Beacon Hills. His dad was still there, still the sheriff, still in the house Stiles grew up in.
He smiled fondly, remembering all the fun he had as a kid in that house. All the memories he shared with his dad, his mum and Scott. Some happy, some sad.

Sighing heavily, Stiles reread the letter, more tears filling his eyes.

Derek, I may not be perfect. I know that. But I tried my damn hardest to be perfect for you. Obviously, it wasn't good enough because you broke the promise I thought you'd never break. You were everything to me, you made me want to change, to be better than what I ever was.
This is going to be my last change for you. By the time you've read this, I'll be long gone. There's no way to turn this thing around.
I'm leaving so that you can be truly happy. Happy in ways that I never made you.
Don't worry about this hurting me. Seriously, just as long as you're happy, then I'm happy. It's nothing new anyways, I wasn't lying when I told you that everyone ends up leaving me one way or another.

Have a good life Derek, I'm glad that I could have been a small part of it. I love you.

Stiles wiped his face with his jacket sleeve, leaning back in the chair to stare up at the ceiling. Four years down the drain.
Derek was his love, his other part, the one who filled the gaping hole in his heart.
Yeah he sounded like some stupid sixteen year old, but it was true.

He had get this over and done with. There was no use pretending that he hadn't found any of the letters and continue a relationship with a massive lie hanging over them. It would just make things so much worse.
First off, Stiles had to gather all the letters he left on the floor.
He didn't want to read more than what he had already seen, so he kept his eyes firmly ahead of him as he neatly stacked them on the desk, his own letter perched on top. There's no way Derek wouldn't be able to miss them, he was the master of detail. You know, werewolf and all that jazz.

Then he went about straightening the bed to how it was beforehand, continuing his little clean up that had caused him to find the stupid letter in the first place.
He patted down the lumps in the bed covers, dusted down the shelves, tucked in the loose corners of the quilt, all while tears streamed down his pale and mole dotted cheeks. His nose was red from the constant wiping on the back of his jacket sleeve and his eyes were all puffy from crying.

It nearly killed him going through their joined closet and sorting out his clothes from Derek's. Stiles hadn't realised how domesticated he and Derek had become compared to when they first moved in to the apartment. Everything had remained in boxes for weeks until Lydia burst her way into the house, unpacked everything to how she saw fit then told them to get used to it.

He left the photo's in their places. It would have been too painful of a reminder what he had left behind. He did that for his sake, not for Derek.

Still sniffling, Stiles shuffled around the house with bags, packing what belonged to him into them. A book here, an ornament there.
Derek bought most of the things in the apartment, leaving Stiles to bring only his essentials and small knick-knacks he took fancy when out shopping.
So when the young man put all his belongings into his trusty light blue jeep, which had somehow survived the rest of his high school career, it only filled his back seat, not that he was complaining or anything.

Making his way back upstairs, Stiles dreaded the one last scan he would be making. Too many memories were made in this apartment.
The elderly lady next door who always smiled, blew kisses and baked cookies (how cliché) was definitely something Stiles would miss. The family across the hall with the kid Stiles often babysat was another thing he'd miss. But he had to put it all behind him.

He was doing this for Derek.

He had to do this.

There was no turning back.

Before he knew it, he was standing at the kitchen island, his fingers tightly clutching the marble counter top.
The clock on top of the fridge read 4:02. Two more hours until Derek would be back. He had to leave now or he'd never make it out of here. He'd change his mind, bring everything back inside and pretend he never saw the letters.

Looking down at the car keys in his hand, Stiles felt his bottom lip tremble. "It's now or never." He whispered as he pulled the apartment key off the chain.
Placing it onto the counter top, a tightness clutched at his chest. "No. No panic attacks." He gasped, clenching his fists tightly. For a few moments, he took deep breaths, counting in his head. After he counted to 48, the tightness eased and Stiles could breath properly again.

He took a small step backwards toward the front door. Then another. And another, until his back made contact with the wooden frame. His eyes darting from one side of the room to the other.

"Goodbye." Stiles whispered to the room, nobody there to hear the voice of a boy who had been through so much finally breaking.

Then with that, he turned and left the place he called home. The door quietly closing with a click behind him.

I won't be there to say goodbye.