Somehow Allison and Scott actually make it to the altar. No one actually expects them to – no one really believed that they would make it through the stress of planning a wedding much less the cold feet the day of – but despite their rocky relationship history they actually get to the ceremony and sign the papers. And then they're being introduced at the reception as husband and wife and it's done. They're officially newlyweds, and Stiles is ridiculously happy for them even if it does feel a little like losing his best friend.
The reception is beautiful, as was the ceremony, but Stiles mostly just sits at the head table watching his best friend make the rounds with his new wife and feeling a tiny bit sorry for himself. It isn't like they're old by any means; Scott and Allison just found each other and got married young. But seeing the two of them together like this makes Stiles feel lonely in a way he doesn't often.
Most of the wedding party filters away from the head table fairly early on; once they've eaten their chicken or fish and downed a couple of drinks from the open bar. They scatter to their significant others and friends where they are sitting at different tables, and soon enough most of them find their way out onto the dance floor.
So Stiles just keeps sipping at his rum and coke (his third, but he's well behind most of the rest of the guests as far as alcohol consumption is concerned) and lets it soften the edges of his vision and dull the hollow feeling in his chest.
He would ask someone to dance – Lydia, or maybe even the pretty blonde a couple tables over if he could get up the nerve – but Stiles doesn't actually know how to dance and he doesn't particularly want to make a fool of himself and risk ruining Scott and Allison's wedding reception. He could go sit at the table where the old Beacon Hills gang had been, but even they all seem to be out on the dance floor. Except for Derek, but Stiles really doesn't know what he would say to Derek that wouldn't be astoundingly awkward and probably far more revealing than he intended. He's really much better off just staying where he is and nursing another drink.
Stiles is well into his fourth rum and coke, head leaning heavily on his hand as he hums along withCome Away with Me as it filters from the speakers. He's had enough alcohol that he's slowly slipping from melancholy into sleepy, eyes beginning to flutter shut, when a shadow cuts across his face. Stiles blinks hard a couple of times, trying to clear his blurred vision and just ends up blinking even more when he sees Derek standing in front of him, because it doesn't quite seem real.
They haven't seen each other in a while, months even, aside from the glimpse Stiles caught of Derek sitting across the room, and it is almost surreal being this close. Across the couple of feet between them Stiles can see how good Derek looks; all broad shoulders and perfectly trim waist in well-tailored black that is somehow both typical Derek and nothing at all like anything Stiles has seen him wear before. There's something softer about his face too, a tension that has disappeared from the set of Derek's eyes and jaw in the intervening months (most likely a result of the lack of attacking beasts in his life).
"Hi," Derek says after what feels like far too long.
Stiles blinks at him again. "Hey," he replies, brain slow and tongue heavy with alcohol.
"Why are you sitting here by yourself?"
Stiles shrugs. "Everyone else left," he says, one hand waving to gesture at the empty chairs around him.
"You could have come over to our table," Derek tells him.
"Didn't feel like it." He's being petulant, but Stiles doesn't really want to be told off for sitting around alone when it's everyone else who keeps leaving, not him. He hears Derek sigh, and when Stiles looks up from his drink Derek is sitting in the chair next to him and Stiles is suddenly grateful that he doesn't have to crane his neck any longer. Derek doesn't say anything, he watches Stiles intently for a few long moments and then turns to look out at the crowded dance floor seeming ready to settle in and stay where he is for a while.
It doesn't take long for Stiles to start talking, and he hates that Derek knows how easy it is to wait him out. It's probably even easier when he's as many drinks in as he is. "Everyone's leaving, okay?" Stiles says quietly. "I'm really happy for Scott and Allison and all that, but it really kind of sucks being left behind. Even the people who are physically still here are moving on with their lives and I just feel like – I feel like an old toy that everyone has outgrown and it just," his voice cracks a little and he hates it. He hates it because he can't control it and he can't stop spilling his feelings, and to Derek of all people. Derek, whose departure hurt more than it had any right to, and who Stiles sometimes thinks about with a kind of ache in his heart that won't go away. "It just sucks when everyone leaves," Stiles concludes, body slumping dejectedly, overwhelmed by emotions and alcohol.
Stiles can feel Derek's eyes on him, his gaze analyzing against the side of Stiles's face. "You know I – we aren't leaving you though, right?"
Stiles looks up and meets Derek's eyes dead on, bold and unwavering. "But you kind of did."
"Stiles –"
"It isn't like I've heard from you since you left. So yeah, Derek, it's kind of exactly like that." Stiles feels suddenly angry and close to tears and he's regretting the fourth rum and coke. He's glad he stretched the drinks over a couple of hours so he's at least coherent right now, but the combination of the day and the alcohol has pushed his emotions too close to the surface.
Derek looks chastised, back stiff and jaw clenched in the way Stiles is used to but tonight hasn't seen until this moment. The hurt look in Derek's eyes should appease him, should feel like evening the playing field, but instead it just feels like Stiles is hurting himself even more.
"Fuck," Stiles says brokenly, titling his head back to stare at the ceiling and blink back tears.
They sit in silence and Stiles knows that Derek knows he's crying but is nice enough not to comment on it. After a few minutes Stiles feels the warmth of a hand on his arm and he squeezes his eyes shut briefly before opening them to find Derek sad-eyed and so, so close.
"Come dance," Derek says.
Stiles shrugs yet again, noncommittal, and shakes his head. "Don't really feel like it."
Derek's hand on his arm squeezes once, and his voice is as close to pleading as Stiles has ever heard it when he says, "Stiles, please? Come dance with me." Stiles's breath hitches and he lets his eyes drop shut again. He's overwhelmed and overemotional, and he doesn't know what any of this means.
"I don't know how to dance." Stiles breathes the words out, eyes still closed – shut tight against the emotions he can't seem to control. His half-hearted objections don't dissuade Derek, and even before Stiles opens his eyes he is being gently guided to his feet by large, warm hands.
Stiles wobbles a little as he gets his feet under him, but Derek's hand on his elbow keeps him mostly upright as they make their way over to the edge of the dance floor. Stiles doesn't know how to focus on any of what is happening. His thoughts are a blur and a he's still a little unsteady, but everything begins to settle and sharpen when Derek's hand grasps his and they settle into position. They're still a good few inches apart, but Stiles can feel the more than normal human body heat radiating off of Derek and warming his whole body.
Stiles catches sight of Scott and Allison talking to Lydia over near the front of the room. Lydia seems to spot him in that same moment because she smacks Scott's arm and makes a pointed gesture towards the dance floor. Stiles sees Allison's sharp eyes focus in on him and her mouth twist up in a smile before his attention is drawn away from the trio and back onto Derek who is trying to get him to move.
Derek tries to lead Stiles through basic dance steps, and Derek may be good at leading but Stiles wasn't lying when he said he didn't know how to dance and every couple steps he fumbles. Stiles steps on Derek's toes three times and trips over his own feet half a dozen times before even so much as a low, frustrated growl leaves Derek. The song is ending, and even though Stiles admittedly sucks at dancing he doesn't particularly want to stop. Because right now he has Derek as close to him as he has ever been and as much as it will likely hurt all the more when Derek leaves again (because he will), Stiles isn't about to give up the opportunity unless he has to.
The song changes, but instead of Derek stepping away Stiles finds himself tugged closer until he's pressed right up against Derek's chest. Chapel of Love drifts from the speakers, and even though it's more upbeat than the last song (and so immensely cheesy, Stiles thinks) Derek doesn't even try to lead Stiles in any kind of dance. Instead, he just keeps Stiles tucked close against him while they just sway to the music. Stiles lets his forehead drop against Derek's shoulder, feeling emotionally worn out and just plain exhausted but so warm and content where he is.
Derek's hot palms splay across Stiles's back keeping him close and the heat leeches through the fabric of Stiles's suit, wrapping him in Derek's warmth and lulling him slowly towards sleep right there in the middle of a mass of dancing couples. Stiles is probably being too clingy – one arm slung around Derek's neck and the other clutching a lapel and leaning heavily into Derek's shoulder – but Derek just takes his weight, holds him up and doesn't leave.
Stiles is drifting just a little, half convinced that this is all a dream. He's not sure how it can possibly be real. Stiles doesn't get things like this, not ever, and he's pretty sure even if this is real it isn't something he's going to get to keep. So he turns his head, nose just barely pressing against Derek's neck and tries to memorize exactly the way it feels to be so completely ensconced in strong arms and body heat and just the tiniest hint of spicy, earthy cologne.
The song switches over to Moondance and somehow that just feels almost cruel because Stiles has had that dream before – the one where they're out under the moonlight, pressed close and comfortable, and it means something – and now he's becoming increasingly certain that this too is a dream.
Derek's arms tighten the tiniest bit and he turns his head, face pressing against the top of Stiles's head so Stiles feels it when Derek says, "I didn't leave you." His voice sounds raw and a little hurt still and Stiles really doesn't know what any of this means. He pulls back slowly and not really wanting to, but needing to look into Derek's eyes to figure this out.
Derek looks like he too is rather overwhelmed and it's the most vulnerable that Stiles has ever seen him look; Derek is usually so good at hiding away any semblance of emotion. His eyes won't quite meet Stiles's, looking out over his shoulder at the crowd instead. "You don't get it, Stiles, I can'tleave you behind." Stiles desperately wants to understand what that means
"I don't –"
"Fuck, Stiles. Just –" Derek doesn't swear often, and Stiles stars at him trying to figure out what about this moment has inspired him to do so. Derek finally looks at Stiles again and then he leans in and presses their foreheads together, eyes falling closed briefly. It's so intimate that Stiles physically aches with it and he audibly whimpers when Derek's hand moves to cup his cheek.
Derek is breathing hard, Stiles can feel the rise and fall of it beneath his palms and he just wants. He wants this to mean what he thinks it might mean and he wants to know for certain right this moment. Stiles turns his fingers under, grabbing hold of the lapels of Derek's suit and tugs gently, encouragingly, until Derek's eyes are on him; on his eyes, his cheeks, his mouth. Stiles parts his lips, breath shallow under Derek's scrutiny.
Derek moves, shifting their angles until it's no longer their foreheads pressed together but their noses brushing, breaths mingling. And then it's lips pressed to lips and Stiles sinks into it, humming against Derek's kiss.
The kiss is short; chaste but wanting. They separate only briefly before they're pressing close again, each kiss less chaste than the last until they've lost all pretense of anything other than kissing and keeping each other as close as possible.
Eventually they do break apart, finally remembering that they are in the middle of the dance floor at their friends' wedding. Stiles laughs, feeling lighter than he has all night even though he's flushed with embarrassment. Derek leads him off the dance floor, and they pass by their friends as they go; Scott looks mildly annoyed, Allison grins at them, and Lydia lets out a whoop and holds a hand out towards Scott expectantly. Stiles hears Scott mutter something about not having his wallet on him followed by Lydia's annoyed huff that he owes her, and it's suddenly pretty clear that their friends have been betting on them. Stiles would be annoyed, but he really can't be bothered to let it impact his current happiness.
They make it out into the empty hall before Stiles tugs on Derek's sleeve and they slow to a stop, leaning against the wall facing each other. Stiles reaches out tentatively and twines his fingers with Derek's so their hands bridge the space between them. He feels a jolt of relief when Derek doesn't pull away. His thoughts still feel a bit muddled, though far happier than before, and Stiles is content to stay uncharacteristically silent while they just look at each other for a little while.
Eventually Stiles gets his thoughts in order, and he ducks his head for a moment before looking up at Derek with a teasing smile. "So earlier, when you said that you couldn't leave me behind..." Stiles trails off, stepping closer to Derek to watch the blush rising on his cheeks.
"Stiles," Derek begins, the blush creeping its way down his neck. Stiles takes another step closer so they're very nearly chest to chest again.
"I hope," Stiles draws a steadying breath, "that you haven't changed your mind on that." Derek is giving him this look like he hung the moon and it encourages Stiles to keep talking. "Because I don't really have any intention of letting you leave. So I hope you don't plan on trying."
Derek shakes his head, pulls Stiles the rest of the way in towards him and wraps his free arm around Stiles's shoulders. When Stiles has his head tucked up under Derek's chin – it's a little awkward, because Stiles is too tall for it not to be – Derek says, "you're always there with me anyway." Before Stiles can protest that no, that is clearly not the case Derek takes their intertwined hands and places them against his chest, right over the beating of his heart.
Stiles stills for a second, realizing what Derek is telling him, and then bursts into a fit of laughter that shakes them both. "God, you're so cheesy," he says, face smashed against Derek's shoulder as he laughs.
When Stiles gets himself under control he pulls back, taking in the slightly uncomfortable, almost unhappy look on Derek's face. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to Derek's mouth and catching Derek's eyes with his own, "but I love you too, Sourwolf."
AN: Songs mentioned are Come Away with Me by Norah Jones, Chapel of Love by Bette Midler (there are other versions, but this is the one I had in my head), and Moondance by Van Morrison.