Here's My Hand if You'll Take It (I Can Be That Part of You)

by shiro8402

: When Stiles is away at college, he realises that he's in love with Derek. He also realises that he doesn't exactly have the qualities an alpha needs in a mate. Boyfriend. Whatever. So he decides to change, with a little help from Martha Stewart. It's just that Stiles isn't all that great when it comes to tending to the betas, baking or cleaning. But maybe he doesn't have to be.

Hello everybody, I would like to say the story that I publish are not written by me.

My account only give a stage for stories I read and thought it would be more comfortable to read them hear at fanfiction.

The story is called:Here's My Hand if You'll Take It (I Can Be That Part of You)

By:Vendelin

From: Archive Of Our Own (or for short: ao3)

{ /works/976270}

Summery: When Stiles is away at college, he realises that he's in love with Derek. He also realises that he doesn't exactly have the qualities an alpha needs in a mate. Boyfriend. Whatever. So he decides to change, with a little help from Martha Stewart. It's just that Stiles isn't all that great when it comes to tending to the betas, baking or cleaning. But maybe he doesn't have to be.

---

Stiles doesn't know exactly when it happened. He doesn't even know how it happened. He just knows that a month ago, he woke up and realised that he's in love with Derek Hale.

Which is ridiculous. Because it's Derek.

Derek is a bit of a dick. He's always been a bit of a dick, and will probably always be a bit of a dick.

Sure, their relationship is a bit different now than it was a few years ago, back when they first met. Derek doesn't smash his face into the steering wheel anymore and Stiles doesn't feel like he might be risking his life whenever they're in the same room. On the contrary, they've been working together pretty well lately, and Stiles thinks they've come to some kind of mutual agreement that they don't mock each other for their incompatible personality traits, because they save the world so much better that way.

So maybe it wasn't until Stiles didn't actually have to fear for his life constantly, as he went away for college a few hours away, that he realised that not spending time with Derek on a regular basis kind of leaves something...empty.

Stiles blames a stressful first year at college for not making him realise that the reason he feels like this, like his life is a bit empty at the moment, is because he's in love with Derek, until he's already halfway through May.

He almost has mental breakdown the night he realises it. It lasts for five hours and his roommate isn't too happy with him for not being able to turn the lights out. However, Stiles somehow manages to pull himself together after that and convinces himself that it is just a phase. Everyone probably has a phase where they're in love with – objectively speaking – really hot werewolves. He's convinced that it'll pass as soon as he gets to see Derek again in a little less than a month, when he returns back home over the summer.

He really does have a mental breakdown fifteen minutes before he's going to meet Derek – with the rest of the pack, mind you – and almost drives back home right away.

When he walks into Derek's new, and actually kind of awesome loft, his heart stops a little bit. Derek is sitting on a barstool at the kitchen counter and he's talking to Isaac with this weirdly relaxed look on his face. His shoulders don't look as tense, his posture less rigid and there's not as much cold survival instinct in his eyes. Doing other things than fighting to live another day seem to work in favour of Derek's well being. Then he looks up, just as Stiles is wrapped into one of Lydia's hugs, and he nods towards Stiles. And maybe the corner of his mouth is tugging just a bit upwards.

Nope. It's not just a phase.

It takes Stiles a week to realise that Derek is, despite whatever Stiles is feeling, the same towards him as before. Sure, he doesn't glare as much as before, but that's most likely a benefit from not being under constant danger 24/7. They talk more than they used to. Or maybe it's just that they talk about other things. It's not about plans or making sure they all make it into the next year, but Derek asking him about school and Stiles asking Derek about what books he's read lately. And it's weird, because Derek is actually kind of nice.

Sure, he still rolls his eyes when Stiles starts blabbering or makes too many references to superheroes, or something new he finds fascinating. And he's still as snarky as ever. But he looks Stiles in the eyes when they talk, and he remembers what Stiles said last time when they talk again. He even laughs at one of Stiles' jokes at one time, and sometimes he touches Stiles at random – a hand on his shoulder when Derek walks past, or at the small of his back.

It doesn't really make Stiles' situation any better.

It's also difficult for a number of other reasons. Derek is an alpha. And Stiles isn't at all the timid, low-profile character an alpha needs as their partner. Stiles doesn't help taking care of his betas (just yesterday he stole Isaac's popcorn during their movie night), and he doesn't support every decision Derek makes (for example: Stiles has been pretty clear with his opinions of pretty much every plan Derek has ever had). Stiles doesn't really help out with cooking, or cleaning. He usually pretends to have something really important to look up on Derek's computer when it's time for helping out with dinner, and he often hides his dirty dishes behind Derek's books, so that he won't have to clean them.

All in all, Stiles isn't a very fit partner for an alpha.

He's come to this conclusion after staring at the way Allison and Scott complement each other, and the way Erica and Boyd seem to fit seamlessly. It took him about three hours of night Googling to figure out that he isn't exactly boyfriend-material for an alpha, for all the reasons he's previously stated. It surprises Stiles a little bit how much he thinks that sucks.

He stays away from Derek and the rest of the pack for almost a week, feigning illness, until he decides to try and change his odds. It can't be rocket science to become more supportive and quiet. He's sure that he can learn to tend to the betas, too. Hell, he's taken care of his dad's health for years, so this shouldn't be too hard.

So Stiles makes a plan to become a more suitable partner for Derek, so that maybe he'll notice Stiles existence in that way and how awesome they would be together. And if it doesn't work out, he'll go back to college in a couple of months anyway.

He starts out with watching Martha Stewart. It's not exactly planned, but more happens to be on TV when he crashes on the couch one day. It gives him this uneasy feeling in his stomach when he watches Martha create the most perfect everything without any trouble at all.

She even looks like she's having fun.

Her website gives him tips about bathroom cleaning and baby showers. And Stiles wants to give up right away, because there's no way that he can be someone like that.

That night, Scott talks him into joining the pack at Derek's for another movie night, and Stiles feels so bad about being absent lately that he says yes, even though he doesn't feel up for it at all. Derek sending him a text asking him to join might have had something to do with it, too.

He ends up on Derek's bed, because the couch is too crowded, and feels out of place, like he wasn't supposed to be there to begin with. Derek's sitting on the armrest of the couch, which makes him feel even worse. If anything, this is Derek's bed and he should be sitting on it.

But Stiles has promised himself to give this a shot. He watches the others for a while, and decides heavily against offering to brush their hair or give backrubs. Then his gaze falls on their empty glasses, and he remembers Martha talking about being a good hostess and making sure that everyone has enough to drink and eat.

"Does anyone want refills?" he hears himself say, and the way they stare at him tells him that this might be a much tougher job than he first thought.

"Yeah, yeah, totally!" Scott lifts his glass after a moment of silence, and it's like he's given a signal to chaos, because the next moment they're all having him take orders like he's a waiter.

When he raises his eyebrows at Derek, he just gets a small head-shake in reply, and Derek's attention returns to the TV a moment later.

Oh well.

Standing in the kitchen, Stiles realises that he's been underestimating the brain capacity of waiters and waitresses, because he can barely remember what they wanted, and he only has about three different kinds of sodas to remember. He's about ninety percent sure that Isaac wanted Coke mixed with Fanta (ugh, gross) and that Scott asked for a Sprite. It feels stupid to go back out and ask all five of them to repeat it again, since there really is only five of them, so instead he tries to remember and walks back out there, half-convinced that he managed to get it right.

He hasn't.

As it turns out, no one wanted that weird mix between Coke and Fanta at all, and Stiles has no idea what's wrong with his brain, because how was it even able to make up something like that?! And in the end, he's only managed to get one drink right, and he accidentally gave that one to Scott instead of Allison.

"It's fine, though," Scott says, and looks like he's trying very hard not to grimace as he takes a sip from the mixed drink.

"Yes, it was very nice of you to get us drinks." Allison smiles and Stiles feels a bit better for a moment, until Erica says:

"She only thinks that because she eventually got what she wanted." And then they're all in a discussion again.

He feels even more stupid for considering this a major failure. It's like his belly is a bit heavy at the bottom and his eyes flicker to the door, as he thinks about getting out of there. It's not like he's paid attention to the movie anyway.

"Go get your own drinks then," Derek snaps, kind of unexpectedly to be honest, and shuts them all up.

That would have made anyone else feel a lot better about themselves, but Stiles just feels worse. Like he's even more of a failure when he needs Derek to cover up his mistakes.

"I'm gonna head home," he mumbles and points awkwardly at the door, forgetting to grab his hoodie before he leaves. It doesn't even help that he tries to point out to himself that it was drinks, and not anything important.

There's a text from Scott waiting for him when he gets home.

Why'd you leave dude?

Stiles sighs to himself. Of course leaving would make it more obvious than anything that something's bothering him, but he doesn't want to talk about it. Especially not with Scott, who probably would be way more understanding than Stiles gives him credit for, and more supportive, too.

Headache. Sorry. I'll hang out with you guys another time.

He feels miserable. And that makes him even more furious with himself. Like this is a huge mistake he's made, and not just him being incapable of taking orders on drinks and delivering them. It's not like he can't do better next time.

When he goes to bed an hour later, he feels a bit better about himself. He's managed to talk himself into seeing this as a situation where there's room for improvement, rather than spectacular failure.

It's only two days later that Stiles is invited to another movie night. He's a bit apprehensive at first, but then he figures that it's a perfect opportunity to improve his previous mishap.

Once again the couch is over-crowded when he gets there and Stiles hesitates for a moment, before he sits down on the edge of Derek's bed. He doesn't dare make himself more comfortable, and he isn't sure how strong this new, friendly relationship he has with Derek is. It's weird. Derek smiled at him when he arrived.

And he looks practically edible. Stiles didn't know he has a thing for charcoal henleys until right now, when he sees it clinging to Derek's everything. It's severely distracting and he isn't able to pay much attention to the movie this time either. He's seen The Avengers at least a hundred times before, though, so he's able to fill in where his lack of attention lets him down.

He shushes them when Loki gets beaten by the Hulk, just so they can hear the hilarious sound he makes when he lies on the floor. It surprises him a little that Derek is laughing too.

Well, actually, it surprises him a lot, because he can't help staring at Derek for almost two minutes, out of sheer shock. Derek just raises an eyebrow at him, daring him to say something about it. Stiles just didn't think this was his kind of humour.

Stiles won't say anything; he's way too busy with keeping his feelings at bay. He's scared of the intensity of this thing that's going on in his chest, or brain, or wherever crushing on a stupid werewolf is located in your body.

"Refills?" Stiles asks again, when the others' glasses are empty, and they look even more surprised this time, like last time was just him temporarily having his body inhabited by someone else.

Scott frowns at him, silently asking what's up, but Stiles pretends not to see. Instead he does his best to remember what they wanted and disappears into the kitchen again. It feels better in there, and not as out of place as he feels when he's sitting on the edge of Derek's bed like he's some kind of plush animal. It's been a long time since Stiles felt like he didn't belong with them, but it feels that way now. Maybe it's because he's suddenly feels so aware of the rest of them, and especially Derek.

He congratulates himself on doing a better job this time, when he returns, because no one complains about getting the wrong drink, at least.

He still leaves before the movie is finished, because Scott and Allison start making out, as well as Boyd and Erica, and Isaac and Derek are engrossed in a discussion about something supernatural Isaac thinks he saw at the graveyard yesterday.

There's a new text from Scott when he checks his phone, back in his room at home.

Are you OK?

Stiles doesn't even know how to reply to that. No, I'm very not much okay. I'm in love with the douchebag alpha we used to hate when we first got to know him. He decides not to reply at all. Scott will ask him again tomorrow, anyway, and that gives him a bit time to come up with a good answer.

Stiles doesn't have a good answer the next day, when Scott shows up unannounced on his doorstep.

"Dude, what's going on?" he asks, as he steps through the door and follows Stiles up to his room.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles tries. It sounds like a lie even without the skip in his heartbeat that he's sure Scott can hear.

"You've been all kinds of weird lately." Scott claims the desk chair, just before Stiles has a chance to sit down in it. Damn, he was planning on spinning himself dizzy enough to avoid eye contact.

"I'm always weird."

Scott gives him this look Stiles suspect that he's learned from Derek. Or maybe Stiles himself. It's the: I'm-tired-of-your-shit look.

"I've had a lot on my mind lately," Stiles says at last. "I'm trying to be better."

"Better at what?" Scott asks immediately.

And of course he has to ask the one question Stiles doesn't want to answer. A better mate for Derek. No, probably not the best answer.

"Just a better...person. You know, in general."

Scott hesitates. "You'd tell me if something was going on, right? I want to know things."

"It's nothing. Just a New Year's resolution."

"It's June."

"I promise I'll tell you later on." Stiles sighs. It's not like Scott doesn't know when he's lying anyway.

"Good." Scott eyes him for a moment, like he's trying to determine something, and then he smiles. "You wanna play lacrosse?"

The following week, the pack leaves to track whatever that thing was that Isaac saw at the graveyard. That leaves Stiles with nothing to do and a gnawing feeling that being awesome at remembering the packs drink orders isn't going to make him a suitable mate for an alpha.

He might or might not spend an hour and a half on Martha Stewart's website, looking up cleaning tips. And then he drives over to Derek's apartment, after picking up the supplies he needs from the store. He uses the emergency key, which is strategically placed behind a loose brick in the wall, to let himself in. Truth be told, it has probably been used for more bathroom emergencies than anything else. It's weird seeing the loft empty. It's like it's too big for one person alone, and he wonders briefly how Derek handles being there all by himself most of the time. But Derek might be more of a fan of loneliness than Stiles is.

The rustling of the bags fills the silence, as he carries them into the kitchen to unpack them. He's kind of proud, actually, because he managed to find a detergent that doesn't smell like it will fret your fingers off. You know, to the point that they'd have to use dental records to identify him if the police ever were to find his body in the woods.

Stiles has never been big on cleaning. To be honest, he mostly just hides all his stuff in his closet or in his desk drawers as much as he can, to make the place look clean, and every now and then he uses the vacuum if the floor is too dirty. But he's pretty sure that an alpha's mate is supposed to be awesome at keeping the apartment clean.

At least this has to be easier than serving drinks. It's not like cleaning can go wrong like that.

Even though Stiles knows that even thinking that something can't go wrong is basically going to make sure that it does, he's shocked when he finds himself, five hours later, in a spotless loft that smells clean.

He puts the cleaning supplies in his car and sinks down in Derek's couch as he waits for them to get back. Hopefully it won't be all of them. Scott won't be the only one thinking that he's losing it, if they come back to see that Stiles has cleaned Derek's apartment.

Maybe this was a really, really bad idea after all.

Oh well, the place is shining god damnit, so it's not like Derek has anything to complain about.

It takes the pack another three hours before Stiles can hear them talking in the stairwell. That's when his stomach twists itself into something boy scouts don't even have a name for, and he very much wants to puke. He regrets not leaving earlier.

"Oh god, what's that smell?" he hears Erica say, just before the heavy door slides open.

Stiles is probably chewing on all his fingers, rather than his nails, and probably looks super guilty. On the upside: the pack is way too occupied with sniffing the air to even notice him. On the downside: the pack is way too occupied with sniffing the air to even notice him.

That can't be a good sign.

"What happened?" Scott asks when he finally sees Stiles sitting on the couch.

"I, uh, cleaned?" he tries and scrubs his hand over his hair.

Erica makes a gagging noise. "It smells like cat pee."

"What?" Stiles tries to sniff the air, too, but all he can catch is that smell from the detergent. It just smells clean to him.

"Dude, it really does." Scott wrinkles his nose.

He looks quickly at Derek, who frowns and looks like he's breathing through his mouth.

Stiles' stomach drops. "Oh."

Scott's facial expression changes immediately. "But I don't think this place has ever looked this clean, though!"

Isaac nods, but it looks like he's trying his best not to be sick over the smell.

Stiles just wants to go home and forget that this ever happened. Maybe he should stick to refilling glasses on movie nights. He wants to smack himself when he watches Derek walk over to the wall of windows to open as many of them as he can reach, and then disappearing into the other rooms, supposedly to do the same there, and feels this chafing lump in his throat.

When a bit of dust and leaves from the trees outside makes it through the open windows, he just gets out of there.

And he's not planning on ever going back. He can hang out with Scott somewhere else than at Derek's or with the rest of the pack. They used to do that all the time before, when Scott hadn't agreed on being a part of Derek's pack. When both of them still thought that Derek was a douchebag.

Stiles can't really call him a douchebag for not wanting to live in an apartment that apparently smells like cat pee, though. He kind of wants to, because that would be much easier than feeling like he messed up again, but he honestly can't.

It's a relief when there's no text from Scott when he gets home and checks his phone. On the other hand, he doubts that Scott has to wonder what Stiles is up to anymore. It's not like Scott is stupid.

He's still moping on the couch in the living room when his dad comes from his shift.

"What?" Stiles asks, when his dad has been looking at him without saying anything for too long.

"I'm just surprised to see you home. Especially alone."

"I'm home all the time." He is. At least once a day.

"Sleeping," his dad points out.

"It still counts!"

"Care to tell me what's wrong?"

Stiles wants to bury himself beneath the couch cushions. "Not really, no."

"I'll listen if you ever need to talk about it."

"I know. Thanks, dad."

Oh well, Stiles' dad is awesome, so he can always hang out with him since he's ruined his relationship with the rest of the people in this place.

He does his best to stay away and Scott doesn't call him out on it. When he gets a text from Derek of all people, sent out to him along with the rest of the pack, inviting them over to hang out (Stiles strongly suspects that it's Erica using Derek's phone), he just pretends like he hasn't seen it. Instead he calls Lydia and asks her to go the movies with him.

She's a nice break from all the I'm-trying-to-be-a-good-mate things going on in his life. He keeps the conversation about her as much as he can, because it's easier that way, and he's pretty sure that she already knows that something's going on. Lydia doesn't ask, though. She probably knows that he'd tell her if he was up for it.

The worst part of going to the movies in this place, though, is that if someone else you know is going too, you're bound to bump into each other. So there he is, popcorn and a drink in his hand, waiting for Lydia to come back from the restrooms, when Derek rounds the corner.

Stiles doesn't even try hiding behind a pillar or trash can. He just stands there, mentally counting down the seconds to when Derek notices him. It takes nine.

Stiles makes this awkward little nod in greeting and looks in the direction of the restrooms, in hope that Lydia will be on her way back by now. She's not. When he looks up again, Derek is standing right in front of him. Werewolves.

"Uh, hi. Hey," Stiles says.

"Hi." Derek looks a bit distracted for a second, like he's trying to think of something to say.

God, Stiles just gave him a great out from having this conversation at all! Derek could have saved them both the trouble.

"Did you change your number?" Derek asks, and he sounds more awkward now than he has the last times Stiles has talked to him. It's probably because Stiles made his home smell like cat pee.

"No?" Stiles frowns.

"Because I sent you a text. About tonight."

"Oh yeah. Yeah, I saw it."

"You didn't reply."

"Sorry. I thought it was a mass text and just Erica using your phone. You know, like it wasn't really meant to be sent to me, too." He shrugs.

"It wasn't," Derek comments, and Stiles' internal wince must have been visible on his face, because Derek quickly adds: "From Erica, I mean. The text wasn't from Erica. Well she wrote it, but I told her to. You were meant to get it, too."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Then sorry for not replying. I, uh, I had other plans."

Derek makes a face, like saying Obviously.

"I thought you were having a movie night."

"We decided to take it to the actual movies."

"I can tell."

"About last week," Derek begins, but Stiles is so not having that conversation when the rest of the pack probably is somewhere within earshot.

"Just forget about it. I'm sorry. I won't do something like that again."

Stiles hurries away, decides to go look for Lydia outside the doors to the restrooms instead of waiting out here. Derek doesn't try to stop him.

It's a huge relief when Lydia doesn't ask why he's hovering outside the door to the ladies room and even more so when it turns out that they're not going to the same movie as Derek and the rest of the pack. Stiles doesn't think he could have taken it.

He's almost in bed when he gets a text. It's from Derek.

I just wanted to say thanks. For last week.

Stiles is a bit surprised with himself for actually getting a bit pissed off.

I made your place smell like cat pee.

I assumed you didn't mean to.

I didn't.

Then: thank you.

I made your place smell like cat pee.

Stiles just has to write it again, because it feels like Derek's missed a huge and very important part of the equation here.

It wasn't too hard to get rid of.

For how long did you have to leave all your windows open?

Two days.

It's still more clean than ever before.

Stiles snorts to himself and puts his phone down. He has a weird feeling that's buzzing in his chest, when he tries to relax and go to sleep. It's like tiny, tiny feet are dancing on his heart. He might have had too much soda. Sugar overload.

He picks up his phone again and texts Derek instead.

Next time I won't use the cat pee detergent.

Appreciated. I'm fully capable of cleaning by myself, though.

Stiles grimaces. He wants to write: I really think you should re-think that statement, because he's seen the piles of dust underneath Derek's bed. And that his windows actually weren't exactly doing their jobs as windows, since he could barely see through them before. But he's trying to be a good mate, so he shouldn't mouth off.

I don't mind.

Apparently. Do I need to make you an appointment with the doctor?

Stiles knows Derek is just being Derek. Snarky, irritating Derek who has never been impressed with Stiles' way of mouthing people off. But it still kind of hurts. Derek's words never used to hurt him before, because Derek never took it to that level (even though Stiles did, a couple of times), but now it feels like Derek has made it crystal clear how well Stiles is doing this whole...suitable mate thing he's gotten into his head.

He decides to not reply. He's not sure how. Derek has such an advantage over him now, because Stiles tries to make himself more likeable, and Derek just has to be Derek. It would be so easy for Derek to hurt him now, on purpose or not.

He's almost asleep when he gets another text. It's from Derek again.

I'm actually not that good at cleaning, but it isn't your job to take care of these things.

Stiles tosses the phone away and pulls the cover over his head. It feels like he's going to cry for a while – that chafing lump in his throat and hot pressure behind his eyes. His chest feels tight and he resists the urge to punch the mattress really hard multiple times. Because yeah, that's really how easy it is for Derek to burst his bubble. It isn't his job. Which means that Derek doesn't want it to be Stiles' job.

When he gets invited to another pack meeting, he can't really say no, because it's clear that Derek was the one writing the text this time. The worst part about being human in a pack full of werewolves (except for Allison, but she's a hunter, so she can kick werewolf ass any day), however, is that he can't really contribute to anything, if there isn't some kind of research involved.

Especially not now, when he has promised himself to be better. He's going to give it the remaining part of the summer, just to see if maybe he likes being his different self more than his normal self. It's not like he's been an overly happy person ever before, so he thinks that it can't really hurt to try it out. He hopes that Derek will change his mind, sure, but maybe he's going to have to give that project until next summer. Give Derek some time to adjust.

Stiles knows how boring it can be, listening to the others making plans that won't ever work anyway, and since he's trying to leave that sort of thing to Derek, he has planned on baking. It's another thing he thinks could be a good quality Derek would like to see in a mate. Boyfriend. Whatever. He emailed the recipe to Allison earlier and she was kind enough to pick up the stuff he needs from the grocery store. Derek doesn't even question why she's carrying plastic bags from the grocery store, when she arrives a minute late to the meeting.

When the others talk about when and how they're going to track that thing in the Graveyard next time, Stiles decides to bake a new recipe he's found on the Food Network website. It's supposed to be pretty healthy for a cake, and even though they're werewolves, Stiles thinks that high cholesterol might still be a thing to worry about.

Escaping to the kitchen is a bit of a relief. He doesn't have to experience the intense stares from Derek on occasion, like he's expected to say anything. He's trying! He digs around in the plastic bags for a moment, sorting the ingredients out on the counter, when he finds a flowery apron at the bottom.

Stiles is smart enough to assume that Derek's kitchen wouldn't contain any of the basics for baking. Allison is obviously smart enough to think of getting him an apron. Stiles is pretty sure that he can bake without making such a mess that he'll be in need of a flowery apron. He's going to leave it in the bag and hope that he can lure Derek into playing truth or dare, and then make him wear the thing. Perhaps naked, if Stiles is lucky.

It isn't until he starts mixing the ingredients that he realises that maybe Allison had bought that apron for another reason than to make him look like an idiot, because he's constantly getting flour and chocolate on his shirt. It takes about fifteen minutes of mixing and swearing, before gives up and puts the apron on. He's about 3000% sure that he looks ridiculous.

They're all too caught up in their planning to go in here and look at him, though, which is a good thing. Because they'd laugh. A lot.

When he hears Erica say: "What's that smell?" as the cake is in the oven, he almost groans. Instead he silently, or maybe not so much to werewolf ears, bumps his head against the cabinets in frustration. Maybe it's one of the ingredients that smells cat pee, or something else that makes werewolves want to flee the country.

"Is it dog poop this time?" he asks loudly, and hopes that the frustration isn't too clear in his voice. Hell, it's just a cake. He can just throw it out. It isn't worse than getting the smell from the detergent out of the apartment, like last time.

"No, it smells really nice," Derek says behind him, and Stiles can't help but jump in surprise.

"Oh my god," he breathes, and turns to face Derek. He tries leaning against the counter, so that the way his legs are shaking won't be too obvious. He isn't sure if it's because Derek surprised him – scared him – or because Derek is standing about two feet away from him.

Derek hastily backs away, though, when Stiles tries to put his hand on the counter and accidentally knocks the packet of flour to the floor. It looks like a very small, and thankfully not as dangerous, version of an atomic bomb cloud.

Stiles stares at it for the moment it takes for his brain to register that that actually happened. Derek's kitchen floor is covered in a layer of flour and it's on his shoes, and his jeans. If this had been with Scott, Stiles would have fallen to his knees and yelled at the universe, asking it why it hates him so much, and then they would have laughed. He sneaks a peek at Derek, and it looks like he's still in shock.

"Sorry," he says quietly, when Derek huffs. Out of irritation, probably.

"It's—" Derek begins, but Stiles cuts him off.

"It was an accident. I'll clean up."

"Don't worry about it."

"No, I made it look like someone with a really bad dandruff condition got a bullet to their head in here. I'll fix it. I'll clean it up."

"No, it's fine." Derek seems to hesitate for a second. "It didn't turn out that great last time you cleaned."

Stiles concentrates really hard on turning the oven off and nods. It takes a moment before he dares clearing his throat and speak, without feeling like his voice is going to crack.

"Yeah, okay. I'll just—" he motions with his thumb over his shoulder, in direction of the front door. "I think the cake's done. So, bon appetit."

He sneaks past Derek and hopes that the others will be too busy concentrating on whatever they're doing to notice that his heart is beating like it's trying to escape his chest.

Derek stops him with a hand on his shoulder, and there's a second of stupid hope of something, before he turns and Derek gestures to his torso. "You're still wearing the apron."

Stiles looks down at it for a moment, considers the fact that it's quite nice actually: light blue with small pink flowers and brown twigs. It looks like cherry blossoms. And right, he's supposed to leave and Derek just wants him to take his apron off before he does.

His shaking hands betray him when he tries to undo the knot, and he gives up after several tries, that just makes him feel like he's that lonely kid who finally gets a chance to play sports with the cool kids, and fails miserably.

When Derek makes a move that looks like he's going to reach out and help, Stiles just tears the entire thing over his head and runs out of there. Literally. He doesn't care that they will all know that something is up, because he feels like he's two seconds away from crying, and there's no way he's going to do that in front of them.

There's at least twenty texts from Scott when he finally checks his phone a while later. He's locked the front door and all the windows, making the house as werewolf proof as he can without using mountain ash.

He reads them reluctantly.

What the hell is going on?

Stiles!

Answer me

Are you in love with Derek?

Answer!

STILES

Is that why you've been acting so weird?

But that doesn't explain why you've been acting weird

Derek asks me what's going on with you and I don't know what to say

Are you on drugs?

You're in love with Derek

Holy crap

STILES

And the rest of them contain similar messages. The last one tells Stiles to call him, or he'll go talk to Stiles' dad about this. As much as Stiles thinks his dad would be cool with him liking a dude, he's not so sure when said dude is Derek. His dad has handcuffed him and interrogated him.

He ends up calling Scott, who answers on the second ring.

"Dude!" He's almost yelling.

"Just stop," Stiles says quietly. "I'm just calling so you won't talk to my dad. I don't really feel like discussing this."

There's a long moment of silence before Scott says: "You feel like eating a lot of ice cream and playing monopoly, then?"

Stiles hesitates.

"The 007 Collector's Edition?" Scott urges, before Stiles has a chance to reply.

Stiles blinks. "But you said you weren't going to open that one. You were going to save it. It's collector's edition," he breathes.

"Dude, you're more important than my grandkids."

Stiles is never ever going to confess that he might be tearing up. It's not even a real compliment! "You don't have grandkids!"

"Details," Scott says airily. "You want chocolate sauce and sprinkles?"

"Only if it's rainbow sprinkles," Stiles grumbles, but he's not really irritated with Scott.

"You got it."

Thirty minutes later, Scott is sitting on his living room floor and there's a giant bowl of ice cream between them. And two spoons. Like old times.

"So this whole...'trying to be better' thing, is it about getting Derek to like you?"

"Can we not talk about this?" Stiles requests, and rolls the dice between his fingers.

Scott eyes him for a moment. "I really don't think you have to change—"

"Please," Stiles interrupts.

Scott shrugs. "Alright. It's your turn."

It's three in the morning when Scott leaves and Stiles stomach hurts from too much ice cream, but at least that chafe in his chest is long gone now. Around midnight, he cracked and explained what he's been up to lately. Scott had looked at him like he was crazy for a moment, and then just shook his head. Maybe he was right when he told Stiles that he's better off being without Derek and still being himself, than the other way around. Which is easy for Scott to say, because he's not the one who's eternally single.

"I really don't think you have to do all these things," Scott remarks, and shrugs awkwardly as he's standing just outside Stiles' front door. "Just, you know, be your usual self. I think that's better."

"Don't tell anyone."

"You know I won't. You're my best friend. I won't even tell Allison unless you want me to."

"Thanks."

Scott smiles at him then, the way that makes Stiles wants to punch him in the face, because no one is supposed to look that adorable when they smile.

"You know, you should tell me a bit sooner whenever you get these bad ideas."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Shut up. I hate you."

Scott just laughs at him. Maybe it's because Stiles spent at least thirty minutes telling him how much he loves him, when he stuffed his face with ice cream earlier.

He finds his phone on his bed, when he gets back up to his room. It's been there the entire time he's been with Scott, and it surprises him a little that he hasn't even noticed. He usually carries it everywhere with him. He checks it out of habit, though, and there are a couple of text from Derek. Stiles hesitates for a long time, before he decides to go against his better judgement and read them.

You forgot your things here. Do you want me to drop them off, or will you grab them next time you come by?

There are a little over two hours between the first text and the second.

You didn't have to leave.

Stiles isn't sure if he wants to laugh or cry a little, and that chafe in his chest is instantly back again. Crap.

What did Derek want him to do, if he wasn't supposed to leave? Just sit there on the couch, with the rest of them, and feel like an idiot when Derek cleaned up his mess? He wants to write one of those really long texts that feels good to write down, but that you regret the next day. Tomorrow he'll probably be grateful that he decides against it, and just sends:

Just throw them away.

Stiles avoids going to pack meetings at all, after that. When he gets texts, he deletes them immediately and Scott never asks why he doesn't turn up. He doesn't even care if it's obvious to everyone what's going on, as long as he doesn't have to meet Derek.

It lasts almost the entire remaining part of the summer, but then Scott calls him about another pack coming into town to visit. In a much friendlier way than the alpha pack, thank god, and that Derek wants them all to be there. For pack representation. Stiles wants to say no, because he doesn't really think he's much pack anymore. Perhaps to Scott and Allison, but not to the rest of them. He's been deliberately trying to distance himself from them.

But then Scott actually begs him, because he was dumb enough to promise Derek that Stiles would be there.

"Fine." He surrenders. "I'll even be quiet and make him look like a good alpha."

"He is a good alpha," Scott says.

"Now he is. Like three years after he needed to be one."

"True. Anyway, I don't think you have to act any different than you normally are."

"Dude, I've been acting differently the entire summer. They don't even know what my normal is anymore."

"Do you?"

Stiles shrugs to himself. "Yeah sure."

"Liar."

"Stop calling me out on these things. I need to live in my bubble."

Scott hangs up on him.

Two days later, Stiles sits obediently on the edge of Derek's bed. Once again, he didn't fit on the couch, and he's trying not to touch the things on Derek's nightstand. There are other people in the room, too. Other werewolves and Stiles feels severely out of place. He suspects that he's only here to make Allison feel easier about being there.

"So, as an alpha, I take you're the one making the plans?" the other pack's alpha asks Derek. They're opposites. She's small and lithe, with fair hair and dark eyes.

Stiles wants to snort at her statement, because if there's something Derek is really bad at, it's planning. At least making plans that work.

It looks like Derek is expecting some sort of comment from him, too, because his gaze flickers to Stiles' for a moment, before he gets back to the other alpha. Stiles has already forgotten her name. He doesn't like her, because she would look great next to Derek.

"Usually Stiles and Allison make the plans," Derek explains. "And Stiles does most of the research."

"The humans?" she asks in surprise, and Stiles looks away when her gaze falls on him.

"Yes. They're more than capable."

"Capable of what?" She doesn't sound like she's trying to offend anyone, but rather like she's honestly curious.

Stiles fights the urge to tell her about all those times he and Allison have saved all their werewolf asses, even though they're just a puny humans.

"Allison used to be a werewolf hunter. She knows how to handle herself in a fight. She has saved us multiple times!" Scott protest immediately, and Stiles smiles to himself.

"And what about you?" The alpha nods at Stiles, and she looks at him expectantly.

He decides against repeating his abominable snowman act again, and shrugs, looking away again.

He can feel Derek and the rest of his pack staring at him, and he knows that they were expecting him to speak for himself. That's what he usually does. He's been mouthing off to alphas before, without hesitation. He's even threatened them, even though he's just a human and can't really defend himself if it should come down to that.

"Oh, he's a shy one?" The other alpha asks Derek, and turns to him.

"Not usually." Derek is frowning and Stiles isn't sure if he's confused or displeased. "As I said, Stiles usually does research and he's an asset to our pack."

He doesn't comment more on Stiles' behaviour and the conversation soon drifts to other things, that involves leadership and the dispute with the alpha pack. Stiles looks longingly at the book lying on Derek's bedside table, because since he's not sitting with the other's, he's automatically forgotten in their discussion.

Instead of picking it up, he gets to his feet and decides to slip out of there, when they're too busy to notice anyway. Scott probably will, but he won't say anything. Just as he's about to slide the door open, Derek speaks:

"Where are you going?"

Now, everyone is looking at him, and Stiles feels a bit lost. He's not even sure why. "I was gonna head home."

"Stay. We're still having guests."

He wants to say something about having more important things to do than host a tea party, but this is the last time he's going to have to do this before going back to college, so he nods and walks back to the bed to sit down.

When he looks back up at Derek, expecting him to be fully engaged in the conversation again, Stiles finds him staring at him.

What? He mouths, can't really help himself.

Derek scrutinizes him for a moment, before he returns to the conversation, but there's a small crease between his eyebrows now. Stiles wants to slap himself.

It takes four hours until the other pack finally leaves, and then another thirty minutes before his own starts spilling out. Scott and Allison leave last, and Stiles gets to his feet to go with them, when Derek grasps his arm.

"Can you stay?"

Stiles opens his mouth to say no, but then he gives up. Slumps. Nods. Oh well, Derek was going to say something about this eventually. He had just hoped it would be via a text, or something that wouldn't allow face to face humiliation.

Derek doesn't say anything for a long time. Stiles suspects that he's waiting until the rest of the pack is way out of earshot. How considerate.

"Care to tell me what's going on?" Derek asks, when Stiles has been helping him carry the dishes to the kitchen.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Derek doesn't even point out the lie. He doesn't really have to.

"All these things—" Derek gestures vaguely, but Stiles knows what he's referring to.

"Actually I don't think I can stay," Stiles says quickly, when his body starts itching all over in discomfort. He just wants to forget about this. "It was good seeing you and—"

"Will you just let me finish for once?"

Stiles snaps his mouth shut and balls his hands into fists in his pockets.

"You're supposed to say no." Derek sounds distressed, exasperated.

"What? You just asked me to shut up." Stiles isn't sure if this is some kind of trick, but when he sneaks a glance at Derek, he doesn't think it is. Derek looks confused, and kind of sad.

"You're supposed to say no. You're supposed to say: 'No, Derek. I won't shut up because you asked me to.' That's how you work."

Stiles makes an irritated sound. Doesn't Derek realise that he's trying to change? "Well, I'm trying to be better."

"A better what?"

Then something just snaps, and Stiles can't stop it. Doesn't know if he wants to stop it.

"Better boyfriend material. For you. Because apparently it doesn't work when I'm me."

He isn't sure if Derek is in shock, or something, because he manages to run out of there without getting stopped. He even manages to drive all the way home, calling Scott to tell him to meet him at his house for an emergency on the way, even though he knows it's bad to talk on your phone while driving.

Scott is already there when he jumps out of his jeep. It looks like he's been running. Maybe that's faster than driving for him. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Stiles hopes that no one saw him running faster than humanly possible. He isn't going to chide Scott for that, though, because he needs him here.

"What happened?" Scott asks.

"He asked me 'A better what?' and I told him!" Stiles fumbles with his keys, hands shaking too much from adrenaline that Scott has to take it from him to unlock the door.

"Dude, not following. Calm down."

Scott pushes him down on the couch and sits down on the coffee table, opposite of him. He looks less alarmed and more worried now.

"Derek. Derek asked me what's going on and I told him I'm trying to be better. And he asked me 'a better what?' and I told him that I'm trying to be a better potential boyfriend for him."

Scott is staring at him. Stiles is pretty sure that he's staring, too. Oh no, he told Derek. Suddenly, his heart is racing in his chest and he feels a bit dizzy.

"Calm down." Scott reaches for him, squeezing his shoulder.

"Why?!" Stiles whispers. "I just...I just told him. That's the worst thing that could ever happen!"

"Stiles, you need to calm down. Because I need to tell you something."

Maybe werewolf powers can take your anxiety away, too, because Stiles starts feeling less dizzy for every breath he manages to time with Scott's.

"Okay. So Derek has been just as confused about this as I've been. We've all been worried. But you know, he's...he cares about you." Scott clears his voice awkwardly.

Stiles brain is spinning too much to make any sense of that. "I don't get it."

Scott scrubs the back of his head and then he sort of nods to himself, like he's decided something. "Okay, so I'm going to lay it out for you. First he was really angry at us and said that we were being assholes after you left that first time you gave us all the wrong drinks, dude. So he made us promise not to say anything if you messed them up again."

Stiles stares. "But I got better!"

"No, we just didn't say anything! You still gave us all the wrong things!" Scott sounds frustrated. "And then Derek was angry with us for telling you that his place smelled bad when you had cleaned it."

"Well, you were being rude."

"That's not the point! Derek wouldn't have given a rat's ass if I had been the one cleaning. He would've made sure I got the smell out of there by myself. Stiles, he refused to let me throw that detergent away and last time I was there, he still had it in a cabinet."

Stiles brain is trying to make something out of this, but it's failing. He's getting too much information to handle all of this.

"And he refuses to let Erica send out texts about pack meetings, all of a sudden, even though he basically told her to before. I have no idea if you have anything to do with that, but it's weird. He didn't let us eat any of that cake you made, either. Last week, he still had some of it left in his fridge, dude."

Stiles suspects that he's staring at Scott in a way that makes him look either really stupid or really drunk.

"Are you telling me…?" he trails off. It's not possible. "I think you're just saying this to make me feel better."

"Well, if you don't believe me, go over there yourself and take a look." Scott shrugs like it's all the same to him.

Stiles eyes him for a moment. It could be a trick – Scott doesn't expect him to go waltzing over to Derek's to see if this is true. Which is why Stiles is going to. Scott doesn't even try to stop him, when he's out the door, jumping into his car. Hopefully he uses the spare key under the doormat to lock the door after him.

He's out of breath from running up the several sets of stairs, when he's standing outside Derek's loft, banging on the door. It takes way too long before it slides open in front of him, and Derek's standing there, looking at him.

"I just gotta check something," Stiles pants, and slides past him, before Derek has the chance to say anything.

He skids into the kitchen and bangs the cabinets open. At first he really thinks that Scott was lying, but the last one makes him stop his raid. There are his baking supplies, bowls and everything. And behind them stands the bottle of detergent Stiles used to make the place smell like cat pee.

He glances up and notices Derek standing awkwardly in the doorway, but he doesn't move to stop Stiles when he opens the fridge, briefly noting that his apron is slung over the back of a kitchen chair. Behind two half-empty jugs of milk, there's a plate with a slice of cake left, wrapped in clingfilm.

"Dude," Stiles says, breathless for a completely different reason this time, and looks up at Derek, who just shrugs. He looks embarrassed. "This got to be way too old to eat by now."

Derek shrugs again.

That's when Stiles realises that he's in Derek's kitchen, going through his things, trying to understand if Derek is into him or not.

"Scott told me something," he says awkwardly. "I just had to check if it was true."

"Was it?" Derek doesn't quite look him in the eye.

"I don't know. Maybe?" It feels like he has carbonic acid in his legs again. In his chest. Like it's now or never. "See, there's this dude I like. And I figured that I could change into someone who fits better with the type of dude he is. I thought I failed, but now I'm thinking that maybe I succeeded."

"I don't know why you got this stupid idea into your head to begin with," Derek sighs. "You've never had to change."

"But I thought...taking care of your betas and not questioning your decisions—" Stiles waves his hands for emphasis, "—baking and cleaning. I thought you needed that."

"The betas can take care of themselves. They're grown up people. They don't need you to be an extra mom to them. If you hadn't noticed, I'm a grown up, too—"

Stiles snorts. Derek's mouth twitches.

"—and you don't have to take care of me." He pauses for so long that Stiles has time enough to wonder if he's supposed to say anything. "Having you act like this got me worried. I like it when you question me. That you don't give a shit about what colour my eyes take when I shift." Derek clears his throat, looks away. "I like that you've always considered yourself my equal. Because that's what I want you to be. Not this weird person you've been all summer, who doesn't speak up for yourself or talk back."

"I feel like I'm in a rom com," Stiles whispers, just to keep himself from spewing out all the ridiculous things he wants to say. "I'm the dude who's leaving for France, and you're the dude who rides a kid's bike to the airport just to tell me not to."

"So what's it going to be?"

"I never do what you tell me to." Stiles grins when Derek smiles.

"Which is a good thing, because if you did, we'd all be dead by now."

"It's a good thing you have me." Stiles swallows as Derek steps closer.

"It really is." Derek's fingers curl in the belt loops of his jeans, yanking him closer. "Still leaving for France?"

"I'm thinking that just college is better. Closer." It feels like his body is humming, stirring, as he's pulled flush against Derek. For a moment, he has no idea what to do with his arms or hands, but Derek kisses him then, and they somehow find their way around Derek's neck, as Derek's tongue slides into his mouth.

Stiles somehow expected Derek to take his time, go slow. That's not the case. His lips feel bruised and raw, when Derek pulls away a moment later. He's breathing heavily and it takes Stiles a moment to realise that he's not much better off himself.

"I'm so turned on right now," he breathes, and doesn't even have the decency to be embarrassed over letting that slip out. He slides his gaze over Derek's chest in that charcoal henley, and he's wearing those jeans that makes Stiles wonder if Derek got his ass in compensation from higher powers for all the suckiness he's been through.

"You got that from a movie, too?" Derek asks, mouth brushing against the shell of Stiles' ear.

"Probably. That shirt does things to me." Stiles pulls at the material for emphasis, but it's Derek laughing against his neck that makes him crack open.

"You do things to me." Derek kisses him again. Or maybe it's Stiles kissing him. It doesn't really matter. The important thing is that Derek's lips on his is making his legs feel weak and his fingers curl in the fabric of Derek's shirt.

"That's what I meant," Stiles mumbles against his mouth, and Derek pushes him up against the fridge.

"Can you shut up and stop ruining things when I try to kiss you?"

"Never."

A while later, Derek has finally managed to shut him up, by wiping his brain from all the words he used to know. Stiles is lying on his stomach on Derek's bed, and Derek is eating him out. And all Stiles knows how to do is hold on to the sheets and push his ass in the air, spreading his legs further apart. He makes a broken, sobbing sound when Derek pushes his tongue into him again, spreading him open with his fingers.

He feels too weak to reach down and stroke his dick, and maybe that's for the better, because Stiles feels like he's on the verge of coming as it is. And then Derek slips a finger into him, and Stiles hips cants off the bed, fingers spasming around their hold of the sheets and Stiles thinks he might be crying. His thighs are shaking, his toes curling and there's a wet spot of precum on the sheets below him.

"Derek," he whines, pushing back against the finger. "Fuck, Derek, I—"

But he has no idea what he's trying to say.

Derek is kissing the small of his back, working him open with his fingers. First one, then two. He has Stiles begging loudly, sobbing, before he gets a third. Stiles never thought he'd beg to get Derek's fingers in him, but apparently he had no idea the things they do to him. The way the can make him fall apart.

"Are you going to come for me?" Derek asks him, lips sliding down the path of his spine, between his cheeks. His voice is rough, making Stiles' back bow. But before he has a chance to reply, he's pulling his fingers out and holds Stiles open once more, letting his tongue slide inside.

And then Stiles is coming, hard, back arching painfully as he's pushing back against Derek's face. He might be shouting, he might be completely silent. But his world whites out for a moment, just as he's coming all over Derek's sheets.

For a long while, all he can do is trying to catch his breath, trying to reconnect with all his limbs that seem too lax to belong to his own body.

Derek is lying next to him, slowly stroking his back.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes finally. "I think I died."

"I really hope you didn't." Derek leans in and kisses his shoulder briefly. He helps Stiles roll over on his back, and his eyes are stupidly bright.

"I should return the favor." His body is already halfway on board, when Derek kisses him languidly, like they have all the time in the world. Then he pulls away, nose brushing against Stiles'.

"Later. We should get you cleaned up first."

They end up crammed in Derek's shower, surprisingly enough doing nothing other than kissing for so long that their fingers and toes are pruny when they get out of there. And then Derek asks him to stay the night, and he says yes. He doesn't even hesitate.

His whole body feels soft and warm when he's lying tucked beneath Derek's sheets, with Derek next to him.

"So this is like a real thing, right?" he asks, nudging Derek with his foot.

Derek looks at him for a long time. His hair is ruffled against the pillows and Stiles briefly wonders what it will look like in the morning. Derek captures his foot between his legs, holds it there. "Yeah, it's a real thing."

"I'll have to go back to college, though."

Derek shrugs. "I'll come visit."

"Yeah?" Stiles can't help but smile, and he reaches out to slide a finger across Derek's stubble. He tries glaring, when Derek captures his finger between his teeth, but he's not sure that it works a hundred percent.

"You know, I'm still mad at you for mocking my cleaning skills."

"What?" Derek's hand is sliding down his belly under the sheets, making him lose focus.

"When I covered your kitchen in flour. You told me that I better not clean, because of how it went last time I did that."

Derek groans and presses his face into Stiles' hair. "That was meant as joke."

Stiles pulls away, stares at him. "You really need to work on your skills."

"I make up for it in other ways." Derek kisses him just as his hand slowly curls around Stiles' dick, gently stroking him hard.

"Okay, yeah, you're forgiven."

Stiles ends up riding him slowly for a long, long time, to get his revenge. Now it's Derek's time to fall apart.