A/N: This can be seen as the conclusion to the trilogy, even though there's a fourth installment. That one's stalled out for me, though, so I'm not making any promises on when it'll get posted. Especially since I seem to be getting attacked by Sterek plot bunnies right and left. I would complain about that, but I'm loving it too much. LOL

I know that this particular trio isn't the most popular thing out there, so if you're reading this series, and especially if you're enjoying it, please let me know. I love hearing from people who can see the potential of Sterydia, it makes me feel less alone. :) I will always welcome constructive criticism, too, so if you have issues with something, tell me so! (Although troll posts, such as the person who accused me of writing trash fic just to be able to pathetically place myself in the story with the two guys, will get deleted. FYI.)

They'd kissed, a lot. Stiles loved that about his time with Derek. There hadn't been any of the Pretty Woman-esque refusal to kiss for fear that it would lead to the dreaded feelings. They'd kissed hard, and often, and it never failed to lead to sex, and Stiles loved it.

The first time they'd kissed, one that didn't involve battling tongues and chasing each other's mouths and power and hunger, one that was soft, sweet, the gentle meeting of tongues as they traced lazily against each other, that kiss was the one that had blown Stiles' mind. It was when he began to realize he actually cared about Derek. When he began to realize he was screwed, because he was falling head over heels for a man who'd made it clear he had no use for relationships and had been hurt and betrayed one too many times to ever fall for that kind of bullshit again, thankyouverymuch.

When he thinks about it, After, that's his go-to memory. The one he always relives first. They'd been sitting on Derek's couch, the fantastic burgundy pillowy thing that had been the site of many wonderful times in Stiles's life, both sexually and nap-related, because damn did he nap well on it. They'd been sitting next to each other, Stiles doing his trig homework while Derek read. They'd had sex and it had been incredible as always, but Stiles wasn't inclined to leave and Derek wasn't inclined to make him go. So Stiles had pulled out his trig book and Derek pulled out some tome on supernatural creatures that Stiles had always meant to borrow, but then it was After and Derek was gone and anyway, Stiles would have been too intimidated to ask him about it, so he didn't.

But the kiss.

Stiles had yawned, twisting his body to work out the kinks that had developed from hunching over the stupid textbook, and his shoulder had brushed Derek's. Derek had looked up at him, a soft smile playing around the corners of his lips, and Stiles freaking loved that smile so much because it was his Derek's smile, not the smirk of the asshole alpha he'd come to know and sort-of loathe. And before he could rethink his hasty decision, he was leaning in, pressing his lips lightly against Derek's. Derek had stilled, allowing Stiles to take his time exploring, and then Stiles' hand was curled around the back of his neck and pulling forward, gently, and they'd sighed against each other and it had been fucking perfect.

He loved Lydia, but that kiss haunted his dreams. Derek haunted his dreams.

There were times that he wondered if maybe Derek had been warming up to the idea of happily-ever-after. There had been moments when he felt like they'd been getting there, and times when he wondered if he'd thoroughly fucked up by choosing Lydia before he knew, for certain, what Derek wanted. But Lydia was the one he was supposed to choose. He'd been in love with her for forever, and she was the one he always imagined spending happily-ever-after with. He had gotten everything he'd ever wanted when she told him his feelings weren't one-sided.

Hadn't he?

Every once in awhile he thought about that night at the loft, after he'd freaked out and practically tried to strip Derek from his clothes before getting two feet in the door. Derek's unwillingness to just be used for sex when there was clearly something else going on had unnerved him. The cuddling on the couch, Derek touching him in a way that was far more intimate than sex, the reading aloud until Stiles had fallen asleep… That was something.

There had been other moments. One time Derek had come out to fix Roscoe with him when he wasn't cooperating. Stiles had been under the hood, grumbling under his breath and making vague threats of violence when the vehicle refused to turn on, interspersed with apologies for doubting his baby. Derek had been teasing him from the driver's seat, dutifully trying the ignition periodically as instructed. When the ignition finally caught and the Jeep roared to life, Stiles had emerged triumphantly, a smear of grease across one cheekbone. Derek had this funny look on his face and wiped at the smear with his thumb, dragging it slowly across the soft skin until all traces of the grease were gone. Stiles' breath had caught when Derek's searching gaze had captured his and didn't release it until long after he was done.

Then there was the time Stiles was ranting about the way Finstock had slammed him, again, in front of the entire class. Everyone had been laughing at him and his blood had been boiling, but he had to play it off as he always did, shooting sarcastic rejoinders and shrugging as if it meant nothing, but really, it pissed him off. He loved Coach, he did, but sometimes he just really hated being the butt of everyone's jokes. Derek's jaw had tightened, a little at first, then a little more, until he was practically grinding his teeth together and Stiles had to stop talking because when Derek's eyes flashed red he realized the wolf's jaw was about to snap. He'd been afraid Coach might end up the recipient of a terrifying late-night visit. And in that moment, he'd marveled, Holy shit, he's furious about how I was treated. Huh.

If he was honest with himself, he hadn't really intended to end his thing with Derek that day when he went over. He was prepared for it to not go well, but until Derek had lost his shit at the news, he hadn't really realized it was over. And he hadn't been prepared at all for how devastating it was to walk away.

He loved Lydia. He did. But there were times when he wondered if choosing her was a mistake.

Sometimes he thought she knew. The way she'd cock her head and narrow her eyes at him speculatively, the way she studied him until he felt like she was examining his soul, rattled him. He'd tried his hardest not to let her see that there was something missing in his life because he never wanted her to feel like she was a consolation prize, but he didn't think he was always successful at covering up how much he missed Derek.

It didn't matter, in the end. He'd chosen Lydia. He'd walked away from Derek. Even if he wanted to beg Derek's forgiveness and plead for a second chance, even if he thought Derek wouldn't pound him flatter than Grandma Stilinski's nalesnikis for daring to speak to him again, he would never hurt Lydia like that. She deserved better than that. She deserved better than only getting half his love, for that matter, but that was a secret he'd take with him to the grave.

Sometimes, when he's allowed himself to escape reality by indulging in fantasy, he thinks about what it would be like if he hadn't had to choose. If he could have Derek and Lydia both. He knows it's pointless to speculate, but in those moments when he gets lost in his own head, he can almost see it. Can almost believe he could make it work.

But that would be crazy.

Wouldn't it?

A/N 2: Nalesnikis (nah-lesh-NEE-kees) are Polish crepes, FYI. Just so you don't have to Google, if you haven't already. :)