"Have you told your dad yet? About the werecat thing. "

"God no."

"Why?"

"He didn't believe me when I told him I was gay, Derek. Why would he believe me about this?"

"Why don't you just prove it to him?"

"For the same reason I won't just prove to him that I'm gay… I'm not a bloody circus animal."

"I swear you never used to have this many sensibilities, Stiles. Being a cat has made you delightfully pompous."

"Pompous?! How dare you? If I seem more arrogant as a cat it's because I can finally see how superior I am to you ruffian dogs, and I've had to adjust me self importance to match it."

"Stiles…"

"Yes Derek."

"I think I love you."

"We haven't even kissed yet!"

"It's not about the kissing."

"You say that now, but what if I'm such a horrible kisser you change your mind."

"…"

"Don't give me that look! You honestly could! "

"Not in a million years Stiles. Not in a trillion, billion years. "

…

Dear diary

It's easy being around Derek. He understands what it feels like to be so alone in what you are, and so desperate not to have to hide it.

Over the past couple weeks Derek tightly wound exterior has begun to unwind. Like a deer stuck in barbed wire, it's taken slow movements and incessant untangling. With each wire I pull away, I get closer to seeing who Derek really is. In a way, so does Derek.

After the conversation we had, Derek kissed me passionately my heart nearly burst with the force of it. He licked my fangs and sucked my tongue until I was groaning into his mouth, and he was whispering declarations of love into mine.

When he was satisfied his point had been proven, he withdrew and pulled me into his lap. I started purring immediately, which was completely embarrassing. He just laughed at my flustered face, and scratched with gentle reverence at my ridiculously large ears.

When I realize my tail had wrapped itself around his waist I blushed even harder.

Then he told me I was so fucking aborable it blew his mind, and sucked hickies onto the pale skin of my neck. The cat part of me kind of wishes I didn't have super healing, so the shape of Derek's teeth wouldn't fade so quickly.

I think I love him, too.

Stiles

…

"We have to tell your dad." I say, dreading the response. Stiles glares at me, his ears flattening against his long, ruffled hair.

"Tell him what exactly," he says, his tones saccharine and deadly, "The cat part or the gay part."

I try to remember the days when I didn't fear him. Though truth be told, it's not the slit pupils or razor sharp, retractable claws that terrify me, but the potential of him banishing me from his life.

I'm not sure I can bear the thought of stiles leaving me at this point. I've always been a 'all or nothing' kind of person. Now that Stiles has my everything, him walking away would leave me with nothing all over again.

"Well?" Stiles demands, and I jump slightly.

"Both," I tell him, "I know your opinions on it, but I also know your tearing your self up inside hiding this from him. You should be able to stroll through your own house comfortable in who you are, and what you are."

Wrong words, I realize, as Stiles bares his teeth and hisses at me. The angrier he gets, the more the cat seems to shine through.

"Really Derek," he snaps, finally slinking off his bed and stalking towards me at intimidating speeds.

"What am I, then? Tell me please, because I would really like to know. I've scoured the bestiary, the internet, hell I even asked Deaton I was so desperate. I still have no clue what I am, or how I came to be. So please, before you tell my dad what I am, how about you tell me first!"

We stand in silence for a few moments, chest to chest, Stiles breathing heavily as the anger finally cools into sadness.

Tears slide down his red cheeks and I feel the very animalistic to lick them off. Instead I envelop him in my arms, and wish that a werewolf's ability to siphon off pain extended to that of an emotional nature.

"I'm sorry Derek," he gasps between sobs, "Please don't leave me."

"Never," I try reassure him, carding my fingers over his supine ears, "Never in millions and billions of years would I ever leave the man I love."

…

Derek's right of course. I can see that, now that my sea of tears has rubbed the sharp shards in my heart down to smooth edges. Not knowing what I am doesn't change what I am, and I need to accept it with or without a label to put on my chess piece.

I think Derek is asleep. We're lying in my bed, pressed as tightly together as possible. My head is tucked under his chin, resting on his chest, and with every rise and fall of breath I feel reassured and comforted.

It's easy to fall asleep, tumbling straight after Derek into the peacefully dark abyss.

…

The sheriff drove his car into the driveway. It had been a long day at the station, trying to muddle his way though decade-old police reports. Trying to use his new enlightenment of the supernatural to make sense of things long since disregarded as impossible. It was frightening just how many cases he was going to have to reopen somehow, and undoubtedly the source of his pounding headache.

The last thing he needed to see when he opened his door was the sight of a cat-like version of his son octopused around two-time murder suspect Derek Hale atop said sons bed and fast asleep.

"Fuuuuuuuuuck, what do I do?"

…

Dear Diary

So the good news is that my dad knows everything (Mostly) and I didn't even need to explain all that much. Which in no ways lessens the feeling of burning humiliation, but at least it's something. Even if it did mean Derek had to wake up to the sight of my dad's shotgun pointing at his head.

Stiles