"when the phone rings

I too would like to hear words

that might ease

some of this."

― Charles Bukowski

When Derek wakes in the morning, Stiles is in deep sleep, snoring softly with his face pressed against the cushion. Derek was asleep against his end of the couch too until he heard Scott walk in and drop his keys on the table. He gets up to leave when Scott asks him to stay for breakfast. He looks over at Stiles, back at Scott, and he thinks he really wants to, but somehow the morning light would have dissipated whatever harmony they had built in the dead of the night and he didn't want to stick around to see the indifference in Stiles' eyes again, the way he refused to look at Derek during dinner the night before. So, he insists on leaving, telling Scott about the work he had set out for the morning. Scott looks disappointed and that makes something in Derek twist. Scott isn't his alpha. It doesn't matter what Scott thinks of him. But it still makes him uncomfortable.

Life continues quietly, with the steady fatigue from work and a dull, everpresent thrum of loneliness that puts him to sleep each night. He reads sometimes, he works a lot, he runs through the preserve, he depends on some sort of mental or physical activity to cope all through the day until he's wrecked enough to fall asleep at night. If he wakes up in the middle of the night after a fitful rest and curls into himself, staring at the wall and tuning in to the sound of the pipes and the neighbours, no one is there to call him out on his bullshit. Until he does so himself. This is what running away is. Persisting a day at a time, distracting himself from the living.

After a long while, he wishes he took Braeden up on her offer and left with her. He wishes she had her hands on him, anyway possible, wolf or human form. Just the comfort of human touch. A hug, a pat on the back, whatever. He thought he was way above such petty human comforts given the years he has lived without a family. But now that he has flushed out his grief, he is back to functioning like a person and that means needing other people.

So, when Stiles sends him a picture of early Christmas decorations and lights in the streets after months of no contact, Derek calls him. He doesn't know what got into him, but it is 9.47 pm, he is hungry but has no appetite for food, and it's way too cold and quiet for his liking and he just isn't in his right mind.

He pulls the phone away from his ear to cancel the call after the third ring only to hear a distant murmur of

Hello? Derek?

Stiles… hey.

Please tell me nobody's dying in Beacon Hills or I swear—

No no. No such thing. Everyone's fine.

Okaaayy… Then… this is a surprise.

Sorry. I wasn't thinking. I just… You're probably busy. I should hang up—

You wanna die?

…what?

If you wanna die, try and hang up on me.

Derek scoffs in retaliation but doesn't hang up. They're both quiet for a while. Derek can hear half-broken, distant Christmas tunes and people and footsteps.

What are you doing, Stiles?

Out, looking for a Christmas gift for Lydia.

Derek feels more and more awkward as the silence stretches.

I'm gonna let you do that, okay?

Derek…

He hears an exasperated sigh.

I'll talk to you some other time…

He's met with silence again and he has no idea how to navigate this situation. It was a stupid, impulsive decision to call.

Here we go again, Stiles mutters.

What do you mean?

Nothing… So, you called me just to ask me what I'm doing?

No.

Then?

I didn't mean to call.

You hit the call button accidentally, huh?

Stiles sounds… off. Derek doesn't know what he's doing wrong, but he can almost feel Stiles' walls coming up and he hates that.

No. I did want to call, but now's not the time is all. You're shopping and I'm… sleepy. It's been a long day.

So if I called tomorrow, when I'm not shopping and you're not sleepy, you'll say more than two words?

I'm saying more than two words right now.

You're saying nothing, Derek.

I don't know what that means.

Whatever, man.

It doesn't sound as annoyed or hostile as Derek expected it to. Stiles just sounds tired. He tunes in to the background noise and he hears a bell chime and someone saying "Welcome" chirpily on the other end, and muffled on the fifth day of Christmas my true love sent to me… 5 golden rings, 4 calling birds…

Hey, Stiles?

Hmmm…

I'll call you tomorrow. I promise.

Good night, Derek.

Good night.