Admittedly he might have been slightly drunk when he got it.

But it didn't mean that now that he was sober he regretted it.

He'd been thinking about it for a while now, so it was time he finally did it.

Sure, he would have to be careful that it remained covered in front of his dad, and Scott- oh god, Scott.

Stiles groaned, rolling face first onto his pillow.

If Scott saw it… he'd at least ask him, why. And even if he was his best friend, Stiles wasn't sure if he was ready to tell him that.

He always believed that people are moulded in who they are by the people that live in their lives that leave an imprint even when they're gone. And Stiles was who he was because of his dad and his friends, but especially because of his mom and him.

And he wanted to have something of his, something tangible to touch, to see, now that Stiles hadn't seen him in years.

It was to remember, yes, but also to let go. To finally move on with his life and accept that he wouldn't see him again.

How could he say all of that to Scott? His best friend would probably ask him to get his one, too.

After all he was part of his pack.

Stiles tried to smother himself with the pillow. He was going to die before he got the dumb circles anywhere on his body. He still hated that tattoo.

The Triskele was pretty. There was no comparison between the two.

Yep, high wasted pants and long shirt would have to be a thing again.

"Derek?"

Derek turned from where he was glowering down at a laundry detergent in his hand, like it had personally offended him, which in truth it had, because he hated doing laundry, and Cora had been the one to do it since she knew how much he loathed it. But now he was forced to undertake the horrible task of washing his clothes himself, because his sister had practically kicked him out and forced him to come back to Beacon Hills because –I swear to god, if you don't go to him yourself, I'm going to FedEx you myself, quit moping and just do something!- his sister wasn't really the patient type.

"It is you then," The sheriff walked up to him with a sincere smile, "How are you, son?"

After a moment of incredulous staring, even if he didn't know why he was surprised, (after all this was Beacon Hills, and the sheriff ought to do some grocery shopping from time to time..) Derek found himself smiling back easily at him, "I'm good".

The sheriff nodded, still smiling, "That's good to hear. So are you.." he made a vague gesture with his hand that made Derek's heart skip a beat because it was so reminiscent of his son, that he had to remember how to breathe. "Staying or just passing by?"

Derek bit the inside of his cheek, "Not sure, still…"

The sheriff studied him for a moment, "You know, the others would be happy to see you again," he said shifting his weight on his other foot, "they're in college now, but most of them should be back this weekend for their spring break. Melissa and I are organizing a get together… You should come."

Derek tried, he really did, but the question was out before he could thump it down. "Will he be there?"

To the sheriff's credit, somehow he knew exactly who he was. "My son will be there," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little.

Derek looked away, willing the beat of his heart to slow down. "I'll.. think about it." He mumbled, clearing his throat.

The sheriff smiled openly, "Sure thing, we'll see you on Saturday. That is, if you decide to come, of course." He added, and again Derek was left staring as he recognized the playful gleam in his eyes that he'd seen so many times in Stiles'.

"Yeah." He finally nodded, and started to walk away, before the other man could see the flush spreading over his face.

"Oh, Derek, wait!"

He turned back with a questioning look and the sheriff approached him with a laundry detergent in his hands. "Take this one. Better price and works miracles with stubborn stains." He informed him, holding it out for him. "Or at least, that's what Melissa says."

Derek nodded and reached for it a little dazed, giving the one he'd took to the sheriff and watching him put it back on the right rack.

"Have a good day, son." The sheriff nodded at him and walked down the aisle.

Derek stared after him and only when he had turned down the corner, remembered himself to mumble a "You, too."

On Saturday, the house was wrapped in the cosy and happy aura that always characterized the pack get-togethers and that never failed Stiles to feel a little awed. Laughter could be heard no matter in what room of the house you were, and Stiles watched with a small content smile his friends teasing each other playfully as they all helped set the picnic table in the backyard.

He'd just taken the chicken salad that Melissa had made and left on the kitchen counter when he heard the bell ring. He turned and watched as Kira went to open the door.

And then, his hands went slack when he saw who had just entered his house.

"Oomph. Jesus, Stiles, you gotta be more careful," his dad reprimanded, "this is grandma's glass bowl, you know how she gets whe-"

"It's Derek." Stiles said in a rush of breath.

His dad hummed in acknowledgement.

Stiles whipped his head to give him an accusatory look, "You knew?"

The sheriff shrugged, "I invited him."

"You what?!"

"What? You didn't want me to?" His dad asked with a knowing, raised eyebrow.

"No, I just.." He turned back to look at Derek, who was smiling as he hugged everyone that went to greet him. He looked so relaxed and soft. It was a really good look on him and Stiles felt his heart clench a little cause right now all he wanted to do was go there and pet him. Hug him. Feel him under his hands. Make sure he's real.

"What is it? Is your side bugging you again?" the sheriff asked with a worried frown.

Stiles' fingers had drifted to trace the tattoo that he had on his left hipbone, without him even realizing it. "No, don't worry, it's not that."

"Are you sure? I have extra balm if you forgot-"

"Dad, I'm alright I promise, it doesn't hurt that much, anymore." He gave him a reassuring smile, "And I have the ointment in my backpack, in any case."

His dad searched his eyes for a moment and then nodded, deciding that he was telling the truth. "So, you were.." he coughed, "Tracing the tattoo?"

Stiles spluttered, "Wha- how-?!"

His dad waved a hand at him, "Your shirt raked up a little when you were reaching for the big pan Melissa had asked you to take." He twisted his nose, "Please, don't tell me you plan in getting one of Scott's circles too."

Stiles pulled a face, "Not a chance."

"Thank god." The sheriff looked genuinely relived. "You should go talk to him." He then suggested after a beat of silence, when both of them turned back to watch Derek, still talking amiably with Scott and Melissa.

Derek looked up directly at Stiles then, and it felt like a jolt of electricity down his spine. He straightened and took back the bowl from his dad's hands, "Yeah, maybe later." he said, his voice a little hoarse.

Derek spent great part of the dinner trying to catch Stiles gaze to no avail. Their eyes met more than once across the table, but Stiles would freeze up for then quickly look away and lean in to talk with Lydia beside him. Derek, was ashamed to admit that he did try to listen in, but they weren't talking of anything really interesting, just offhanded comments on people that Derek didn't know, and soon stopped altogether.

"You okay?"

Derek looked up from where, he realized, he must've been sulking watching his hands, and shrugged unhelpfully. Melissa gave him one of her earnest smiles. "He's not talking to you, is he?"

"He wouldn't even look at me." He said trying to hold off the whine in his voice, and failing miserably.

Cora would punch him so hard if she was here.

"He can be stubborn," she acknowledged, "But you can try to take him aside…"

Derek sighed, "How do I do that? He keeps skittering away every time I try to approach him."

Melissa hummed, "Looks like you're getting your chance, if you hurry." She said nodding to where Stiles had taken the now empty chicken salad bowl and went inside.

Derek almost toppled over the plastic chair he'd been sitting on, in his hast to go after him.

"Stiles,"

"Shit! Jesus, fuck." Stiles sighed relieved as he managed to not let go of grandma's bowl still in his hands. He gently put it on the kitchen counter and turned to glower at the annoyingly stealthy werewolf, "Dude, you scared the hell out of me." He hissed, crossing his arms over his chest, and hoped that Derek would blame his elevated heartbeat to the scare.

"I'm sorry," And the thing was that he really looked sorry. Derek looked like a kicked puppy and Stiles had never felt more like an asshole like in that moment.

He let out a long sigh, "It's okay," he said after a moment, "I was distracted anyway… it's not your fault." Stiles said, shrugging a little and offering a small, reassuring smile.

Derek gave him a pained look and walked the remaining distance between them, for stop only inches away from Stiles. The tip of their shoes touching, "I know you're angry because I wasn't here, when you needed me, and I'm sorry for that."

Stiles frowned, "What are you talking about?"

"This." Derek said gently resting a hand on Stiles' left side. Where he had the deepest and ugliest scar of all, courtesy of the time when the Beast was totally a thing, and he'd thrown himself in front of his dad before it could slash the sheriff's chest open.

Stiles breath stuttered, "How did you know?" He asked, putting his hand on top of Derek's, still on his side.

Derek let out a low whine, "I heard you and your dad talk about it.."

Stiles snorted, "You snoop, it's still really rude to listen in into other people's conversations, you know?" he smiled, gently squeezing his hand.

"Can I see it?"

Derek's eyes were wide and so bright, and green and so impossibly beautiful that it literally knocked out all the fight in him. Stiles sighed and nodded.

Derek took his hand in his, and nudged his chin up so that he was forced to look back up at him, "Only if you want to, it's your body."

"It's okay." He reassured, and it really was now that he knew Derek was giving him the choice.

He intertwined their fingers together, still hovering on his scarred side, and without breaking eye contact, he slowly reached to lift his shirt, with his right hand.

Derek held his gaze for a while longer and then dropped it to finally take a look. Stiles closed his eyes.

He knew it looked really bad, and for a while it had hurt too, making it really hard for him to do simple things like bending to take something fallen off the floor, or reach for something a little too high up for him. Or sleeping. He'd barely managed to close his eyes, in the first days the doctor had dismissed him form the hospital, and come back home.

He heard the sharp intake of breath, and he forced himself to open his eyes.

Derek's fingers were tracing over his hipbone, and the sensation of his warm hands on his bare skin, caused the hair all over his body to raise as he shivered, "Stiles." Derek's voice was rough and awed and confused, and it was when he pressed more firmly on his hipbone, that Stiles remembered the triskele.

"Oh, right." He smiled lazily, "I got a tattoo, too."

"Why?" Derek Asked searching his eyes, like he could find the secret of the universe in them.

Stiles cocked his head, "To remember? To let go, to move on," he shrugged, "A lot of reasons, really."

"Why under the- this?" Derek whispered roughly, ghosting his fingertips on the silvery scar, where his flesh had been ripped apart.

"Because, you were there, when I got it." He sighed, "Because, when I passed out, the last thing I thought about was how I wouldn't get to see you again…" Stiles said pressing his hand on the scar, "Because, this reminded me that I'm still alive, and this.." He smiled down at the triskele on his hip, "This reminded me that you're okay, too. And that maybe one day, I'd get the chance to see you again.."

He'd just barely looked up before Derek's lips were attacking his. He let out a surprised "oomph," sound and froze, immediately regretting it when Derek pulled back abruptly, saying over and over again, "Sorry, I'm so sorry, I didn-"

Stiles cut him off by pulling him back in a demanding kiss.

Seriously, he had no idea why he'd frozen up. He'd been dreaming about the moment Derek Hale finally kissed him, since years. And now it was finally happening.

Derek responded eagerly enough, opening his mouth just so that Stiles could lick inside it, letting out a low moan and pushing him against the counter with his whole body.

At some point he even lifted Stiles up and sat him firmly on top of said counter, making space for himself between his splayed thighs, "You've no idea, how much I waited for this." Stiles breathed out, as they tried to regain their breaths.

Derek pulled him back from the nape of his neck, for another long, slow kiss, "Me too." He said. And really how was Stiles supposed to react at that, if not by trying to bring their bodies even closer, and circling Derek's waist with his legs?

Unfortunately, such fervent action was made completely forgetting the glass bowl that he'd set just minutes ago on the same counter he was now sitting on, and of course, that went crashing down, breaking into tiny little pieces, and making a horrible cacophony of sounds.

"STILES!?"

Stiles sighed dropping his forehead on Derek's, "Babcia is going to cut off my testicles.. that is if dad doesn't shoot me first." He informed him, "You're still in time to escape from all of this."

Derek hummed, softly brushing the pad of his thumb on his pulse point, "What happens if I stay?"

Stiles grabbed the front of his Henley and pulled him closer, "I'm keeping you forever."

Derek smiled impossibly wide, and leaned in to give him a gentle peck, "I'll take forever with you, then."

And Stiles laughed happily because he knew that they would be okay.

Even with a really angry Babcia.

A/N: When will I ever stop with the sappiness? *Longsuffering sigh* these two, I swear.

uh, and my Tumblr is: the-mess-sterek-left-behind

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