The break-up is taking it's toll, but Stiles tries to cope with it. We're taking a detour into Derek's mind before getting too much into Stiles' emotions.

"You should let me in. I could always tear down the door, you know."

Staring at the message Stiles didn't really know what to do. The urge to run to the door and fling it open was overwhelming. Sitting there on the floor in the laundry room, with the vibration of the washing machine caressing his back, he felt like a fool. He had to do something.

Slowly he turned over and on his hands and knees he crawled out into the hall. After a bit of hesitation he got up and walked to the living room. Staring at the door he picked up his phone and typed in a message to Derek. "I can't do this any longer. You're just using me."

Stiles slumped down on the couch and tried to get comfortable. He held on to the phone expecting a quick reply. It didn't come. He fell asleep again, and woke up the next morning by a vibration in his hand. He'd held onto the phone the whole night and clenched it so tight that he had to use his other hand to remove it. He looked at the screen.

"It's okay. I thought you wanted this, but I must have got it wrong. I'll move on."

The words made Stiles hitch his breath. He didn't want Derek to move on. He wanted him to be soft and gentle and cuddly. As soon as the thought had run though his brain Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force it away. He didn't want to want Derek. He tried to tell himself that this was a good thing. Derek would never knock on that window again. Stiles could sleep through the night without being disturbed by this violent guest.

Being in love with Lydia for years had taught Stiles a few things. One of them was that you can't always get what you want. He was pretty sure that what he wanted from Derek would never happen. He just had to live with that knowledge. The sex had been great and he knew he'd miss it. The bruises? Not so much. But then again. Those rough hands on his skin, the marks from Derek's claws, the bruises from when Derek grabbed him too hard, it had all been a part of an amazing experience. Now, all of it was history and Stiles tried to look at it as a good thing.

He'd move on too. He could find a girl that he could love and who'd love him back. A nice and sweet and gentle girl, one he could hold in his arms and cuddle with. The problem was that when he closed his eyes and tried to picture how it would be, the images was disturbed by the memory of rough hands on his body.

-o-o-o-

Derek left Stiles' house disappointed. He could of course have broken a window or crashed through the door but making a fool of himself had never been in his plans. Sending that text message was so not in his plans either.

When he realized that Stiles wasn't going to let him in he was actually tempted to break down the door. The problem was just that he didn't want to seem needy. Up to this moment Stiles had kept the window unlatched and even if he'd tried to protest to the treatment he'd never really said no.

This – in Stiles' words – weird relationship, had been easy and carefree until the boy had started to question the intentions behind it. Derek didn't want to be questioned about it. Any question required an answer and for once, Derek didn't have any answers.

When he initially sensed that Stiles had sort of a crush on him, Derek had been surprised and taken aback by it. After a while he started looking at the guy differently and then he perched himself on a rooftop near Stiles' house just to listen to his heartbeat and his breath. He'd never allowed himself to question this behavior. Over time it had become some sort of a ritual. Ever so often he'd tried to quit, but then, the next night he found himself back on that same roof.

When he, several nights in a row, just sat there wondering if he should pay Stiles a visit, Derek decided to let it go. Then fate stepped in and changed the scenario. Later events would probably never had happened if he hadn't slipped on that roof-tile. In pain and with the last bit of strength he had, he managed to get to Stiles' window.

Half conscious he'd felt Stiles' hands on his body and it had been extremely arousing. When he came to his senses and was completely healed he wanted to embrace Stiles and thank him. He didn't want to force himself on him. He didn't want to scare him or intimidate him in any way. Good plans doesn't always play out the way they were intended.

Sitting on that bed with Stiles so close, knowing that the boy was aroused by the intimacy, Derek couldn't help himself. The soft and flawless skin under his hands, the inviting lips, Stiles' heartbeat and throbbing cock. All of it was ingredients that made him throw his initial intentions overboard.

It had also been nice to just lie there after and soak in the scent of Stiles' skin - and his shampoo. Stiles had fallen asleep almost instantly, but Derek stayed awake until the first rays of sun emerged over the roof of the neighbor's house. It was on a whim that he wrote the note, before he exited the same way he came in.

He was slightly embarrassed by his own behavior, and tried to ignore the feelings that emerged in him. He went to great efforts to avoid Stiles. He even left town for a while and hooked up with random strangers to get the guy out of his head.

Stiles was just a boy. An innocent, young boy who deserved more than Derek could offer. That he'd practically forced himself on him, tearing his virginity to shreds was troubling. He wanted to apologize. He wanted to soothe Stiles' pain and tell him he was sorry.

He waited for an opportunity when he heard Stiles' dad leave the house. Again his good intentions went down the drain. Derek couldn't make himself show weakness in front of Stiles. He knew for sure that Stiles wanted him, but the guy was scared out of his mind and it surely didn't feel right.

There could never be anything more between them. Derek knew that a relationship with a human was out of the question. It would just be too complicated. The stolen moments at night was all he got. He'd actually tried to take a step to hang out with Stiles on a casual basis, but it hadn't worked out so well.

And now it was over. "I can't do this any longer. You're just using me." The message from Stiles saddened Derek in a way he'd never expected. He decided to leave for a while. This would pass. Stiles would move on and find a girl eventually, or a boy, for that matter.

After leaving Stiles' house he went home to get a couple of hours sleep before he packed a bag and left. The last thing he did was to send a message to Stiles. Then he jumped in the car and took off.

-o-o-o-

Slowly things were starting to get back to normal. The first few days after what felt like a break-up, Stiles had been in a state of mourning. Every night he'd looked out the window and almost expected to see Derek on a rooftop nearby. When he learned that Derek wasn't even in town it added to his sadness. On the other hand, not having to fear for his life and health was a good thing.

The little note Derek had left got crumbled up and tossed out. He didn't want to look at it anymore, he didn't want to be reminded.

Stiles hung out with Scott more than he had done in a long time. Allison and Lydia often joined them and sometimes the rest of the werewolves tagged along. Derek stayed away, but Isaac kept them somewhat updated in his whereabouts. "He needed a vacation." Isaac chuckled. "Don't know for how long." Both Allison and Lydia scoffed. "Vacation from what? It's not like he has a regular job or anything." Allison looked at Isaac and frowned.

"From us, I guess. I think he looks at us as puppies." Isaac threw his hands out. "I mean, I know I can be somewhat out of control from time to time." He panned the rest of the pack. "We're not that easy to train."

Mr Stilinski had only had a couple of night-shifts during the last three weeks. Both times Stiles had stayed at Scott's house. Scott didn't question it, he'd just been happy to hang out with Stiles alone. Other than that his dad had been home every night. No major crimes had occurred so he had no reason to leave the house at night.

Stiles also went back to lacrosse practice. He had skipped it for a while because of his bruised body. He didn't want to undress in front of the others, so he'd decided to take the verbal abuse from their coach. It wasn't like he was getting on the team any time soon anyway. He was still mostly a bench-warmer.

He wasn't fully healed yet but he managed to cover it up somewhat. Scott still noticed the almost faded bruises and cocked his brow. "What happened?" He tried to sneak another peek under the towel Stiles used to cover his chest. "Uh, I, I fell down the stairs." He blushed and tried to turn away but Scott grabbed his arm. "Fell down the stairs? When? How?"

Stiles tried to think fast. Falling down the stairs didn't even sound plausible. "Uh, I, It happened that night we got drunk. I forgot all about it." He managed to avoid Scott's stare and reached for his clothes. Scott nodded slowly. "Okay, did you fall on some steak knives." He pointed to a scar on Stiles' hip. "I noticed a couple more of those."

The scars were to old to be recognized as claw-marks but they were still somewhat hard to explain. "Oh, those? I don't know. I, I can't, It's just a couple of scratches." He couldn't come up with anything and decided to get the conversation on to another track. "Hey, I know we had plans to go to the movies tonight, but unfortunately I'm not able to." He hurried to put his pants and t-shirt on. "I kinda promised to help my dad clean out the garage."

Stiles didn't turn back to Scott until he was fully dressed. "I'm gonna have to be there, I'm afraid he'll throw out all my stuff if I'm not there to stop him." He looked at Scott and gave him a crocked smile. Scott was just staring back at him and cocked his head. "You're lying. Why are you lying to me?" He shook his head and grabbed his bag. "I'm disappointed in you, Stiles. If there's something you don't want to tell me, just say so. Don't lie to me."

All alone in the the locker room Stiles slumped down on a bench and covered his face with his hands. All these lies were starting to haunt him. Again he wondered if he should come clean to Scott. If he should tell him that Derek had caused all his bruises and scars. He hitched his breath and wiped a tear from his cheek. Scott wouldn't understand, no one would understand. He himself couldn't even understand why he'd let himself be treated that way.

And then again, deep down he kind of missed it. Sometimes he felt like the pain inside of him now – when it was over – was worse than the physical pain Derek had inflicted on him. Even if he was scared most of the time in Derek's presence, there was also some gentleness involved. He didn't show it much, but ever so often Stiles had gotten a glimpse of a kinder, more tender Derek.

He sat there for several minutes feeling sorry for himself. He wondered how long it would take to get over it. To get over Derek. He'd done pretty good so far. He'd been sad but managed to cope with it somewhat. Being confronted about the bruises had made it all come back. Stiles realized that his feelings for Derek had not diminished. He'd just hid them well, tucked them into the back of his mind and tried to move on. He wiped another tear and took a deep breath. He had to let it go, nothing good would come out of it. His relationship with Scott was suffering over this too. He decided to try to do some damage control there, concocting an explanation that wasn't as see-through as the lies he'd come up with so far.

Fixing up in the garage with his dad was going to take his mind of this for a while. Stiles got up and walked over to the sink. He looked at himself in the mirror before he splashed some cold water on his face.

When Stiles came home there was a pile of boxes and junk in the driveway. His dad was busy sweeping the floor in the garage and gestured to Stiles to grab the broom. "I threw everything out. Sweep the rest of the floor, I'll start on the boxes."

Stiles dumped his bags by the door to the house and took the broom. His dad started to pull odd items out of the boxes and made three piles. "This we keep." He pointed to the nearest pile. "This we toss, and this," gesturing to a few items on the ground, "we think about."

Stiles just shrugged. As long as he got to have a say in what to get rid of, it wasn't really important how it was sorted. When his dad pulled a bloodstained sheet out, Stiles startled. He'd forgot all about that. "What?" His dad looked at the name on the box. "It's yours, care to explain?" He looked puzzled but there was also a hint of concern in his eyes.

"I, oh, I cut myself. I don't know, it's a long time ago." Stiles wondered what his dad really thought about it. The look he got was scrutinizing. "Stiles, it worries me. Are you one of those kids who cut themselves? Like, are you depressed or something?" He walked over to his son and reached a hand out. "Let me look at your arms?"

Rolling up his sleeves to show his dad the flawless skin, Stiles sighed in relief. "No. It was an accident. I don't cut." He chuckled a little nervously thinking about the scars on his body. "I cut myself shaving." He could feel the blush. There was no way his dad was going to believe that. "I mean, no. I, it was..."

Looking at the sheet again Mr Stilinki shook his head. "Where exactly?" Suddenly he scrunched his face. "Oh, I don't want to know." He walked away and dumped the sheet in the discard pile. "I really don't want to know."

So his dad thought he'd shaved his crotch. It wasn't exactly comfortable to think about, but the truth was even worse. Stiles decided to leave it at that. The only problem was that he wanted to keep that sheet. As his scars healed, this would be the only thing left to remind him of the affair with Derek. He seized the opportunity when his dad went inside to grab a beer. Stiles snatched the sheet out of the pile and folded it nicely before he ran to his room and tucked it under his pillow.

Back outside he took the rest of the stuff they'd decided to get rid off, to the trashcan by the side of the house. Stiles wasn't sure if his dad would even question the disappearance of the sheet but wanted to play it safe.

Two hours later they were done and Stiles was sent out for some take-out. "Whatever you want, Son. You've done a good job." The sheriff slumped down on the couch and turned on the TV. "I prefer a burger or something like that, but you can decide."

Stiles didn't care. He was hungry and it didn't really matter what he ate. Unaware of his own actions he took a detour and drove past Derek's place. The Camaro wasn't there so Stiles figured that he was still not back. He wasn't sure if he was happy about it or not, but the knot I his stomach tightened a little.

Outside the burger joint Stiles had to take a moment to compose himself. He had done so well the last couple of weeks. He'd managed to pretend that everything was peachy and that he was happy about not having to deal with Derek's random visits. Today's events had brought the memories back, and Stiles realized that he missed it. He wanted Derek to come knocking. Fearing for his own sanity he had to admit that he was hopelessly in love with the guy.

That night when he went to bed he clenched the sheet to his chest. It smelt like detergent with a hint of gasoline, probably from being stored in the garage. Stiles tried to remember Derek's scent but couldn't, and it saddened him.