Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Stiles was a little boy, he had a miniature house he made with his father. He remembered being excited each time his father came home from work and they would build the house together—taking their time to put the pieces in the right place.

Claudia wasn’t the biggest fan of giving Stiles the house—an echo of her father’s words that a young boy didn’t need a doll house .

Stiles loved playing with his Victorian home, his imagination taking flight as he spent hours decorating and rearranging the rooms. He imagined that he’d one day have that house as his own happily ever after, and be able to fill it with a family.

Stiles remembered seeing the house on his wedding day, and his stomach twisted into knots. It was early in the morning when he climbed the stairs to the attic, hiding from the rest of his family and the staff working to turn his family’s house into the perfect venue. He carefully examined the furniture in the small Victorian house, turning each piece in his hands with care.

Most of the original furniture had broken. And for Stiles’ 21st birthday, Derek surprised him with newly hand-carved furniture. Derek’s father was a carpenter, and it showed in his love and passion for architecture.

Stiles felt sick as he dropped the furniture back into the house. He threw a sheet back over the house, leaving it to be forgotten. His dreams of a life with Derek weren’t relevant anymore. He had been foolish to think that Derek would call him—try to stop him from making the mistake of marrying someone else.

In the end, Stiles tucked away his dreams for that Victorian house just as he tucked Derek away in his memories, where he could remember better times.

~*~

Twelve years.

Twelve years were an eternity and of all nights, Stiles never would have thought tonight would be the night.

Stiles stood beside Trent, keeping quiet as he conversed with his colleagues. He smiled when others laughed, offered a faint laugh if necessary. But he learned a long time ago, he had a better time if he just kept an eye on the clock. The less he knew about Trent’s work and colleagues, the less he had to endure when people started to avoid making eye contact with him. Despite Trent’s arm wrapped around his waist, it was just for show.

And Stiles was tired of acting.

“So have you guessed the name yet?”

Stiles looked at the woman who spoke to Trent. He thought she said her name was Amy.

“I figured it was an edgy rewording of Core,” Trent remarked with a faint laugh as he drank more of his whiskey.

Stiles’ eyes wandered, lingering on the artfully designed display of the company’s name in flowers across the large space’s entrance. Kore . His brow furrowed for a moment.

“Nobody really knows—the boss isn’t exactly approachable in that way. It’s a fun guessing game,” a guy chimed in—Mike.

“It means ‘Maiden’ in Attic Greek,” Stiles simply stated.

The group looked at Stiles.

Trent pulled Stiles against his side a bit tighter. “Stiles majored in dead languages.” He laughed at his own ribbing. He looked at Stiles. “But I think you’re wrong on this one, babe.”

Stiles forced a faint smile, hoping Trent saw it as the apology he likely was expecting.

“What languages?” Amy asked with a smile, as if she wanted to actually know more about the most silent member of their small group.

“My Masters is in Classics, actually,” Stiles offered in a small voice. “Latin and Greek. I took a few classes for Anglo-Saxon as well.”

Amy smiled at Stiles’ words. “That’s quite impressive. Can you translate from sight? You would be one hell of an asset to the museum—they just opened a Greco-Roman wing.”

Stiles felt weird having the attention on him. He had grown used to people asking him about Billy, never about his degree or if he had a career. “Um,” he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Stiles stays home now with our son.”

Stiles ground his teeth together, knowing Trent was steering the conversation away from him.

“Does ‘Kore’ really mean ‘maiden’?” Mike asked in confusion. “It just seems like a weird thing for the boss to name his company.”

Stiles refused to hesitate, feeling Trent was about to speak over him. “It’s actually a name for Persephone,” he firmly stated. “She was called the Maiden by most. They thought she was too sacred to refer to by name. She was the Queen of the Underworld, and the goddess of the Spring. It likely has to do with the decay of the old and the resurgence of the new.” He drew in a soft breath, refusing to look at Trent. “Or he thought Kore Enterprises sounded interesting,” he shyly jested.

Amy laughed some, looking pleased with Stiles’ little ramble. “I like it, she sounds like a kick-ass lady.”

Mike seemed to startle and straighten up some as he looked at someone behind Stiles and Trent. “So, is that right, Mr. Hale?”

Stiles could hear white noise rushing through his ears as his stomach dropped. He blinked at Mike, unsure he heard him right.

“Took a professional for you to figure it out.”

Stiles recognized that voice. Twelve years was an eternity, but he recognized that voice regardless.

Mr. Hale. Derek Hale.

Stiles turned with Trent, moving as he did in order to face the man who spoke. He knew who he was going to see, and part of him didn’t want to. He couldn’t remember how he looked when he left the house, knowing that he wouldn’t be ready to face Derek no matter how he looked.

Derek looked the image of someone important. His hair was expertly kept, a short fade leading into longer hair swept to the side. His beard was trimmed short, much shorter than he had kept it in college—but it suited him all the same. His eyes were still their gorgeous burst of colors—green, grey, and gold flicked into a kaleidoscope set in a cold gaze. He stood at ease, his body displayed in a tailored suit, the pressed material showing his form. He looked like a man whose time cost money.

Twelve years seemed to be an eternity for Derek as well.

“Mr. Banner,” Derek greeted Trent, shaking his hand with ease.

“Mr. Hale,” Trent greeted him back as he dropped his arm from Stiles to shake Derek’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

Derek nodded, “I look forward to seeing your work.” He was quiet for a second, his eyes never looking at Stiles.

“Mr. Hale,” a blonde woman quickly spoke his name with importance, though her tone suggested she would call him a number of other names if not for the location. She offered a smile at the others as she turned to Derek. “Ms. Ito is leaving.”

The woman’s widened eyes were enough to clue Derek in on what was happening without telling the others.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Derek spoke to the group. He nodded his head in parting to their group, his gaze suddenly flickering over Stiles.

Stiles felt his breath catch.

And whatever Stiles expected, it wasn’t for Derek to look right through him.

The moment Derek departed, the others deflated some.

“Ice cold, I told you,” Mike noted. “The man can make a room drop in temperature with his glare.”

“Maybe you were on to something, Stiles,” Amy stated when they turned back to each other. “Maybe he’s the King of the Underworld.” She faintly laughed into her champagne flute when Mike rolled his eyes.

Stiles looked at Trent. “I’ll be right back,” he softly stated. He hesitated when Trent took hold of his hand. He looked up at Trent. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he replied.

Trent faintly nodded, letting go of his hand. “Just don’t leave me out here for too long.”

It was meant to sound endearing, but it was just as controlling as every other thing out of Trent’s mouth when it came to Stiles.

Stiles nodded as he departed for the hallway that led to the elevators and restrooms. He briefly considered fleeing.

~*~

Stiles scrubbed at his hands longer than he had to. He was stalling for time, his heart still racing.

Part of Stiles was thrilled to see him again, while the other half dreaded Derek seeing him.

Stiles kept rubbing the soap into his skin, the suds disappearing as he continually ran the water over his hands. He stared at the soapy water, watching it swirl before disappearing down the drain. He wondered when this became his life—when he wanted nothing more than to be at home, left alone to hide.

Stiles bitterly laughed as he turned the tap off, taking some of the folded paper towels to angrily wipe the water from his hands. He knew he did this to himself, but having the reminder stare him in the face, tonight of all nights, was truly cruel karmic justice.

He just hoped Derek would be nice about it—if he hadn’t actually forgotten him.

Stiles paused as he looked back up in the mirror. He inspected his face, leaning closer to see if he had changed that much. His brow crinkled.

Doesn’t matter if you changed .

Stiles hurried back out into the hallway, fixing his jacket as best he could. He knew he looked different, his body changing through the years. He had remembered how good he felt when he finally reached his weight goal this week—old clothes were fitting him once more, though his stretchmarks were still visible as per norm.

Trent shattered all joy that small victory gave Stiles. He always knew how to cut down to the bone, and he didn’t go easy this time. He acted innocent when Stiles came out of the bathroom in a different outfit—an older and baggier outfit that hid everything.

“I’m just trying to save you the embarrassment,” Trent answered Stiles’ silent brood as they drove to the party. “It didn’t fit right, babe,” he continued. “You look better in this one anyways.”

Stiles kept quiet as he continued to stare out the car window. He wasn’t sure why he had tried setting goals for himself. He just remembered how happy he felt being comfortable in his own skin. He started to think that maybe it wasn’t himself he was disappointed with—it wasn’t the weight or the change of his body. It was how others looked at him—how Trent looked at him.

How Derek could have looked at him.

Stiles paused his steps as he ran his hands through his hair, taking in a calming breath. Another hour, and he could go home. He looked up, about to keep walking when he saw someone standing by the door leading into the event room.

“Stiles,” the figure softly uttered, moving to lean off the wall. “I thought that was you,” he added, finally stepping into the better lighting.

Stiles drew in a steady breath, wondering when he had hoped he’d hear Derek speak his name again. And that maybe Derek forgetting him was kinder.

Derek’s hands were in his trouser pockets as he took steps toward Stiles. He had been staring at Stiles the moment he spotted him, watching as Stiles silently stood beside Trent as he conversed with coworkers. It only made Derek hate Trent more—the obvious way he ignored Stiles in favor of talking with colleagues.

“Derek,” Stiles softly uttered his name. He subconsciously ran a hand through his hair, trying to recall how presentable he looked in the bathroom mirror. He knew he wouldn’t compare to Derek at the moment.

He grew up a privileged beautillion, and knew an expensively tailored suit when he saw it.

Derek’s suit must have cost more than anything Derek would have willingly worn when they were together. And it fit Derek perfectly, his shoulders finally being able to fill out a suit that cut to his waist and hips correctly.

“I didn’t … Trent never mentioned that he worked with you,” Stiles stumbled through his words.

“I haven’t worked with him yet,” Derek answered. “Just overseen some of his work.”

Stiles nodded, looking elsewhere.

“You look good,” Derek commented.

Stiles looked at Derek, trying to determine if he was making fun of him. He couldn’t see any teasing in Derek’s features, leaving him to wonder how he could be sincere in such a statement. “You too,” he offered, pausing his words to look down at his hands.

He had to change the subject, anything to get the attention away from him. He remembered that Amy mentioned the boss was engaged. Which meant … 

“I heard you're engaged,” he started, ignoring the pit in his stomach as he looked up at Derek.

Derek’s expression remained the same, a vacant mask hiding his own displeasure at the memory. “Was,” he offered when the silence seemed as if it wouldn’t dissipate. “Didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sincerely answered, wishing he hadn’t pried now.

Derek shrugged his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he honestly replied. “I’ve had therapy,” he added with a faint smile.

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

“But it looks like you married Trent though,” Derek commented, gesturing his head towards the ring on Stiles’ left hand.

Stiles looked down at his finger, reaching his other hand to twist the small gold band. He covered it with his right hand, suddenly self conscious of it. He nodded, affirming Derek’s observation.

"Congratulations," Derek added.

Stiles looked up at Derek, a little surprised by his words. "Happened a while ago," he offered, unsure if Derek cared.

Derek remained still, as if he hadn't heard Stiles. "I know," he finally stated. "Your mother sent me an invitation."

Stiles' stomach churned. He never thought his mother would have the nerve to do something like that. Then again, she had forced his relationship with Derek to the breaking point, much to her satisfaction. "I didn't know she did that," he weakly offered.

"Of course not," Derek stated, his voice unusually cold. Or maybe that was just how his voice was now. "It wasn't as petty as the newspaper clipping with the baby announcement that she sent."

Stiles felt sick. "I …" there was really nothing for him to say in response. He hadn’t even wanted to publish a baby announcement, knowing it would bring unwanted attention. But his mother pushed, and Trent agreed. Stiles was just so happy to finally have a baby—to have someone he could care for and love unconditionally. He shook his head, tears burning his eyes. He really did hate his life at the moment, knowing he was trapped in the hellscape he had tried so desperately to escape in college—with Derek. “I should get back,” he faintly uttered, turning away from Derek, knowing there was nothing he could say to excuse the past.

Derek looked Stiles up and down, his eyes noting the way Stiles held himself. He hid his frown when he saw how timid Stiles looked.

The door to the hall opened up, signaling a person coming into their space.

“Stiles, what’s taking so long?” Trent questioned as he stepped into the hallway. “How long does it— Mr. Hale,” his tone changed when he saw Derek standing with Stiles.

Derek slowly allowed his gaze to slip from Stiles, looking at Trent. “I was keeping him,” he simply stated. “He was being too kind, accommodating his husband’s boss.”

Stiles looked down at the ground, silently swaying towards Trent when he felt him pull on his arm. He pretended that he actually liked Trent’s arm around his waist.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to introduce him earlier," Trent began, as he usually did when putting Stiles on display. He did it less frequently in recent years, much to Stiles' relief.

"We've met," Derek stated, cutting Trent's words short.

"When?" Trent asked, surprised at the idea that Stiles could possibly know someone as successful as Derek Hale.

"A lifetime ago, it seems," Derek offered, his gaze turning back to Stiles.

~*~

Stiles could tell Trent was mad, just from the silence that built between them in the car. He felt how annoyed Trent was in the rigidness of his actions once they said goodbye to Derek.

"Did you fuck him?" Trent finally asked when they were stopped at a red light.

Stiles was looking out his window instead of Trent. "We dated," he chose to admit.

"Did you fuck him," Trent demanded to know, ignoring Stiles' answer.

Stiles wanted to laugh at Trent.

What could Trent possibly want him to say?

That Derek used to spend hours holding him and cherishing him like he was too good to be true.

That Derek could make him come untouched, just his voice and the thrust of his hips being the only friction Stiles needed to get off.

That Derek’s dick was bigger than Trent’s.

"What do you think," Stiles chose to say instead.

"Great," Trent bitterly stated, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Like I needed this, Stiles."

Stiles ignored Trent.

"I'll be a laughing stock," Trent angrily stated to himself.

Like you need the help .

“The new guy whose boss fucked his partner,” Trent continued.

Stiles tried to cut out the bitterness bubbling up in his heart, knowing Derek would never say anything, not if he was still the same man he remembered. Part of him was afraid to think otherwise.

~*~

“I’m heading home,” Erica called from the doorway.

Derek was leaning against his desk, partially sitting on the edge. He was facing the large windows lining the exterior wall of his office, staring off at the night skyline.

“Hello?” Erica uttered as she entered the office, walking over to Derek. “Earth to boss man.”

Derek finally turned to look at Erica. “What?”

Erica gently flicked Derek square in the forehead. “You’re not all here.”

Derek swatted at Erica’s hand. “I’m aware of my surroundings.”

Erica moved to sit on the edge of the desk next to Derek, folding her arms over her chest. “So, that was him, huh?”

Derek remained silent for a beat. “That was him,” he echoed Erica’s words.

“He’s cute,” Erica commented. “A little timid.” She tried to remember what Derek had told her about the mysterious ex who was now married to one of their new hires. To say she was invested was an understatement. But when she saw Derek standing there, nearly cornering them at the party, she panicked that there was going to be an incident for HR to handle. Her panic resulted in a small if not made up emergency.

“He wasn’t always that way,” Derek replied, looking down at the glass of whiskey in his hand. He swirled the liquid amber, listening to the ice cube clink against the crystal.

“His husband’s an ass,” Erica remarked. “I can’t say I’d be too outgoing if I was married to him.”

Derek hummed in agreement.

“You sure you did a good thing when you hired him?”

Derek shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. I can’t say I wasn’t completely selfish in my motives.”

Erica laughed some. “Well, we’ll see how it all goes this Monday, I guess,” she stated as she stood, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Keep an eye on him,” Derek finally said when Erica was only a few feet from the door. “Let me know if he steps out of line.”

“Yes, boss man,” Erica called back.

~*~

“You look a little pale,” Claudia stated as she reached a hand out to feel Stiles’ forehead.

Stiles leaned away from his mother’s reach. “I’m fine.”

Claudia frowned, knowing something was bothering Stiles. “How was Trent’s first month at the new job?”

Stiles drank some of his wine, wishing he had chosen to follow Billy around aimlessly instead of lingering with his mother. He decided against it when his grandfather took Billy by the hand to show him around the garden. He knew the conversation would be stilted with his mother—as it had been these past few years, but at least not as hostile as his conversations were with his grandfather. He counted himself lucky that the man was calm and loving around Billy, likely accredited to the man’s desire to see his bloodline continue. “I don’t know, he doesn’t talk about work,” he answered her.

“How was the party, then?”

Stiles tightened his hold on his wine glass. “Fine,” he weakly stated.

“He was there, wasn’t he?” Claudia finally asked the question she was trying to get to.

“He owns the company, of course he was at his own company party,” Stiles bitterly uttered as he finally looked at his mother. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Surprising he managed to start anything,” Claudia remarked.

Stiles scoffed. “You never believed in him, and now that he’s proved you wrong, you still want to discredit it somehow.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Claudia dismissed Stiles’ comment.

“Afraid I’ll tell you I told you so?”

Claudia’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Did you send him a wedding invitation?” Stiles finally asked.

Claudia looked unaffected by Stiles knowing. “Yes.”

Stiles’ jaw clenched tight in anger. “Billy’s baby announcement?”

“I’m surprised he told you that,” Claudia answered instead.

“How could you do that?” Stiles demanded to know.

“I wanted him to know you were fine without him,” Claudia replied, her tone even. “He just started that company, his name was being tossed around. I didn’t want his ego getting any ideas that he could try to seduce you away from your husband.”

“I never cared about the money!” Stiles snapped.

Claudia had the nerve to look surprised by Stiles’ reaction.

“I had money saved,” Stiles suddenly stated. “I had started putting money away—to buy a house with Derek. I didn’t care about the money or the possibility of Derek becoming rich. I just wanted to live my life with him—to get away from you .”

Claudia cruelly laughed. “You can tell yourself I was the one to blame, but you married Trent.”

“And now look at him,” Stiles uttered. “Fired for attempted embezzling. A real winner.”

“He’s kept a roof over your head, and a lifestyle you enjoy,” Claudia quickly countered. “You should be more grateful.”

“I am grateful,” Stiles replied, turning an angered glare at his mother. “I’m grateful Derek Hale is successful,” he vehemently stated. “I’m grateful he lived up to everything I knew he could. That he’s rich and powerful, and completely free of this family.” He stood up, dropping his wine glass onto the table with a satisfactory clink before taking one of the long garden paths that lead to the edge of the property.

Stiles angrily wiped away the bitter tears that burned his eyes. He blamed his mother for what happened, but he knew he couldn’t completely forgive himself for being so stupid. He loved Derek—he had always loved Derek, despite his family’s disapproval.

Everyone looked at Derek with contempt when they first met him, growing angrier with each family gathering that the young nobody had managed to keep Stiles invested in a relationship. They claimed Derek was using Stiles to forward himself, completely inept assumptions that blinded them to welcoming him.

Stiles wanted to marry Derek. He wanted to have the house they always talked about. The family they imagined they’d one day share.

He wanted his Victorian house, even if it didn’t come with the house. The family was enough.

But Stiles was a fool, trapped in his family’s expectations.

All it took was a stupid fight between them, and his mother pressing the urgency of their family’s bankruptcy, before Stiles found himself married to Trent. Stiles foolishly believed he could have the life he always wanted even without Derek’s love—that he could be happy being loved even if he didn’t love Trent.

But Trent didn’t love him—he loved the image Stiles gave him.

Foolish , Stiles bitterly thought.

Damned foolish.

~*~

Stiles watched Billy rush ahead of him with mild amusement. He greeted the receptionist with a faint smile as she humored Billy.

“We’re here for lunch with my dad,” Billy explained to her.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” she answered before looking at Stiles. “Do you know which floor he is on?”

“I think the 23rd,” Stiles offered. “His name is Trent Banner.”

The receptionist turned to her computer, typing in the information. She smiled at Stiles as she spoke, “Yes, he is on the 23rd floor. If you use the elevators just over there, it will take you up in one go.”

“Thank you!” Billy exclaimed as he moved to take Stiles’ hand.

Stiles made sure to keep Billy back from running into any of the busy people rushing about. He pulled Billy to stand with him in the corner of the elevator, brushing his hand through Billy’s short curls.

Billy skipped out of the elevator when they reached the floor, rushing towards the receptionist desk. He skidded to a stop by the desk as he looked around trying to spot his father.

Stiles offered a friendly smile to the receptionist. “We’re here to see Trent Banner,” he stated.

The receptionist looked from Billy to Stiles. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Banner is in a meeting.”

Stiles’ brow twitched for a moment. “We’ll wait,” he stated when Billy grabbed his hand.

“He has a lunch meeting,” the receptionist replied in a clipped tone, annoyance evident in his attitude as he looked back down at his computer.

“Could you tell my husband we’re here?” Stiles finally pressed.

The receptionist looked up at Stiles. He hesitated for a moment before pressing buttons on his conference phone. “Mr. Banner, your husband is here to see you,” he evenly stated. He paused, listening to whatever Trent was saying. “Yes, sir.”

Stiles looked expectantly at the receptionist.

The receptionist looked up at Stiles. “He said he’ll be out in a moment.”

Stiles patiently waited with Billy, knowing there was a reason Trent didn’t usher them to his office. Part of him had a desperate urge to leave before Trent could talk to them. He missed his opportunity when Billy released his hand.

“Dad!” Billy exclaimed in excitement, running over to Trent.

Stiles turned to look, catching sight of Trent exiting an office down in the corner.

“Hey, slugger,” Trent answered, partially still walking towards Stiles even as Billy attempted to hug him.

“We wanted to surprise you!” Billy explained with a hopeful smile.

Trent looked down at Billy before looking back at Stiles. “I wish you called. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“But lunch,” Billy uttered in dismay.

Trent pulled himself out of Billy’s hold, placing his hands on Billy’s shoulders as he spoke looking down on his son, “Sometimes grown ups have to work during lunch. Just because your father doesn’t, doesn’t mean I don’t have to.”

Billy’s features fell as he pulled himself out of Trent’s hold to go back to Stiles. He took hold of Stiles’ hand. “Can we go to Auntie Kira’s?” He mumbled to Stiles.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Stiles tightened his hold on Billy’s hand, his stomach unraveling. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, knowing that Trent was never going to change. “You said you had time,” he forced the issue, refusing to acknowledge Trent’s previous comment.

“Call next time,” Trent countered in a sharper voice when he noticed some people looking on from their cubicles.

Stiles nodded. “Right,” he bitterly breathed the word out. “By the way, you might want to keep a spare set of clothes in your office from now on,” he finally commented, forcing himself to actually say what he wanted.

Trent had the nerve to look confused.

Stiles reached a hand out, roughly grabbing the collar of Trent’s shirt. “Mauve isn’t really your color,” he stated, pointing out the smeared lipstick that transferred from Trent’s neck to the crisp white collar of his shirt. “And you might want to zipper your fly,” he harshly uttered under his breath so Billy wouldn’t hear him. He turned, leaving with a tight hold on Billy’s hand.

Billy kept up with Stiles, realizing something was wrong despite not knowing what.

Stiles was glad that the elevator was empty and open, slipping his hand between the doors to keep them that way. He angrily hit his hand against the elevator’s close button, waiting for the doors to shut. He looked away from Billy, not wanting him to see the tears burning his eyes.

Billy let go of Stiles’ hand in order to hug his father around the waist.

Stiles wrapped his arm around Billy, gently rubbing his hand up and down Billy’s arm. He knew he wasn’t crying because Trent broke his heart—that happened too long ago to count. His heart broke for Billy, knowing the boy was smart enough to finally start putting all the incidents together.

They rode the elevator in silence until the doors chimed open on the 17th floor.

Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks in an attempt to get rid of his tears, moving Billy to stand in the back corner with him. He looked up out of habit, quickly turning his gaze downwards when he made eye contact with Derek. He was grateful Derek wasn’t the only person to enter the elevator.

Derek was talking to one of the men, clearly finishing up a conversation that started in a meeting.

“Another successful merger, and you’ll have no problem opening the branch in Europe,” the man noted.

“So my sister keeps telling me,” Derek stated in disinterest as he hit the button for the ground floor.

Stiles didn’t even realize he hadn’t touched the floor button.

“She’s excited to be living in Paris,” Derek added.

Some of the men laughed before they started to talk amongst themselves.

Stiles looked up, catching Derek looking back at him.

Derek stood out among the other men—not a necessarily difficult task considering the other men were easily in or beyond their fifties. His charcoal suit was contrasted with the silver of his vest and tie.

Stiles tried not to stare at him.

Derek wordlessly reached into his jacket, pulling his handkerchief out of his breast pocket before easily handing it to Stiles.

Stiles blinked at Derek’s offering before quickly taking it, glad that none of the other men were paying attention. He cleaned the back of his hand before wiping his eyes. He placed the handkerchief below his nostrils, pinching the bridge of his nose before sniffling deeply, hoping it was enough to stop his nose running. He regretted it the moment he inhaled Derek’s cologne. He remembered the cologne, it was a bottle he had gotten Derek every Christmas from a boutique in Scotland. He tightened his hand around the handkerchief, his stomach churning with the memory of Derek saying he didn’t care for the expensive cologne but wore it for Stiles.

Stiles folded the handkerchief, offering it back to Derek just as the elevator doors opened.

“Keep it,” Derek replied, not moving to take the cloth back as he looked to the doors, watching the others exit first.

Stiles looked at Derek, his brow pinched in confusion.

“It’s not the last time he’ll make you cry,” Derek nonchalantly stated as he turned his head to look at Stiles.

Stiles tightened his hand into a fist, bunching the handkerchief together. “You were never cruel,” he forcefully stated as he glared at Derek.

Derek calmly straightened, his gaze flickering to Billy before looking back at Stiles. “No,” he agreed. “I’m vindictive.” He turned and exited the elevator without another word.

Stiles took Billy’s hand and slowly guided him out of the elevator.

~*~

Billy startled when his meatball fell off the plate and onto his napkin. He grimaced at his father, an apology on his face.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Stiles replied with a faint smile as he poked the meatball with his own fork, putting it on his own plate. He reached over and easily cut one of the meatballs on Billy’s plate with his fork.

“Cheese!” Billy excitedly noted when he saw the melted mozzarella oozing out of the meatball.

“I told you I made your favorite,” Kira noted with a smile before looking back at Stiles.

“You don’t have to sit out here with us during a rush hour,” Stiles softly said.

Kira made a disbelieving expression. “I get to do what I want when it is my kitchen,” she noted, waving her hand about. She was still in her chef’s uniform, hair pulled back into an elegant bun. “I don’t get to see you two very often.”

“Billy asked if we could visit after ...” Stiles sighed, shaking his head. He had texted Kira the abbreviated version of the cliche moment he literally found lipstick on his husband’s collar.

Kira slowly shook her head. “He’s a dick,” she plainly stated.

“A dick?” Billy asked, brow furrowed.

“Don’t repeat that,” Stiles quickly stated.

Billy shrugged after a moment before returning to his spaghetti and meatballs.

Stiles looked at Kira.

“Sorry,” Kira sheepishly muttered. “But it’s still true.”

“I know,” Stiles agreed. “I think I’m more upset over seeing Derek.”

Kira sat up some, straightening in her seat. “You saw Derek?”

Stiles closed his eyes, sighing. “He owns the company Trent now works for,” he evenly said, finally opening his eyes to see Kira’s shocked expression.

“Yikes,” Kira noted, grimacing as she turned to look at Billy. She motioned towards him, trying to gage what she could say.

Stiles shook his head. “He gave me his handkerchief, and told me to keep it because it wouldn’t be the last time Trent made me cry,” he recounted to Kira in a low voice. He was glad that Billy seemed preoccupied by his food.

“That’s rude,” Kira noted with a frown. “You’d think he’d be happy that he might have another shot.”

“Kira,” Stiles quickly uttered her name.

“I’m just saying,” Kira shrugged. “You both were my best customers when I started out. I got a break because of it.”

Stiles genuinely smiled at the memory. He loved those nights when Derek was free, and they could steal a booth in the back of the restaurant Kira had started out in. It was nice—a break from reality where Stiles’ family didn’t exist, and Derek’s work wasn’t an issue.

“You know … now that I’m thinking about it,” Kira pondered. “I’m pretty sure Derek gave me a deal on this place. And he definitely gets orders to go.”

Stiles lightly laughed.

“Honestly, I don’t think Derek is as bad as he tries to act,” Kira noted with a faint smile of encouragement.

“He was always prickly,” Stiles sighed, remembering just how pensive and scowly Derek was when they first met, and even throughout their first date.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Kira stated. “It’s Derek, you know he’s tough about holding onto things.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Kira, I broke his heart. A heart, you remember, that wasn’t the easiest thing to get close to.”

“Stiles, you had a stupid fight,” Kira uttered. “One that most young couples have. Things got out of hand, and your parents didn’t help the matter.”

Stiles looked away from Kira.

“I think he’s in as much danger of falling in love with you as he’s ever been,” Kira stated.

“Who is?” Billy asked.

Stiles looked at Billy, seeing the sauce covering Billy’s lips and cheeks. He faintly smiled as he wiped Billy’s face clean.

“Who is in love with you?” Billy’s words were muffled by the napkin Stiles was using to clean up the sauce.

“A prince in disguise,” Stiles jested. “Auntie Kira was teasing,” he finally explained.

Billy’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening to ask more questions.

“Would you like some ice cream?” Kira quickly asked before Billy could even think of what he was about to ask.

Billy’s eyes lit up, completely forgetting what he was about to ask.

~*~

Stiles busied himself with folding the laundry after Billy was asleep. He took his time with Billy’s clothes, plotting out what new clothing he would need after the next growth spurt hit. He paused, frowning when he looked at Trent’s clothes. He had separated them on purpose, part of him wanting to stuff them in a garbage bag and toss it out on the front doorstep.

In all the years of blatant abuse he suffered with Trent, it was the humiliation of Derek seeing him cry that finally tipped him over the edge. He knew the truth, it was his own anger and pain over Trent that brought up these feelings. His own regrets plagued his thoughts—he told himself it was a memento, that’s why he kept Derek’s handkerchief folded up in his nightstand drawer.

Stiles startled when he heard the front door open, taking hold of the basket with Billy’s clothes in it as he made his way towards the steps.

“Hey,” Trent’s voice called out to Stiles. It wasn’t a greeting, but a command for Stiles to pay him attention.

Stiles stopped on the middle landing of the staircase, turning to look at Trent. “What?”

Trent had the nerve to look annoyed. “I’m home, that’s how you greet me?”

Stiles scoffed. “What, you expect me to be standing in the kitchen, apron and smile on, as I fetch you your slippers and cigar?” He condescendingly questioned.

“You’re unbelievable,” Trent stated as he walked towards the kitchen.

Stiles grew angry, marching down the steps to follow him. “You have some fucking nerve saying that to me,” he snapped as he entered the room after Trent.

“I expect the bare minimum from you,” Trent replied as he pulled a beer from the fridge, loosening his tie with his other hand.

Stiles shoved the door to the fridge closed as Trent started to walk away. He hated when Trent left things messy—always the same pattern.

“I work hard, and I come home to an ungrateful family,” Trent continued to bemoan.

“Yeah, must be really hard fucking your personal assistant,” Stiles snapped.

“I wasn’t fucking her,” Trent yelled back at Stiles.

“Oh, her lipstick just fell onto your collar, and you left your fly open after a bathroom break,” Stiles’ voice rose as the anger in his stomach twisted.

“For fuck’s sake!” Trent yelled at Stiles as he slammed his beer down on the counter, turning to look at Stiles. “What do you want from me?”

“Honesty!” Stiles snapped at him. “You’ve been an asshole, you know that? Accusing me of having a relationship with your boss while you’re actually fucking someone.”

“You did fuck him,” Trent accused.

“When I dated him,” Stiles loudly stated back to Trent, wishing he could scream at the top of his lungs. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I dated him in college, Trent. You knew I wasn’t a virgin when we got married.”

“That’s the point,” Trent uttered, leaving his beer on the counter as he walked closer to Stiles. “You fucked him, but you made me wait until I married you.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the basket, using it as the only barrier between him and Trent.

Trent was the opposite of Derek. Blonde hair and blue eyes. His hair was a bit longer than Derek, and he almost never let his beard grow in. He was as tall as Derek, but had a completely different build.

Derek’s shoulders were much broader, and his muscles were never for show.

Stiles clenched his teeth as he drew in a deep breath through his nose. “I thought I was going to marry him,” he finally replied.

“But he realized what a mistake that would have been,” Trent bitterly uttered. “I’m sure he’d be as miserable as me right now.”

“You’re not miserable,” Stiles calmly replied. “You’re doing everything you want, Trent.” He shook his head as he started to head back towards the steps.

“I’ve given you everything,” Trent accused. “And you’ve given me nothing, Stiles.”

“You know what?” Stiles cruelly laughed as he paused his steps, his anger and pain dissipating into pity. “The only thing you ever gave me was Billy,” he pinned Trent with a glare. “And you didn’t even want to give me him.” He shook his head. “I wish I had married Derek Hale. And I’m sorry I’ll never get the chance to.” He headed up the stairs, ignoring the sound of the beer bottle smashing against what was likely the wall. He stopped caring about Trent’s tantrums.

Chapter Text

Derek took a long drag off of his cigarette, eyes watching the city skyline as the sun rose. He slowly blew out the smoke as he tapped the ashes into the tray he balanced on the armrest of his chair. He looked at the cigarette.

He stopped smoking the night he broke off his engagement to Jennifer, just over three years ago. Though according to the tabloids, she was under the delusion they were still engaged. He forgot he even kept a pack in his desk. Until his hands were itching to the point of insanity.

The one anomaly now was Stiles walking back into his life, and he couldn’t say the addiction the cigarette fed was the one he wanted.

He placed the cigarette between his lips as he pulled his cell phone out of his back trouser pocket. He looked at the text lighting up his screen, his nose crinkled when he saw a third text pop up, congratulating him on another successful project.

“Uh, what the fuck, Derek?”

Derek looked at the person who walked into his office, not caring enough to reply when he realized it was Cora.

“You quit,” Cora firmly uttered as she walked into Derek’s office, making an effort to take the cigarette from him.

Derek leaned out of her reach. “Mind your own business.”

“It is my business if my brother dies from lung cancer before he’s fifty,” Cora retorted as she managed to snatch the cigarette from Derek’s mouth.

Derek sighed in annoyance when Cora snuffed out the lit end of the cigarette in the tray before taking it all away from him. “I’m a big boy, you know? I can just go buy some elsewhere.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Cora answered as she looked at Derek. “What’s wrong with you? You should be celebrating,” she added, dropping the magazine she had into Derek’s lap.

Derek looked at it, realizing it was a copy of Forbes. His nose twitched when he saw he was on the cover. He tossed it to the side, uncaring for whatever they wrote.

“They said you’re 'the Da Vinci of our time',” Cora commented as she moved to sit on the couch facing Derek.

“I’d rather be Michelangelo,” Derek muttered as he let his head hang back against his chair. “He pissed people off.”

Cora snorted. “That sounds more accurate.”

Derek stared at the ceiling of his office. “Why are you here so early?”

“Because you’re here and won’t answer your phone,” Cora simply replied.

“So what do you have to discuss with me?” Derek asked, still not looking at Cora. He knew why Cora was here. It was the same reason Laura kept trying to arrange a video conference. It was why Derek had been avoiding his sisters.

“Your thirty-eighth is coming up—”

“No,” Derek sharply stated, finally lifting his head to look at Cora. “I didn’t want a thirtieth, despite Jennifer throwing a party. I didn’t want the thirty-fifth that you and Laura insisted was necessary. And I don’t want a thirty-eighth,” he pinned Cora with a glare that spoke volumes of how he felt.

“The board wants to throw you a party,” Cora stated.

Derek groaned, placing his head in his hands. “It’s a bad time to have taken my cigarettes away,” he noted with annoyance.

“I convinced them to let Erica plan it,” Cora replied. “That way we can avoid a party like the one Jennifer did.”

“I never want to see another socialite for the rest of my life,” Derek stated, rubbing his hands over his face before looking at Cora.

Cora nodded in agreement. “Look, it will be simple, over quick and painlessly, okay?”

“No French baker,” Derek quickly uttered when Cora stood up.

Cora opened her mouth to protest.

“You said Erica was planning it,” Derek countered.

Cora’s brow pinched.

“You can have a French baker for your birthday,” Derek answered before a knock at the door signaled Erica’s arrival.

“Good morning, boss man,” Erica stated per her usual greeting as she looked at some of the mail in her hand. She balanced a coffee in her other hand, an expertly wrapped package tucked safely under her arm. She looked up, smiling in stride when she saw Cora. “And a good morning to you,” she added.

Derek silently took his coffee from Erica, thankful for her intervention.

“Looks like American Express sent you another card offer,” Erica slyly smiled with amusement as she handed the pile of letters to Derek.

Derek waved his hand at it. “Go through them if you want, but no more credit cards, Erica.”

Erica snorted as she kept the letters, offering the box to Derek.

Derek looked surprised.

“Your order from Inverness,” Erica answered Derek’s question.

Derek stood as he took the package, walking over to his desk to ignore Cora’s inquisitive nature.

“What the hell is Inverness?” Cora questioned.

“It’s in Scotland,” Erica supplied before Derek could say anything.

“Erica, you’re throwing a birthday party for me,” Derek stated to deter further conversation, aware of the look Cora was giving him.

Erica looked from Derek to Cora, and back to Derek when neither Hale sibling acknowledged her. “I’m sorry, what?”

“The board wants me to have a party,” Derek replied as he sat at his desk.

“Uh, that gives me a week,” Erica stated.

“You have the budget,” Derek stated, looking at Erica. “I know you’ll do well. I’m sure Laura will be emailing you her own details.”

Erica sighed. “Fine, but I’m focusing on your party and nothing else,” she stated as she left Derek’s office. She planned on living at her desk for the foreseeable future, determined to make sure the party was more than acceptable, recalling the nightmare that was Derek’s thirtieth.

Cora waited until Erica closed the door. “Tell me that isn’t the cologne he used to get you.”

“You know what cologne I wear,” Derek simply stated as he turned to his computer.

“I thought it was only because he bought you a stupid amount of it, and you still had some left over,” Cora stated as she moved towards Derek’s desk. “I didn’t realize you were buying it for yourself now.”

Derek looked over his computer monitor at Cora, his gaze was a cold warning.

“You hate that cologne,” Cora firmly uttered, pressing the issue.

“I told him I wasn’t overly fond of it because it was expensive,” Derek replied. “I have plenty of money now.”

“Bullshit,” Cora sharply stated. “There are plenty of other colognes you could waste your fortune on.”

“I don’t feel like doing this,” Derek uttered, running his hand through his hair.

“You hired his husband, Derek,” Cora nearly hissed as she tried to keep her words quiet. “Did you honestly think this wasn’t going to become a thing? That Laura and I wouldn’t find out?”

“You said it yourself, Cora, I hired his husband, ” Derek critically stated, looking at his sister. “Not his ex. Therefore, nothing is happening with this since he is, in fact, married.”

“You’re a bit attached,” Cora countered.

“You know what they say: I don’t have a heart, Cora,” Derek stated with nearly no emotion in his voice, eyes leveled and annoyed. “The little part I did have, I gave to him. I’m allowed to be sentimental.”

Cora was quiet for a moment. She walked over and grabbed the magazine Derek had tossed aside. She paused. “Make sure you’re not falling into another socialite’s trap, then.”

Derek narrowed his gaze at Cora.

“You’re one of the wealthiest bachelors in the country, Derek,” Cora simply stated. “He was always a dying socialite—instead of hitting it big, he fell to suburban life.”

“You don’t know him,” Derek uttered.

“And apparently neither did you,” Cora critically countered.

Derek opened his desk drawer, pulling out another pack of cigarettes. He looked at Cora as he pulled a cigarette out. “Like I said, I’m a big boy—I can take care of myself.”

Cora rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Well, if you’re trying to get revenge, don’t fall for your own con,” she sharply replied, leaving Derek’s office.

~*~

“Hello, this is Love & Flour , how may I help you today?” Stiles answered the phone as he started to untie his apron. He was thankful he could count on Billy to be calm while waiting for him to close up the shop.

“I’m calling about catering an event,” a familiar female voice started. “It’s for the head of our company—he’s turning thirty-eight and is a pain in everyone’s ass about not celebrating it.”

Stiles smiled as he tried to hide his laugh. “Sure, we do catering,” he offered.

“Wonderful, a colleague recommended you,” the woman explained.

“That’s very kind,” Stiles offered as he pulled the order form out of the drawer, looking aimlessly for a pen. He looked at Billy, about to gesture for him to get a pen when he saw that his son was pointing to his head. He reached up, finding his pen tucked behind his ear. He silently thanked Billy before turning back to the form. “What type of cake are you looking for?”

“Well, his sister said something about chocolate and peanut butter,” the woman explained. “The company is a decent size, but I’m not looking for like a tiered wedding cake or anything. And I know peanut butter is usually a big no-no, because of allergies, but if you need compensation, we can do that. I’m desperate for help on this one.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment, remembering the first time he made a chocolate and peanut buttercream frosted cake. It had been for Derek’s twenty-first birthday, and it was awful. He forgot to add the second cup of flour. He remembered how Derek had eaten it anyways, despite his attempts to stop him.

“Hello?”

“Oh, sorry, yes—no tiered wedding cakes,” Stiles quickly stated. “I could make a simple two layered cake with an inscription on it, and cupcakes to make up for the larger number of guests.”

“Wow, you are good,” the woman stated.

“I try,” Stiles smiled as he started to fill out the form. “What should the inscription read?”

“Simple is probably the best way to go— ‘Happy 38th Birthday, Derek’ should be okay.”

Stiles stopped writing, his hand tightening on the pen. “Um, sure, less is best,” he shakily stated. He startled when his cell phone started vibrating against the counter. He frowned when he saw it was Trent’s work number calling. He hit the ignore button, knowing it was the dozenth call he ignored in the past few hours.

“Uh,” he cleared his throat, trying to internally talk himself out of a panic attack. “Where is the venue?”

“At work, like always,” the woman sighed. “The Kore Tower,” she explained, rattling off the address.

Stiles felt numb as he wrote down the address, despite knowing he didn’t have to.

“You seem super capable,” the woman suddenly stated. “Are you the owner?”

“Uh, yes. I was just closing up shop when you called,” Stiles explained.

“Lucky I called when I did,” the woman replied. “Anyways, my name is Erica Reyes, Derek Hale’s executive assistant,” she elaborated. “Could you maybe take this order on personally? I don’t want it to get fucked up, you know?”

Stiles faintly laughed, “Sure. I’ll make sure it’s done right.”

“I’m sure we’ll meet when you bring the cake, but can I get your name?”

Stiles hesitated before finally answering her. “My name is Stiles,” he offered. His stomach twisted some when he realized a silence was settling between them. “I think we might have met before, actually—my husband works for Kore Enterprises.”

“Right,” Erica quickly uttered. “Right, okay. That sounds great. Thank you,” she stated before ultimately hanging up.

Stiles looked at the phone, puzzled some at the sudden disconnect.

“Can we go home?” Billy asked in earnest as he spun around in front of the door.

Stiles set the phone down, looking at Billy. “Sure thing, buddy.”

~*~

“You did what?” Derek snapped at Erica when she explained that she had taken care of his birthday cake—per Laura’s orders. He had honestly almost tuned her out until he heard her say Stiles was making his cake.

“Listen, your sister told me to make sure you had one hell of a fucking birthday since she won’t be here,” Erica snapped back at Derek as she settled into Derek’s office couch. “I was out of ideas for a bakery, none of which would make peanut butter frosting, because of allergies I'll have you know. And someone mentioned this cute little place downtown— Love & Flour . I didn’t fucking know it was Stiles’ bakery, okay?”

Derek was silent for a moment. “What’s the name?” He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly.

“ Love & Flour ,” Erica replied. “It’s cute, actually. There is a sunflower in the logo, so it’s like love and flowers, but also flour because it’s a bakery.”

Derek stared down at his shoes, slowly allowing his chair to turn away from Erica.

Stiles laughed, “Made with love and flour this time. I promise .”

“Don’t be mad at me,” Erica whined as she huffed in annoyance. “I’ll cancel the order and go with the baker Cora suggested.”

“No,” Derek quickly stated as he forced his chair back around to look at Erica. “She’ll have picked some pretentious French baker and demand macarons.”

Erica arched her eyebrows. “Are you speaking from experience?”

“Just … it’s fine,” Derek replied.

Erica was quiet as she stood. “You looked upset by the name,” she decidedly stated.

Derek rolled his eyes. “Just go check the invitation list again, and make sure the bar has my favorite bottle of whiskey.”

Erica crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t think it’s a little … inappropriate?”

Derek looked up at Erica. “He’s baking a birthday cake, which was ordered and paid for by my company. That’s professional, not inappropriate. Besides, his husband is working for me, I think that cuts out any inappropriate assumptions.”

“You’re super particular about your sweets, Derek,” Erica knowingly replied.

Derek leaned back in his chair. “What are you getting at?”

“I can’t put my heel on it, but I will figure it out,” Erica replied as she turned to take her leave. “Maybe you miss having your birthday cake made special.”

Derek ignored Erica, leaning back in his chair all the way as he thought about what Erica said. He didn’t know Stiles had a bakery, realizing that it mustn’t have had anything to do with Trent. He felt proud at knowing Stiles achieved part of his dream, wondering when he found the time and money to open it.

He knew he was selfish for saying yes, but maybe Erica had a point—he missed it. He couldn’t stop thinking of Stiles always acting embarrassed at the memory of forgetting the flour for his 21st birthday cake. He tried to tell himself it was just a catchy marketing name—it meant nothing.

“I honestly thought he’d call and say he wasn’t going to do it,” Erica noted.

Derek looked at Erica.

“Trent’s on vacation next week,” Erica replied. “He put in for time off, said he was going on vacation.”

Derek wasn’t sure if he was feeling relieved or disappointed as something lifted from his chest. “Maybe I won’t have to deal with seeing him then.”

Erica arched her eyebrow. “I have a feeling you were looking forward to it.”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Derek answered as he turned back to his work. There was one absolute that Derek learned in the last twelve years—work gave him an excuse to avoid handling his feelings.

~*~

Stiles spun the cake, evening out the frosting. He was focusing on what he was doing when the sound of approaching heels pulled him out of his thought process.

“Peanut butter,” a voice curiously uttered.

Stiles looked up, frowning when he saw it was his mother. He pulled the earbuds from his ears, wishing he had left the music louder to feign recognition. “Mother,” he stated, knowing why she had come to see him—she never came to the bakery, out of clear spite. Only her insistence on meddling in his marriage would warrant a visit from her.

Claudia looked from the cake to Stiles. “Where is Billy?”

“Dad is watching him,” Stiles replied. “I told you that.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting Billy ready to go on vacation?”

Stiles dropped the utensils he was using, pulling the gloves off his hands before tossing them into the trash. He reached for the towel he had hanging off the counter, wiping his hands some as a distraction. He looked at Claudia with an annoyed expression. “What did Trent tell you?”

“Enough,” Claudia answered. “You fought with him, and now you’re not going on vacation.”

“He never told me he was going on vacation,” Stiles sharply replied. “His secretary called and left a voicemail on the phone, confirming Trent’s departure.”

“Stiles—”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Stiles forcefully stated. “I am a grown adult, mother. And you have pushed me to forgive Trent for so much. But I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that,” Claudia simply stated.

“I don’t love Trent,” Stiles suddenly confessed. “I don’t think I ever did. And maybe that was cruel of me to marry him when I knew I didn’t love him. But he didn’t love me either. And I’m done, mother. No amount of chastising from you is going to change that.”

Claudia was silent for a moment. “And what are you going to do? Argue with him? Separate? That's out of the question.”

Stiles bitterly laughed. “I don’t care. He made the choices he did, and I'm done. Besides, I'm not you—I don't need him to keep me going. I have the bakery.”

“And you think this will keep you afloat?” Claudia scoffed in question.

“I’ll make ends meet,” Stiles answered, refusing to tell her that his shop had become increasingly popular over the last few years.

“Well, you’re not staying with me if you don’t plan on fixing things with Trent,” Claudia threatened in the calmest voice Stiles had heard her use.

“Well,” Stiles started, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t want to subject Billy to that anyways.”

“Stiles—” Claudia started in a sharp tone, as if she was determined to change Stiles' choice.

“You’ve made your point,” Stiles countered. “Now if you don’t mind, I have several cakes to finish today, and you’re not supposed to be back here.” He leveled her with an uncaring look. “Goodbye, mother.” He placed his earbuds back in before grabbing another set of gloves. He didn’t look up despite hearing his mother stomping away. He leaned against the counter as he drew in an unsteady breath, calming himself.

~*~

Derek stared at himself in the mirror of his office’s bathroom. He ran his hand along the scruff of his cheek, turning his head to inspect the light patches of white and grey showing. He narrowed his gaze at the spot he had seen earlier this week, realizing it was a new one. He sighed, placing his hands against the sink’s counter as he kept his reflection’s gaze.

Erica had told him almost half an hour ago that Stiles had arrived.

And Derek’s stomach had turned into knots.

Even after twelve years apart, Derek still never met anyone who could make him feel the way Stiles had.

Derek had heard Stiles that night before seeing him. But when he saw him, he couldn’t stop staring. He felt like a creep, watching Stiles from afar as Trent continued to talk and Stiles offered nothing but a forced smile. It was painfully obvious that Stiles was keeping silent on purpose. It made Derek’s blood boil seeing just how timid Stiles was now.

And then the next time he saw him was in the elevator. With a kid.

Derek tore his jacket off, annoyed with how heavy it felt. He hung it in the space next to the door. He placed his hands on his hips as he snuck a look back at the mirror.

He knew what was bugging him.

Stiles had a son. Stiles had a family and a career, and a life . And Derek wasn’t even angry—he was sorry. He was sorry he felt nothing but regret and jealousy at knowing he never got to have that.

He never got to marry Stiles, and start a family.

His mind betrayed him as he briefly thought what it would have been like to have them for a family. Would it be easy? To know that with one look—one visit from them, and he could be at ease no matter how complicated his day was.

“Fucking 38,” Derek uttered. “And what do you have?” He asked the silence around him. He turned away from the counter, leaving the bathroom to prepare for the party.

~*~

Stiles worked on setting up the main dessert table. He looked at the servers setting up the tables across the open area. He could admit that he wasn’t surprised at the number of tables for guests. He knew Derek was popular, especially with his employees. He was curious who else made the guest list. He was glad people seemed to be kind when explaining the set up to him.

It had been a while since he had gone to cater an event. He tried not to think about the last time he saw Derek—or the last time he made Derek a birthday cake.

“Everything looks great,” a female voice commented.

Stiles stilled once he withdrew his hand from where he placed the last cupcake on the tiered display. He looked down at the tablecloth, hands fidgeting with a cloth he had been using to make sure no frosting accidentally got on anything. He had been dreading seeing Derek, that he didn’t even think about running into one of his sisters. He turned to look at her, uneasiness settling in his stomach when he saw it was Cora.

Cora had always disliked Stiles, though she hid it well for Derek’s sake. She had been surprisingly kind in the aftermath of Derek’s breakup. Stiles didn’t expect any of that kindness to land on him now.

“Hello, Cora,” Stiles gently greeted her.

“Stiles,” Cora said his name with slight distaste. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

Stiles dropped the cloth he had been holding back onto the table, nodding his head in agreement with her. “Things happen that way, I guess,” he commented, forcing himself to look at her.

Cora wore an elegant navy dress, making it evident that Derek’s party was a black-tie event. Her hair was done up in a bun, braids pleated throughout her hair as a few strands hung free. She wore diamond teardrop earrings, a lovely addition to her glittering appearance.

“Never expected it to be this way around, huh?” Cora replied.

Stiles clenched his teeth, his jaw tightening as he tried to ignore the humiliation he felt twisting in his stomach. He could never make her realize he never saw things like that—the line his family, and even Derek’s, liked to draw between them. “Never expected a lot of things,” he weakly offered, too tired to argue with Cora.

“I heard your husband was on vacation,” Cora stated, a look of annoyance taking over. “I honestly thought you wouldn’t be here.”

Stiles nodded. “Trent decided to take a vacation, likely with his girlfriend,” he added. “He expected me to go after I found out about it.” He shrugged a shoulder as if it didn’t hurt. “I had a few orders to oversee at the bakery, so my son and I stayed home.”

Cora looked swayed for a moment, before she shook her head. “Well, once you finish setting up, you can leave.”

Stiles’ lips pressed into a thin line, wondering when he had changed his mind and hoped to stay. Maybe he wanted to catch another glimpse of Derek—to know that he was happy, and perhaps even enjoying the cake. It was stupid—Stiles felt stupid for such a thought. “Erica asked me to clean up afterwards,” he offered.

Cora looked displeased with that. “Fine,” she quickly stated. “Just don’t linger,” was her final order before departing.

Stiles stared after Cora, wondering when she decided to hate him. He thought it would have been enough for her to see him in his current state. Whatever she believed he had done to Derek clearly warranted further anger directed at him.

Stiles focused on setting up, slightly hurrying when he saw that more people were showing up. He had some time before the party was scheduled for, but he wanted to get things done before hiding in the catering tent to avoid being seen. He wished he had been faster, especially when his eyes wandered for a brief moment before ultimately connecting with Derek’s.

Derek was supposed to be working, Erica had said. He was dressed in a suit, his tie and jacket likely left in his office. His deep navy shirt and charcoal pants did wonders to compliment his skin.

Stiles was certain his eyes would be bluer than usual, the same way they changed with whatever color Derek favored for the day.

Derek was lingering by the outskirt of the tables, standing alone despite the guests arriving in intervals. He had been watching Stiles, curious what Cora could have said to him before walking away. His hands rested in his trouser’s pockets, an attempt to keep from fidgeting.

Stiles forced himself to look back at the dessert table.

“I can’t say I actually expected you,” Derek admitted as he approached Stiles.

Stiles dejectedly paused, looking back up at Derek. “A job is a job, right? But… if you’re uncomfortable with me being here, I can go.”

Derek shook his head, looking around them to see if they had an audience. He drew in a steady breath, realizing that most people went for the bar once they arrived and paid them little attention. “I think if I was uncomfortable with you being here, I wouldn’t have hired your husband.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed some. “You knew Trent was my husband when you hired him,” he slowly came to the conclusion that he hadn’t thought Derek would have known before the night they saw each other.

Derek faintly scoffed, rolling his eyes as he looked away from Stiles. “I’m not stupid.”

Stiles sighed. “So what, you gave my husband a job out of pity?”

“He’s an idiot,” Derek plainly stated as he looked at Stiles. “Of course it was pity.”

Stiles quickly blinked, swallowing down the sudden lump in his throat. “Why do you have to be an asshole?” He roughly demanded.

“I told you—”

“Vindictive, I know,” Stiles stated before Derek could. “But if you wanted to humiliate me, you could have done it without involving my family.”

“Then why are you here, Stiles?”

Stiles clenched his mouth shut, knowing he couldn’t argue with Derek. He knew the truth. “Listen … I didn’t ask to be the one catering your birthday,” he sharply stated. “I didn’t realize it was you until … after I accepted it.” He couldn’t lie to Derek—he knew when Erica called, asking for chocolate cake with peanut buttercream frosting. For all Derek’s stoic and intimidating appearance, he had a sweet tooth that outmatched Stiles’ own. “And any chance of catering is a good business practice, especially when it is someone like you— with a business like yours.”

“Are you done?” Derek asked in an even tone, despite the fact that Stiles could tell he was amused by his rant.

“Yes,” Stiles snapped.

“I was told someone mentioned your bakery,” Derek stated, pushing his shoulders back as he tried to straighten his spine. “It could have been Trent.”

Stiles looked at Derek, his features softening some. “Mentioned doesn’t mean suggested,” he coldly answered, turning back to the cupcakes. He tried to keep his hands steady, refusing to drop and ruin one.

“You doubt your husband suggested your bakery to Erica?” Derek inquisitively pressed, following Stiles as he moved down the table to set up the sweets.

“Trent thinks my baking skills suck,” Stiles uttered, turning one cupcake to blend the various colors. “And before you say it, no, not in the fun way.” He was surprised when Derek didn’t laugh. He snuck a glance at Derek, realizing he was staring at him.

“What?” Stiles pressed, turning to face Derek with his hands on his hips.

“Trent told you that?”

Stiles looked away from Derek, biting the inside of his cheek. “He makes a point of buying Billy’s birthday cakes from competitors,” he admitted, looking at Derek once more. “He likes his sweets bitter. Billy likes my cakes, though,” he added as an afterthought. “So thank you for lying to make me feel better, but you don’t have to.”

“I doubt your baking has changed,” Derek commented. He picked up the serving knife, about to cut into the cake when Stiles grabbed his hand.

“What are you doing?” Stiles incredulously asked.

“Proving a point,” Derek remarked.

“You are not cutting the cake before your guests arrive,” Stiles chastised Derek as he attempted to pull the serving knife away from Derek.

“It’s my cake, Stiles,” Derek replied as he clamped down a tighter grip on the serving knife.

Stiles attempted to pry Derek’s fingers open, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to. He remembered his twenty-first birthday, how Derek told him he could have his present early if he could get it out of his hand. He ultimately ended up distracting Derek with kisses to get his present out of the vice grip that was Derek’s hand. He huffed, letting go of Derek’s hand before standing between him and the table, knowing he couldn’t use his kisses this time. “You haven’t paid me yet,” he retorted.

“I gave you a down payment,” Derek replied, attempting to reach around Stiles.

Stiles grabbed the serving knife again. “Let go.”

Derek arched his eyebrows at Stiles, looking down at him. “Do you want me to stick my hand in it?”

“Don’t you dare,” Stiles lowly uttered as he narrowed his gaze at Derek.

Derek sighed. “Are you trying to prove Trent’s point that your baking isn’t any good?”

Stiles released his hold on the serving knife as his mouth dropped open a bit. “I baked you birthday cakes for years,” he stated. He started to wonder if this was a humiliation. Was Derek about to ridicule one of the last things he had left.

“I didn’t say your baking wasn’t good,” Derek replied.

Stiles opened his mouth to offer a counter point, hesitating before he shook his head. He grabbed one of the cupcakes he had just put the frosting on. He offered it up to Derek. “It’s the same thing, and I made plenty of extras.”

Derek looked from the cupcake back to Stiles. “I didn’t ask for a cupcake.”

Stiles narrowed his gaze at Derek. “Don’t be a baby, just try it,” he said as he pressed the cupcake towards Derek. He even decided to make soft train noises at Derek.

“Stiles—”

Stiles’ eyes widened briefly as he pulled the cupcake away from Derek’s face.

Derek looked harmless when frosting covered the tip of his nose.

Stiles snorted out the laughter he couldn’t hold in.

“Professional,” Derek uttered as he wiped the frosting off with his index finger.

“You asked for it,” Stiles replied.

“Blame the birthday boy,” Derek muttered.

Stiles reached for one of the napkins he was using to clean up any smudges of frosting from the platters, turning to use a clean one on Derek. “I wasn’t—”

A frosted cupcake was smooshed into Stiles’ nose and mouth. It took several moments for Stiles’ brain to catch up with what just happened.

“Now we’re even,” Derek remarked, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he licked the frosting off his thumb.

“You just squashed one of my cupcakes into my face,” Stiles uttered in bewilderment, a type of giddiness bubbling up in his stomach.

“Technically they’re my cupcakes,” Derek replied, taking the cloth napkin from Stiles’ hand.

Stiles felt self-conscious when he felt people looking at them. He started to fret some, feeling as if people were judging them. “Derek, that’s not funny.”

“Stop freaking out, and hold still,” Derek instructed as he grabbed Stiles’ chin, forcing Stiles to look upwards. He wiped the frosting from Stiles’ nose before uttering, “close your eyes.”

Stiles closed his eyes as the napkin brushed over his nose, over his cheeks and close to his eyes. He didn’t know to what extent the frosting covered his face, a bit too embarrassed to even ask. He hesitated in opening his eyes when he didn’t feel the napkin touching his face anymore. “Is it gone?” He softly asked, opening his eyes to look at Derek. He was surprised to find Derek staring at him, eyes scanning his features.

“All gone,” Derek abruptly uttered while turning his gaze from Stiles, tossing the napkin down to the table as he took a step back.

“Derek!”

Stiles turned and looked at the person just as Derek did as well. He took his opportunity to pick up the mess that was left before hurrying away. He wasn’t sure what just happened but he was glad to be afforded the distraction.

And thankful Derek didn’t look back at him, knowing he was wearing his attraction on his face.

~*~

 Derek was grateful when the bartender left the bottle of whiskey for him. He was prepared to retire to his office now that things were dissipating. He had smiled and thanked everyone, even giving an impromptu speech after blowing out the candles on his cake. He had been stunned to think about the fact that Stiles had placed 39 candles on the cake, the traditional extra luck candle placed by the frosted numbers as Stiles always did.

Having a grand party like this just reminded Derek how much he hated celebrating anything. And how lonely his life really was outside work. He couldn’t remember the names of most people who came up to wish him a happy birthday.

Derek poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. He lifted the glass to his lips as he stared at the mirror behind the bar. He forgot they had even constructed this rooftop area until Erica mentioned that it was going to be the venue. He wondered why he bothered having it added since this was the first time he even remembered its existence.

There was always something else to be added. Always time to think about family later.

The truth cut deeper—there was only one person he had wanted a family with.

“Hey, I brought you a few of the extras,” Stiles’ voice traveled from the other end of the bar.

“Really? Oh, Mark and Henry will love these,” the bartender stated as he looked at the cupcakes wrapped up in their own plastic traveling cases.

“You said you had them this weekend, so I figured you could have something to bring them back,” Stiles softly laughed. “My son said he expected something leftover.”

The bartender laughed, “I appreciate it.”

Stiles pulled his coat on as he watched the bartender disappear with the cupcakes, faintly smiling to himself. He felt like he did something nice for someone at least. He hesitated buttoning up his coat when he saw Derek sitting at the other end of the bar, staring back at him. He was ready to leave, everything packed for transport back to the bakery.

“You just gave away my cupcakes,” Derek broke the silence.

Stiles faintly smiled. “I always make extra. I don’t charge people for them—I’m accident prone, remember?”

Derek snorted. “Surprised you’re still here,” he tipped the glass up to his lips, downing the rest of his whiskey.

Stiles hesitantly drifted towards Derek, wondering if they were still on friendly terms. “I just finished cleaning up,” he explained. He hid his hands in his jacket’s pockets, trying to keep from fidgeting.

“Ah,” Derek vocalized his understanding.

“Anything planned?” Stiles softly asked. He didn’t know why he was bothering to ask, knowing he should have left.

“Drink myself into a good stupor,” Derek muttered. “Regardless of work.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed some.

Derek looked at Stiles. “And you? Going to turn into a pumpkin before midnight?”

Stiles softly chuckled. “No, I don’t have a curfew,” he partially joked.

“I’m sure your babysitter won’t stay until morning,” Derek countered.

Stiles quietly looked at Derek, knowing he had heard the tinge of annoyance in his words. “My dad is watching Billy, actually.”

Derek snorted out a laugh. “Lucky you. Uninterrupted married life.”

“I think you of all people know that Trent isn’t here,” Stiles stated. “He’s on vacation.”

“And why aren’t you?”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with you,” Stiles countered, annoyed that the Hales apparently both had a sense of entitlement when it came to the status of his marriage.

“Right,” Derek replied, his voice uncaring as he looked back at the bar’s mirror.

“Why do you care?” Stiles snapped at him, something finally falling loose in his chest. He was tired—exhausted by just how tense his life had become. “Do you want me to say that I know my husband is off, fucking God knows who while I’m home, taking care of my son?”

Derek scoffed, his laugh more cruel than anything. “Is that what Trent is doing?” He looked at Stiles expectantly.

“Who knows, I don’t care,” Stiles harshly admitted. “I learned to stop caring—keeps you from being disappointed.”

“What? You expect me to feel sorry for you?” Derek evenly questioned. His voice low and tight, as if he was holding something back. “You’re the one who married the asshole.”

Stiles’ stomach twisted. “Right, it’s my fault.”

“Nobody twisted your arm,” Derek stated, looking back at his drink.

Normally, Stiles would have let it go—with Trent, his mother, anyone. But not with Derek. “Actually, yeah, they did.”

Derek turned to look at Stiles.

“My parents were bankrupt, thanks to my grandfather’s spectacular business ventures,” Stiles explained in an even voice, despite the bitterness still lingering in his heart. There was something about the feeling of Derek’s eyes on him that made him want to confess every dirty secret his family tried to hide.

“Cry me a fucking river,” Derek angrily countered as he moved to stand from the bar. He grabbed his jacket off the stool next to him, realizing his mistake was not leaving when he had gone back to his office for a break. He was more than ready to head home.

Home .

Derek would have laughed if he said that aloud—it wasn’t a home, just an empty penthouse where he slept. He spent more time in the office than he did there—you had to actually like a place to call it a home.

“Fuck you,” Stiles snapped at him.

“Been there, done that,” Derek replied. He didn’t know why he just wouldn’t shut up—why he had to dig the knife between them. Seeing Stiles here, at his birthday celebration, rubbed Derek the wrong way. It made him think about years ago, when it was just the two of them in a rundown apartment. When he was happy .

“Are you trying to make me hate you?” Stiles’ voice cut through the eerie silence falling between them.

Derek paused, turning to look at Stiles. He felt like shit when he saw the tears brimming in Stiles’ eyes.

“I loved you for so long after all that bullshit,” Stiles continued, unable to stop the words now that they were falling out of his mouth. “It was a stupid fight, Derek. You didn’t have to leave—you didn’t have to stop talking to me.”

Derek spoke over the lump in his throat, “I didn’t make you marry Trent.”

“No, my mother did.”

Derek remained quiet as he tightened his hold on his jacket. He didn’t want to hear the one thing that haunted his thoughts about Stiles. It gave him a weird feeling of hope. Something he didn’t want—he told himself he didn’t need it. He didn’t need Stiles.

He knew that was a lie.

“I was saving money for us,” Stiles finally admitted. “I was trying to get enough money to buy a home, so we’d never have to see my family.” He released a bitter laugh. “I had enough for a down payment—for that stupid, rundown Victorian I would never shut up about. I wanted to build it up— I wanted to make that a home . With you .” He shook his head. “I never told you because I knew you’d be mad about it at the time.”

Stiles pressed on when Derek didn’t say anything. “When you left, I went back to my parents’ house. It took my mother about a day before telling me about the bills. I spent about half my savings to help before Trent kept coming around.” He looked away from Derek, swallowing against the burn of tears. “You weren’t coming home ... So yeah, I gave up—I tried to move on.”

Stiles forced the rest of his jacket buttons together, pleased with the distraction. “I’ll call Erica about settling the invoice,” he curtly stated, turning and walking away from the bar, and Derek.

“Happy birthday.” He hurried towards the exit, knowing that nothing was going to calm him down. He was going to be reliving the humiliation of this conversation with Derek for years to come.

Chapter Text

“You know you don’t have to put up with us, right?” Stiles finally approached the subject when he was confident Billy was asleep and wouldn’t come downstairs. He was folding the laundry his dad had brought out into the living room. He faintly smiled when his dad tried to sway him away from helping.

“Right, putting up with my son and grandson,” John scoffed.

Stiles looked up at his dad.

John lived a modest life, compared to what he had managed to keep saved away for retirement. It had been about seven years since John moved out of the old house, and started living by himself. Things were tense, and Stiles didn’t ask about his parents’ marriage—or the lack of one.

Stiles married Trent in a hope of keeping things afloat. Money fixed nothing, that had become increasingly obvious to Stiles the more years passed. He had seen his parents grow apart, but knew the only thing that kept their marriage together was a certificate. He had heard his grandfather threaten to cut Claudia off if she gave in to the divorce papers—another threat to drag it out in court if John tried. It was stupid pretense to keep things looking perfect to society. He knew his grandfather had no real power to enforce his threats. He figured his mother just wanted to agree with him.

A sinking feeling unsettled Stiles as he wondered if his grandfather would even let him divorce Trent.

“Does he know you left?” John asked Stiles.

Stiles blinked some, realizing he lost himself in thought. He shook his head. “He’s still on his vacation. He’ll know when he gets back Thursday.”

“Should I be expecting him to come banging down the door?” John inquired.

Stiles shook his head. “No, he’s afraid of you,” he explained. “He’ll probably call me a bunch.”

“Block his number if you have to, kiddo,” John offered. He was struggling with folding one of the fitted sheets.

Stiles fondly chuckled, reaching a hand out for the sheet. “I’ll do that,” he offered, folding it how his grandmother had shown him to.

“You know you can stay here however long you need to, right?” John suddenly voiced his real concern. “I don’t want you to think you have to go back to the house. You and Billy are more than welcome to stay.”

Stiles looked at his dad. “I know,” he answered, offering a small smile. “I’ll work something out, dad. But in the meantime, we’d love to stay with you.”

John nodded, visibly relieved to hear it.

Stiles turned back to the laundry basket.

“I should have told you not to marry him,” John suddenly stated.

Stiles froze, his hands still gripping the laundry basket. He drew in a steady breath. “I agreed.”

“You shouldn’t have been expected to.”

“Dad, that’s not your fault,” Stiles stated, looking up at his father. “I wasn’t seeing anyone—Trent was around, and I … I settled because I thought he liked me well enough.”

John was quiet as he watched Stiles.

“I blamed everyone but myself for it,” Stiles explained. “To be honest, I was still angry at … Derek when I said yes to Trent.”

John crossed his arms over his chest.

“I thought he would have shown up,” Stiles started, remembering how nervous but hopeful he was thinking about Derek on his wedding day. He held onto hope throughout the whole ceremony, waiting with bated breath for something to happen—to see Derek again, to hear that he still loved him and they could leave. When everything went along as planned, it was the last nail in the coffin.

“Is this all happening now because Trent is working for him?”

Stiles shook his head. “No, this has been a long time coming.”

“How was it to see him again?” John asked instead.

Stiles quietly replied, “He’s not the same man I knew.”

“We all change, kiddo,” John offered.

Stiles shook his head. “I did that to him.”

“You didn’t do that to him,” John firmly denied Stiles’ claim.

“He asked me to marry him,” Stiles suddenly stated. He looked at his father, tears in his eyes. “He wanted to elope—have a big reception some time later, after we both had the money. He was so embarrassed about the money, and I never took a moment to consider how he felt. I thought I could convince him it didn’t matter by still having things from our life.” He drew in a sharp breath. “I should have just told him about the money I was saving—that we could have used that to buy a house and elope—that it didn’t have to be that Victorian. But I kept saying it was alright—we could keep going like we were and it… it drove a wedge between us.”

“Stiles,” John gently spoke his name. “You were young—still are. You can’t blame yourself for something like that.”

“I wish I had married him,” Stiles softly confessed. He shook his head, “But then I might not have had Billy, and I can't imagine that.”

John nodded in agreement. “You know, we can’t fix the past, Stiles. But we can try to make amends for the future.”

~*~

Derek stared out the glass pane looking out over the city. He kept his hands in his trouser pockets, listening to Cora’s voice ramble off the to-do list they had for the next financial quarter. He barely slept last night, his brain refusing to forget about Stiles and what he said.

“Also, the last of the restorations on Project V are almost finished,” Cora concluded when she realized Derek wasn’t really paying her any attention. “Derek, did you care about anything I just said?”

Derek didn’t turn away from the window. “What do you remember about Stiles?”

Cora stared at Derek’s back, unsure she heard her brother’s question correctly. “Um, why?”

“Humor me,” Derek uttered.

Cora sighed, knowing her brother had a point, even if he didn’t make it known to her in the moment. “I remember him being at your side like a barnacle.”

Derek hummed, as if he was remembering just how attached they had always been.

“He seemed really happy,” Cora continued. “He was always smiling whenever Laura and I visited you.” She hesitated for a moment before adding, “I guess he was charitable with his wealth, instead of acting like his snobbish family.

Derek turned to look at Cora. “And what would you think of him now?”

Cora pursed her lips some. “I’d say he’s timid,” she honestly stated. “I thought I was going to get into a fight with him at your party, and instead he just … was amicable. It was more infuriating than it would have been if we did fight, to be honest.”

Derek faintly scoffed at the idea.

“Why are you asking me this?” Cora asked, suspicious as to Derek’s motives.

Derek took a hand out of his pocket as he leaned over to take the memo he had discarded onto the table.

“Derek,” Cora pressed.

“I’ve been reflecting on my life,” Derek simply answered instead.

Cora made a face. “You’re acting like you’re about to die from old age.”

“Feels like I don’t have a life to live,” Derek honestly confessed. “I think I’m trying to make sense of everything that happened, while avoiding having a crisis about the fact that I’ll be turning forty soon.”

“You’re expressing regret,” Cora explained. “And you want to know if you— what? Fucked Stiles over by breaking up with him?”

“I just want to put my life in perspective, Cora. There is nothing wrong with that,” Derek looked at his sister.

“I don’t want you thinking you did anything wrong,” Cora stated in defense of herself.

“To be honest, Cora, nobody knows exactly what happened that night besides Stiles and I,” Derek evenly replied.

“You broke up,” Cora countered. “It’s been over a decade, Derek. And he has clearly moved on.”

“I thought he had cheated on me,” Derek finally stated. He dropped the memo back to the table, knowing he wasn’t going to focus on it now. “More accurately would be to say I thought he was going to cheat on me. I started a fight with him about it—when I knew deep down he hadn’t cheated nor would he. I just was tired of being the thing holding him back in life.”

Cora stared at Derek. “Why would you do that?”

“His whole family hated me, Cora,” Derek replied, turning back to lean against the table. He looked back out the window as he continued, “I wasn’t country club material. I came from a poor family. I had no career to go into. But for some reason, Stiles saw through all my failings that his family disliked. He had more than one person trying to get his attention when we were dating, and as his mother put it—I was burying him.”

Cora was quiet for a second before pressing, “So you made something up to make him feel like shit?”

“One of his exes got his number, sent him a few messages about getting back together,” Derek explained. He remembered seeing them on his laptop—Stiles’ laptop.

Things were impossibly tight, Derek working two jobs while attending classes and trying to get an internship. He didn’t sleep some nights. It wasn’t until Stiles found out that he had two jobs that Stiles picked up another part-time job. Stiles sold a watch his grandfather had gotten him—some designer watch that was gaudy and impractical and never left the box it came in. But it sold for a few thousands of dollars.

Stiles bought a laptop for Derek so he wouldn’t lose time commuting to the library. And to protect Derek’s pride, he lied and said it was for them both. Derek foolishly let himself believe the blatant lie.

That laptop became just another reminder that his own academic success was thanks to Stiles’ financial support here and there. It dug the knife deeper when he had seen that the messages were read but had never been answered—or blocked.

Maybe Stiles was figuring out that Derek was the low point in his life. Maybe Stiles was considering better options than some poor nobody.

“That doesn’t mean he cheated,” Cora answered.

“No, it doesn’t,” Derek agreed. “It made it easy to be an asshole and break up with him though.” He looked to the side, finally seeing Cora staring back at him.

Cora was looking at her brother in a new light—even Stiles suddenly became a fraction more tragic. “So you came home, left him here. Then he married and you used that as an excuse to never fall in love again.”

Derek looked away from Cora.

“Fucking hell, Derek,” Cora harshly uttered as she stood. “That is fucked up, even for your unusually backwards, self-inflicted guilt.” She grabbed the papers she had been going through, moving to exit the meeting room.

“Yeah, that’s what I had thought,” Derek sighed aloud to himself.

Cora hesitated at the door, turning her head to look at her brother. “You still love him.”

It wasn’t a question.

Derek looked at his sister. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Bullshit,” Cora vehemently countered, taking a step away from the door. “You made that choice for him, Derek. You didn’t let him choose.”

“He’d be an idiot to pick me.” Derek looked away from Cora. He didn’t want to face the truth.

“No,” Cora replied. “No, he’d have made a choice based on love.”

“You have nothing to offer him,” Claudia cooly stated as she pinned Derek with her gaze. Derek had once thought her eyes were like a doll’s — lifeless even in their silent judgment. “You can’t give him what he needs, and the shine will wear off. You’re going to ruin him, and for what?”

“I love him,” Derek answered.

Claudia scoffed at him, as if his love was something inconsequential. “Then don’t drag him down with you.”

“I know what I did, Cora,” Derek finally answered her. His voice was gravely, as if the memory itself was enough to unnerve him. “And all the regret in the world isn’t going to help me change it—no matter how much I want to.”

“Telling him the truth is a start, then,” Cora countered.

Derek drew in a deep breath. “Yeah.”

~*~

Stiles had let Trent stew in his anger for over a week, refusing to accept any calls or messages. He let Trent leave as many threatening voicemails as possible, knowing that it would help later if Trent tried to draw the divorce proceedings out. He was grateful for Jackson looking at the divorce papers to make sure they were solid. He never thought he’d reach out to Jackson Whittemore again, but found their conversation being one of the more pleasant he had over the last few years. He forgot what it was like to have people in his life outside of Trent and his social circles.

“What the fuck are you thinking doing this here?” Trent snapped at Stiles as he threw the papers onto the desk.

“Considering it is your place of work, you’re less likely to cause a scene,” Stiles evenly stated, his back close to the door. He had refused to walk further into the office when Trent crowded him. He had barely managed to get out of Trent’s suffocating embrace.

Always apologies and tender touches, then the rage .

“You’ve been ignoring me for over a week—I haven’t seen our son,” Trent snapped at Stiles.

“My son,” Stiles corrected him. “That’s what you said when you agreed we could go through with the surrogacy, remember? My son , because I’d be the one responsible for him.”

“So you’re going to try and keep him from me? Make me out to be the villain?”

“You’re allowed supervised visits,” Stiles countered. “It’s all there in the papers.”

“So I’ll have to pay you child support? I don’t fucking think so,” Trent nearly laughed at the thought.

“If you don’t want to pay child support, then you wave your parental rights to Billy completely,” Stiles pressed. “And I’ll keep the house.”

“Like hell you will,” Trent lowly threatened.

“It’s in my name,” Stiles sharply answered. “But if you want to pay out the mortgage, you can have it.”

Trent was always so much faster than Stiles thought he was.

Stiles startled back towards the door when Trent violently shoved the desk chair back to make his way towards him. He missed the door, not realizing he lost his balance and backed up into the wall. He flinched some when Trent caged him into the wall.

“What about your family, huh? I’m not paying off any more of mommy or grandpa’s debts if we divorce,” Trent threatened.

“I’m done being their insurance policy,” Stiles replied in an even voice.

“We’re not getting divorced, Stiles.”

“We are,” Stiles stated. He was angry at himself when his voice sounded smaller than he meant it to be.

Trent never hit him—but it wasn’t something Stiles was confident betting on not changing. There was more than one hole in the walls of their house that had to be patched up because of Trent’s tantrums.

“Fine, you want a divorce?” Trent started. “I hope you’re ready for an ugly back and forth.”

Stiles’ stomach started to churn. Jackson had warned him that Trent was the type of guy with a fragile ego who would take this as a challenge—a pissing contest that he had to win.

“I’ll bleed you dry of everything,” Trent harshly spoke, his face only inches away from Stiles’. “That pathetic little bakery you love so much will have to be liquidated. The house sold. Even Billy will get dragged in for a front row seat—asked who he’d like to be with more.”

“If you think Billy would want to live with you, you’re insane,” Stiles snapped.

“Maybe you’re insane, Stiles,” Trent remarked. “All those depressive episodes, hospital visits, and now throwing away a perfectly good marriage because of one hiccup.”

“A hiccup ?” Stiles incredulously asked, his voice rising. He wasn’t sure what made his head reel more—the gaslighting, or the way he ignored taking responsibility. “Which one is the hiccup, Trent? The emotional abuse you’ve put me through for years , or you sticking your cock in anything that looks at you for more than a minute.”

“Maybe if my husband wasn’t suddenly a fucking prude,” Trent countered.

“You haven’t even tried to touch me in over a year,” Stiles vehemently replied, the anger in his voice having nothing to do with the bitterness in his heart.

“Maybe if you chose a fucking weight to stick with,” Trent hissed.

Stiles shoved Trent hard, his hands colliding with Trent’s chest. He didn’t feel that much better, despite seeing Trent stumble some. “Fuck you.”

He had seen the way Trent looked at him when he felt his heaviest, and it only took that once for Stiles to feel like shit.

It was before he started trying to actively lose the weight he gained during his last depressive episode. He was changing into clothes for a party being thrown by one of Trent’s colleagues. He caught Trent looking at the stretch marks, and part of him wondered why he hadn’t said anything when he so visibly wanted to address it.

Stiles had then started to consciously wear clothes to bed that covered himself completely, even if it was too hot some nights. He always laid away from Trent, keeping the blankets bunched over him.

Trent had looked at him with skepticism when he reached his weight goal this time—as if he wanted to wager that Stiles wouldn’t be able to keep the weight off.

“Sign the papers, Trent,” Stiles snapped at him. “And then we’ll both be a lot happier.” He grabbed the door, slipping out into the bullpen of cubicles. His feet didn’t stop moving as he hurried towards the elevator. He had bet on Trent not making a scene, but there really wasn’t anyone stopping Trent from following him—cornering him in a secluded spot.

Stiles hit the button on the elevator, glad that it was on this floor still. He turned to look back, seeing that Trent was calmly exiting his office, talking to his assistant. He panicked when Trent looked up at him. He was actually scared, unsure what was about to happen when he saw Trent walking towards him.

So he did the one thing he didn’t think he’d do in a million years.

Stiles looked at the receptionist’s desk. “Which floor is Mr. Hale on?”

~*~

Derek felt as if he was grinding sandpaper with his teeth as he listened to Greenberg drag on about the next proposal. It was mediocre at best, and he was annoyed that he had to even be here to tell the man no.

“Mr. Hale,” Erica’s voice interrupted with a loud blinking noise announcing her paging over the intercom’s speaker.

Derek sighed, relieved to be saved by Erica. “Yes, Ms. Reyes,” he answered, finger pressing down on the intercom button. He was pleased that Greenberg stopped talking.

“You have your 3 o’clock waiting for you—he is early,” Erica’s voice evenly explained, something off in the way she spoke.

Derek paused, trying to remember what his calendar for the day looked like. He was sure he didn’t have an appointment at 3. He checked the clock, it was ten minutes to 3, but the meeting was planned to go until half past—at least.

“Mr. Stilinski,” Erica’s voice supplied, knowing Derek’s silence meant he hadn’t caught on to the emergency in her calm voice.

“I’ll be right there,” Derek quickly answered, standing up as he let his finger off the intercom. He buttoned his jacket as he spoke, “Greenberg, it’s over budget and doesn’t have a predicted profit or community impact to justify that cost. Try again.” Without another word, he left the meeting. He didn’t care if the others called the meeting over or not. His interest was more than piqued in knowing why Stiles came to his office—and why Erica didn’t refer to him by his married name.

Derek opened the glass door to Erica’s office space, unsurprised when he found her standing by her desk, arms crossed.

Erica tapped her heel. “I think you should fire Trent,” she flatly stated.

Derek looked from Erica to his closed office door. He made the assumption that Stiles was waiting in his office. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Erica almost snapped, straightening up as she gestured towards the closed door Derek just came through. “I was working on confirming your upcoming meetings for next week, and all the sudden Stiles comes rushing in here—like a bat out of hell, I might add—asking to see you. He waited until I was off the phone, and I could barely understand what was happening until Trent came in after him. He started yelling at him—I got in between them, by the way. Then, I told Trent to get the hell out of here when he acted like he was about to drag Stiles out with him.”

Derek ran a hand through his hair. “Is Stiles in my office?”

“Yes,” Erica confirmed, taking a much needed breath. “Can I go on break? I’ll lock the door in case the dickface thinks about coming back.”

Derek nodded, sighing some. “Thank you,” he called after her as she exited. He turned to his office door, part of him terrified to open it and face Stiles. What was so scary about Stiles being in his office? It was his two worlds colliding into one, and it unsettled something in Derek’s confidence.

Derek wasn’t sure what to expect, but seeing Stiles in his office—even when knowing he would be there, was not something he thought he’d ever witness.

Stiles was sitting on the couch, his head held tightly in his hands. His legs were shaking, a nervous habit he always had.

Derek eased the door shut, allowing the latch clicking to be the loudest noise.

Stiles dropped his hands from his head, sitting up some as he wiped at his face. He was trying to hide the few stray tears. “I’m sorry—I panicked,” he offered.

Derek kept his distance from Stiles, unsure how to respond to that.

“I told Erica she didn’t have to bother you,” Stiles softly added.

“She tends to inform me if an employee is engaging in domestic abuse, especially on work premises,” Derek answered.

Stiles scoffed, his small laugh sharp and watery, refusing to look at Derek. “I really thought the one place he’d behave is at work, that’s the only reason I gave him the divorce papers here,” he explained.

Derek’s body went rigid at the mention of divorce papers.

“I panicked at the elevator when he was clearly following me—he told his assistant he was taking the day off.” Stiles bit his bottom lip. “I really just did the stupidest thing and asked which floor your office was on. I don’t know, I thought he wouldn’t follow me—I thought out of anyone, he’d be afraid of you.”

“He would know I’m in a meeting,” Derek admitted. He wasn’t sure why he told Stiles that.

“I’m lucky Erica was here,” Stiles hollowly stated. “He would have dragged me out by my hair I think, if he thought it would keep me from going forward with the divorce.”

Derek walked over to the coffee table. He leaned down, picking up the box of tissues, he offered it to Stiles.

Stiles reached out to take a few of the tissues, refusing to make eye contact with Derek. He was mortified with embarrassment.

Derek set the tissues back on the coffee table, glaring down at the ostentatious piece of furniture as if it offended him. Was it always this pretentious looking, or was he just now concerned with what Stiles might think of his furniture choices? “Why didn’t your lawyer mail him the papers?” He pushed himself to ask instead.

“I don’t have one,” Stiles replied before blowing his nose. “I can’t afford one—Jackson looked at the papers I drafted and fixed them for me as a favor.”

“Jackson’s not a divorce lawyer,” Derek answered.

Stiles looked up at Derek finally, feeling more confident now that he wiped away his tears. “I’m surprised you know that,” he replied.

“Martin & Whittemore represents my company,” Derek replied.

Stiles shook his head, “Of course they do.”

“Jackson’s a good lawyer, though,” Derek chose to state instead of asking for an explanation on what Stiles meant. “But you’re going to need a lawyer, Stiles.”

Stiles shook his head. “I could find a pro-bono one, maybe. It won’t matter, because Trent will get someone worth a couple of hundred an hour.”

“I’m guessing he threatened to take everything,” Derek commented, knowing that Stiles was upset about something more than Trent’s behavior.

“Yeah,” Stiles confirmed. “The house, the bakery … But even if I have to sell my bakery, I won’t let him have Billy.”

Derek moved to sit on the armrest of the opposite couch. He never realized how strange it was to have two couches in his office—he never had anyone in here long enough to offer them a comfortable seat. He hated how Stiles made him question his entire existence, even after years apart. “I have to ask—is Billy biologically yours?”

Stiles nodded. “We used a surrogate—Trent adopted him.”

Derek sighed. “It’s a better argument in your favor, but it could still go either way depending on who your lawyer is.”

Stiles looked up at Derek. “Yeah,” he weakly agreed, knowing that things were going to get complicated.

“Where are you staying?” Derek changed the subject.

“My dad’s,” Stiles stated. “I’ve been there since Trent went on vacation.”

Derek stood up. “Your father isn’t … at home?”

Stiles looked at Derek. “My parents have been separated for about seven years. My grandfather refuses to consent to them divorcing.”

Derek resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “He’s still alive then.”

“Unfortunately,” Stiles answered, standing up. He moved over to the small waste basket by the door. He dropped his tissues into the trash. He preoccupied himself with straightening his clothes. “I appreciate you not being … smug about this.”

Derek was quiet. “I told you, I’m vindictive,” he offered as he walked over to his desk. “Doesn’t mean I have to be an asshole about everything.” He picked up his car keys. “I’ll give you a ride to your father’s.”

Stiles was quiet as he watched Derek grab his coat off the back of his chair. “How do you know I didn’t drive?”

“You’re terrified of driving in the city, Stiles,” Derek replied, as if there was no way Stiles could argue against that.

Stiles pressed his mouth into a thin line. “I could have learned.”

“Did you?” Derek countered as he stopped in front of Stiles.

Stiles hesitated before shaking his head.

“Then I’ll give you a ride,” Derek settled, reaching a hand out to open the door. He waited, expectantly, for Stiles to walk out before him. “Unless you think your dad will shoot me.”

Stiles softly chuckled at that, slipping by Derek to exit the office. "You know my dad always liked you."

Derek tried to stamp out the small spark of hope that suddenly reared its ugly head.

~*~

Stiles stared out of the car window, pretending his skin wasn’t vibrating with the knowledge Derek was so close despite the gap that was between them. He startled briefly when the bluetooth in Derek’s car rang, his gaze briefly sneaking a look at the screen on the dashboard. Deucalion was the first part of the name Stiles caught before Derek hit the answering button on the steering wheel.

“Hale,” Derek answered before it rang once more.

“I didn’t think you’d actually pick up,” a smooth voice laughed out.

“Then why call me, Deuc?” Derek coldly answered, his eyes focused on the road.

“Most people tend to take the afternoon off, but not you,” Deucalion commented.

Stiles wanted to laugh out a small comment about Derek being a workaholic, but refrained. If Derek wasn’t going to tell this man he had company, Stiles didn’t want to make it awkward.

“There’s talk of canceling the project, and I figured I’d go to the source,” Deucalion remarked.

“If the project was being canceled, you’d hear it from me,” Derek answered. “If that’s all.”

Most people would have finished that sentence, but not Derek—he simply stated it as if there was no arguing that the conversation was over.

“Do you ever switch off?” Deucalion remarked.

“Not really,” Derek gruffly answered, his annoyance starting to show.

“Do everyone a favor, Hale,” Deucalion started, a laughter in his tone. “Get laid.”

Derek hit the end button, though Stiles suspected it didn’t have the same satisfaction slamming a phone into a receiver did.

“He sounds like a delightful business partner,” Stiles commented before he realized he was speaking. He was relieved when Derek snorted out a faint laugh.

“He thinks because he’s a family friend, he can push it,” Derek explained.

“And yet he’s telling you to go get laid,” Stiles muttered. “Weird family friend.”

“I think we’ve established that we both have very weird family friends.”

Stiles thoughtfully nodded. He was about to say something when Derek’s phone rang again.

“For fuck’s sake,” Derek growled under his breath, answering the phone. “Hale,” he snapped.

“I miss you too, baby brother,” Laura’s voice started.

Stiles noticed that Derek tensed.

“Now isn’t a great time,” Derek answered her.

“You do know I’m on Paris time, and my time is precious,” Laura playfully stated.

“And I’m busy at the moment,” Derek replied.

“According to Erica, you took the afternoon off,” Laura countered. “That sparked my interest to hear that my workaholic little brother decided to take an afternoon off.”

Derek’s grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“So, is it a date?”

Stiles took pity on Derek, knowing that Laura hated him more than she loved teasing Derek. “Sorry, he’s actually giving me a ride home.”

Derek quickly glanced at Stiles, before remembering that he was in the middle of driving through a busy section of the city that required his full attention.

Laura was quiet on her end. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” She sounded much nicer than her question.

“It’s Stiles,” Stiles answered.

Laura was dead silent for too long to be comfortable. “Cora said your husband works for us,” she chose to say instead.

“For the time being,” Stiles mindlessly replied. He wished he could see Laura’s face, knowing she would be more telling.

“I’m shocked, to say the least, that Derek’s talking to you after everything. Let alone giving you a ride home .”

“Laura,” Derek barked out at her, his tone more severe than it had been. “If you have nothing to say, I’m ending the call.”

“I have plenty to say, Derek,” Laura shot back.

“If you want to be mad at me, be mad at me,” Stiles quickly stated. “I’m sorry you hate me, and I’m sorry my relationship with your brother ended the way it did. But you know nothing about what happened.” It was an assumption, but he had hoped he wasn’t misstepping. Something about the way Derek didn’t try to correct him made him feel better.

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, Laura,” Derek finally broke the strange silence that settled between them.

“Tomorrow then,” Laura curtly agreed, hanging up before anything else could be said.

Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself, squirming in his seat as he felt too big in Derek’s space. “I’m sorry,” he suddenly apologized.

Derek spared a side glance in Stiles’ direction. “Should I know what you’re apologizing for?”

Stiles made a gesture at the console that had just been lit up with Laura’s information. “All that. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No,” Derek countered, his tone more at ease than when speaking with Laura. “She was out of line with what she said. You were in the right to correct her.”

Stiles looked back out the windshield. He tried to pretend that he wasn’t affected by Derek’s words. But he lost that battle a long time ago.

Derek’s hands tightened around the steering wheel as he slowed the vehicle to a stop at the red light. “I should be apologizing to you,” he finally stated.

Stiles looked at Derek, a small frown crossing his lips. “For giving me a ride home after I barged into your office to avoid my angry soon-to-be ex-husband?”

Derek turned to look at Stiles. “I knew you weren’t cheating on me.”

Stiles felt sick as his stomach clenched. He opened his mouth to say something, but he realized there were no words. What could he say to that?

“I accused you of something I never should have.”

Stiles looked away from Derek, his hands clenching against his knees. “Then why did you?”

Derek released a heavy breath. “Do you think I could ever compete with someone like Harrison Huntington III?”

“Yes,” Stiles snapped at him, finally looking back at Derek. He was angry, hurt, and maybe a bit caught off guard by Derek’s confession. “Harrison is a selfish prick, that’s why I broke up with him before college .”

Derek looked back at the road, glaring up at the red light as if it was the thing that trapped him in this conversation. He knew it had been a long time coming, and he needed to fix at least that. “You can’t blame me for feeling otherwise.”

“I can blame you for not talking to me,” Stiles countered.

Derek slowly nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I’m a dick for that.”

Stiles was quiet. “Did you really think I would cheat on you?”

“No,” Derek said quicker than he had meant to. “That was the problem—I thought you’d sink with me to the bottom if you thought it was what I wanted.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “I never thought that about you—” he sighed. “But you’re right, I would have. And I probably would have been happy, as long as I had you.” He felt his flush suddenly spark and spread across his neck when he realized what he just admitted.

Luckily, cars started beeping at them, signaling the change in the light.

Derek focused back on the road, steering the car forward. He was thankful for the distraction.

“Harrison Huntington,” Stiles mumbled. “I can’t believe you thought I’d leave you for him.”

“He is attractive and rich,” Derek replied, his tone lighter than he thought it would be when talking about this.

“Was,” Stiles corrected Derek. “He’s balding.”

Derek snorted. “So you draw the line at balding for looks.” He subconsciously looked in the rearview mirror at his hair.

“You have nice hair,” Stiles replied, catching Derek’s inspection in the mirror. “I’d say you look better than a lot of people, Derek.”

“Now you’re trying to cater to my fragile ego,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles laughed.

Derek snuck a look. “Is he actually balding?”

“Big time,” Stiles nodded. “Besides, his dick was much smaller than he believed it was. It was exhausting how ridiculous his ego was.”

Derek tried not to tighten his hands on the steering wheel. “Do you talk about all your exes like that?”

Stiles made a faint noise as he looked out the window. “Just the assholes.”

“I’m terrified to know what you say about me then,” Derek commented.

“See, you’re an asshole because you don’t make that easy,” Stiles stated. “Can’t really say anything negative about you.”

“I doubt that.”

“Derek,” Stiles seriously stated his name, looking at the other man. He was leveling Derek with a look. “You’re fishing for compliments.”

Derek only looked at Stiles for a second, turning his head to change lanes. “I’m not,” he lied.

“What do you want to know?”

Derek didn’t say anything.

Stiles sighed, “You really shouldn’t worry. Your dick is the biggest.”

Derek refused to admit that he had swerved the car some at that comment. He gave a critical side eye to Stiles when he stopped at the light.

Stiles laughed, heartily, at Derek’s expression. “Your face.”

“Hilarious,” Derek remarked with no amusement in his voice, looking back at the light.

“You wanted to hear me say that,” Stiles stated, a smile still on his face.

“I didn’t ask,” Derek retorted.

“You’re not going to ask if it’s true?” Stiles quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m inclined to be afraid to ask,” Derek stated. He wasn’t sure he either needed or wanted whatever type of impact Stiles’ answer would have on his smugness.

“It’s true.”

Derek tightened his hands on the steering wheel, his teeth clenching. He definitely didn’t need to hear Stiles admit that, a sharp heat pooling in his gut.

The rest of the car ride was silent, though much less stressed.

Stiles stared up at his father’s home lingering outside as Derek slowed the car. He had been foolishly hopeful the ride would take a bit longer, if only to spend another moment in peace.

“Thank you for the ride,” Stiles finally stated as he opened the car door.

Derek reached a hand out, taking a light hold on Stiles’ wrist.

Stiles paused, looking back at Derek.

“Be careful,” Derek offered, his tone clipped. “I’m sure Jackson told you, but Trent is a manipulative bastard. It’s the only reason he’s good at his job.”

Stiles was surprised by Derek’s forwardness.

“He’ll come at you from every angle, so please get a lawyer, Stiles,” Derek finished. He sounded tired, as if he had been weighed down by more than just work in recent weeks. He released his hold on Stiles, withdrawing his hands to rest on the steering wheel.

Stiles nodded, agreeing with Derek. “Thank you,” he added, unsure what he was supposed to say to his ex telling him to be wary of his soon to be ex-husband. He climbed out of Derek’s car, unsure what to expect now. He never would have guessed that Derek would offer him sound advice when it came to Trent. But the world seemed to be turning at a new angle now, and Stiles found himself liking the turn of events better than where his life was going.

~*~

“You can’t be serious,” Stiles incredulously started, staring in horror at Trent’s lawyer.

“I assure you, Mr. Stilinski, Trent is very serious about his concern for Billy’s well being.” The lawyer—Mr. Kenson addressing Stiles by his family name made it feel finite.

“You didn’t even want him!” Stiles snapped at Trent.

Trent looked completely unmoved by Stiles’ anger.

“Don’t try to imply anything about my client,” Mr. Kenson sharply addressed Stiles’ outburst as if it was one of the more repugnant things happening in the room. “The truth of the matter is, you have had several medical stays due to mental health in the past—especially after Billy was born. It would be in Billy’s best interests to allow the judge to see these.” He tapped his hand on the folder.

Stiles looked down at the folder, catching sight of his birth name and birth date. He recognized a faded mark—the symbol of a hospital. “Those are my medical records,” he uttered in disbelief, his stomach unsettling as he looked at Trent. “You stole my medical records?”

“As your husband, I’m on your HIPAA,” Trent countered.

“I took you off years ago!” Stiles sharply corrected him.

“I was smart enough to ask for copies before that,” Trent coolly stated.

Bile was rising in Stiles’ stomach. He looked to the pro bono lawyer beside him—Anderson, he thought the man had told him. He barely had a chance to speak to him, the man seemingly uncaring if he won or lost. “This can’t be legal. You’re not going to fucking say anything?”

“Your hostility isn’t helping this,” his lawyer answered under his breath.

Stiles looked at Trent, realizing he wasn’t going to get help from anyone else in the room. “So either I give you full custody of Billy, or you’ll drag this through court.” It wasn’t a question, but an observation.

“I told you I would do what is best for all of us,” Trent said with an air of nonchalance.

Stiles knew what it was though. It was arrogance. And a callous vindictiveness that was cornering Stiles into doing whatever Trent wanted. He had nothing he could use to stop Trent.

“You’ll have a week to think it over,” Mr. Kenson evenly stated. “The next order of business is the bakery.”

Stiles wanted to run away—maybe even throw up on the table if it meant that everyone would stop talking.

~*~

“Fucking weasel,” John snapped when he finally finished reading the papers.

“Dad,” Stiles half-heartedly chided him.

“I’m going to kill him,” John continued.

“You know you can’t,” Stiles looked at his father as he approached the dining room table. He sat down beside his father, at the corner of the table by the head. “I don’t even know if it is illegal for him to do this.”

“It should be,” John huffed, forcefully removing his glasses before tossing them on the table. “He’s the reason you were in the hospital—”

“That doesn’t matter,” Stiles stated, not wanting to remember those days. “All a judge will see is that I had to be hospitalized because of endangerment to myself.”

John took hold of Stiles’ hand. “It’s not like you hurt yourself, or Billy.”

“I was hurting myself, dad,” Stiles admitted. “Just not in the sense you’re talking about,” he added when he felt his father tense. “If I couldn’t manage my eating habits, what is to say I’m not like that with Billy.”

Stiles had been twenty-eight when he first started noticing he gained weight. And then Trent started saying things.

It didn’t help—Trent never helped.

Stiles fluctuated between more sizes than he cared to remember, even when they finally were able to bring Billy home after the surrogate signed the papers.

Between Trent’s absence, Billy’s need for care, and Stiles’ spiraling mood, it was the catalyst of the worst kind.

Dieting pills replaced exercise. Eating a measly portion turned into not eating.

And when Stiles started to black-out, John was the only one caring enough to notice.

Then, the weight gain happened when he returned home, and it took a therapist and more doctors to keep Stiles from falling back into it. His body had stretch marks, and he knew he would never have the taut skin he once had, but he was happy.

“We shouldn’t have told him,” John started. “I could have lied—if I didn’t tell him then he wouldn’t have this now.”

“He was on my HIPAA, dad,” Stiles calmly offered. “The doctors always called him with my results. They never talked to me.” His brow furrowed. “You’d think that would have been a red flag to them.”

John drew in a breath. “We can fight it,” he finally stated. “I’ll put a mortgage on the house, get you a lawyer.”

“Dad,” Stiles protested. “You’re not going to do that.”

“I’m not going to let that pompous asshole drag my son through a painful trial, while he tries to steal my grandson,” John incredulously replied.

“I spoke to him, and he agreed that he’d back off if I sold the bakery and the house,” Stiles explained.

“Stiles,” John’s tone was calm but serious. “That’s your career and your home.”

Stiles nodded. “But if I have to say goodbye to them so I can say goodbye to him … I’m okay with that choice.” He looked up at his father. “Billy and I will have to stay with you for a while.”

John snorted. “As if that’s a hardship.”

Stiles offered a small but hopeful smile to his father. “It’ll work out.” He couldn’t admit that he didn’t even believe it himself.

But he had to try.

Chapter Text

Derek pretended he was lost. Which was stupid, in hindsight.

Love & Flour was on one of the many side streets that trickled off of the heavy traffic from Main Street. Many tourists and locals frequented it because of how homey and charming the aesthetic of the bakery was.

And Derek wouldn’t argue with that.

He stood quietly in line, only realizing he left his sunglasses on when a few people ahead of him kept looking back. They were puzzled and trying to place him—perhaps thinking he was hiding his face from publicity instead of worrying that someone would tell Stiles he was there. He didn’t frequent bakeries—ever. But it was his day off, and as Cora continued to drag him to more than one clothing store, he slipped away for some much needed peace.

Instead of a leisurely walk down Main Street, he found himself in line at Stiles’ bakery.

Derek slipped his sunglasses off his face, folding and slipping one of the bands down the v-neck of his collar. He was glad to be wearing a pair of simple jeans and a plain shirt, knowing he’d stick out among the tourists in his suit. But even now, he felt subconscious at the thought of Stiles seeing him here in his space. He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the bulk of his biceps flexing some at the gesture, as he surveyed the bakery. He knew he looked surly whenever he stood like this, remembering how Stiles often told him he looked like a drill sergeant.

But he also remembered that Stiles liked it because it showed his muscles.

Derek shoved that thought away, but it didn’t stop him from continuing the stance.

The bakery was small, but it did its job in housing enough patrons to suggest that you could sit and eat any amount of pastry if you came at the right time. The line was long but moved quickly, taking customers along the display cases. It was beautiful, a calm and welcoming space that reminded Derek of Stiles in more ways than one.

It was how Derek had drawn up the bakery when Stiles first mentioned it as nothing more than a dream. He remembered Stiles leaning over his shoulder, a giddy breath tickling his ear.

I love you, you know that?

You love my drawing skills.

I love you , Derek Hale.

Prove it.

Hm, and how could I do that?

Marry me.

“Derek?”

Derek looked up at the voice, making eye contact with Stiles.

Fuck.

Stiles’ head was hovering above the display case, some flour streaked across his cheek. His large brown eyes stared at Derek in a fond surprise. He wiped his hands on his apron in a slight hurry. He offered a small smile to Derek, almost uncertain of what Derek’s reaction would be.

Derek couldn’t stop staring at Stiles, part of him suddenly frightened Stiles might have realized he was reliving that memory. Even moreso, he couldn’t stop staring at how cute Stiles actually looked behind the counter.

He looked utterly kissable.

Fuck.

“Hi,” Derek pathetically offered.

“I see you’re not working for a change,” Stiles replied with a lightness in his voice. “A miracle?”

“Uh, Cora wanted to go shopping for her birthday gift,” Derek replied, shuffling on his feet some. He stepped out of the line and closer to the display case, offering a polite nod at the people behind him.

Stiles pressed against the display case as Derek drew closer. “You followed your sweet tooth, huh?”

Derek’s brow pinched, a small cluck of his tongue cluing Stiles in on the fact that he guessed correctly.

Stiles genuinely laughed.

“I’m glad to know you laugh at your customers,” Derek replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Stiles pretended to apologize. “I’ll make it up to you.” He stepped over to the side, hidden behind a counter that Derek couldn’t see behind. He packaged up what was in his hands, the crinkle of paper and the sound of a box being folded.

“Do I dare ask?”

“Well, I know you’re still a fan of chocolate,” Stiles smiled, sneaking a look up at Derek.

“My workout regime isn’t,” Derek uttered.

Stiles fondly shook his head. “You’re still in good shape.”

Derek faintly snorted. “Kind of you to say. I don’t know how you haven’t put on weight with a bakery,” he simply stated.

Stiles’ hands stopped as he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. He bit his lip, clearing his throat before focusing back on putting the package together.

Derek noticed the sudden change in Stiles’ movements.

“Um, yeah,” Stiles forced a laugh. “Luckily, I don’t sample my own stuff.” He turned towards Derek, displaying the box for him to take.

“Do I ask what it is?”

“Like I said, I know you still like chocolate, so I took a shot in the dark,” Stiles simply stated.

Derek’s eyes narrowed at Stiles.

Stiles smiled at Derek over the display case. “Lemon bars.”

“You’re making lemon bars,” Derek’s voice was even despite being taken off guard by the revelation. Stiles had always made Derek various treats, but lemon bars were a special hell for Derek—his kryptonite.

Stiles laughed. “You really liked them, and… other people are fans too. It’s kind of the bakery’s mascot.”

Derek took the package with care. “How much?”

Stiles shook his head. “A thank you, for helping me out the other day.”

Derek took a brief moment to look around them before looking back at Stiles. “After everything … How are you?”

Stiles tried to keep the small smile on his lips. “Managing,” he uttered. “Shockingly, I think there is something to be said about work being a distraction.”

“It can be,” Derek offered. “Though, I suggest you be careful. One day you’ll look up and realize you’re just working.”

Stiles evened out his apron, nodding in agreement. “I’ll have to figure it out sooner rather than later, but thanks.” He looked up at Derek, his smile suddenly falling. “Mother.”

Derek closed his eyes briefly before turning to look at the woman standing behind him.

Claudia was looking at Derek, her attention unwavering. “Derek.”

Derek drew in a steady breath. “Claudia.”

Despite her small five-three stature, Claudia’s glare made her ten feet tall whenever someone was subjected to it. But Derek had spent the past twelve years perfecting his own, and had a glare that would give her a run for her money now.

They both appeared to be in a glare off Stiles couldn’t stop.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Claudia stated.

“Small city, I guess,” Derek replied.

“Yes,” Claudia simply uttered. “It seems when things start to fall apart, the rodents swarm.”

“Mother, don’t,” Stiles forcefully stated when he realized what she was saying. He made his way down to the small swinging door, slipping out from behind the display case. “Whatever you’re here for, we can talk about it in private.”

Derek simply stared back at Claudia, despite Stiles’ best attempt to get between them.

“I thought you were smarter, Mieczysław,” Claudia harshly stated in a low tone.

“This is my place of work,” Stiles gently prompted when he saw some customers looking at them.

Derek saw the people as well, drawing in a breath before simply taking Stiles’ hand and pulling him out of the bakery.

Stiles balked for a moment, though he followed after Derek’s guidance. He realized Derek knew the same thing he did—Claudia wouldn’t care if she caused a scene, even in Stiles’ place of work. He stayed close to Derek when they stopped on the curb. “You should leave,” he weakly stated.

Derek scoffed, placing a hand on his hip as he hung his head. “Stiles—”

“I really don’t want you to hear what she is going to say,” Stiles pressed. “I appreciate you pulling me out of there, but… please.”

Derek looked up at Claudia when she exited the bakery.

“Always a brute,” Claudia remarked.

Stiles touched a hand on Derek’s bicep to stop him from replying. A familiar, intimate gesture that felt like second nature despite the time that passed between them. “Leave him alone, mother,” he firmly stated, turning to look at her once more.

“What, so he can ruin your life even further?” Claudia incredulously demanded. “Trent told your grandfather and I what is happening—divorce, Stiles? Do you have any idea what everyone is going to say?”

Stiles sighed, releasing his hold on Derek. “This has been coming for a long time.”

“This was your father’s idea, wasn’t it?” Claudia accused. She ignored Stiles’ sputter as she continued, “After everything we’ve done—after all you’ve accomplished, you’re going to throw away your family because Trent strayed?”

Stiles’ mouth dropped open some. “Strayed? He’s been fucking everything with an orifice.”

Derek coughed to hide his faint laugh.

“Of course you think this is funny,” Claudia snapped at Derek. “You’ve wanted to ruin him ever since he got away from you.”

“Mother!” Stiles sharply exclaimed, a warning for her to leave Derek out of it. Though, they never did have this fight—maybe it was what Stiles needed to finally end that rambling chapter of his life.

It scared him to think about closing any part of his life with Derek.

“Divorce isn’t a social faux pas anymore,” Derek chimed in. “But guilting your son into marrying someone so you don’t go bankrupt is still considered pretty shitty.”

Stiles’ eyes widened briefly as he looked up at Derek. He knew Derek wasn’t wrong, but no one had ever had the nerve to voice it.

Claudia’s face pinched. “How dare you—”

“How dare I?” Derek laughed out in disbelief, his stoic attitude suddenly shattering. There was something about this woman that destroyed Derek’s self control—and not for the better. 

“You’re no better than you were, only a bigger bank account now.”

Derek scoffed. “You’re the petty one who couldn’t wait to rub in my face that you packaged and married your son off to the most insufferable country club asshole you could find. But in the end, who cares about his happiness as long as there is money in your bank, right?”

“You’ve been poison since he met you,” Claudia shot back. “I told you that you’d pull him down with you, and now look at him.”

Derek didn’t retort, realizing he probably had already said too much—butted into Stiles' life too much. He was always pushing a boundary when it came to Stiles. And there was nothing he could do to argue with Claudia on that front.

“What?”

Derek looked at Stiles, almost having forgotten he was there. He couldn’t feel anything but red seeping into his vision when Claudia was around—couldn’t even feel Stiles’ hand still lingering on his bicep.

Claudia finally looked at Stiles as if she had just remembered he was there.

“You told Derek what?” Stiles pressed, turning to completely face his mother.

Claudia squared her shoulders, refusing to look embarrassed at having outed her own manipulations. “I told him the truth—you were excited about how different he was. But there were plenty of other men and women out there who would give you a better life.”

Derek wanted to laugh. It was on Stiles’ twenty-first birthday, right as the party had started to wind down, when Claudia cornered him.

Claudia had told Derek plain and simple—he wasn’t good enough for her son.

You have nothing to offer him.

Derek didn't have the nerve to audibly agree with her at the time, but the seed she planted didn’t stop growing until it tore his whole life apart.

“Better life according to whom?” Stiles demanded, his voice raising some.

Claudia looked at Derek before turning her attention to Stiles. “You were in your early twenties—he had nothing. No family, no money, no career.”

A hysterical laugh cracked through Stiles’ chest as tears burned his eyes. “This is unbelievable.”

“I’m surprised he never told you,” Claudia countered.

“He’s not you!” Stiles snapped at her. His hands were trembling. “He never tried to force me into a box. He didn’t want me to lose my family, even though I was ready to.”

“You’re being immature,” Claudia firmly stated. “You were always too emotional.”

Stiles felt as if his mother had smacked him. “I … I never thought … you’ve ruined my life.” he weakly stated as he looked at Claudia, anger splitting him at the seams. “I was happy—”

“You thought you were—you didn’t know better.”

“I was happy!” Stiles yelled at her, enraged that she still wouldn’t listen to him. “I was happy and in love—for the only time in my life that I can remember.”

“And now you’re going to throw everything away—your house, your career, your son—all because of him,” Claudia retorted, gesturing behind Stiles—at Derek.

“We’re not together!” Stiles snapped at her. “Is it so impossible for you to understand that Trent is a terrible husband? That I want to end my marriage for me?”

“You were fine before Trent took that job,” Claudia answered.

“I wasn’t!” Stiles countered. “The only thing that brought me joy these last years had been Billy.”

Claudia’s face contorted into a displeased expression. “And now, Trent is going to take everything away. Sometimes you suffer through things to hold onto others.”

Stiles shook his head. “I’m not you,” he weakly replied. “I don’t— I never want to live like that again.”

“Fine,” Claudia relented, her expression unreadable as she looked between Derek and Stiles. “You brought this on yourself then. Don’t bother asking for help when it falls apart.”

Stiles clenched his jaw to keep his lips from quivering as he watched his mother walk away. “I never want to see you again,” he nearly whispered. He wasn’t surprised when his mother didn’t react.

Stiles wiped a hand at his face, brushing away the tears as he spoke, “I think I could use a drink.” His voice was hoarse and dejected.

“Yeah,” Derek softly agreed. “I can help with that,” he offered his hand.

Stiles easily took hold of Derek’s hand, letting him lead him somewhere else.

~*~

“You do realize, it is one of the busiest hours on the weekend, and you’re not in your own kitchen,” Derek deadpanned at Kira.

Kira laughed, waving her hand as if she was pushing away Derek’s logic. “I get to do what I want,” she answered. “Besides, when my hostess tells me that Derek Hale is sitting down with Stiles Stilinski, I have to see it for myself.”

Stiles faintly laughed, shaking his head. “Kira, it’s not a big deal.”

Kira made a face that clearly declared her disbelief, waving her hand at them as she started to head towards the kitchen. "Excuse me while I make food for two liars."

Derek snorted, fondly shaking his head.

Stiles' smile was small and uncertain as he looked down at the wine glass in his hands. He twisted the glass as he thought of what happened with his mother. He snuck a look at Derek, his movements ceasing when he realized Derek had been watching him. He drew in a soft breath when Derek reached across the table. He froze when Derek cupped his cheek—Derek's thumb brushing over his cheekbone.

Something old but familiar stirred in his stomach.

"Flour," Derek uttered before he withdrew his hand.

Stiles blinked at Derek.

"You had flour on your cheek," Derek elaborated, as if he hadn't just wiped the almost gone flour from the other man's face, relishing in the abismal excuse to touch him.

Stiles flushed, looking down at his wine. “Thank you.”

Derek nodded, not trusting his voice again. He was realizing too late that Cora had been right—he was playing a dangerous game.

He was in danger of falling in even more love with Stiles.

Derek’s  smug conscience reminded him why he was trying to put distance between himself and Stiles.

“I’m sorry you had to be a part of that,” Stiles apologized when he felt as if the words wouldn’t make him vomit.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help,” Derek countered.

Stiles gently shook his head. “I think it had to happen. I'm just sorry I screwed up Cora's day with you."

Derek snorted. "Cora has my credit card, she's not missing out. If anything, she probably prefers being allowed to run wild without me cramping her style."

Stiles faintly smiled. "I'm glad her birthday wasn't ruined."

A silence cut between them, neither one wanting to address the major issue between them.

"You need a better lawyer, Stiles," Derek finally stated, getting the words out before he could stop himself.

Stiles looked up at Derek.

"Your mother sounds content in pushing you back into the marriage which means she will side with Trent if they bring her in as a character witness should this get drawn out," Derek offered in explanation. "And whatever you acquired while married will be up for negotiation."

Stiles looked down at his wine glass, twisting the stem between his fingers. "I'm selling the bakery," the words croaked from his throat. He took a large sip of wine, hoping it would help. "It should help pay Trent off."

Derek stared at Stiles. "You love that bakery," he uttered. It was obvious to anyone who saw Stiles behind the counter.

"I know," Stiles weakly agreed. "But I love Billy more."

Derek was quiet.

"I actually have an embarrassing favor to ask," Stiles softly pressed the subject. "The realtor said it would sell well already, being part of the historic district and with prime location just off Main Street." He snuck a glance at Derek. "You have to have realized it was based on your original design."

"I know," Derek agreed without a hesitation.

Stiles nodded. "They said it would sell better if I got your approval to claim it is a Derek Hale original concept."

Derek hesitated before replying, "I have no problem with you claiming that."

Stiles visibly relaxed at Derek's words. "Thank you."

“But I have a problem with you selling the bakery against your will,” Derek replied.

Stiles sighed. “It’s not like I really have a choice,” he admitted. “As much as I love it, I’m not delusional. If I have to pick between the bakery and Billy, it will be my son every time.”

Derek’s gaze flickered away from Stiles for a moment. “I’m sorry, Stiles.”

Stiles was quiet for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, me too.” He drew in a breath. “I married a real asshole,” he stated as he brought his wine up to his lips.

Derek released a low chuckle as he nodded. “Might be underselling that.”

Stiles smiled, setting his wine glass down. “But this is a weirdly pleasant surprise,” he commented, almost unsure what Derek thought about it.

Derek looked at Stiles. “Yeah,” he echoed in agreement. “Can’t say I expected it, but pleasant all the same.” His words were guarded, unwilling to say more than he should.

Stiles was happy when their food came, embracing the distraction. He couldn’t remember the last time he sat down with someone other than Billy in a restaurant setting. He tried to pretend he didn’t feel a reminiscent lingering of familiarity at having Derek sitting across from him. It was a calming silence, one that Stiles didn’t know he missed.

“You know you can eat what you want,” Derek suddenly stated.

Stiles looked up from his plate where he had been aimlessly pushing around the food there, staring at Derek. He realized Derek’s plate was near empty, suddenly wondering how much time had passed as he zoned out. He couldn’t remember what he had eaten. “I … I’m fine,” he offered in a soft excuse.

“Stiles,” Derek gently uttered his name. “I didn’t say it earlier, but I noticed … if what I said at the bakery crossed a line, I didn’t even think about how it could be implied,” he explained. “That was my fault. Whatever is going on in your life, I realize I haven’t been a part of that, and despite me trying to joke with you, I may have implied or said something insensitive.”

“It’s … ” It wasn’t fine. How many times had Trent implied something about his body, and how many times had he sat there without an apology? But Derek wasn’t Trent.

Thank God for that small mercy.

Derek let Stiles think about what to say next, keeping silent as he allowed him to work through it all.

Stiles looked away from Derek, his eyes scanning the restaurant. Nobody was watching them, which made it strangely easy to answer. “Trent would say …” he stopped himself, shaking his head. “He’d say stupid shit to me,” he finally stated, biting down on his lip when he realized it was the first time he admitted it. “I gained and lost a lot of weight over the years. And he didn’t like that—or what it did to my body.”

Derek tightened his hand against the table, drawing in a deep breath. “Special kind of asshole,” he muttered under his breath.

“Yeah,” Stiles echoed in agreement, looking down at his fork. “I’m not … I’m better but I’m not great—not yet.” He looked up at Derek. “It’s why I initially had a few stays in the hospital. I was … dieting, dangerously. And that led to more depression. And now Trent is using that.” He bit down on his lip. “I’m working on getting there.”

Derek nodded in agreement. “I’m still not allowed to fire him, am I?”

Stiles faintly laughed. “Not for that,” he replied with a small smile. “Thank you.”

Derek looked surprised by Stiles’ gratitude. “For?”

Stiles drew in a soft breath. “I guess … for caring.”

Whatever Derek was about to say disappeared when Kira appeared next to their table.

“So, I need details,” Kira announced as she leaned over the table, looking down over them both.

Stiles tried to seem nonchalant, knowing that Kira wouldn’t budge.

“Doesn’t mean there are any details,” Derek decided to skirt around her question.

“Oh, bullshit,” Kira countered. She looked expectantly to Stiles.

Stiles shrugged his shoulders. “My mom.”

Kira made a face. “Okay, yeah, that makes sense.”

Stiles tried to smile as he shifted in his seat.

“Kira,” Derek started, realizing that Stiles was more than uncomfortable at the moment. “You’ll be the first to know details if there are any.”

Kira pursed her lips, as if she was about to counter but thought better of it. “Fine,” she sighed.

It didn’t take long for them to exit the restaurant, Stiles feeling more at ease once the alcohol had set in. The fresh air was nice, allowing Stiles to breathe with ease. He was comforted when Derek set into a similar pace as him, both of them walking side by side down the street.

It wasn’t a far walk back to the bakery, but it was long enough to give them time to talk.

“Today was …” Stiles paused, trying to think of the right words.

“Shocking?” Derek supplied.

Stiles smiled, “Yes, but I was going to say nice.”

Derek nodded in agreement.

“Not the part with my mother,” Stiles specified.

Derek didn’t like thinking about the woman. “How are you feeling about that?” He decidedly asked. His voice was softer than normal—almost unsure.

Stiles rubbed a hand over his forearm as he thought about it. About what he wanted to know after hearing his mother’s confession. “You didn’t tell me she said that to you,” he finally spoke.

Derek made a quiet noise of agreement. “Yeah, I didn’t.”

“Why?” Stiles asked as he looked at Derek.

Derek’s brow furrowed. “Would you have wanted me to tell you what we both already knew?”

“I wouldn’t have let her talk to you like that,” Stiles argued as he stopped walking. He was relieved when Derek stopped too.

“You would have cut your family out of your life,” Derek replied. “And you shouldn’t have to do that for anyone, Stiles—no one deserves to hold that power over someone.”

Stiles drew in a sharp breath. “No, it would have made it easier for me, if I knew. Maybe we wouldn’t have…” He swallowed the lump in his throat. “You said you knew I hadn’t cheated, but thought I could have. So, why did you think I’d cheat on you with Harrison?”

Derek’s features tightened in displeasure at the man’s name. “I saw the messages,” he finally admitted, knowing he had a chance to finally set everything out on the table between them. He never wanted to relive that fight—the things they said to each other before he walked out that door and left. He did this to them, and he didn’t want to be reminded of that.

Stiles’ features fell. He looked confused and then heartbroken. “You went into my phone?”

Derek looked repulsed by the accusation. “No!” He partially snapped. “I was working on that stupid internship project for Carver. The messages popped up on the laptop. I only saw the preview of them.”

Stiles drew in a soft breath. “I don’t— what did that have to do with anything?”

“You read them, Stiles,” Derek replied, a tinge of hurt being covered by his anger at the memory. “You read them, and didn’t even answer or block his number.”

Stiles was still before reacting suddenly, his hands jutting out to shove against Derek’s chest. “You idiot!”

Derek barely moved, catching his balance quickly. He briefly looked at the people walking by them, knowing they were causing a scene. But he couldn’t care—not if they were going to finally have this conversation.

“I called him,” Stiles angrily stated. “I told him to never reach out again—I told him to fuck off because I was in a happy relationship for once!” He released an exasperated huff. “Tell me that isn’t why we broke up?”

Derek drew in a breath, looking away from Stiles. “It was more than that.”

“Then look at me and tell me,” Stiles dared.

And for a split second, Derek had wished he had let Cora bore him to death today. He had known they were close to Stiles’ bakery, and the itch became too much not to scratch. He sighed, internally berating himself as he finally looked at Stiles. He crossed his arms over his chest, hoping it didn’t show the insecurity he felt.

“Because I loved you,” Derek flatly stated.

Stiles stared at Derek, confusion overwhelming him.

“Because it was unhealthy how much I loved you,” Derek continued, his brow pinching before he tore his gaze away from Stiles. “And it scared the shit out of me thinking I could possibly hurt you from doing something selfish. And then I did it anyway.”

Stiles subconsciously swayed a bit closer to Derek. “You keep saying you did this—”

“I did,” Derek sharply countered. “I’ve been in therapy long enough to accept that.”

Stiles’ lips pursed. “Derek, I’m the one that told you to leave.”

“I didn’t have to,” Derek remarked. “I’m the one that implied you were planning on cheating.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment. “I knew, in my heart, you wouldn’t. I guess that was a nicer thought than you leaving.”

Stiles nodded. “We both said some nasty things.” He remembered yelling at Derek. He remembered the dejected look, knowing he had stabbed the knife right where Derek was most vulnerable—just like Derek did to him.

“Can’t even afford a fucking ring! So what is the point?”

The regret that flooded him the moment the words left him. He was so hurt and angry. He wasn’t surprised when Derek had taken his advice and left.

It was the worst night of their lives.

“I pushed myself to keep going—always one more success. But I knew deep down it was just a crutch,” Derek explained. “What I put you through … I can’t change that, and that’s my biggest regret.”

Stiles ran his hands through his hair, resting his palms on his neck. “You did take that from me,” he replied. “But I took dignity from you, too. I said such shitty things back because I wanted you to hurt—because you hurt me.”

“I know I did,” Derek lowly uttered.

“I wanted to marry you,” Stiles suddenly stated. “And I don’t know why I kept making us wait.”

Derek’s expression softened some.

“I think I was afraid what would happen if we rushed … if my family pressured us to annul it,” Stiles drew in a deep breath. “I think I’m to blame for this too.”

“No, Stiles,” Derek answered.

Stiles shook his head. “I don’t think you give yourself enough credit in the worth department, Derek,” he stated, his voice much softer than the noise of the traffic passing them. “I think you were scared because you convinced yourself I didn’t love you the same way you loved me.” He held Derek’s gaze. “I think part of you thought I’d pick that life over you. And part of me is ashamed you thought you couldn’t tell me that.”

Tears fell even before Stiles started wiping away at them. They made it difficult to be certain that he saw Derek’s eyes turn glassy. He tried to keep himself from crying, feeling too embarrassed to know how many people were gawking at them. He was guided with ease by Derek’s hands on his shoulders, the familiar warmth of a body enveloping him in a hug.

“It’s my fault, Stiles,” Derek spoke against the shell of Stiles’ ear. Something curled up in his chest, a pang of guilt and fear turning into ice. “I took that choice away from you.”

Stiles’s arms were pressed between his and Derek’s bodies, his hands still covering his face as he pressed his forehead against Derek’s collarbone. He knew he was trembling.

And then he said the one thing he knew he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop—even if he had tried.

“I’d pick you.”

Chapter Text

“Bastard!” Stiles snapped as he slammed the phone into its bed against the wall. He pressed his hands on either side of the phone, bracing himself against the wall. He fought back his urge to call Trent every name he could think of, his hands clenching into fists at his anger.

“Kiddo,” John’s comforting voice spoke in a calm manner. “Billy’s upstairs.”

“I know!” Stiles angrily stated, finally turning to look at his dad. “And now I’m the one that has to tell him that Trent isn’t pulling through—yet again!”

John sighed. “Could he interview someone else?”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest as he leaned against the wall. He nibbled at his bottom lip as he tried to think of a solution.

Trent had promised Billy he would bring him into work to interview one of his coworkers for his final school project. A report from an interview with a professional—an obscure topic for an eight year old to even fathom.

Stiles kept on Trent for the past few weeks, and each attempt to get him to commit was rebuffed. He was even blamed for putting the divorce on Trent’s shoulders. It didn’t matter that Stiles was losing everything in a desperate attempt to hold onto Billy.

And now, Trent blatantly stated that he was too busy.

“Dad said no,” Billy’s voice suddenly announced his presence.

Stiles and John turned to look at Billy standing in the doorway.

Stiles pushed off the wall, moving closer to Billy. “He said he’s really busy.”

“He’s always busy,” Billy replied, looking up at Stiles. He looked tired—Stiles knew the feeling. “What do I do now?”

John tapped his knuckles against the table. “I could ask a few of my old partners.”

Stiles shook his head, “I’m sure granddad would love that.” He was glad his father retired from working with Claudia’s family, and there was no way he was going to make him wade back into it. His brow furrowed when he saw the disappointment settling in Billy’s face. “I’ll figure something out, buddy,” he offered, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“He doesn’t care,” Billy suddenly stated, looking up at Stiles. “He always pretends to care, but he doesn’t—not if it isn’t about him!”

Stiles knelt in front of Billy, he took hold of Billy’s hands as he gathered his words. He wouldn’t make excuses for Trent—he was done with that. And if everything went how it was supposed to, he could pay Trent off and they’d never have to see him again if Billy didn’t want to. “I know, buddy. And I’m sorry I can’t change that.”

Billy’s face scrunched up. “I don’t want to live with him.”

Stiles released a shaky breath before drawing Billy into a hug. He pressed a faint kiss to Billy’s forehead. “I’ll take care of it.” He wasn’t sure if he still meant the school project or not.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

~*~

“Derek Hale,” Derek answered his phone the same as always, though the headache pinching at the base of his neck was making it considerably harder to sound indifferent.

“Um, hi.”

Derek straightened in his chair, looking around the office some to make sure he wasn’t imagining hearing Stiles’ voice on the other end of the phone.

“I know you’re probably busy, and I shouldn’t call you during business hours—but I realized I don’t have your cell phone number and …” his voice died off. “It’s Stiles by the way.”

Derek couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. “I could tell.”

“Sorry,” Stiles sighed.

“Rough day?” Derek asked as he relaxed into his chair.

“Try days,” Stiles replied.

Derek nodded to himself. He couldn’t argue with that. He had been working even more than usual in the last few weeks, and he couldn’t convince himself none of it had to do with the way he parted from Stiles. Their conversation after leaving the restaurant felt as if there was a comma hanging between them—an uncertainty that things were brought up but not resolved. And not hearing from Stiles put him in an even worse mood, as Erica noted yesterday.

“Anything I can help with?” Derek finally asked, realizing neither had spoken for a beat.

“Maybe,” Stiles replied. “I have a favor to ask—for Billy.”

Derek looked at his computer screen where his schedule glared back at him. “Well, I’m sure he’s a hard worker, but I don’t typically employ anyone younger than eighteen, even for internships.”

Stiles hummed, “Come on, he’d be a great intern—he memorizes coffee orders fast.”

Derek made a noise that sounded as if he was considering it. “He’s a bit short, but he might work out as a message carrier.”

Stiles laughed.

Derek found himself smiling into the phone, forgetting that the whole reason he was annoyed with today was the fucked up presentation Greenberg tried to pass off to Deucalion. He had a million things to get done, but just this moment on the phone with Stiles seemed to push the pressure away.

“I was wondering—if you’re not busy, that is, which I know you’re always busy… Billy needs to interview a professional career person, and his person fell through.”

Derek was quiet for a moment. The only person he could readily think of was Trent. Had he really fucked over his kid just to make an assholish point to Stiles?

“I— I know it’s last minute, but you’re the only person I could think of when they said professional career person.”

Derek actually laughed at that. “My business card does say: Derek Hale, CEO and Professional Career Person.”

“See, I knew I was on to something,” Stiles answered. His playful tone dropped as he continued, “But seriously, Derek, you don’t have to. I can talk to the teacher and maybe he can be pardoned to interview me. Billy asked Trent for help, and he strung him along. I just … I really don’t want my kid to be embarrassed and disappointed again.”

Derek tightened his hold on the phone. Of course he was right about Trent. “When is the report due?”

Stiles shuffled some papers. “Next Friday,” he answered.

“I have time tomorrow”—he didn’t—“if you want to stop by. Maybe for lunch? He can see the employee cafe.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles softly asked.

“I wouldn’t have offered otherwise,” Derek answered. “But I’ll have you know, Forbes named me one of the most elusive interviewees. I better not see him selling these questions to TMZ.”

Derek could tell Stiles was smiling when he said, “Thank you, Derek.”

Fuck, Derek was falling—hard. And it started to become obvious that he never stopped.

~*~

Stiles held his breath when he looked up to see Cora Hale walking onto the elevator. He put his arm around Billy, taking a step back.

Cora paused in the elevator’s door as she stared at Stiles, her gaze then dropping to Billy. “Um, I can wait for the next one if you want?” She sounded uncertain.

Stiles shook his head. “It’s okay.”

Cora nodded, getting into the elevator. She went to press the button and hesitated when she saw the floor was already selected. She stood back, allowing the doors to shut on their own. She kept busy by staring up at the numbers above the door, watching as they climbed toward their shared destination.

“Are you going to see Mr. Hale too?” Billy asked Cora.

Cora looked at Billy and then up at Stiles.

“Do you work with him?” Billy asked, his notepad poised to start taking down information.

“Um,” Cora looked at Billy.

“He has to interview a professional career person for school,” Stiles explained, drawing in a breath as he waited for Cora to react.

Cora faintly nodded. “My name is Cora Hale,” she explained to Billy. “My brother is Derek Hale.”

Billy’s eyes lit up before he started writing it down.

Cora looked up at Stiles. “Derek’s being interviewed?” She sounded skeptical.

Stiles nodded. “Trent refused to come through, so Derek was nice enough to step in.”

Cora tilted her head slightly. “Well, your kid got an exclusive. I’ve been trying to get that caveman to do an interview for the last decade. He dodges them like an Olympic biathlon.”

Billy tilted his head as he looked up at Cora.

The elevator dinged and she allowed Billy and Stiles to exit first.

Stiles was relieved when he saw Erica standing by the elevator.

Erica smiled in welcome. “Hello! Welcome to Kore Enterprises,” she greeted Billy.

Stiles took the opportunity as a gift, pausing to look back at Cora. “Do you actually hate me, or was that just sibling solidarity at the party?”

Cora appeared taken off guard by the sudden question as she froze mid-stride. Her eyes flickered over the employees present, happy that there weren’t that many lingering around—people on Derek’s level usually fluttered around.

“I’m not… I don’t understand what you’re asking,” Cora questioned.

“You just really seemed to hate me, earlier,” Stiles replied, flushing a little when he realized how random his question was.

Cora’s brow dropped into a furrow, and it was immediately obvious she was a Hale. “I just didn’t want you messing with my brother,” she offered. She put her hand up in a halting gesture when Stiles opened his mouth to retort. “Derek already set me straight, and explained that he’s the asshole. I will defend myself and my sister by saying he never told us what happened.”

Stiles looked surprised, turning his head to see that Erica had started walking Billy over to Derek’s office.

“You thought just because I came from a snooty family, I had broken up with him?”

Cora frowned. “In truth? Yes, that had been part of it,” she offered. “But Derek seemed like he was still in love with you when he came home. He was kind of crushed when he got the wedding invitation.”

Stiles’ features fell. “My mother did that.”

Cora’s eyes widened. “Shit, that’s … that’s fucked up.”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.”

Cora crossed her arms, avoiding spilling her coffee. “He got … bad, after that.”

Stiles knew he wore his worry on his face.

“I don’t feel comfortable going into the details,” Cora offered. “But he wasn’t himself, even after the company started up. He was an asshole to even deal with.”

Stiles drew in a breath.

“Laura and I made the asinine assumption that because he was still carrying a torch for you, he wouldn’t have wanted to let you go,” Cora continued. “Whenever we asked, he just kept saying, ‘I fucked up.’ And then he’d get all pissed if we tried to pry, so we told him to start dating. He tried dating Jennifer,” she shuddered at the memory of the woman. “But you know Derek, he doesn’t share if he doesn’t have to. So after the whole Jennifer fiasco, he worked his shit out with a therapist behind closed doors and seemed to have moved on. And then he made the decision to hire your husband, which makes me question his therapy.”

Stiles was winded. “That’s a lot to suddenly know, Cora,” he admitted.

Cora shrugged, “You wanted to know.”

“So he did know when he hired Trent,” Stiles echoed what Derek had seemed to hint at.

“Yeah,” Cora answered. “Don’t know why he did, but I think you’re the only one who will get that truth out of him.”

Stiles nodded. “So you don’t hate me.”

Cora arched her eyebrows. “Would you care if I did?”

“Yes,” Stiles honestly stated.

Cora faintly smiled. “Well, I don’t hate you. If anything, I think I want to smack Derek upside the head a few times. But the man is almost forty and who knows what that would do to him.”

Stiles nodded. “Thank you for telling me.”

~*~

“Mr. Hale became one of the most influential business CEOs of our time, thanks to me,” Erica finished telling Billy, watching him write it down in his notepad.

Stiles rolled his eyes at her as he smiled at Billy’s determination to get every word down.

“Can I take my picture with you?” Billy asked as he looked up at Erica.

Erica smiled, all but swooning as she swooped down to be at his level. She smiled as she waited for Stiles to take their picture in front of her desk.

Billy smiled up at Erica once Stiles said he had it. “Thank you.”

Erica made a face at Stiles that clued him in on her absolute adoration for Billy.

“I know it is well above asking price,” Derek’s voice traveled into the office from the hall outside. “I didn’t ask for you to try and lecture me on purchasing real estate. I gave you an offer that outbids any other buyer on purpose—perhaps you should do your client a favor and suggest another realtor if you’re trying to talk a potential buyer down.”

Billy looked down at his notepad, writing down the words: purchasing real estate.

Stiles looked over his shoulder, his index finger tapping against the word ‘ehstate’. “No ‘h’,” he offered with a faint smile when Billy crossed out the letter.

“I don’t have time for you,” Derek announced with finality. “My assistant will get back to you with the details needed to finish. Expect a call in a few minutes.” Footsteps finally announced Derek walking into the office.

“Erica, call that fu—” the curse on his lips stopped when he saw Stiles and Billy standing by Erica’s desk.

“Call that what, Mr. Hale?” Erica asked with a not so innocent smile.

Derek scowled at her as he set a folder on her desk. “Call him back and finalize details before tonight.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Boss-Man,” Erica winked at Billy. “Your interview with Mr. Billy Stilinski is here, right on time.”

Derek reached a hand out to shake Billy’s hand.

Billy startled with excitement, grabbing Derek’s hand and shaking it. “Thank you for agreeing to let me question you.”

“Interview,” Stiles softly corrected him.

“Interview you,” Billy echoed Stiles as he let go of Derek’s hand.

“A pleasure to be questioned,” Derek replied, looking up at Stiles.

Stiles covered his smile with his hand.

Derek gestured towards his office.

It didn’t take long for Derek to settle into a professional mode as he waited for Billy to start his round of questions. They were sitting across from each other on the two sets of couches, and it looked the image of a professional interview—only with a child interviewer at the helm of questions.

“How old are you?” Billy asked from his list.

Derek arched his eyebrows. “I just turned 38.”

“I’m 8!” Billy happily echoed the last digit in Derek’s age as he wrote down the answer. “What made you want to be a Chief executive officer?”

A smile slowly crept onto Derek’s lips. “I wanted to be an architect since I was your age actually. I wanted to build things for people.”

Billy concentrated on writing down Derek’s responses.

“I majored in architecture while in college, and received a degree in engineering. I went on to study more in grad school.”

Stiles could have told Billy all of this, and part of him was curious why Derek hadn’t just offered that—though, his life story told from the perspective of another outsider probably sounded boring.

“Are you married?” Billy asked.

Stiles couldn’t help looking at Derek, caught off guard when he noticed Derek was already looking at him.

“Almost—I was engaged a couple of times,” Derek answered, looking back at Billy.

Billy frowned. “Are you lonely?” He asked, not prompted by his list of questions.

“Buddy, that’s not on your list,” Stiles quickly uttered before Derek could answer.

“You said you’re not lonely because of me,” Billy remarked as he looked at Stiles.

Stiles’ stomach tightened. “It’s not a polite question to ask.” He couldn’t look up at Derek.

“Work keeps me busy,” Derek answered Billy’s question anyways.

Billy nodded. “What is your typical work day?”

Stiles had paced around the office a few times as Derek patiently answered Billy’s questions. He was nervous with each question Billy asked, hoping they weren’t taking up too much of Derek’s time. He paused when he saw blueprints on one of the side desks. They looked familiar—something Stiles could have sworn he had seen before. The outside sketch was of a Victorian home, the detail extremely fine and characterized enough that he knew it was Derek’s work before seeing his signature.

“Can I take a picture with you?” Billy asked after Derek answered his last question.

Stiles took a large step back away from the table, as if he had been caught red handed. He looked back at them with a friendly smile to cover his curiosity.

“Of course,” Derek replied as he stood up. He rebuttoned his jacket, shifting the sleeves to better settle. He let Billy sit at his desk. “Careful, that opens the bat cave,” he explained to Billy when the boy almost touched the paperweight.

Billy’s eyes widened as he stared at the paperweight.

Stiles playfully rolled his eyes at Derek. “Alright, Bruce Wayne, smile,” he stated as he held up his phone to take a picture. He walked around Derek’s desk to show Billy, allowing Derek a quick glimpse.

“Can I go with Erica now?” Billy asked as he hopped down from Derek’s chair, not overly concerned with the quality of photo.

“Sure,” Stiles softly offered as he locked his phone, knowing he was going to be constantly aware of the photos of Derek on there until Billy’s report was done.

“Hello, my assistant!” Erica’s voice greeted Billy as soon as he was out the door.

“She promised to show him the cafe,” Stiles explained to Derek. He realized how close they were now that Billy wasn’t present.

Derek was leaning against the desk, his arms crossed over his chest. “It’s a nice cafe. I designed it myself,” he deadpanned.

Stiles smiled as he looked at the desk. He reached over and pushed on the paperweight. He looked around expectantly. “You’re a filthy liar, Derek Hale,” he stated, a laughter in his voice.

Derek smiled at the lilt of Stiles’ laughter. “The bat cave is in my other tower.”

Stiles playfully nodded, trying to keep from looking at Derek. He drew in a breath before finally asking what he suspected. “You canceled work, didn’t you?”

Derek didn’t reply immediately. “I’m the CEO, I’m allowed to cancel work. Oh, I forgot to tell him that’s a perk.”

“Derek, you didn’t have to—” Stiles turned to look at him.

“Have you ever known me to do something I don’t have to?” Derek seriously asked. “Besides, I didn’t want to deal with Greenberg or the fucked up presentation he made. I abused my power for once in my life and made underlings handle it.”

Stiles tilted his head in suspicion.

“Trent’s handling it,” Derek finally stated.

“You didn’t,” Stiles uttered in disbelief.

“Oh, I did,” Derek replied. “You said I couldn’t fire him, not make his life a living hell.”

A laugh bubbled up as Stiles brushed a hand over his face. “Lucky him.”

Derek huffed in agreement as he uncrossed his arms, leaning his hands against the lip of the desk just by his hips.

Stiles looked at Derek, hesitating before taking a chance and reaching for Derek’s hand. His fingers glided over the back of Derek’s hand before they managed to slip Derek’s hand into a gentle grip. “You don’t have to pity me, but I appreciate it.”

“Who said this was pity?” Derek asked. His expression was unreadable, but he didn’t move his hand away from Stiles.

Stiles looked down at their hands. “If it isn’t pity, what is it?”

Derek slowly stood, his hands falling away from the desk and Stiles’ grip.

Stiles let his hand drop from Derek as he looked at him. He knew Derek was slightly taller, but he still felt so much smaller—maybe it was the office, or just the fact that Derek was looking at him differently.

Derek always had that control, and he never once scared Stiles with it.

“I’d think that part was obvious,” Derek replied as he took a final step closer to Stiles.

Stiles knew he should have backed away, but his feet remained glued to the spot.

A magnet—that was what Stiles felt. He couldn’t figure out who moved first, but both grabbed at one another.

Stiles grabbed at the back of Derek’s neck, his fingers tightening on the short hairs at his nape. His back hit the wall behind Derek’s desk, a sudden impact that didn’t leave him as breathless as the kiss. He felt intoxicated by Derek’s warm body pressed flush against his. His hips shifted to spread his legs far enough apart to give Derek’s leg enough room to slot between his thighs. His breath hitched when his feet lifted partially off the ground.

Derek’s hand gripped firmly at the thigh hooking around him. Each soft mewl Stiles moaned was making him harder. He pressed his hardening cock against the furrow of Stiles’ hip, the touch of friction heated the burn in his gut. He had wanted nothing more than to touch Stiles the second they were alone. He caught the way Stiles kept looking at him, and he knew he wasn’t any more innocent in his desires. And now he could feel the way Stiles’ hips shifted in subconscious need against his thigh.

Stiles opened his mouth when he felt Derek’s tongue press forward. He clung to Derek, remembering this type of kiss all too well. They were his favorite—the rushed grapple to taste each other and remember just who they were with.

Derek’s free hand moved to grip at Stiles’ hair, attempting to keep them both balanced as they gave in with no finesse in sight. He felt the telltale signs of his suit being wrinkled, and the knowledge that it was Stiles’ hands twisting the fabric gave it a better spot in his appreciation.

“Wait, wait,” Stiles’ voice was concerned as he spoke, though his hands did nothing to part them. His lips were still seeking out Derek’s.

Derek immediately dropped his hold on Stiles when he heard his words, taking a step back as he separated their bodies. He pressed his hands against the wall by Stiles’ head as he drew in a much needed breath. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, clamping his eyes shut as he steadied his weakening knees.

Stiles’ protest was like ice water down his back. He let his building desire get the better of him, and he accosted Stiles. He was surprised by Stiles' hands cupping his face, though it didn't stop him from pressing into the tender caress, drawing in a sharp breath when Stiles’ lips brushed his temple.

“We can’t—we shouldn’t,” Stiles weakly argued, his lips hovering close to Derek’s lips.

“I’m sorry,” Derek’s voice was hoarse. His eyes were heavy as he looked at Stiles, though he didn’t remove his face from Stiles’ hands.

Stiles’ thumb brushed his cheek. “I kissed you,” he rationalized. His heart was hammering in his chest as he stared at Derek.

Of course Derek was the last piece to the puzzle—the person he wanted most but knew he couldn’t have. And he just kissed him.

“I think it is obvious I kissed you back,” Derek stated.

Stiles licked his lips, catching Derek’s eyes dipping to watch the action.

“Oh, fuck it.”

Like gravity falling back into it, Stiles’ lips were suddenly on Derek’s again. For once in his life, he didn’t care what he was supposed to do. He wanted this—he wanted Derek. And if Derek’s reaction was anything to go off of, he wanted Stiles just as much.

Derek bent his height slightly as his hands traveled up Stiles’ thighs and cupped just beneath Stiles’ ass. He easily lifted Stiles, faintly smiling into their kiss when Stiles yelped in surprise.

Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, with his arms around Derek’s shoulders as his back pressed even harder into the wall.

Everything suddenly became an old melody they both knew well.

Stiles wasn’t certain, but getting his hands under Derek’s shirt was a priority he somehow accomplished as Derek moved them back towards a couch. His hands nimbly undid Derek's tie, slipping it loose from the collar to be discarded somewhere less important. He had several of the top buttons undone by the time Derek sat them on the couch. He felt overwhelmed, in the best way possible, when Derek pressed him into the plump cushion and bracketed his body.

“Still feel we should stop?” Derek asked. It wasn’t a cocky question, but an attempt to ground them both. They both were doing this.

Stiles canted his hips against Derek’s, a slow and sensual movement that brushed their clothed erections together. “I think I stopped caring about propriety,” he answered as his hands started untucking Derek’s shirt from his trousers. His hands moved to grip at Derek’s ass, his knees cradling Derek’s ribs as he created more friction between them. He smirked when Derek cursed, dropping his mouth to Stiles’ neck. His hands trailed along the warm skin at the base of Derek’s back, his nails scratching as their hips canted again.

It was like when they first met—clumsy and unsure of each other. Unlike the perfected fluidity they shared near the end of their relationship.

Just as teeth nipped at Stiles’ neck, things suddenly turned on their head.

Stiles didn’t see Trent so much as he heard him.

“What the fuck!”

Stiles startled at the voice, his legs dropping from Derek. He was thankful, if not selfish, to have Derek as a shield.

Derek was graceful as he stood, his hand helping Stiles to do the same. He pulled Stiles to stand behind him as he righted his own clothes. There was no way he was letting Trent anywhere near Stiles—especially with that tone.

Derek didn’t bother buttoning his shirt, but slipped it back into his trousers precariously. He gave a side glance to Trent.

Stiles was quickly fixing his clothes, keeping his back to Trent. This was why he initially asked Derek to stop before giving in himself. He knew the door had shut behind Billy, and he wondered if Trent even knocked—or just barged into his boss’s office.

“I fucking knew it,” Trent accused.

Derek ran a hand through his hair, knowing it was disarrayed from Stiles yanking it this way and that. He kept quiet, knowing that Stiles wouldn’t want there to be more fodder than necessary.

“You knew nothing, Trent,” Stiles snapped as he whirled around. “Because this just happened.” He felt comforted knowing Derek was standing there next to him.

“Do you fuck every employee’s spouse?” Trent snapped at Derek.

Derek tilted his eyes towards Trent, the dislike more than evident on his face. “To be fair, we haven’t had a chance to fuck yet.”

Stiles grabbed Derek’s forearm, an earnest plea to not goad Trent.

Derek relaxed when Stiles slipped his hand into his, their fingers threading together. That gave him a type of hope, shoving away his apprehension that Stiles would call what they just did a mistake.

It was the first thing to happen in a long time that Derek felt was right.

“This isn’t a big deal, Trent,” Stiles addressed him. “We’re in the middle of divorcing.”

“Because you couldn’t wait to spread your legs for the ex you dumped now that he has money.”

Trent had turned on Stiles, knowing he was the easier target compared to Derek—Derek who had the wealth and authority to put Trent in his place. It was a calculated mistake on Trent’s part. It happened in an instant and Stiles barely had time to wrap an arm around Derek’s torso.

Derek had lurched forward with the clear intention of punching Trent.

“Don’t,” Stiles pleaded, one arm wrapped around his waist with his other hand gently caressing the curve of Derek’s back. “He’ll still your employee, and nothing he says now is going to change the divorce. He’s being cruel for cruelty’s sake,” he pointedly stated while glaring at Trent.

Stiles wasn’t going to let Trent try and destroy Derek too, despite how much he wanted to see Derek punch Trent in the face.

“May not change the divorce, but changes the conditions,” Trent corrected Stiles, pretending he hadn’t taken a step back from Derek. “Billy is as good as mine.”

Stiles took a step forward, his arms dropping from Derek. “The bakery is being sold. My status of relationship has nothing to do with any of that.”

“A judge will decide that,” Trent threatened. “Good luck with your lawyer hunt,” he turned to stalk back out of the office.

Stiles almost felt as if his tongue had swollen, unable to say anything. His stomach was unraveling, his mind racing. He was terrified, and the world was crumbling as adrenaline rushed a static noise into his ears. He felt light headed, wondering if he was as pale as he felt.

“Banner!”

Stiles startled back to the moment, looking at Derek.

Trent stopped before reaching the door to exit Erica’s office. He turned.

“We’re not done here,” Derek loudly stated.

“Derek,” Stiles softly started. “You don’t have to—”

“You can be mad at me later for this,” Derek replied, his gaze unmoving from Trent. He was daring him to try and get out of his sight before they had this discussion. “After all I messed up for you, I can try to fix this,” he stated in a soft tone.

Trent was annoyed he couldn’t completely hear what Derek was saying, forcing himself to walk back into Derek’s office.

“You’re going to agree to the divorce papers,” Derek plainly told Trent.

“That’s personal, not professional,” Trent countered. “I don’t have to do shit for you.”

Stiles was surprised when Derek smirked. It was as hostile as Derek got in an argument, and it meant he had more up his sleeve than anyone thought.

“If you want to bring it into the legal system, fine,” Derek plainly stated. “You can afford a better lawyer than a pro bono, I’ll give you that,” he started, moving to take a step towards Stiles. “But you honestly think you can afford a better lawyer than mine?”

Stiles’ heart was racing as Derek’s words sunk in.

“I’m not fucking around with him—I actually care about him, and his happiness. Which means a lot more to me than a substantial legal bill.”

Stiles’ features softened some as Derek spoke.

“So,” Derek continued when Trent remained silent in his anger. “When my legal team is done tearing through you like tissue paper, I’ll just have started with you .” He started forward, closing the gap between himself and Trent. “You’re a piss poor employee—you have a way with manipulating people, so it makes you good at getting contracts, that much I will give you. But I have plenty of reasons to fire you, some of which would be more personal than professional and I was asked not to do that.”

Derek took a slow few last steps into Trent’s space. “I will end you,” he simply stated in a calm tone. “Any company who wishes to do business with mine will know better than to associate with you. You’ll be jobless, without a career ahead of you.”

Even Stiles could see the muscle in Trent’s jaw twitch.

“So, if you want to have a pissing contest, go ahead and whip it out,” Derek evenly dared as he stood toe to toe with Trent. He leaned in a little as he added, “I guarantee mine’s bigger.” He drew back, letting Trent stew in those words.

“Noted,” Trent growled through clenched teeth before turning to depart.

Stiles pressed his hand to his mouth for a moment, feeling as if he had to hold in a scream of frustration as he turned to pace around the couch.

Derek drew in a heavy breath as he left his hands resting on his hips. He looked at Stiles, unsure when he caught his gaze already pointed at him. He opened his mouth, about to address what just happened—what he just said despite his attempts to keep out of Stiles’ business.

Derek’s conference phone started ringing.

It was a sharp, unpleasant noise cutting through their silence.

“You should get that,” Stiles finally stated.

Derek gracefully made a quick line towards his phone. He picked up the phone and had to make a mental note to not take out his frustrations on another.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest, his feet slowly drifting him towards the door.

“I need to take this,” Derek stated, the phone still in his hand as he pressed the receiver against his chest. “But I want to talk about … this.”

Stiles found himself nodding. “You have my number,” was the only thing he could think to say. He felt so stupid for giving in—while in Derek’s workplace, where his soon-to-be ex-husband works, while his son was being watched after by Derek’s assistant. He felt selfish for even indulging his wants for even a moment. He felt like he was using Derek—he didn’t want Derek to think he wanted his money. He knew they had to talk, but getting out of this building was his number one priority at the moment. He needed to think, and he couldn’t do that with a disheveled Derek Hale in the same room as him.

“Stiles—”

“I’ll answer,” Stiles stated as he turned back to look at Derek once more. He could see the uncertainty in Derek’s expression. “I promise, I’ll answer and we can talk.” He was only able to leave when Derek’s features softened with understanding.

Chapter Text

“You just need to sign there,” the realtor, Mr. Mitchell, explained as he pointed at the line with the pen before offering it to Stiles.

Stiles stared down at the paper. He took the pen from the realtor, gently nibbling his bottom lip as he read the words. “They’re not … they aren’t going to demolish it, are they?” He asked as he looked up at the other man.

Mr. Mitchell made a displeased expression. “I’m not certain—they did purchase it for a half-million more than it is technically worth. I’ll admit, having Derek Hale sign off on the design made the worth higher.”

Stiles’ stomach churned at the mention of Derek. He had said he’d pick up the phone when Derek called, but that hadn’t been the problem.

Derek hadn’t called—for over a week.

Stiles didn’t know Derek reached out to the realtor and offered to sign any papers necessary to validate his design. He looked at Mr. Mitchell, asking, “And they didn’t say what they intended to do?”

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Mitchell frowned.

Stiles nodded. “So the money will be split between—”

“Mr. Banner’s banking account, and the rest goes into the savings account for William Stilinski Banner,” Mr. Mitchell stated, sounding tired.

Stiles drew in a large sigh before signing his name across the line. He was hollowed out by the knowledge that he just signed away one of his dreams. But he had Billy—an even better reality.

“We’ll look at the house next week,” Mr. Mitchell explained as he took the paper from in front of Stiles. He started to place it into the folder.

Stiles nodded, offering a soft, “Thank you.”

He left the realtor’s in a blur, unsure what he was about to do.

Trent agreed to the divorce and relinquished custody of Billy, Derek’s threat lingering over his head like a sword of Damocles. Their house was to be sold, along with the bakery, and the money split between them. Stiles and Billy had all but moved into his dad’s house, knowing that it would be easier to move and sell the house without being there.

Stiles felt as if he was back at ground zero, when he came home after breaking up with Derek. He had nothing plotted out in front of him, his future completely uncertain. But now, he felt more comforted by that fact than before.

Stiles startled when his phone started to buzz. He answered it in a haze. “Hello?” He asked as he walked along the sidewalk.

“Hello,” Derek’s voice greeted him.

Stiles slowed to a stop, blinking mindlessly. “Derek?”

“Shit, I forgot you said you don’t have this number,” Derek stated, the sound of something shifting against the phone. He sounded tired.

“It’s okay—I have it now,” Stiles smiled as he moved to sit on the nearby bench. He was only five minutes from his dad’s house, but he wanted to take a moment for himself.

“I’m sorry it took me a while to call,” Derek started, sighing into the phone. “Work has been … complicated.”

“Is everything okay?” Stiles asked in concern.

“Things are a bit hectic with the European branch opening up,” Derek explained. “I’ve been dodging my sisters.”

“That doesn’t sound new,” Stiles playfully stated.

“It is a bit easier with Laura on a different continent,” Derek uttered. “And Cora is a bit easier to dodge when she’s pissed at me.”

Stiles frowned, biting down on his lip. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know why his sisters would be annoyed with him. “Besides that, how is the Da Vinci of our time doing?”

Derek growled out an exasperation. “Don’t tell me you read that.”

“I read that,” Stiles confirmed.

“It’s why I don’t like interviews,” Derek remarked. “They write bullshit.”

“I’ll let Billy know you have high expectations.”

“How did his report go?”

Stiles paused, looking up at people passing him by on the sidewalk. He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but something turned in his chest.

Trent never asked about Billy’s school work. It was something he saw as Stiles’ responsibility.

“The teacher was very impressed that he managed to get an interview with someone as busy as you,” Stiles finally answered. “They have a presentation night where all the parents go,  and the kids get to stand around and answer any questions that parents have.”

“I’m sorry Billy chose me—it’s going to be boring telling the story of a professional career person.”

Stiles laughed. “Billy doesn’t think so,” he answered.

“That’s reassuring,” Derek replied.

A small silence grew between them, both of them uncertain how to proceed.

“I was worried you weren’t going to call,” Stiles finally admitted.

“I was scared to,” Derek confessed, surprising himself and Stiles.

Stiles shifted the phone to his other ear. “Why?”

Derek sighed. “I didn’t want to hear you say it was a mistake.”

Stiles closed his eyes, relief washing over him quickly at hearing Derek’s words. “It … it was the first time in a long time I felt like I did something for myself.”

“That’s…” Derek paused. “That’s such a fucking relief, Stiles.”

“Would it be welcomed if I said I wanted to see you again?”

“In a professional sense?” Derek’s tone was more mischievous than anything else.

“If you’re fishing for compliments, I’m not giving you them,” Stiles joked, though he couldn’t help the smile on his lips.

“Damn,” Derek deadpanned.

Stiles heard Erica’s distant voice saying Derek’s name.

“In a minute,” Derek’s voice sounded sharp with annoyance.

“I can let you go,” Stiles replied.

“Only if you agree to dinner,” Derek’s voice returned to its full richness in Stiles’ ear.

“That’s what it takes to get you off the phone, Mr. Hale,” Stiles answered.

Derek was quiet for a moment. “Don’t call me that,” he gently stated, his voice clipped.

Stiles wasn’t convinced he didn’t like that. “Oh?”

“Unless you want me to go into a meeting, overly aroused,” Derek replied.

Oh . Stiles couldn’t stop his blush, glad that Derek couldn’t see him. “Well, I guess I’ll leave you to deal with that. And see you for dinner?”

“I’d offer to make you dinner,” Derek started. “But I don’t think we’ll talk if I have you alone.”

A heat spread through Stiles’ stomach.

It was a distant feeling for Stiles—one he almost forgot. The feeling of being wanted—desired. He wasn’t sure he ever felt it with Trent.

“You could always come over for dinner,” Stiles answered. “If you’re not busy tonight.”

“Are you sure your father won’t shoot me,” Derek spoke.

Stiles lightly chuckled. “I’m sure.”

“Then I’ll see you tonight.”

Stiles drew in a breath, realizing he couldn’t remember a time before that he anxiously waited for a night to draw closer.

~*~

It had taken Derek a moment to collect himself before going into the meeting. He had been dreading the meeting all week.

He hated pitches—and it wasn’t a secret. Most customers knew they couldn’t push him how they wanted, and it ultimately came down to Derek’s terrifying reputation that kept them at bay.

It didn’t help that there were several employees sitting in on the new meeting—Trent being one of them. Derek didn’t want to even acknowledge the man’s existence more than he had to.

And now, Derek sat at the head of the long oval table, his gaze pinned to the large presentation boards. He twisted the pen in his hands as Trent finished speaking, trying to school his expression as nothing more than cold. He stretched his arm out, peering down at his watch. He had his appointment with Allison in less than an hour—he could handle acting amicable until then.

His thoughts drifted to Stiles, thinking about the offer of dinner tonight. It was going to be stressful, but he was more than willing to run his schedule tightly if it meant he’d see Stiles.

“I don’t feel sold,” Deucalion simply stated.

Fuck .

Derek’s eyes slipped close as he reached a hand up to scratch at his eyebrow. A momentary distraction to keep from snapping at the older man. He finally looked up at Trent, annoyed that he looked surprised. He turned his gaze to Deucalion. “Why?” He simply asked.

“Doesn’t feel like an impact,” Deucalion replied. “I think you, of all people, know the importance mind games can play on someone.”

Derek was starting to. “What do you want, Deuc?” It was a simple, direct question—one Derek often only asked when he was tired of the situation and wanted it handled. It wasn’t often, but he knew Deucalion wouldn’t budge like other clients.

“I want you to give me a design, not your underlings,” Deucalion replied as he looked at Derek.

Derek hated it when clients worded things like that. “If a design comes from my company, it comes from me,” he countered. “Doesn’t matter if I have my name on something.”

“A bakery with your name on it sold at half a million higher than it should have,” Deucalion simply stated. “Do you have any idea how much power that has? Your signature on something, and suddenly it is better than it was. It’s my money I’m spending, and I want that investment.”

Derek was getting another tension headache. He wasn’t convinced the mention of Stiles’ bakery wasn’t adding to it. He stood, unsurprised when several others followed his suit. “Clear out the room,” he addressed his employees. He pinned Deucalion with a displeased look. He walked around the table to Deucalion, moving to lean against the table as he watched the older man pace by the floor length windows.

“I want something done up before this weekend,” Deucalion stated as he looked down at the streets below them.

“I can’t. I have plans.” Derek answered, crossing his arms over his chest in displeasure.

Deucalion turned and looked at Derek. “You always have time for work.”

“I took your advice,” Derek replied.

“You’re getting laid?” Deucalion partially laughed.

“I have a date,” Derek stated in annoyance. “I like to date people before thinking about having sex.”

Deucalion fondly scoffed. “I swear, monogamy runs in your family,” he retorted.

“Except for Uncle Peter,” Derek answered.

“Peter’s always been a black sheep,” Deucalion corrected Derek, moving to lean against the table beside the younger man. “I’m not going to regret delaying, am I?”

“You want something with my signature on it?” Derek countered, giving Deucalion a cold look. “You have to give me the damn time to complete it.”

Deucalion observed Derek. “You look like your mother,” he stated instead of answering.

Derek looked away from Deucalion. He hated it when people said that—most of all Deucalion. He knew Deucalion held his mother in a more than favorable light, and he was certain there was more than just friendship there. “I hope you’re not trying to seduce me, because I’m not going to fuck you, Deucalion,” he dryly stated.

Deucalion laughed, rising from his spot. “You’re not my type,” he answered. “Even if you do look like your mother.”

“And that’s a whole other reason I’d never,” Derek grumbled in disgust at the thought.

“That man who frequents your office is another story,” Deucalion replied.

Derek looked up at Deucalion, his glare reflecting his feelings towards Deucalion’s prying.

“Isn’t he married to one of your employees?”

Derek bristled into standing up. “I don’t like where you’re going with this—or how you even knew this.”

“Just saying,” Deucalion stated as he grabbed his jacket. “Go get laid, but don’t be shocked if HR gets involved.” He clapped a hand on Derek’s shoulder as he walked by him.

“They’re divorced,” Derek stated to Deucalion’s retreating back.

Deucalion laughed at Derek’s words. “They always are.”

“How did you know who he is?” Derek snapped when Deucalion’s hand reached the door.

Deucalion turned and looked at Derek. “I’d be careful with Mr. Banner if I were you,” he warned without actually answering Derek’s question. “Rumors can damage reputation.” He arched his eyebrows in a knowing manner. “Besides, what are you doing chasing after someone’s spouse?” He partially laughed. “I’d think you’d know better what effect you have on people.”

Derek bristled.

“You’re magnetic, Derek. You pull people into your orbit, and when you’re convinced you’ve let them too close, you set them adrift,” Deucalion calmly offered.

And just like that, the anger Derek had been holding back throughout the day finally deflated into an ice bath of reality.

~*~

“I kissed him,” Derek admitted as his gaze stayed glued to the skyline.

Allison’s eyebrows arched. “Well, I would say that counts as a development,” she noted.

Derek turned to give her a tense look.

Allison was still sitting in her chair, as she normally did during their appointments, though this time she had been kind enough to come to Derek’s office. She tilted her head, a faint smile on her lips—one she knew Derek understood as patience.

Derek sighed, placing his hands in his pockets as he paced. “I shouldn’t have,” he admitted.

“Is that how you feel?”

“It’s what I know,” Derek replied.

Allison nodded, looking down at where her hands were folded in her lap. “You’re afraid.”

Derek stopped his pacing.

“There isn’t much that scares you in life, Derek,” Allison explained when Derek didn’t turn to face her. “But from our time together, I’d say you’re terrified of what Stiles Stilinski being in your life means.”

Derek drew in a breath. “I shouldn’t be doing this to him.”

“You said you kissed him,” Allison started. “Did he consent? Did he kiss you back?”

Derek forced himself to nod.

“If you’re both consenting adults, there isn’t much to argue against,” Allison replied.

“Besides the fact that we have a complicated history,” Derek countered, turning now to look at Allison.

“You wear a very well tailored personality, Derek,” Allison finally stated, waiting for Derek to walk back over to his seat. “And Stiles sees through that—for better or worse.”

Derek looked displeased as he sat down.

“It means he can see the progress you’ve made since you last saw one another,” Allison offered. “And perhaps, if he kissed you back, he is ready to see where that development has brought you—where it will bring the both of you.”

Derek clenched his hand against his thigh. “You think I’m capable of not fucking this up?”

Allison softly laughed. “Oh, Derek, I don’t think it is your emotional stability that is the problem,” she explained. “I think your compassion for Stiles may be.”

Derek’s brow furrowed.

“You once told me, early on, that you had been terrified of what you could do because of your feelings for Stiles,” Allison explained. “So I express caution when you approach this. You’ve come a far way, but Stiles will always be a weak spot.”

“Are you saying I could never be with him?” Derek asked.

“I’m not saying that,” Allison carefully offered. “I’m saying your relationship is fragile. You’re both different people now, who are still working through what happened twelve years ago. Forcing something too soon could be disastrous.”

Derek hesitated before nodding in agreement.

“That being said,” Allison softly prodded. “I’m glad you’re making steps to change things.”

Derek nodded. “I may have threatened his husband.”

Allison looked as if she was holding back a laugh. “Derek,” she nearly sighed.

“I know,” Derek replied, leaning his head back against the chair.

“How did you threaten him?” Allison asked, knowing she needed to address this before they could even think about winding down their session.

“I threatened to destroy his career if he tried to manipulate Stiles and steal Stiles’ son from him,” Derek quickly stated.

Allison closed her eyes.

“It was crossing a line, I know,” Derek agreed with Allison’s silence. He sat up once more, looking at her. “I shouldn’t have, but Trent doesn’t understand anything but wealth and status.”

“And you lorded it over him,” Allison concluded.

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Don’t you think Stiles felt the same way?”

Derek slowly opened his eyes to look at Allison.

“Wealth and status can’t fix everything,” Allison offered. “But it can, in our dystopian society, guarantee progression. It can make fulfilling dreams easier.”

Derek was unsettled by where he thought she was going with this.

“Stiles lost much, including you, because of something like this,” Allison continued. “And now, is your wealth and status something that could back Stiles into a corner?”

Derek’s stomach flipped. “I don’t want that.”

Allison nodded. “Then your heart is in the right place,” she offered. “But you have to make sure your head is also following suit.” She snuck a peak at her watch, knowing their time was drawing to a close. “I would stress caution,” she concluded. “To make sure that you are both on even footing, regardless of either of your statuses.”

It wasn’t what he wanted to hear, but he could admit it was what he needed. That was what attracted Derek to being Allison’s patient a long time ago—he could trust her to cut through the bullshit.

~*~

Stiles was finishing cutting up the last of the carrots when the doorbell rang. He looked up, his heartbeat jumping with excitement. He wiped his hands on the dish towel as he walked down the hall to the front door. He hoped his nerves would calm down once the evening started. He opened the door, holding his breath in anticipation.

Derek was standing on the front step, his gaze examining the siding of the house.

“Are you going to tell my father he got the wrong siding for his house?” Stiles questioned.

Derek turned to look at Stiles. “I’m not a snob,” he replied. He offered Stiles the case of beer in his hand.

Stiles arched an eyebrow. “Typically someone brings flowers on a date,” he jokingly stated.

“Those are for your father,” Derek corrected Stiles.

Stiles nodded, taking the beer from Derek as he took a step back into the house, allowing Derek the room to enter. He tried to convince himself that he was fine without flowers. He started to close the door, turning around to be surprised by a bouquet of sunflowers being pointed at him. “ These are for you.”

Stiles felt his lips split into a smile as he took the sunflowers from Derek. He admired their bloom, a happiness uncurling in his chest.

Sunflowers—his favorite.

“You remembered,” he softly uttered, looking up at Derek now.

Derek was shrugging out of his jacket, looking up at Stiles without pausing. “I never forgot.”

Stiles took a step forward, holding the flowers close before he leaned in to press a kiss to Derek’s cheek. “Let me take your jacket,” he spoke in a softer voice, trying to pretend he wasn’t flushing. He let Derek take the beer back in order to take his jacket. He didn’t want to put the flowers down, maneuvering Derek’s jacket onto a hanger before placing it in the entrance’s closet.

Stiles was looking down at his flowers as he took Derek’s hand and led him down the hall to the kitchen.

~*~

Stiles gave Derek one of the beers he had brought.

Derek accepted it with ease, his gaze flickering over to John at the grill. He had kept his distance from the man, especially when he had an entire set of sharp utensils at his disposal. But he seemed to have forgotten that his basis of comparison was Trent.

And that wasn’t hard to pass with flying colors.

“Billy, be careful,” Stiles softly stated when he saw Billy climbing up to the tree house.

“I am!” Billy happily called back.

Derek watched as Stiles sighed before looking around aimlessly. He arched his eyebrows at Stiles when he looked at him. “Want a seat?” He gestured towards the patio chair next to his.

Stiles hesitated before realizing that he had nothing left to do but wait for his dad to finish with the grill. He sat next to Derek, placing his wine glass on the table. “So, how was work?” It almost felt childish to ask such a mundane question.

Derek faintly smiled as he sipped some of his beer. “Boring,” he replied. “Deucalion rejected the entire project plan, so I have to make him something from scratch.”

Stiles winced at that. “I thought he was a family friend?”

Derek hummed. “He barely let me leave for the weekend until I said I had plans.”

Stiles smiled at that.

“And what do those plans entail?” John’s voice questioned from the grill.

Stiles turned a tired look at his father. He wanted to have an easy night, and if his father wanted to grill Derek later, he’d allow that. But only later.

“Taking a break from work,” Derek plainly replied. “I’ve been told I work too much.”

Stiles looked at Derek, a knowing smile pulling at his lips.

“Dad!” Billy’s panicked voice rushed towards him. “I broke it.”

Stiles looked at Billy in surprise, seeing the handle from one of the tree houses’ various contraptions in his hand. He sat forward with a frown, offering to take it from him. “Uh oh, buddy,” he mumbled, turning the handle in his hands.

Billy did a double take at Derek. “Mr. Hale,” he said surprised.

“You can call me Derek,” Derek answered him.

“Can you fix it?” Billy asked.

Stiles looked up to answer, but realized Billy was asking Derek.

Derek set down his drink, gesturing for the piece from Stiles.

Stiles handed it over with minor hesitation.

Derek nodded his head and made a slight noise. “It might be touch and go,” he replied as he started to stand.

Billy excitedly started back towards his treehouse.

“Derek,” Stiles started as he stood up beside him. “You don’t have to fix his treehouse.”

Derek quirked an eye at him as he started unbuttoning the sleeves of his shirt. He was pleased that he removed the cufflinks earlier, having grown annoyed with the pull. He started to roll his sleeves as he replied, “I don’t have to.”

Stiles opened his mouth in protest.

“It’s a handle, Stiles,” Derek calmly stated, a bit of amusement on his face.

“You could ruin your suit,” Stiles stated.

Derek’s brow furrowed as his hand paused the rolling up of his second sleeve. “And? I have others.” He faintly smiled as he took the handle and walked towards the treehouse.

Stiles felt a strange fondness curling up in his stomach as he crossed his arms over his chest. He watched as Derek patiently stood by Billy, looking up at the treehouse and nodding as Billy kept talking.

 Stiles snuck a look at his father.

John looked mildly pleased, though he kept a skeptical gaze flickering between the grill and Derek helping Billy. “Money didn’t go to his head, I guess,” he commented, knowing Stiles was watching him.

Stiles faintly nodded his head, looking at Derek with fondness.

~*~

By the time dinner was over, Derek had removed more layers of his suit, until he was in his button down shirt—tie and vest neatly piled and left on the entryway’s bench.

Stiles was thankful his father had offered to make sure Billy was put to bed. He watched as John shook Derek’s hand in parting. He was happy that his father wasn’t being unkind or judgmental the moment he realized there was something unfolding. Maybe he’d get an earful later, but at least for now things seemed calm.

Stiles wasn’t surprised when Derek came into the kitchen with several of the dishes. He had his hands in the sink, turning slightly to look at him. “You can just set them there,” he gestured towards the spot next to the sink.

Derek cleaned off the plates, scraping the remains into the trash.

“You don’t have to do that,” Stiles stated. “You’re a guest.”

“Stop telling me I don’t have to do things,” Derek gently requested when he came to stand by Stiles.

Stiles felt the flush on his neck when Derek took the clean dish from his hand. He watched as Derek wiped that one down. “I just don’t want to take advantage,” he explained, taking one of the dishes Derek had brought with him.

“You’re not,” Derek replied. “I’d tell you,” he offered.

Stiles nodded. He snuck a look at Derek. “You might ruin your fancy suit,” he offered.

“Good thing I just have my shirt on,” Derek replied as he set the dish into the drying rack.

“Could still make a mess of your trousers,” Stiles blurted.

Derek quirked an eyebrow at him. “Are you implying I should take my pants off?”

Stiles laughed. “Shut up.”

The nervousness fell out of the room, a silent ease replacing it as they fell into the familiarity of cleaning up. It was always one of Stiles’ fondest memories—making dinner and cleaning up with Derek. Sure, they were chores, but they got to spend the time together. He even got to see Derek laugh or smile more times than not, the exhausted rigidness in his shoulders disappearing.

Derek easily hung the towel up that he had been using to wipe the dishes clean, turning to face Stiles as he leaned against the sink.

Stiles offered Derek back his beer. Somehow, he knew his father wasn’t going to come back down until he knew Derek had left. It was a good thing, too—it gave them some time to talk.

“What do you want to know?” Derek finally spoke.

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Just like that? I don’t have to jump through loops?”

Derek snorted. “You deserve the whole truth.”

Stiles drew in a breath. “You know, I was pissed at you after we went to Kira’s. I was still angry when we kissed in your office.” He ran a hand absent-mindedly through his hair. “But then I thought about how different we are now. I can’t imagine being the person I was then, and you’re so far from that person.”

“I have tendencies,” Derek warned.

“You’ve been nothing but good to me,” Stiles countered.

“Don’t,” Derek forcefully uttered. “Don’t wipe away all that.”

Stiles released a frustrated sigh. “What if I want to? If I wanted to start fresh.”

“We’re not there, Stiles,” Derek reasoned. “Trust me, I came here with the full intention of dating you. But it made me realize that is selfish.”

“How is that selfish if it is what I want?” Stiles vehemently questioned, his voice rising some in his frustration.

“Because you deserve better!” Derek’s voice rose to the level Stiles had been speaking at.

Stiles shook his head before asking, “Why were you such an ass when we first met at Kore?”

“I told you, I hired Trent because I knew who he was,” Derek answered. “Part of me thought it would be good to see you again, maybe even reconcile. And then I … when I saw you, in person, with that wedding ring on your finger.” He clenched his teeth. “Something darker popped up. I wanted a front seat to see just how miserable he made you.” He looked at Stiles. “No sane person does that to someone they love, Stiles.”

“I told you I wanted to marry you,” Stiles suddenly stated. “And one of my regrets is that we just didn’t do it.”

Derek frowned, shaking his head. “Every time we agreed to wait, my brain hammered home what Claudia said,” he replied. “It made me think you were waiting for a chance to get out before it hit.” He sighed, his fingers twisted the bottle neck. “I was stupid. And then seeing you with Trent—” His nose scrunched at the thought of him. “I got jealous, and felt like I wanted revenge for something stupid that you didn’t do. I had no right to be upset about you being with someone else when I fucked up our relationship.”

Stiles reached his free hand over to touch Derek’s hand, his fingers slipping between Derek’s and the bottle.

Derek let Stiles pull his hand away from the bottle.

“I get that,” Stiles gently agreed.

“Don’t make excuses for me,” Derek replied.

“I’m not,” Stiles answered. “I got jealous of the fact that you were engaged to someone besides me,” he confessed. “And I had no right to feel that way, but I did.”

“I was cruel, Stiles,” Derek hollowly stated.

Stiles leaned in close to Derek, pressing a kiss to his jaw before brushing his forehead against Derek’s cheek. “Can we just … forgive the past?”

Derek didn’t look as if he wanted to. “If you can forgive me for what I’m about to do,” he offered.

Stiles hesitated, unsure what Derek was going to say. Part of him was afraid Derek would say they had to end things—that it wasn’t going to work. He let Derek’s hand fall away from him as Derek got up from his chair.

Derek went over to where he had placed his briefcase earlier, opening the case to pull out a manila envelope.

Stiles stood, curiously looking at what Derek was doing. He watched Derek walk towards him, holding his breath for a moment as he looked from the envelope to Derek.

“If you want to be mad at me, it’s fine,” Derek started when he came to a stop in front of Stiles. “But I also want you to know that this,” he held up the envelope. “This doesn’t have a catch. You have no obligation to me, and that’s the only way I’ll let you accept this.”

“You’re kind of scaring me,” Stiles admitted, his stomach twisting as his eyes dashed from Derek’s to the envelope.

“I need to know that you accept those terms, Stiles,” Derek echoed.

Stiles hesitated before nodding. “Okay. I owe you nothing.”

Derek handed Stiles the envelope.

Stiles’ hands were shaking as he took the item. It was thicker than he had though, turning it in his hands to notice that it must have been a bundle of papers. He opened the end, realizing that it hadn’t been sealed. He gently slipped the papers out, his heartbeat picking up as he turned them to rest in a pile with the envelope. He stared at the paper. “What … what is this?”

Derek took a step back from Stiles. “The deed to the bakery.”

Stiles tightened his hands on the paper. “Derek … I …” He looked up at him, tears building at the back of his throat.

“I told you,” Derek started. “I was going to try fixing some of what I fucked up in your life. That bakery never should have left your hands.”

Stiles pressed a hand over his mouth, knowing his lip was wobbling as he looked down at the deed. “You spent too much.”

“I didn’t,” Derek replied, placing his hands in his trouser pockets. “Getting that back to you … it’s the bare minimum I could do, Stiles. But it doesn’t make any of what happened okay.”

Stiles looked up at Derek.

“I …” Derek drew in a breath. “I should go.”

Stiles’ features fell when Derek turned to head back for the entryway. He reacted quickly, grabbing a hold of Derek’s forearm. “You don’t have to go,” he uttered.

Derek looked at Stiles. “I do.”

“Maybe I don’t want you to go.”

“Stiles,” Derek started, drawing in a tired breath. “I’m no good. I don’t think I ever was—but you made me better when we were together. And I didn’t appreciate you how I should have.” He took a step towards Stiles, standing toe-to-toe with him. “I’m not the man you deserve.”

Stiles felt like his heart was breaking all over again. “She was wrong, you’re not poison.”

Tears were visible in Derek’s eyes as Stiles spoke.

And Stiles knew what Derek was thinking the moment he said the words—that Stiles was wrong.

Derek’s hands lightly touched Stiles’s arms, dropping in order for his thumbs to brush over the back of Stiles’ hands. “But I’m going to keep working—to change and be better. And if one day, we happen to meet in a more natural circumstance…” His voice trailed off. “Well, I think that’d be fate, then.”

Stiles released a watery laugh. He didn’t want to let Derek go, but he knew it was the most sane thing to do. It was the right thing to do. He reached his arms up to wrap around Derek’s neck, pulling him into a tight embrace. He closed his eyes as he pressed his face into the curve of Derek’s neck.

“I love you,” Stiles softly confessed, his grip tightening on Derek. “I know I do.”

“And I love you,” Derek echoed. “I don’t think I ever stopped. But it isn’t enough, Stiles. Not yet.”

It was a promise, one that Stiles wanted to see through to the other side. He hoped Derek felt the same at the end, knowing that the man he was holding in his arms was still the one he had fallen in love with.

Chapter Text

“You’re sure?” Kira asked as she flipped through the last of the folders. “It’s kind of a big deal to buy another house.”

Stiles nodded, his gaze still focused on the papers on the table. “I can’t live with my dad forever.”

“How long has it been?” Kira asked.

“Over a year,” Stiles offered, finally leaning back in his chair to ignore the various listings he had been trying to compare. He slipped his glasses off, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I think that’s pretty reasonable, all things considered,” Kira stated.

“It’s great and all, but I honestly think my dad has been dating someone,” he explained.

Kira’s eyebrows raised. “That’s interesting.”

“He’s been avoiding the subject, and I feel like he feels like a guest in his own house.” Stiles shrugged. “Besides, my dad deserves some peace and quiet.”

“Well, you could always rent an apartment in the city, closer to your bakery,” Kira changed the subject.

Stiles shook his head. “I want Billy to have a house, without the hectic nature of the city.”

“The city can be fun,” Kira retorted.

Stiles nodded. “I just … I’m on the fence. The city holds a lot of …” Memories? Thoughts? Possibilities? Stiles wasn’t sure what he felt when he thought of the city.

Kira thoughtfully observed Stiles as she tilted her head to the side. “You still haven’t talked to him, have you?”

Stiles knew where Derek was, and Derek knew where Stiles was. He wasn’t certain if it was worse knowing that. He could go into Kore Enterprises and walk right up to Derek—but it wouldn’t change things.

“We promised each other a clean break,” Stiles answered Kira.

Kira wistfully sighed, looking back down at the houses. “Well, I guess we better find you a house away from the city. Removing temptation and all that.”

Temptation barely scratched the surface of what Stiles felt, even after a year. He wasn’t consumed by thoughts of Derek, but there were moments when he couldn’t help but think of him. He wondered if Derek ever thought of him, and that opened up even more heartbreak that Stiles tried to ignore.

“Yeah,” Stiles hoarsely agreed with Kira.

“Oh, you’re still my plus one tonight, right?”

Stiles blinked at Kira.

“For the museum opening,” Kira explained. “It’s right up your alley—all that old shit.”

Stiles snorted. “Right, yes, I didn’t forget. I’m your plus one.”

~*~

Derek was paying too much attention to his computer, fingers flying across the keyboard as he answered another email. He was tired, the exhaustion in his eyes was beyond the help of his glasses at this point. He needed to finish the emails and meet with Deucalion for the ribbon cutting event.

“You look like shit,” Lydia stated.

Derek looked up, surprised to find his lawyer standing in front of his desk. “Thank you,” he dryly answered.

“Well, it’s my job to inform you that things have improved,” Lydia replied. “Your taxes are perfect, your business records are as perfect as can be, and your properties are all safe,” she pointedly dropped a file on Derek’s desk for each statement.

Derek arched his eyebrow. “And?”

“And,” Lydia stated. “You are cleared of all associations with Trent Banner.”

Derek nodded. “Good riddance,” he remarked.

“Where did he go?” Lydia asked as she walked over to the small serving tray Derek kept in his office. She started to pour two glasses of brandy.

“No idea,” Derek answered, slipping his glasses off his face. “He ran as soon as he smelled trouble.”

“Well, you’re lucky you caught him before he succeeded,” Lydia replied as she walked over to Derek's desk, offering him one of the glasses. “I’m sure the FBI will haul him in sooner or later.”

“I’m lucky you’re brilliant,” Derek answered as he stood, accepting the glass from her.

Lydia smiled as she drank from the glass. “You’re lucky I’ve dealt with him before.”

Derek moved around the desk, leaning against the lip of it beside Lydia.

Lydia side-eyed Derek.

When Derek had asked her to handle Trent during Stiles’ divorce, she had been skeptical. But the second she saw the file Anderson was keeping on Stiles, she nearly flipped her lid. She reached out to Stiles to help him finalize the work to make sure it was the last time Stiles ever had to see the man. And she was glad she made it clad iron.

“You kept him around … why?” Lydia asked, cradling the glass as she looked at Derek.

Derek snorted, taking a drink. “I promised Stiles I wouldn’t fire him for personal reasons,” he explained. “I had to wait for an HR complaint or … well, Trent to be Trent.” He sighed. “This is what I get for being petty and hiring my ex’s husband at the time.” He shook his head. “You’d think I’d be smarter by now.”

Lydia nodded. She looked down at the amber liquid in her glass. She swirled it some, thinking about it. “A fair assessment—you’re almost forty,” she stated.

Derek closed his eyes, before shooting a grimacing glare her way.

Lydia laughed. “Don’t be sour, you’re still in great shape.”

“Don’t feel it.”

In truth, Derek had seen the way his life slowly started to take shape over the last year. He had difficulty saying goodbye to Stiles that night. No matter how right it had been for them. He rearranged his schedule, he started to focus more on his wellbeing and relationships. He started to converse with his employees more.

Derek realized how much he was missing when he discovered that Erica was married. He felt like shit when she told him it happened years ago. He made her take a vacation after that—a missed honeymoon—and miraculously managed to not sink with her gone for two weeks.

It didn’t make him miss Stiles any less. He thought about him often, but didn’t use work to hide behind this time. He tried taking Allison’s advice in starting a hobby, even if he kept failing to be any good at them. His current adventure was cross stitch—stabbing something thousands of times was shockingly cathartic.

“Well,” Lydia started when she finished her drink. “You have a good night tonight,” she smiled.

Derek quirked his eyebrow at her.

She sighed, “You really are hopeless without Erica telling you everything. Deucalion’s press event—it’s a gala.”

Derek knew he wore his displeasure on his face when Lydia laughed. It appeared that even though he stepped back from his work, he still forgot to ask for details. It now clicked why Erica had brought in a dry cleaning bag and hung it up in his office’s bathroom.

“You’re the one who built the new wing of the museum,” Lydia answered as she started towards the doors.

“I designed it,” Derek growled.

Lydia waved at him. “Semantics,” she replied. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Of course Lydia would be there. He sighed, realizing that he’d have to prepare himself for a night of socializing—the one thing he wanted to avoid.

~*~

Stiles was bored. He had been to enough galas over the years to know when it was merely a place for people to flaunt their wealth. And this was no different. It was a charity event, meant to raise money for the arts, disguised as an unveiling of their new addition.

Stiles scrunched his nose at the thought—they could afford a brand new wing of the museum but couldn’t afford programming. Made zero sense.

“This isn’t as fun as I thought it would be,” Kira murmured to Stiles. She tried to not fidget in her dress, pulling the top of it back into place. “Why did you ever do these?”

Stiles snorted. “It becomes a way to save face.” He had remembered how his mother always cited the importance of making a statement. He regretted never walking away from this earlier.

“I’m going to go get us champagne,” Kira stated. “At least that is free,” she remarked as she started to head to the open bar area.

Stiles smiled at that. He took a moment to wade through the various groups conversing. He wondered what the point to most of it was, if these people even knew what the new wing was going to be host to. He found his way to the marker displaying the entrance to the new wing. His gaze flickered over the announcement.

It is with great pride that we unveil the new wing, detailed with a newly curated collection .

Stiles rolled his eyes as he continued to read, mumbling the words under his breath. He froze when he read the end of the excerpt.

… Great thanks go to Kore Enterprises for their work on the wing .

Stiles’ eyes dropped to the initial concept sketch they included. He could tell it was Derek’s even without the small blurb beneath: design by Derek Hale . He drew in his breath, trying to calm himself.

“You still haven’t learned to relax,” a man’s laugh came from one of the small groups.

“I’m sure he’s a very busy man,” an older woman’s voice remarked.

“Regardless, you did wonders with the space, Derek.”

Fate.

Please be fate, Stiles thought.

“I had little choice thanks to Deucalion,” Derek’s voice answered.

Stiles felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“I swear, rich people are the worst,” Kira announced as she arrived by Stiles’ side once more. She paused when she noticed that Stiles was frozen still. “What’s wrong?” She quickly asked, concerned with how Stiles looked a bit out of it.

Stiles looked at Kira, “Did you know?”

Kira’s brow was furrowed before she looked at where Stiles was pointing at the blurb. Her eyes scanned it quickly, and Stiles knew the moment she read the words about Kore Enterprises. She looked up at Stiles as she was shaking her head. “I didn’t.”

Stiles drew in a breath as he turned to look at where he thought the voices were coming from.

~*~

Derek was standing with Deucalion, per his norm during reveal parties such as these. He always felt out of place in them, even in his tux. He pulled at the bow tie more than once this evening, feeling suffocated by the various people congratulating him. He knew they were board members for the museum, but he learned long ago that they responded better to cash donations than anything else.

“Have you had a chance to see the exhibit they managed with your donation?”

Derek nodded. Of course he hadn’t seen it. He was never good with museums the way Stiles had been, and every time they asked him over the years if he’d seen the exhibit, he lied.

Stiles would have understood the exhibits better than he ever could. And being here, without Stiles, drove home the point that Derek had wanted nothing more than to be with him now.

“You still haven’t learned to relax,” Deucalion laughed when he saw how rigid Derek was standing.

Derek shot a half-hearted glare at the man as he drank his champagne.

“I’m sure he’s a very busy man,” an older woman remarked. She was part of the board, and held a considerable amount of sway with them. And she had taken a liking to Derek right off the bat. He was thankful for Deucalion’s interruptions whenever she placed a hand on Derek’s arm.

“Regardless, you did wonders with the space, Derek,” an older gentleman stated. “Your mother would have been proud.”

Derek barely tensed at the mention of her.

Talia had been a historian of some renown after her findings on Egyptian culture were published to much fanfare. Posthumously published. It hurt all the Hale children to deal with the praise. Derek counted himself lucky that Peter handled most of it.

“Indeed,” Deucalion agreed.

“Thank you,” Derek offered, his voice a low rumble against the orchestral music playing.

“I believe you may have an admirer.”

Derek looked up at the man who spoke. It was the older man who had mentioned Derek’s mother. The man was nodding behind Derek.

Deucalion was already turning. “Oh, hello,” he smoothly greeted the person, a sly smile pulling at his lips.

Derek sighed, downing the rest of his champagne flute before turning.

“Hello.”

Derek’s brain registered Stiles’ voice before he saw Stiles standing there.

Stiles smiled at Derek, his eyes fixed on him.

~*~

Stiles walked along the exhibit with Derek, his heartbeat calming once they managed to slip away from the others. He pretended not to like that light weight of Derek’s arm behind him, steering him to a place more private, before it disappeared all too quickly.

“I didn’t realize we’d get to see museum pieces up close,” Stiles noted, his eyes catching on more than one artifact. He knew there must be cameras, but no guard in sight made things feel stranger—as if they were breaking a rule.

“They finished the exhibits to please the board,” Derek answered.

Stiles nodded. He wasn’t sure what to say, part of him still shocked at the turn of events. He paused when he saw the placard.

This wing was designed and constructed in loving memory of Talia Farrah Hale—sister, mother, historian .

Stiles smiled as he read the words. “Your mother would be proud, Derek” he truthfully stated.

Derek faintly shook his head. “This is Deucalion’s weirdly messed up way of honoring her memory. It's probably why he pushed so hard for me to design it.”

Stiles nodded in understanding. “I’m glad you’re the one who did it.”

Derek looked at Stiles.

“It’s a marvel,” Stiles offered, looking back at Derek.

“Not my magnum opus,” Derek remarked.

“Oh? And what could rival this?” Stiles playfully inquired.

Derek was quiet for a moment as he faced Stiles. “Well, it’s not here.” He hesitated before calmly reaching an open hand out to Stiles in a welcoming gesture. “I can show you, if you want.”

Stiles’ lips parted as he drew in a breath, the moment overwhelming—as any moment with Derek did. He had half expected Derek to just say the Kore tower, surprised when he led with a mystery answer. But in that moment, he didn’t care where they were—fate pulled them back together. He smiled as he slipped his hand into Derek’s. “Show me.”

~*~

Stiles had been surprised when Derek flagged down a driver. He was glad to have the added company, knowing he’d behave better with someone else around. He enjoyed the silence he shared while sitting next to Derek, but he grew confused when the city started to dissolve into a more suburban location.

He trusted Derek when he said they had made it. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but he felt completely hollowed out when he slipped out of the town car behind Derek. His hand tightened its grip on the car door, his feet swaying unsteadily as he released his hold in order to reach the curb.

There were moments in life that Stiles always remembered.

Telling Derek that he loved him.

Bringing Billy home from the hospital.

Divorcing Trent.

Those moments would never leave him, forever living in a protective chamber of Stiles’ heart, their impact shaping his life into what it was now.

But this moment began to eclipse anything Stiles ever felt. He forgot about where he was, or that Derek was even with him, as he stared up at the house.

A large Victorian house stood out among the other more modern units. It was in remarkable shape, its complete detail outshining the homes around it. It’s architecture was gothic in nature, leaning heavily into the Queen Anne style—just as Stiles’ Victorian house had.

The elegant lines of the tressels decorated the various angles of the roof. The black of the roof was sharp against the paleness of the yellow. One corner had a large onion dome forming the turret space that stood out among the others. There were several gables, accented by a wraparound porch and walk out balcony on the top floor.

A brick walkway led towards the house’s door.

Stiles pressed a hand to his mouth as he finally turned away from the house. He crossed his arms over his chest as he drew in a much needed breath. He felt as if his chest was cracking open.

He drew in a series of shaky breaths, only turning to look at Derek once he calmed. “When?”

Derek had been watching Stiles the whole time. “About ten years ago,” he honestly answered. “I started working on the concept. Every year I … added to it. I spent years trying to find the right materials. The right pieces,” he corrected himself. “I finished it about five years ago.”

Stiles bit down on his lip.

Derek realized that Allison had been much more perceptive than she thought—Stiles was Derek’s weakness, his defenses completely obliterated for the first time since he adopted his career as a shield. He wanted to know Stiles wasn’t upset—that he liked the house. That he wasn’t pissed at Derek for pursuing their dream.

“Do you want to see inside?” Derek asked as he took a step towards Stiles, hoping to gauge what his silence meant.

Stiles quickly nodded, using his free hand to wipe away any stray tears before taking hold of Derek’s arm.

Each room was something to marvel at. The furniture fit the house comfortably, some of the pieces even mimicking the ones Derek had once made Stiles miniatures of.

It was in the library when Stiles finally asked the question that was gnawing at him. He softly spoke, “When did you move in?”

“I haven’t,” Derek replied as he examined the workmanship on the mantle. He had spent a small fortune making sure the house had every detail he could remember Stiles saying. He had his portfolio from his internship—a binder packed full with hopes and dreams.

“Why?”

Derek’s brow pinched as he looked at Stiles. He slid his hands into his trousers’ pockets. “I couldn’t bring myself to.”

Stiles’ lips turned down, a frown taking over his features. “You could have sold it,” he weakly uttered.

“I made it for you,” Derek countered, as if that was the only reason he needed to keep it. “I could never sell it.”

Stiles pressed his hands to his face, burying his eyes in his palms. “You can’t say things like that, Derek,” he softly argued before running his hands through his hair. “You made our dream home—” he looked at Derek. “You built this—you didn’t just buy and renovate some old house. You designed this and built it.” He drew in a sharp breath. “Piece by piece.”

Derek faintly nodded. “None of the other houses felt right.”

Stiles’ hands trembled at the thought. “You looked for one.” It wasn’t a question.

“It kept me sane, in the beginning.”

Stiles took a small turn around the room, sharing the silence with Derek as his mind screamed at him. “A decade in the making is a long time,” he finally stated when he came to stand in front of Derek. “As far as romantic gestures go, it’s a grand one.”

Derek fondly snorted at the notion. “I never thought I’d show it to you.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed at that. “Why?”

“Because I never thought I’d get the chance to.”

Stiles reached a hand out, taking hold of Derek’s. “Well, now we have a chance,” he softly spoke.

Derek took the last step closer, reaching his free hand up, cupping Stiles’ cheek in his palm. He brushed his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone, his fingers pushing back into Stiles’ hair.

Stiles leaned forward, closing the small gap between their lips as he kissed Derek.

~*~

Stiles woke to the sound of a distant voice speaking. He shuffled his weight, dragging a pillow tighter under his chest as he twisted himself up even more in the warm comforter. He opened his eyes to look at his night stand before realizing he wasn’t in his room.

He was in Derek’s penthouse.

They had left their Victorian in a fog of adoration and desire. They made out in the backseat of the town car, the partition closed as Derek nearly took Stiles apart with just his kisses.

Stiles sat up, attempting to untangle himself from the sheets. He could feel the rest of the bed was cold, despite where he remembered Derek falling asleep next to him. Well, under him—Stiles was like a koala, always had been with Derek, basically wrapped around him as he used him for a pillow.

His muscles ached—muscles he had forgotten he had were aching in the best way as he slipped out of bed. He found their clothes strewed about, bending down to pick up his underwear at least. He slipped into them, looking around for his shirt. He reluctantly gave up when he remembered losing his shift in what he thought was a living room—it had been dark without the lights on when Derek guided him through the space with nothing more than his hands on Stiles’ hips, and his lips devouring his. He picked up Derek’s crisp white shirt off the floor, turning around to look at the other clothes. He stopped when he saw himself in the full length mirror.

He had caught a glimpse of the mirror last night, when Derek spread him out on the bed. But the second the heat of Derek’s mouth covered Stiles’ cock, he had forgotten most of their surroundings.

His reflection was illuminated by the early morning light streaming in through the wall of windows. He caught the sight of small stretch marks along his biceps and near his chest. He moved to slip the shirt on, his arms disappearing into the length of Derek’s shirt.

Derek’s shirts were always bigger, accommodating his non-average body shape. Even after more than a decade his muscle hadn’t diminished, evident in how much smaller Stiles suddenly felt in the slightly baggy material.

Stiles’ gaze dropped to his stomach, still visible in the way the shirt parted. His skin was no longer taut, as it had been in his twenties. He had a slight belly if he let his stomach rest naturally. There were stretch marks leading from the soft skin under his navel, disappearing beneath the band of his underwear. He felt the small rash he had on his love handle, lifting the shirt to inspect it. He remembered Derek giving him a beard burn despite his soft giggle of false protest last night.

Stiles buttoned a few of the top buttons before walking out of the bedroom. His footfalls were soft against the vastness of the penthouse, the emptiness daring to echo back any noise louder than a faint whisper. He followed Derek’s voice to a side room, daring to enter when he realized the door was left open. He paused in the doorway, his side leaning against the frame as he observed Derek.

~*~

Derek was wearing a pair of worn sweatpants, hanging low on his hips as he leaned over the large flat desk at the center of the room. He was shirtless, having ignored getting overly dressed when his cell phone went off at 4am. He wanted to strangle Deucalion for getting him up. But then at 4:26am, before he could even entertain the idea of getting back in bed with Stiles, his phone went off once more, Laura’s phone number flashing across the screen.

Fuck Paris time.

Now, instead of being in bed with Stiles, he was going through the remaining proposals and pitches needed for today’s European branch opening, forced to fix a major fuck up neither Hale had any idea was unfolding.

He ran a hand over the back of his neck, massaging the skin there as he leaned against the table with his other hand. His glasses weren’t helping with the headache he felt forming.

“This is a disaster,” Laura’s voice huffed over the speaker of Derek’s phone.

“Only a disaster if we can’t fix it,” Derek countered.

“You could fly out here,” Laura’s voice hesitated. “They take you more seriously.”

“If they can’t take you seriously, fire them,” Derek curtly uttered. “No reason for us to be employing misogynists.”

Laura hummed. “You sound different,” she stated after a faint lull.

Derek didn’t answer her as he took a step back from the table, stepping sideways in hopes he'd see something from a different angle and solve their problems before Laura could pry more.

“Derek,” Laura pressed.

“I’m fine,” Derek stated.

“You sound happy,” Laura replied.

Derek paused, drawing in a breath. He let his hand drop from his neck, a delicious ache reminding him of last night. He pressed a hand to his collarbone, feeling the blossoming reminder of the hickey Stiles bit into the skin there. They had to make up for years in that one night, and things didn’t disappoint.

He happened to turn his head, catching sight of someone standing in the doorway. He knew it could only be one person, but it still surprised him to see Stiles standing there.

In nothing but his underwear and Derek’s shirt.

Stiles silently gestured towards the kitchen, a faint smile on his lips as he mouthed, “Coffee?”

Derek nodded. “I am happy,” he announced, hoping Stiles understood he meant it for him.

The flush that rose up Stiles’ neck and started settling into his cheeks before he quickly departed was confirmation enough.

Laura hummed. “Deucalion said you saw Stiles last night.”

Derek looked down at his phone. Of course Deucalion spoke to Laura before he called Derek.

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Laura stated instead of prying more. “Now help me fix this problem so you can go back to him.”

Derek snorted out a low chuckle before looking back at the papers.

~*~

Stiles smiled to himself as he finished making up two cups of coffee. He had been proud of himself for figuring out where the mugs and coffee were hidden.

A warm body pressed up against his back as arms slipped along his ribs and around his waist. Breath tickled the back of his ear before lips caressed the soft skin just beneath it.

Stiles couldn’t help his laugh as Derek’s beard tickled his neck. He rocked back into Derek’s embrace, his shoulder shrugging up to stop Derek from tickling him. “You already gave me beard burn,” he uttered in explanation when he slightly turned his body to look at Derek.

Derek hummed in agreement. “Could give you it other places too,” he commented.

Stiles couldn’t ignore the heat in his stomach as he kissed Derek, his hand reaching back to grab at Derek’s neck, wanting to hold him closer. He faintly moaned when Derek’s arms tightened, dragging Stiles back into the span of his chest. He could feel Derek’s hardening cock pressed against the curve of his ass.

Stiles pulled back from their kiss when Derek’s hand slipped beneath the band of his underwear, a sharp moan breaking from his throat as his other hand grasped at Derek’s forearm—encouraging him. His head lulled to the side as he let Derek kiss and suck on his neck. He didn’t care if Derek covered him in hickeys.

“I’ve always loved you in my clothes,” Derek mouthed across Stiles’ skin, his hand moving at a similar pace, in languid strokes around Stiles’ cock.

Stiles’ breath hitched, his hips flexing and pressing back into Derek. He knew—he remembered how Derek would get distracted whenever Stiles borrowed his clothes. He whined when Derek stopped, his hand tightening on Derek’s forearm when his hand slipped back out of his underwear. He could feel the strength in Derek’s muscles as they flexed under his hand, and the power in them sent a shiver of want up his spine.

“Hands on the counter, baby,” Derek instructed with a faint nip at the lobe of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles’ shaking hands gripped at the counter top. He looked down at the coffee that he had been making, realizing it was going to go cold before they even got to it. But he didn’t care—not when Derek’s fingers slipped beneath the band of his underwear, just over his hips. His breath hiccuped when the material was shoved down. He was still sore—aching from last night. His legs shook when Derek gently nip at the small of his back.

“Derek,” Stiles started. But whatever he was about to say vanished from thought when he felt Derek’s breath over his ass.

He cursed when he felt Derek’s tongue, his body falling against the counter. His fingers gripped the counter until they were white knuckled. He was panting as his knees started shaking with each lick and press of Derek’s tongue.

He hadn’t forgotten this—the way Derek nearly worshipped his body. He forgot what noises he could make from just Derek’s tongue pleasuring him. It was a reminder that last night was probably the most vocal he had been since they broke up.

Trent hated vocal sex—sometimes pressing a hand over Stiles’ mouth.

Derek got off on hearing Stiles’ breath hitching, the curses that fell from his lips. He grew hard just from the way Stiles begged, mewling out a soft prayer that Derek make him come. His stamina wasn’t what it was, but he knew he could reach his own climax just from watching Stiles.

“Derek, please,” Stiles moaned. “Bed—bed!” He yelped when teeth nipped at the side of his ass cheek, Derek’s tongue disappearing. He was trembling as Derek helped him slip his underwear off his legs.

He felt weak—almost like a newborn colt as he swayed when his knees nearly buckled as he turned to face Derek. He reached for Derek’s sweatpants.

Derek’s hands grabbed Stiles, stopping him. “You do that, I’m going to end up fucking you over the counter,” he gruffly stated.

Stiles flushed at the idea. “Later,” he promised himself and Derek.

Derek’s hands unbuttoned Stiles’ shirt, pushing the material back.

Stiles started to take it off when Derek stopped him. Uncertainty bubbled up in his gut, despite the way Derek had been last night. He couldn’t stop his fear that Derek wanted to hide Stiles’ body. The fear quickly dissipated when Derek parted the material across Stiles’ chest.

“Call it a turn on,” Derek roughly stated as his hands traveled down Stiles’ ribs to rest on his hips, keeping the material from obstructing his view of Stiles’ body. “But I really want to fuck you—while you wear my clothes.”

Stiles nodded, his hands resting over Derek’s arms—one hand clutching at Derek’s forearm as the other dug into his bicep. He moaned when he felt Derek’s thumb press into the furrow of his hip. “I want that,” he agreed. He leaned forward, gently nipping at Derek’s ear as he confessed, “I want to ride you.”

Stiles refused to be ashamed of the way he yelped when Derek suddenly picked him up—shock and surprise catching him off guard. He had been used to it, once upon a time.

~*~

The burn in his thighs was something he had forgotten accompanied this position. He was thankful for Derek’s hands on his hips, steadying him as they moved together. His breath hitched when he dropped down completely on Derek’s cock. His mouth was open, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to control his breathing. All he could focus on was the feeling of Derek inside—the pulse of being connected.

Stiles’ hand gripped Derek’s forearm for purchase as he undulated his hips. His other hand pressed against Derek’s chest when he nearly lost balance on one thrust. His shirt—Derek’s shirt—started to fall off his shoulders, barely held on until the shoulders of the shirt caught on his elbows. The feeling of the shirt sliding across his skin sent goosebumps down his body, straight to his cock. He started a slow pace before falling into rhythm, allowing his eyes to slip open and look down at Derek.

Derek was panting heavy, like he was holding himself back. His eyes were fixed on where he and Stiles connected, his gaze flickering briefly across Stiles’ body. He looked up at Stiles, locking eyes with him.

Stiles sped his pace, his whole body starting to ache between the border of pleasure and pain with each movement pushing Derek into another part of him. “Harder,” he breathily requested. “Derek, harder,” he spoke in a louder voice.

Their pace hitched slightly when Derek sat up, his arms wrapping around Stiles. He placed open mouth kisses across Stiles’ throat as his arms settled low on Stiles’ waist. “Arch your back, baby,” he spoke against the soft skin he was marking.

Stiles whimpered as he shifted his body, bowing his back. And then Derek’s arms were practically doing all the work to move them. Stiles’s thoughts were clouded to anything but the move of Derek inside him, the heat building and building. His nails scratched at Derek’s shoulders as his head tilted back. Derek’s cock hitting that spot in him suddenly became the focus—the crescendo.

A series of noises punched out of Stiles’ chest with each movement, and then it occurred to Stiles like a light switch turning on. Derek was going to make him come untouched. He was terrified he couldn’t, that the pleasure would keep building and building until he just broke.

A broken ‘please’ sobbed out of Stiles’ throat.

And then he was coming when Derek’s teeth scraped across his sensitive nipples, a series of hard and fast thrusts pulling Stiles down onto Derek’s cock as he milked him.

Stiles shook, his limbs briefly spasming as he tried to get ahold of himself. His mind was fuzzy, his body suddenly limp with a euphoria when he felt the mattress at his back, the last few thrusts of Derek’s cock in him before he felt Derek still. His fingers were weak, his arms heavy, as he moved to grip at Derek’s hair.

Stiles tried to hold it in, but he couldn’t stop the sob that escaped him when Derek pulled back. He closed his eyes when Derek kissed his forehead.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he reassured him, his voice hoarse as his breathing slowed some. “Need to clean up.”

Stiles wanted to protest, but before he could even think to focus on Derek’s absence, he was back. A warm washcloth cleaned Stiles before gentle hands helped him slip out of the shirt. He was happy to be hauled up the bed, laying on Derek’s chest as a soft blanket covered them. He tangled his leg with Derek’s, his thigh moving to hook over Derek’s. He pressed his cheek against Derek’s chest, his hand falling to brush his fingers through the hair across Derek’s chest.

Derek’s lips pressed kisses into Stiles’ hair, an arm wrapped around him.

“Do you have to work?” Stiles’ voice broke the silence falling around them.

Derek thought about it, knowing he could benefit from going to the office today. “No,” he stated instead. He had vacation time—as Erica kept reminding him.

“But the European branch,” Stiles started to mumble against Derek’s skin. Sleep started taking over him as he sunk further and further into relaxation against Derek.

Derek lightly chuckled. “Laura is a big girl, she can handle it.”

Stiles forgot how much he liked the sound of it under his ear, the feeling of Derek’s chuckle reverberating through him. He forgot how much Derek loved to cuddle, even without sex as a precursor. He forgot how much he missed this—to be held. He was glad Trent never enjoyed it—that he always pulled away after a few seconds. He was glad Derek had this with him, and no one else.

He subconsciously curled his body, pressing even harder into Derek. He tightened his hold on him, not wanting to even roll away in his sleep. “I love you,” he almost sighed.

Derek’s hand didn’t freeze its idle petting of Stiles bare hip; there was no hitch of breath or shuffling. “I love you, too,” he uttered, smiling into the top of Stiles’ head, his lips brushing into Stiles’ hair.

~*~

Stiles was working on sifting the flour into the large mixing container when Billy ran into the kitchen. The bakery closed early for once, allowing Stiles to focus his energy into making the cake for tonight once he got home.

They had moved into the Victorian months ago, and it always put a smile on Stiles’ face whenever he walked through a door. He always felt the tell-tale signs of tears prickling his eyes whenever he thought of it as home or of the family inside.

“Dad,” Billy excitedly stated as he stepped up to him, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist.

“You’re home,” Stiles smiled as he looked down at Billy. “You look happy,” he uttered with a faint laugh.

Billy was smiling up at Stiles as if he knew something but could barely hold it in. “I am!” He seemed to be vibrating with energy.

Stiles faintly laughed, looking up in time to see Derek casually walking in.

Billy had begged to go with Derek to the aquarium’s opening after the new renovations. Stiles had hesitated in asking, thinking it might have been too much to ask for a ten year old to be at the large ribbon-cutting event.

Derek barely blinked an eyelash when he said Deucalion was allowing them to see the animal enclosures up close—without crowds.

Stiles didn’t think he could love Derek more, but seeing the way Billy took to him made it that much easier to. He had been overcome with emotion when he saw the concept work for a treehouse in Derek’s den—one Derek was working on to start constructing for Billy’s birthday.

“Oh, I forgot my penguin!” Billy exclaimed as he started to run back out from where he came.

Derek barely dodged Billy’s running form, dropping a hand to Billy’s head as he passed. “It’s on the steps,” he called after him, not wanting Billy to run out to the car and panic at not seeing the stuffed animal. He started to realize early on that Billy was more like Stiles than even Stiles realized.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be home yet,” Stiles uttered with a false glare at Derek.

“Billy is the one who insisted,” Derek falsely replied, taking a step closer to Stiles in order to kiss him.

Stiles almost melted. He pulled away, looking back at the dry mixture he was making. “You’re ruining my surprise,” he argued.

Derek hummed, turning Stiles around to face him. “I don’t think it’s a surprise you’re making me a birthday cake,” he stated, looking at Stiles before pressing a kiss to Stiles’ lips. This one was less gentle—it was harder, more passion behind it.

“Derek,” Stiles mumbled against his lips. “You’re going to distract me,” he tried to argue despite the fact that he pulled Derek in closer.

Stiles felt Derek’s arm around him, his brain being distracted by the feeling of Derek leaning them closer to the counter. “Flour,” he muttered.

Derek hummed in agreement as he deepened their kiss.

Then there was a clatter—like a metal bowl tipping over. And if the powdery smell of flour was anything to go off of, it was likely the bowl of flour Stiles had been sifting.

Stiles gently pinched Derek’s hip, smirking when Derek jumped some. “You’re going to get flour all over your suit. And distract me so there won’t be a cake.”

Derek faintly smiled, taking a step back with his hands in a mock surrender. “You’re the boss in the kitchen.”

Stiles smiled as he turned back to the counter, lifting the bowl to inspect what flour he had left. He sighed when he saw that half of it had tipped onto the counter. He turned to give a mock glare at Derek, hesitating when he saw that the sleeve of Derek’s suit was covered in flour. “Did you stick your hand in the flour?”

Derek innocently dusted off his sleeve. “You’re distracting,” he answered, though he didn’t look at Stiles.

Stiles shook his head as he started to clean off the counter. He was perplexed when he felt something small catch on his palm as he swept the flour into a pile. He gently patted the flour away from the spot, catching sight of an object. He picked it up, hesitating when he realized what it was.

A ring.

His hands were shaking some as he twisted the ring around. His heart was hammering away in his chest as he turned to look at Derek.

The prickling sensation in the base of Stiles’ throat preceded the tears that burned his eyes when he saw that Derek was kneeling.

Derek reached a hand out to hold Stiles’ empty one. He drew in a steady breath before speaking, “I know it took a long time to get here.”

Stiles released a watery laugh, the tears forming in his eyes.

“And I don’t care if you want a big wedding—or no wedding,” Derek continued, his voice soft with vulnerability. “As long as it is you, and Billy, and me. I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy.”

Stiles couldn’t stop his voice from cracking, “You already do.”

Derek smiled at that, “Will you marry me, Stiles Stilinski?”

Stiles started to nod his head before Derek even finished asking. He reached for Derek when he started to stand, wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders as he kissed him. The softness in his laugh increased when Derek attempted to wipe the flour off the ring before putting it on Stiles’ finger.

Stiles kissed Derek again, his hands cupping Derek’s cheeks, the metal of the ring being a beautiful sensation against both their skin.

They pulled apart when small arms nearly tackled them both.

Stiles looked down at Billy, his arms dropping to hold him in a half hug as Derek steadied them. “You knew?”

Billy was smiling up at Stiles, a grin wide across his lips.

This was the moment Stiles knew he’d always love, a happiness cherished closely in his heart—a memory he wouldn’t mind putting on replay.