There's dust on the photo album now. He can't help but feel sad seeing it. She never would have let that happen. But he and his dad… Well they just weren't quite as good at that. He's been staring at the thick dusty spine for about twenty minutes so heaving a sigh Stiles grabs it in both hands and heads for his room. His stomach is already curling and wiggling in discomfort. He shouldn't be doing this but sometimes he missed her. Times like this. Stiles figures it's best to try and deal with it. He doesn't really know how to do that but he'll try anyways. He settles at his desk carefully and puts the book in front of him. Leaning back in his chair he stares at it as he contemplates putting on music. That was such a cliché. Ten minutes later he finally flips open the cover.
Stiles knows all the pictures by heart. He's lost count of how many times he's stared down at them. Still…there are the ones that make him catch his breath. Halloween when he was four, dressed as a firefighter, his hand completely engulfed by his mother's as they stand at the end of the driveway. When he and his father had fallen asleep on the couch watching Bambi. His mother's 36th birthday, her smiling down at the cake covered in candles. He kept flipping through the pages, only pausing when a drop of water hit the plastic. His fingertips touch his eyes, surprised. It's been a while since he cried. Swiping at the tears he runs one hand up and over his hair. He's not good at this. He's better when he's laughing or cracking a joke. Not when his chest feels like it's cracking open. Not when it's quiet. He hates when it's quiet.
As if in direct contrast to this thought, there is the subtle sound of a body swinging through his open window. He figures it's Scott and leans closer to his desk to wipe his eyes again. After another moment he closes the album and takes a deep breath. The room is silent again and Stiles is glad that Scott's giving him a moment to compose himself. It's not like they haven't been best friends all their lives and it's not like Stiles has never cried in front of him before. Still, this is awkward. He clears his throat a few times.
"What are you doing?" a voice questions quietly. A voice that most definitely does not belong to Scott. Stiles jerks upright and scrubs a hand over his face before spinning to face…Derek. He shoots out of the chair, fury trickling through him slowly.
"What are you doing here?" he demands, yells. "What the fuck are you doing?" Derek takes two quick steps back, expression shell shocked.
"Are you…crying?" The words seem to take him a while.
"No," Stiles lies, "get out."
"Yeah alright," Derek shoots back. Stiles never remembers exactly how Derek gets under his skin until he sees him again. He closes the distance between them in jerky steps.
"Just because you scare the shit out of me and can kick my ass does not mean you can just do whatever you want. Like breaking into my room. Get. Out."
"Stiles, calm down."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Derek claps a hand over his mouth, eyes flashing as he backs him into the wall.
"You're going to draw attention," he lets out slowly. Stiles manages to shove him off, breath coming in thready gasps.
"There's no one here," he mutters.
He falls more than crosses to his dresser, hands shaking as he yanks open the drawer and searches for his inhaler. His chest is closing up and pinching tight and he can feel the panic attack surging up his body in waves. After another moment Derek is shoving him out of the way and drawing the inhaler out with one hand.
"Here," he mutters, offering it to Stiles. Trying and failing to glare Stiles takes it and yanks off the cap before using it. He stumbles back to the wall behind him and leans against it as he catches his breath. When he looks back up Derek is standing at his desk, looking at the photo album.
"Are you kidding?" Stiles yells. "You can't just go through my stuff!" Derek looks to him slowly.
"Your mom's not around anymore," he murmurs. Stiles' chest gives a painful little spasm. He crosses his bedroom yet again and slams the book closed, almost surprised when Derek lets him.
"Have you completely lost all social function?" he demands. "You can't just come in here and act like you have a right to be here and go through my shit! Scott and I are friends. You and I are not. Please leave."
Stiles shoves his entire body between Derek and the photo album still on his desk. He crosses his arms over his chest for good measure. There's a flicker of something in Derek's eyes but it's quickly outweighed by anger.
"Yeah alright. Whatever." His shoulder shoves Stiles' as he passes. He pauses at the window and turns back, like he's going to say something. Silence still permeates the room. Derek shakes his head slowly and launches his body out the window. Stiles scoffs to himself and sits on the edge of his desk. It was a strange encounter, as most of his encounters with Derek were. It's only then that the light switch of a thought flicks on in his head.
Why had Derek even come over?
There's no answer of course and for a split second Stiles feels horrible for tossing him out. Surely if it was important Derek just would have come out and said it. That was how Derek was. Wasn't it? Stiles shoves off his desk and sinks into bed before tossing an arm over his eyes. It's not like there's anything he can do about it now. He's certainly not about to go searching out the hostile werewolf. That would be suicidal. Possibly. And if Stiles was going to commit suicide he'd at least like to know he was doing it.
A/N: So yeah… This is what I came up with for Sterek. For now it's a standalone piece. I really don't have time for anything more substantial at the moment. Plus I'm still not sure how I feel about Sterek… All I knew is that I wanted to deal with a more emotional Stiles. He broke my heart last ep. Anyways..hope you enjoyed.