poetry-protest-pornography:

rhysiana:

Some future Sterek for you, with “the key is under the mat”! (I’m trying to make up for yesterday’s angst fest.)

---

It comes out of the blue, a text
from a number Stiles had never been able to make himself delete from his phone,
even though that means it’s probably been transferred through four phones now.
He stares at the notification, then blinks and looks again. Derek Hale it still says.

“What?” he says to his otherwise
empty living room. “Just… what?”

He swipes to open the text itself.
It is, of course, both anti-climactic and short: Stiles?

“I don’t know what else I
expected,” he mutters, exasperated, but even he can hear it comes out fond.

It’s been five years, for fuck’s
sake. Derek should not get fond, dammit. But he does anyway.

Yeah,
it’s me. Same bat channel, he texts back. And then he gets tired of the
thought of dealing with what little affect Derek ever had being further
flattened by the glorious medium that is texting and just fucking calls him. He’s not having his first
conversation with Derek Hale in five years punctuated with emoji.

“Hello?” Derek answers, wary as
always.

“The phone won’t actually bite you,
Derek, I’m sure we’ve been over this before,” Stiles says, letting his grin
bleed into his tone of voice.

“Stiles.” And Stiles could swear he
hears Derek relax.

“That’s my name, glad we’ve got
that reestablished, buddy. Also, you know, glad to know you’re alive.” Oh. That might have had a little… bite at the end. Whoops.

“I’m sorry…” Derek trails off. “I
needed… some time. Away.”

Stiles sighs. “I get that. I really
do.” Lower, though there’s really no point, Derek will hear him no matter what,
“You honestly have no idea how much.”

Derek makes a noise at that, but
Stiles doesn’t want to try to parse it right now. He runs a hand over his face,
scrubs it back through his hair, and feels a rush of excitement in the center
of his chest again as his mood shifts back and he remembers he’s talking to Derek again. For real this time. Not a
dream. (He pinches himself just to be sure.) “Just… you know I was worried
about you, right? That people cared after you left?”

“People?” Stiles can practically
see the raised eyebrow.

“I feel fairly confident in that
use of the plural, but yes, I am the
important person in that statement, clearly. I cared. And I’m kinda pissed, not gonna lie, that you didn’t say
something earlier, but honestly, I’m over it.” He pauses, miraculously stopping the flood of words, but
fuck it, who knows when he’ll hear from Derek next, if ever? “It’s just so good
to hear your voice again, I’m pretty sure I’d forgive you anything right now,
so if you’ve got any big confessions you’ve been holding back, now’s the time.
Be honest. Did you ding the Jeep that one time? I know someone did.”

“Stiles. Shut up.” And okay, that’s
definitely fond.

Just to be obnoxious, and reveling
in how normal it feels, Stiles stays resolutely silent.

Derek huffs in exasperation when he
realizes what Stiles is doing. Stiles grins as he imagines the rolling eyes
that must go with it. “So I hear you’re up in Washington now,” he says, finally
contributing to the conversation.

“I am,” Stiles confirms. “Tiny
town. My own tiny house. I work remote. Danny vouched for me.”

“Could… could I come see you?”
Derek asks, weirdly hesitant. Stiles is fairly sure he’s never heard
Derek sound that way before. Not to him. He doesn’t like it.

“Yeah, dude, of course! Lemme give
you some directions…”

“I kind of already have your
address. From Cora.”

Stiles stops fiddling with the pen
he’d picked up from the desk and narrows his eyes at the perfectly innocent
bird on his deck railing out the window. “Of course you do. Still the same old
creeper wolf.”

“I’m also actually already most of the way to
Mt. Rainier.”

“That certain of your welcome, were
you?”

“I…”

“Derek.”

“Yeah?”

“I gotta run out for supplies, but the
key is under the mat.” He hesitates for maybe half a second before adding, “I can’t wait
to see you.”

“Me either, Stiles,” Derek says
softly, and then hangs up.

Stiles grins down at his phone, grabs his
hoodie, and carefully puts his spare key under the mat before he clatters down
the stairs.

This is so lovely and I am still smiling!