Sterek One Shots

One Number Away

Rain patters against the roof aggressively, the sound filling Stiles', otherwise silent, room. With his desk chair pulled up to the window, he taps his glass of whiskey against the windows glass a couple of times before raising the cup to his lips and taking a sip.

Stiles sighs longingly to himself and presses his forehead to the window, his breath fogging the glass. He uses just his eyes to glance at his phone that's sitting in his lap, twisting his lips to the side as if it'll keep him from frowning. He quickly finishes off the alcohol and grabs his phone to swipe it on.

His thumb hovers above the phone icon next to Derek's contact name, a moment of weakness, then decides against it and tosses his phone onto his mattress.

Stiles begins gazing around his room for a distraction, but only finds memories that bring Derek's face to the surface of his mind. He stands up abruptly in frustration and slams the framed picture of them together against his dresser so it's face down, safe from mocking him. Though he knows it won't make a difference. It's midnight and Stiles can't seem to fall asleep, same as the past week since him and Derek broke up.

After mindlessly picking up nearly every item in his room, then setting it back down again, Stiles turns on his xbox to pop in a movie. The first Avengers, which he forced Derek to watch with him a thousand times. Stiles can recite mostly every line from the film, it drove Derek up the walls. But this time he doesn't have the will to speak through it. Instead, Stiles watches his tv numbly, and when he isn't, he's staring a hole through his phone, praying that it rings. All he wants is to hear his Sourwolfs voice, even for a second.

With his head tucked into his knees, Stiles doesn't realize he's been like that for over an hour until the credits begin to roll. He glances up and sniffles quietly to himself, wiping at his eyes with the backside of his hand. He gets up to turn everything off, leaving him in the silence again. Stiles doesn't want the quiet, but it's here, and it jumbles his brain more than it already was.

Derek dips a strawberry into a bowl of warm chocolate, twisting the fruit so he doesn't make a mess. With a small smile, Derek glances over at Stiles who is sharing his expression.

They're in a secluded part of the woods, at a small opening that allows the two to put out a thin blanket and spread themselves across it.

Stiles bites off half the strawberry that Derek offers him, his lips never leaving their position, like the smile is permanently stuck on his face. "This is stupid and cheesy," Stiles comments, referring to their date. "And you're both those things," Derek replies cheekily, then presses his lips gently against Stiles' before he can protest about the comment. Stiles hums happily into the action and leans a bit more toward his boyfriend, stoking his cheek where he has stubble. Derek chuckles softly and places his hand over Stiles' to interlock their fingers. He lays down and Stiles follows close behind, placing his head on Derek's chest.

"Can we just stay in this moment forever?"

"If that's what you want, Stiles."

Stiles clenches his jaw and immediately picks the bottle of whiskey back up, hoping the whiskey will eventually drown the memory of Derek, before the memories of Derek drown Stiles.

Music, Stiles offers to himself, maybe that will take his mind off from everything. He plugs in his headphones and flops onto his unmade bed. He scrolls for a minute before playing one of his favorite songs, losing himself in the lyrics until it ends and a different song starts, a song Stiles and Derek would listen to together. Dance to. Kiss when it ended.

Stiles yanks the earbuds out, clutching his phone and squeezing until his knuckles are white. The pain isn't going away, and there's only one thing that can stop it. Stiles just wants it to stop.

Without a second thought, his keys are in hand and he's jogging down the stairs until he's face to face with the front door. "No, no I can't do this," Stiles whispers to himself. He glances down at his shaking hand, still clutching the keys. He loosens his grip until the keys slip through his fingers and hit the floor.

He needs some way to vent his feelings; crying and drinking are off the table since he's already buzzed and beyond dehydrated, but he can't will himself to fill a glass with water and drink it. What's the point?

Derek is gone, that asshole, probably skipped down as soon as we they broke up. Where's his courage? He can't face the pack or anyone else in this town? He's a coward. Derek Hale is a coward.

Stiles drops the pen he's writing with, shaking his head because it's not true. Derek had put his life on the line for others more times than Stiles can count, he put the pack ahead of himself, he took care of Stiles.

The male couldn't be more glad his father is out of town, what would he think if he saw his son sitting on the living room floor crying over a werewolf, dwelling in every moment they had together. He's a sheriff, he'd probably think it's pathetic. His own son can't pull himself together after a break up when he had to pull himself together after the loss of his wife to take care of Stiles.

He wishes his mom were here now. She would tell him what to do, how to handle this horrible, aching, empty hole he feels inside himself. She would hold him and let him cry, remind him it's okay to let your feelings out after you've lost someone you love. But she isn't here, and he can't remind himself of her caring words. Derek always did that for him, held him and told him it would be okay, rubbed his back and played with his hair. But Stiles has lost that too.

And then Stiles figures through his foggy and scrambled mind, that despite loving Derek as a boyfriend, they were best friends too. Friends are there for each other.

So he maneuvers his way back upstairs sluggishly and finds his phone. He clicks on Derek's contact name like he's been wanting to do for a week now. His chest tightens when it reaches his voicemail, but at least he can hear the alphas voice. His body vibrates with silent sobs at the reminder.

"De-Derek," Stiles sniffles quietly, trying to sound like he isn't in the middle of a break down, "I—I know we broke up, but I—I really need a friend right now. You've alw-always been there for me—this is. I'm so sorry, ignore me, I'm—" the line beeps. His message is sent. Alarms go off in his head of how much of an idiot he is. Of course Derek isn't coming, and now he'll hear Stiles crying in his voicemail about how broken up he is.

This time he throws his phone, an outburst of how unbelievably weak he is. He hears the screen shatter and he hopes he'll never have to look at it again, never accept anyones call, never tell them how he's been a complete dumbass.

Eventually, yet finally, Stiles is too mentally and emotionally drained to keep his eyes open. He's asleep. He's asleep when Derek quietly and wearily climbs through his window and deeply frowns at the sight.

The werewolf sighs and bites the inside of his lip, because him coming here is just as stupid as Stiles calling him. Nevertheless, he sits down and rests against Stiles bed, pulling the boy into his lap and cradling him. If he knew the last time he held Stiles would actually be the last time, Derek thinks he wouldn't have taken it for granted.

So Derek stares up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly to keep his tears at bay, and cards his fingers through Stiles hair, hoping that this isn't the last time. But incase it is, he won't take it for granted this time.