Blurry » Sterek

Chapter 13

Stiles' self-pitty-partly doesn't last long. He sulks in his room about Derek and Scott for a couple hours but his dark room lulls him to sleep before his dad gets home from the station.

The teen smacks his lips in his sleep, rolling over and burrito-ing himself into his blanket.

"Derek," Stiles whines, dragging out his best friends name. "What?" Derek sighs as he continues to lug the drunken boy up the stairs. "I wanna party, and you're pooping on it. You're a party pooper," Stiles giggles at himself, hardly aware about what's going on. "You're drunk, Stiles."

"You drank first," Stiles retorts, poking the side of his friends face. "Because it doesn't effect me the same. I didn't know you'd chug alcohol if I left you unattended," Derek scolds.

They reach some bedroom on the second floor, that Derek checks for anyone having sex, then ushers Stiles in. He trips over himself, but is caught quickly by an alert Derek. "Be careful," Derek groans, now holding the drunken boy against him. "Or what? You'll tell my dad?" Stiles laughs, booping Derek on the nose. "Shut up, Stiles."

"Don't be so sour." Derek rolls his eyes and sets Stiles carefully onto the made bed. "Stay here," Derek states. "Where are you going?" Stiles asks, looking up through his eye lashes with a lost puppy expression. Derek smiles a little, ruffling the other boys hair. "To get you some water."

The venture to the kitchen takes longer than expected, leaving Stiles alone in the dark room. His eyes try to focus on something to stop the walls from spinning around him, but everything is blurry and it's really starting to get to his head. Stiles moves to rest against the headboard, clutching his stomach at the aching and churning. He groans in discomfort and swallows the bile in his throat.

Stiles groans this time, eyes pinching tighter as he begins to remember the nights events that unraveled his and Derek's friendship.

"Derek," Stiles whispers when he opens the door again, "I—I don't feel good." Derek sighs and sits on the other side of the mattress, helping Stiles into a sitting position. "Here, drink this. It'll make you feel better."

"No, Der, my stomach hurts. I don't want any more to drink."

"It's water, Stiles. Please just drink it," Derek begs and places the glass to his lips. He hesitates but drinks it, then immediately places his head against Derek's chest. "I'm sorry," Stiles whispers. Derek furrows his eyebrows, peering down at the boy in his arms. "For what?"

"Drinking. I'm annoying and needy, but you're—you're you," Stiles mumbles. "You don't have to be sorry, okay? I'm the one who brought you. I shouldn't have left you alone with those guys," Derek tells him softly. "Promise?" Stiles whispers. "I promise."

Stiles' jaw clenches and his forehead wrinkles at the forgotten memory, sweat beginning to bead at his hairline.

"Derek?" Stiles says after a long silence has taken over them. "Hm?" He responds sleepily. "I love you." And maybe Stiles didn't mean it in the way that Derek wanted, but he said it and his wolf leaped.

The next thing Stiles knows is Derek's lips are being pressed against his, that taste eerily of rum, but they're soft and just like Derek imagined. Derek's dream, however, is cut short by a hand on his chest shoving him away.

"What're you doing? I'm not gay, Derek." And his words are like venom, the boys face quickly turning to hurt. "But—But you said..." Derek stutters and trails off, longing for Stiles to take back his last words. "Like a brother. I would never want to be with another boy—ew," he giggles before yawning, "Do you like boys, Derek?"

"I—I...um." But Derek doesn't have to hide his embarrassment or heartbreak because Stiles is already asleep, snoring quietly beside him.

Stiles' eyes snap open with a gasp. He wiggles from beneath his blankets, untangling himself the best he can. He's sweating and somehow still shivering.

"Oh, god," Stiles utters to himself, swallowing the lump in his throat, "It's no wonder Derek hates me. I-I broke his heart. I-I made fun of his sexuality." Now in a sitting position, Stiles buries his face into his hands as it plays over and over in his head, the pained expression that Derek gave him that night.

Stiles shakes his head. "I'm so sorry, Derek," he whispers, muffled by his palms, "So sorry."