Blurry » Sterek

Chapter 14

Despite the sickening feeling in the pit of Stiles' stomach, the boy drags his feet down the school halls until he's face to face with the door of his first hour. After waking from his dream—or rather, memory—at three in the morning, Stiles didn't get back to sleep. He knows he can't miss their history presentation though, and he'll have to face Derek eventually.

"Hey, dude, you don't look so good," Scott says worriedly, quickly taking notice of his best friends paler than usual skin. "Yeah, well I probably look batter than I feel," he grouches back, still annoyed with Scott from their conversation yesterday. Scott takes the hint and leans back against his chair, sighing to himself.

Issac walks in next, Stiles eyeing him until a taller figure appears behind him, his eyes immediately dart to his desk and stay there until he can no longer ignore the black leather jacket in his peripheral vision. He glances up timidly, Derek towering over him with his typical scowl. "I'll do the speaking. You change the slides," he states simply, wanting to get to the point so he doesn't have to look at Stiles any longer than needed. "Okay," Stiles agrees just above a whisper, moving his gaze to the floor, that way he doesn't have to watch Derek retreat to his secluded corner of the classroom.

"Dude, that's going to kill your score," Issac comments, leaning over into Scott and Stiles' area like he does everyday. "I don't care," Stiles shrugs sadly, lips puckering to keep them from dipping into a steep frown.

"Did something else happen that I don't know about?" Scott inquires, pressing his luck right now. But Stiles doesn't have the energy to ignore Scott, so he just nods. "What did he do this time? I swear to—"

"He didn't do anything," Stiles defends Derek quietly, "I did....a long time ago." He can't resist stealing a look at Derek, who is staring out the window blankly. Stiles sighs again.

"Alright, Hale and Stilinski," the teacher announces as he reads their names off his sheet, "You're up." Derek is already halfway to the front of the classroom before Stiles is standing. The teacher takes an empty seat in the front row to grade their performance so Stiles takes a seat behind the desk, hand moving to the mouse.

Stiles surveys the room full of students enticed by Derek Hales voice as he speaks about the Nanking Massacre, rarely glancing at the slides for reference. Stiles doesn't listen though, he just watches. Watches every single movement that Derek makes with his hands, or slight body adjustments.

Unison clapping brings Stiles back to reality. He blinks a couple of times and looks over at the class again, everyone staring at Derek except for the teacher, who shakes his head disapprovingly at Stiles for his lack of participation. The next thing that catches the teens attention is the door slamming closed. Stiles takes a quick scan of everybody in the room, noticing the absence of Derek.

He hears Scott call out his name, and the teacher shout at him and Derek to come back, but he doesn't listen. He chases after Derek until they're both in the locker room alone.

"Get out of here," Derek warns in a low growl, his fingers clutching the sink hard enough to turn his knuckles white. "No," Stiles refuses bravely, "You can't even bare to be in the same room as me?" Derek breaths out in heavy pants like he has just run an unbelievably long marathon. Without responding, Derek moves himself to the shower area, using the wall as his crutch. Stiles follows, standing confused behind the other male as he turns the nob and cold water drenches Derek's clothes.

"Okay, what's going on?" Stiles questions, folding both arms over his chest, he's not sure if this is still about him or not. Derek's hand slams flat against the white tile, screwing his eyes closed. "You remember," he manages through pressed teeth. "What?

"You. Remember," he nearly shouts his time, breathing ragged. Stiles finally catches on to what Derek means, and nods even though he can't see, "Last night. You—"

"You don't have to remind me what happened," Derek scoffs, he remembers vividly. "Okay, fine. But don't you think you're being a little unfair? I mean, I was a stupid middle schooler, Derek. A stupid drunk middle schooler," he adds, "Can't you give me the benefit of the doubt? I don't feel that way anymore obviously. I do feel like shit though. I would never intentionally hurt you. If you would have said something back then, then I would have understood. You were my best friend." Stiles has a soft guilty expression.

"I don't think you understand," Derek snaps, finally turning around, "After all these years of hating you because of what you said that night, seeing you made it worse. Then you kiss me, Stiles. You—" his voice falters, as does his glare for a moment—morphing to hurt once again—but it's back in the blink of an eye, "You became what pushed me away in the first place."