"Scott." I prompt, when he doesn't answer as he's helping me out the chair and onto the couch.
"It's- uh, it's cos my mom... Well, we're not earning enough... she has to sell the house." He says quietly.
"Scott, why didn't you tell me?" I ask.
"I didn't want to make it seem like I was having problems because clearly yours are worse and I-"
"This isn't a game of who has the shittest life! You don't get to ignore your own problems because they're not as 'bad' as mine. Scott, you could've told me instead of avoiding me." I say, raising my voice a little.
"It's not why I've been avoiding you." He says, almost a whisper. I furrow my eyebrows, urging him to continue.
"Stiles, I have depression." He whispers.
"What?" I ask, not quite in belief.
"Yeah..."
"Is this... Is this my fault? Is that why you had to avoid me?" I ask nervously, even more worried.
"It's no ones fault, Stiles. It just makes it worse to see you like this. I can't stand it." He says, looking at my cannula.
"Oh, Scott... Man, I'm sorry." I whisper.
He looks up at me, slightly puzzled. "Why? It's nothing compared to what you're going through." He says. I chuckle.
"Scott. It doesn't matter if it's physical or mental. If you're ill, you're ill. As a 'former dementia sufferer' myself, mental illness is no better than physical." I tell him, my voice low.
"Huh." He sighs, sitting back.
"Our lives suck." I say, looking over at him. He nods in agreement.
"I'm sorry about the house, man." I say.
"It's alright. I saw it coming... Unlike the depression." He says, forcing out a small chuckle.
"It's not funny." I say, harsher than anticipated. Scott rolls his eyes slightly.
I pull out my phone to text Derek. "Uh, I'm gonna head off soon, I'll get Derek to come and get-"
"I'll drive you. It's fine." He interrupts quickly.
"You sure? I mean, you can keep your distance if it help-"
"I'll drive you." He repeats, raising his eyebrows sternly at me.
I end up staying at Scott's longer than I thought I would. It's already 7pm when Melissa arrives home. She looks slightly startled to see me.
"Hey, honey. Stiles, how're you feeling?" She asks before kissing Scott on the forehead and lightly squeezing my shoulder.
"I'm fine, thank you." I smile weakly. She smiles sadly and me, then moves her gaze to Scott.
"Sweetie, meds." She says, shaking a bottle of anti depressants at him.
He smiles thankfully and takes the bottle out of her hand before proceeding to swallow two of the pills. I watch him sadly; it kind of gives me an idea of what people think when they're watching me- pity, guilt.
"When did you find out?" I ask, looking at the pills. He looks dazed for a moment before realising what I was talking about.
"Oh, uh, couple of weeks ago." He says quietly.
"Huh. I'm sorry, again." I say, looking at him. The silence is awkward.
"For what?" He asks.
"Depression is, like I said, just as crushing as any health issue- physical or not. You said you were sorry about my cancer. I'm sorry about your depression." I tell him, half smiling awkwardly at him. This puts a little smirk on his face.
"Thanks, Stiles. I really hope we both get better." Smiles Scott, but it's insincere. I smile back.
"Man, I'm so tired." I say, shutting my eyes dramatically and letting my head lull back onto a cushion.
"Hey, I'll take you home." Says Scott, standing up and wiping his hands on his thighs. He goes into the hall and unfolds my wheelchair, and I slowly stand up and sit in it.
"Bye, mom!" Yells Scott into the kitchen. She appears in the doorway, smiling a little.
"Be quick, sweetheart, dinners cooking. See you, Stiles, sweetie." She says, smiling sympathetically at me. I smile back.
"Bye, Melissa." I croak, before Scott wheels me out into the cold.
I shiver in the November weather. Scott walks a little quicker to his (mom's) car.
***
When I'm home my dad gives me dinner off the couch, and I sit with my legs over Derek's lap, who's also eating here, my back resting on the arm of the couch.
"Stiles, please, eat something." Begs Derek, looking at my mostly untouched food.
"I'm really not hungry." I sigh, twirling a piece of spaghetti aroun my fork before dropping it back into the bowl. Derek watches me sadly and with concern.
He sighs in defeat when he sees that, after half an hour, I'm really not hungry, and takes my plate and eats my small portion for me. I chuckle at his massive appetite.
"What?" He asks defensively, holding his arms up. "I don't wanna waste it." He insists, a bit of sauce on his chin.
I crawl next to him, and let him pull me into his side. He looks down at me, and I reach forward and wipe the sauce off his chin, licking my thumb afterwards.
"Thank God, you actually ate something." He groans in satisfaction. I roll my eyes at him.
"I'm pretty tired. And I feel sick." I say, stretching my legs out so they pop out from the end of the blanket.
"Sleep." Instructs Derek. I do as he says and bury my head into his chest, slowly letting myself fall into a deep sleep, despite the churning in my stomach.
***
A/N HOLY FUCKIN SHIT 5k rEADS???? Insane!!!! Ok so I'm probably coming near an end to this book *audience boos* yes, I know, very sad. I reckon there'll be two(?) chapters after this. Please vote and comment ily all!!!!