Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

When Stiles was a little boy, he had a miniature house he made with his father. He remembered being excited each time his father came home from work and they would build the house together—taking their time to put the pieces in the right place.

Claudia wasn’t the biggest fan of giving Stiles the house—an echo of her father’s words that a young boy didn’t need a doll house .

Stiles loved playing with his Victorian home, his imagination taking flight as he spent hours decorating and rearranging the rooms. He imagined that he’d one day have that house as his own happily ever after, and be able to fill it with a family.

Stiles remembered seeing the house on his wedding day, and his stomach twisted into knots. It was early in the morning when he climbed the stairs to the attic, hiding from the rest of his family and the staff working to turn his family’s house into the perfect venue. He carefully examined the furniture in the small Victorian house, turning each piece in his hands with care.

Most of the original furniture had broken. And for Stiles’ 21st birthday, Derek surprised him with newly hand-carved furniture. Derek’s father was a carpenter, and it showed in his love and passion for architecture.

Stiles felt sick as he dropped the furniture back into the house. He threw a sheet back over the house, leaving it to be forgotten. His dreams of a life with Derek weren’t relevant anymore. He had been foolish to think that Derek would call him—try to stop him from making the mistake of marrying someone else.

In the end, Stiles tucked away his dreams for that Victorian house just as he tucked Derek away in his memories, where he could remember better times.

~*~

Twelve years.

Twelve years were an eternity and of all nights, Stiles never would have thought tonight would be the night.

Stiles stood beside Trent, keeping quiet as he conversed with his colleagues. He smiled when others laughed, offered a faint laugh if necessary. But he learned a long time ago, he had a better time if he just kept an eye on the clock. The less he knew about Trent’s work and colleagues, the less he had to endure when people started to avoid making eye contact with him. Despite Trent’s arm wrapped around his waist, it was just for show.

And Stiles was tired of acting.

“So have you guessed the name yet?”

Stiles looked at the woman who spoke to Trent. He thought she said her name was Amy.

“I figured it was an edgy rewording of Core,” Trent remarked with a faint laugh as he drank more of his whiskey.

Stiles’ eyes wandered, lingering on the artfully designed display of the company’s name in flowers across the large space’s entrance. Kore . His brow furrowed for a moment.

“Nobody really knows—the boss isn’t exactly approachable in that way. It’s a fun guessing game,” a guy chimed in—Mike.

“It means ‘Maiden’ in Attic Greek,” Stiles simply stated.

The group looked at Stiles.

Trent pulled Stiles against his side a bit tighter. “Stiles majored in dead languages.” He laughed at his own ribbing. He looked at Stiles. “But I think you’re wrong on this one, babe.”

Stiles forced a faint smile, hoping Trent saw it as the apology he likely was expecting.

“What languages?” Amy asked with a smile, as if she wanted to actually know more about the most silent member of their small group.

“My Masters is in Classics, actually,” Stiles offered in a small voice. “Latin and Greek. I took a few classes for Anglo-Saxon as well.”

Amy smiled at Stiles’ words. “That’s quite impressive. Can you translate from sight? You would be one hell of an asset to the museum—they just opened a Greco-Roman wing.”

Stiles felt weird having the attention on him. He had grown used to people asking him about Billy, never about his degree or if he had a career. “Um,” he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Stiles stays home now with our son.”

Stiles ground his teeth together, knowing Trent was steering the conversation away from him.

“Does ‘Kore’ really mean ‘maiden’?” Mike asked in confusion. “It just seems like a weird thing for the boss to name his company.”

Stiles refused to hesitate, feeling Trent was about to speak over him. “It’s actually a name for Persephone,” he firmly stated. “She was called the Maiden by most. They thought she was too sacred to refer to by name. She was the Queen of the Underworld, and the goddess of the Spring. It likely has to do with the decay of the old and the resurgence of the new.” He drew in a soft breath, refusing to look at Trent. “Or he thought Kore Enterprises sounded interesting,” he shyly jested.

Amy laughed some, looking pleased with Stiles’ little ramble. “I like it, she sounds like a kick-ass lady.”

Mike seemed to startle and straighten up some as he looked at someone behind Stiles and Trent. “So, is that right, Mr. Hale?”

Stiles could hear white noise rushing through his ears as his stomach dropped. He blinked at Mike, unsure he heard him right.

“Took a professional for you to figure it out.”

Stiles recognized that voice. Twelve years was an eternity, but he recognized that voice regardless.

Mr. Hale. Derek Hale.

Stiles turned with Trent, moving as he did in order to face the man who spoke. He knew who he was going to see, and part of him didn’t want to. He couldn’t remember how he looked when he left the house, knowing that he wouldn’t be ready to face Derek no matter how he looked.

Derek looked the image of someone important. His hair was expertly kept, a short fade leading into longer hair swept to the side. His beard was trimmed short, much shorter than he had kept it in college—but it suited him all the same. His eyes were still their gorgeous burst of colors—green, grey, and gold flicked into a kaleidoscope set in a cold gaze. He stood at ease, his body displayed in a tailored suit, the pressed material showing his form. He looked like a man whose time cost money.

Twelve years seemed to be an eternity for Derek as well.

“Mr. Banner,” Derek greeted Trent, shaking his hand with ease.

“Mr. Hale,” Trent greeted him back as he dropped his arm from Stiles to shake Derek’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you finally.”

Derek nodded, “I look forward to seeing your work.” He was quiet for a second, his eyes never looking at Stiles.

“Mr. Hale,” a blonde woman quickly spoke his name with importance, though her tone suggested she would call him a number of other names if not for the location. She offered a smile at the others as she turned to Derek. “Ms. Ito is leaving.”

The woman’s widened eyes were enough to clue Derek in on what was happening without telling the others.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Derek spoke to the group. He nodded his head in parting to their group, his gaze suddenly flickering over Stiles.

Stiles felt his breath catch.

And whatever Stiles expected, it wasn’t for Derek to look right through him.

The moment Derek departed, the others deflated some.

“Ice cold, I told you,” Mike noted. “The man can make a room drop in temperature with his glare.”

“Maybe you were on to something, Stiles,” Amy stated when they turned back to each other. “Maybe he’s the King of the Underworld.” She faintly laughed into her champagne flute when Mike rolled his eyes.

Stiles looked at Trent. “I’ll be right back,” he softly stated. He hesitated when Trent took hold of his hand. He looked up at Trent. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he replied.

Trent faintly nodded, letting go of his hand. “Just don’t leave me out here for too long.”

It was meant to sound endearing, but it was just as controlling as every other thing out of Trent’s mouth when it came to Stiles.

Stiles nodded as he departed for the hallway that led to the elevators and restrooms. He briefly considered fleeing.

~*~

Stiles scrubbed at his hands longer than he had to. He was stalling for time, his heart still racing.

Part of Stiles was thrilled to see him again, while the other half dreaded Derek seeing him.

Stiles kept rubbing the soap into his skin, the suds disappearing as he continually ran the water over his hands. He stared at the soapy water, watching it swirl before disappearing down the drain. He wondered when this became his life—when he wanted nothing more than to be at home, left alone to hide.

Stiles bitterly laughed as he turned the tap off, taking some of the folded paper towels to angrily wipe the water from his hands. He knew he did this to himself, but having the reminder stare him in the face, tonight of all nights, was truly cruel karmic justice.

He just hoped Derek would be nice about it—if he hadn’t actually forgotten him.

Stiles paused as he looked back up in the mirror. He inspected his face, leaning closer to see if he had changed that much. His brow crinkled.

Doesn’t matter if you changed .

Stiles hurried back out into the hallway, fixing his jacket as best he could. He knew he looked different, his body changing through the years. He had remembered how good he felt when he finally reached his weight goal this week—old clothes were fitting him once more, though his stretchmarks were still visible as per norm.

Trent shattered all joy that small victory gave Stiles. He always knew how to cut down to the bone, and he didn’t go easy this time. He acted innocent when Stiles came out of the bathroom in a different outfit—an older and baggier outfit that hid everything.

“I’m just trying to save you the embarrassment,” Trent answered Stiles’ silent brood as they drove to the party. “It didn’t fit right, babe,” he continued. “You look better in this one anyways.”

Stiles kept quiet as he continued to stare out the car window. He wasn’t sure why he had tried setting goals for himself. He just remembered how happy he felt being comfortable in his own skin. He started to think that maybe it wasn’t himself he was disappointed with—it wasn’t the weight or the change of his body. It was how others looked at him—how Trent looked at him.

How Derek could have looked at him.

Stiles paused his steps as he ran his hands through his hair, taking in a calming breath. Another hour, and he could go home. He looked up, about to keep walking when he saw someone standing by the door leading into the event room.

“Stiles,” the figure softly uttered, moving to lean off the wall. “I thought that was you,” he added, finally stepping into the better lighting.

Stiles drew in a steady breath, wondering when he had hoped he’d hear Derek speak his name again. And that maybe Derek forgetting him was kinder.

Derek’s hands were in his trouser pockets as he took steps toward Stiles. He had been staring at Stiles the moment he spotted him, watching as Stiles silently stood beside Trent as he conversed with coworkers. It only made Derek hate Trent more—the obvious way he ignored Stiles in favor of talking with colleagues.

“Derek,” Stiles softly uttered his name. He subconsciously ran a hand through his hair, trying to recall how presentable he looked in the bathroom mirror. He knew he wouldn’t compare to Derek at the moment.

He grew up a privileged beautillion, and knew an expensively tailored suit when he saw it.

Derek’s suit must have cost more than anything Derek would have willingly worn when they were together. And it fit Derek perfectly, his shoulders finally being able to fill out a suit that cut to his waist and hips correctly.

“I didn’t … Trent never mentioned that he worked with you,” Stiles stumbled through his words.

“I haven’t worked with him yet,” Derek answered. “Just overseen some of his work.”

Stiles nodded, looking elsewhere.

“You look good,” Derek commented.

Stiles looked at Derek, trying to determine if he was making fun of him. He couldn’t see any teasing in Derek’s features, leaving him to wonder how he could be sincere in such a statement. “You too,” he offered, pausing his words to look down at his hands.

He had to change the subject, anything to get the attention away from him. He remembered that Amy mentioned the boss was engaged. Which meant … 

“I heard you're engaged,” he started, ignoring the pit in his stomach as he looked up at Derek.

Derek’s expression remained the same, a vacant mask hiding his own displeasure at the memory. “Was,” he offered when the silence seemed as if it wouldn’t dissipate. “Didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles sincerely answered, wishing he hadn’t pried now.

Derek shrugged his shoulders. “It’s alright,” he honestly replied. “I’ve had therapy,” he added with a faint smile.

Stiles couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at his lips.

“But it looks like you married Trent though,” Derek commented, gesturing his head towards the ring on Stiles’ left hand.

Stiles looked down at his finger, reaching his other hand to twist the small gold band. He covered it with his right hand, suddenly self conscious of it. He nodded, affirming Derek’s observation.

"Congratulations," Derek added.

Stiles looked up at Derek, a little surprised by his words. "Happened a while ago," he offered, unsure if Derek cared.

Derek remained still, as if he hadn't heard Stiles. "I know," he finally stated. "Your mother sent me an invitation."

Stiles' stomach churned. He never thought his mother would have the nerve to do something like that. Then again, she had forced his relationship with Derek to the breaking point, much to her satisfaction. "I didn't know she did that," he weakly offered.

"Of course not," Derek stated, his voice unusually cold. Or maybe that was just how his voice was now. "It wasn't as petty as the newspaper clipping with the baby announcement that she sent."

Stiles felt sick. "I …" there was really nothing for him to say in response. He hadn’t even wanted to publish a baby announcement, knowing it would bring unwanted attention. But his mother pushed, and Trent agreed. Stiles was just so happy to finally have a baby—to have someone he could care for and love unconditionally. He shook his head, tears burning his eyes. He really did hate his life at the moment, knowing he was trapped in the hellscape he had tried so desperately to escape in college—with Derek. “I should get back,” he faintly uttered, turning away from Derek, knowing there was nothing he could say to excuse the past.

Derek looked Stiles up and down, his eyes noting the way Stiles held himself. He hid his frown when he saw how timid Stiles looked.

The door to the hall opened up, signaling a person coming into their space.

“Stiles, what’s taking so long?” Trent questioned as he stepped into the hallway. “How long does it— Mr. Hale,” his tone changed when he saw Derek standing with Stiles.

Derek slowly allowed his gaze to slip from Stiles, looking at Trent. “I was keeping him,” he simply stated. “He was being too kind, accommodating his husband’s boss.”

Stiles looked down at the ground, silently swaying towards Trent when he felt him pull on his arm. He pretended that he actually liked Trent’s arm around his waist.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to introduce him earlier," Trent began, as he usually did when putting Stiles on display. He did it less frequently in recent years, much to Stiles' relief.

"We've met," Derek stated, cutting Trent's words short.

"When?" Trent asked, surprised at the idea that Stiles could possibly know someone as successful as Derek Hale.

"A lifetime ago, it seems," Derek offered, his gaze turning back to Stiles.

~*~

Stiles could tell Trent was mad, just from the silence that built between them in the car. He felt how annoyed Trent was in the rigidness of his actions once they said goodbye to Derek.

"Did you fuck him?" Trent finally asked when they were stopped at a red light.

Stiles was looking out his window instead of Trent. "We dated," he chose to admit.

"Did you fuck him," Trent demanded to know, ignoring Stiles' answer.

Stiles wanted to laugh at Trent.

What could Trent possibly want him to say?

That Derek used to spend hours holding him and cherishing him like he was too good to be true.

That Derek could make him come untouched, just his voice and the thrust of his hips being the only friction Stiles needed to get off.

That Derek’s dick was bigger than Trent’s.

"What do you think," Stiles chose to say instead.

"Great," Trent bitterly stated, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. "Like I needed this, Stiles."

Stiles ignored Trent.

"I'll be a laughing stock," Trent angrily stated to himself.

Like you need the help .

“The new guy whose boss fucked his partner,” Trent continued.

Stiles tried to cut out the bitterness bubbling up in his heart, knowing Derek would never say anything, not if he was still the same man he remembered. Part of him was afraid to think otherwise.

~*~

“I’m heading home,” Erica called from the doorway.

Derek was leaning against his desk, partially sitting on the edge. He was facing the large windows lining the exterior wall of his office, staring off at the night skyline.

“Hello?” Erica uttered as she entered the office, walking over to Derek. “Earth to boss man.”

Derek finally turned to look at Erica. “What?”

Erica gently flicked Derek square in the forehead. “You’re not all here.”

Derek swatted at Erica’s hand. “I’m aware of my surroundings.”

Erica moved to sit on the edge of the desk next to Derek, folding her arms over her chest. “So, that was him, huh?”

Derek remained silent for a beat. “That was him,” he echoed Erica’s words.

“He’s cute,” Erica commented. “A little timid.” She tried to remember what Derek had told her about the mysterious ex who was now married to one of their new hires. To say she was invested was an understatement. But when she saw Derek standing there, nearly cornering them at the party, she panicked that there was going to be an incident for HR to handle. Her panic resulted in a small if not made up emergency.

“He wasn’t always that way,” Derek replied, looking down at the glass of whiskey in his hand. He swirled the liquid amber, listening to the ice cube clink against the crystal.

“His husband’s an ass,” Erica remarked. “I can’t say I’d be too outgoing if I was married to him.”

Derek hummed in agreement.

“You sure you did a good thing when you hired him?”

Derek shrugged his shoulders. “No idea. I can’t say I wasn’t completely selfish in my motives.”

Erica laughed some. “Well, we’ll see how it all goes this Monday, I guess,” she stated as she stood, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder.

“Keep an eye on him,” Derek finally said when Erica was only a few feet from the door. “Let me know if he steps out of line.”

“Yes, boss man,” Erica called back.

~*~

“You look a little pale,” Claudia stated as she reached a hand out to feel Stiles’ forehead.

Stiles leaned away from his mother’s reach. “I’m fine.”

Claudia frowned, knowing something was bothering Stiles. “How was Trent’s first month at the new job?”

Stiles drank some of his wine, wishing he had chosen to follow Billy around aimlessly instead of lingering with his mother. He decided against it when his grandfather took Billy by the hand to show him around the garden. He knew the conversation would be stilted with his mother—as it had been these past few years, but at least not as hostile as his conversations were with his grandfather. He counted himself lucky that the man was calm and loving around Billy, likely accredited to the man’s desire to see his bloodline continue. “I don’t know, he doesn’t talk about work,” he answered her.

“How was the party, then?”

Stiles tightened his hold on his wine glass. “Fine,” he weakly stated.

“He was there, wasn’t he?” Claudia finally asked the question she was trying to get to.

“He owns the company, of course he was at his own company party,” Stiles bitterly uttered as he finally looked at his mother. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

“Surprising he managed to start anything,” Claudia remarked.

Stiles scoffed. “You never believed in him, and now that he’s proved you wrong, you still want to discredit it somehow.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Claudia dismissed Stiles’ comment.

“Afraid I’ll tell you I told you so?”

Claudia’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Did you send him a wedding invitation?” Stiles finally asked.

Claudia looked unaffected by Stiles knowing. “Yes.”

Stiles’ jaw clenched tight in anger. “Billy’s baby announcement?”

“I’m surprised he told you that,” Claudia answered instead.

“How could you do that?” Stiles demanded to know.

“I wanted him to know you were fine without him,” Claudia replied, her tone even. “He just started that company, his name was being tossed around. I didn’t want his ego getting any ideas that he could try to seduce you away from your husband.”

“I never cared about the money!” Stiles snapped.

Claudia had the nerve to look surprised by Stiles’ reaction.

“I had money saved,” Stiles suddenly stated. “I had started putting money away—to buy a house with Derek. I didn’t care about the money or the possibility of Derek becoming rich. I just wanted to live my life with him—to get away from you .”

Claudia cruelly laughed. “You can tell yourself I was the one to blame, but you married Trent.”

“And now look at him,” Stiles uttered. “Fired for attempted embezzling. A real winner.”

“He’s kept a roof over your head, and a lifestyle you enjoy,” Claudia quickly countered. “You should be more grateful.”

“I am grateful,” Stiles replied, turning an angered glare at his mother. “I’m grateful Derek Hale is successful,” he vehemently stated. “I’m grateful he lived up to everything I knew he could. That he’s rich and powerful, and completely free of this family.” He stood up, dropping his wine glass onto the table with a satisfactory clink before taking one of the long garden paths that lead to the edge of the property.

Stiles angrily wiped away the bitter tears that burned his eyes. He blamed his mother for what happened, but he knew he couldn’t completely forgive himself for being so stupid. He loved Derek—he had always loved Derek, despite his family’s disapproval.

Everyone looked at Derek with contempt when they first met him, growing angrier with each family gathering that the young nobody had managed to keep Stiles invested in a relationship. They claimed Derek was using Stiles to forward himself, completely inept assumptions that blinded them to welcoming him.

Stiles wanted to marry Derek. He wanted to have the house they always talked about. The family they imagined they’d one day share.

He wanted his Victorian house, even if it didn’t come with the house. The family was enough.

But Stiles was a fool, trapped in his family’s expectations.

All it took was a stupid fight between them, and his mother pressing the urgency of their family’s bankruptcy, before Stiles found himself married to Trent. Stiles foolishly believed he could have the life he always wanted even without Derek’s love—that he could be happy being loved even if he didn’t love Trent.

But Trent didn’t love him—he loved the image Stiles gave him.

Foolish , Stiles bitterly thought.

Damned foolish.

~*~

Stiles watched Billy rush ahead of him with mild amusement. He greeted the receptionist with a faint smile as she humored Billy.

“We’re here for lunch with my dad,” Billy explained to her.

“Oh, that’s very sweet of you,” she answered before looking at Stiles. “Do you know which floor he is on?”

“I think the 23rd,” Stiles offered. “His name is Trent Banner.”

The receptionist turned to her computer, typing in the information. She smiled at Stiles as she spoke, “Yes, he is on the 23rd floor. If you use the elevators just over there, it will take you up in one go.”

“Thank you!” Billy exclaimed as he moved to take Stiles’ hand.

Stiles made sure to keep Billy back from running into any of the busy people rushing about. He pulled Billy to stand with him in the corner of the elevator, brushing his hand through Billy’s short curls.

Billy skipped out of the elevator when they reached the floor, rushing towards the receptionist desk. He skidded to a stop by the desk as he looked around trying to spot his father.

Stiles offered a friendly smile to the receptionist. “We’re here to see Trent Banner,” he stated.

The receptionist looked from Billy to Stiles. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Banner is in a meeting.”

Stiles’ brow twitched for a moment. “We’ll wait,” he stated when Billy grabbed his hand.

“He has a lunch meeting,” the receptionist replied in a clipped tone, annoyance evident in his attitude as he looked back down at his computer.

“Could you tell my husband we’re here?” Stiles finally pressed.

The receptionist looked up at Stiles. He hesitated for a moment before pressing buttons on his conference phone. “Mr. Banner, your husband is here to see you,” he evenly stated. He paused, listening to whatever Trent was saying. “Yes, sir.”

Stiles looked expectantly at the receptionist.

The receptionist looked up at Stiles. “He said he’ll be out in a moment.”

Stiles patiently waited with Billy, knowing there was a reason Trent didn’t usher them to his office. Part of him had a desperate urge to leave before Trent could talk to them. He missed his opportunity when Billy released his hand.

“Dad!” Billy exclaimed in excitement, running over to Trent.

Stiles turned to look, catching sight of Trent exiting an office down in the corner.

“Hey, slugger,” Trent answered, partially still walking towards Stiles even as Billy attempted to hug him.

“We wanted to surprise you!” Billy explained with a hopeful smile.

Trent looked down at Billy before looking back at Stiles. “I wish you called. I’m in the middle of a meeting.”

“But lunch,” Billy uttered in dismay.

Trent pulled himself out of Billy’s hold, placing his hands on Billy’s shoulders as he spoke looking down on his son, “Sometimes grown ups have to work during lunch. Just because your father doesn’t, doesn’t mean I don’t have to.”

Billy’s features fell as he pulled himself out of Trent’s hold to go back to Stiles. He took hold of Stiles’ hand. “Can we go to Auntie Kira’s?” He mumbled to Stiles.

“Sure thing, kiddo.” Stiles tightened his hold on Billy’s hand, his stomach unraveling. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, knowing that Trent was never going to change. “You said you had time,” he forced the issue, refusing to acknowledge Trent’s previous comment.

“Call next time,” Trent countered in a sharper voice when he noticed some people looking on from their cubicles.

Stiles nodded. “Right,” he bitterly breathed the word out. “By the way, you might want to keep a spare set of clothes in your office from now on,” he finally commented, forcing himself to actually say what he wanted.

Trent had the nerve to look confused.

Stiles reached a hand out, roughly grabbing the collar of Trent’s shirt. “Mauve isn’t really your color,” he stated, pointing out the smeared lipstick that transferred from Trent’s neck to the crisp white collar of his shirt. “And you might want to zipper your fly,” he harshly uttered under his breath so Billy wouldn’t hear him. He turned, leaving with a tight hold on Billy’s hand.

Billy kept up with Stiles, realizing something was wrong despite not knowing what.

Stiles was glad that the elevator was empty and open, slipping his hand between the doors to keep them that way. He angrily hit his hand against the elevator’s close button, waiting for the doors to shut. He looked away from Billy, not wanting him to see the tears burning his eyes.

Billy let go of Stiles’ hand in order to hug his father around the waist.

Stiles wrapped his arm around Billy, gently rubbing his hand up and down Billy’s arm. He knew he wasn’t crying because Trent broke his heart—that happened too long ago to count. His heart broke for Billy, knowing the boy was smart enough to finally start putting all the incidents together.

They rode the elevator in silence until the doors chimed open on the 17th floor.

Stiles wiped the back of his hand across his cheeks in an attempt to get rid of his tears, moving Billy to stand in the back corner with him. He looked up out of habit, quickly turning his gaze downwards when he made eye contact with Derek. He was grateful Derek wasn’t the only person to enter the elevator.

Derek was talking to one of the men, clearly finishing up a conversation that started in a meeting.

“Another successful merger, and you’ll have no problem opening the branch in Europe,” the man noted.

“So my sister keeps telling me,” Derek stated in disinterest as he hit the button for the ground floor.

Stiles didn’t even realize he hadn’t touched the floor button.

“She’s excited to be living in Paris,” Derek added.

Some of the men laughed before they started to talk amongst themselves.

Stiles looked up, catching Derek looking back at him.

Derek stood out among the other men—not a necessarily difficult task considering the other men were easily in or beyond their fifties. His charcoal suit was contrasted with the silver of his vest and tie.

Stiles tried not to stare at him.

Derek wordlessly reached into his jacket, pulling his handkerchief out of his breast pocket before easily handing it to Stiles.

Stiles blinked at Derek’s offering before quickly taking it, glad that none of the other men were paying attention. He cleaned the back of his hand before wiping his eyes. He placed the handkerchief below his nostrils, pinching the bridge of his nose before sniffling deeply, hoping it was enough to stop his nose running. He regretted it the moment he inhaled Derek’s cologne. He remembered the cologne, it was a bottle he had gotten Derek every Christmas from a boutique in Scotland. He tightened his hand around the handkerchief, his stomach churning with the memory of Derek saying he didn’t care for the expensive cologne but wore it for Stiles.

Stiles folded the handkerchief, offering it back to Derek just as the elevator doors opened.

“Keep it,” Derek replied, not moving to take the cloth back as he looked to the doors, watching the others exit first.

Stiles looked at Derek, his brow pinched in confusion.

“It’s not the last time he’ll make you cry,” Derek nonchalantly stated as he turned his head to look at Stiles.

Stiles tightened his hand into a fist, bunching the handkerchief together. “You were never cruel,” he forcefully stated as he glared at Derek.

Derek calmly straightened, his gaze flickering to Billy before looking back at Stiles. “No,” he agreed. “I’m vindictive.” He turned and exited the elevator without another word.

Stiles took Billy’s hand and slowly guided him out of the elevator.

~*~

Billy startled when his meatball fell off the plate and onto his napkin. He grimaced at his father, an apology on his face.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Stiles replied with a faint smile as he poked the meatball with his own fork, putting it on his own plate. He reached over and easily cut one of the meatballs on Billy’s plate with his fork.

“Cheese!” Billy excitedly noted when he saw the melted mozzarella oozing out of the meatball.

“I told you I made your favorite,” Kira noted with a smile before looking back at Stiles.

“You don’t have to sit out here with us during a rush hour,” Stiles softly said.

Kira made a disbelieving expression. “I get to do what I want when it is my kitchen,” she noted, waving her hand about. She was still in her chef’s uniform, hair pulled back into an elegant bun. “I don’t get to see you two very often.”

“Billy asked if we could visit after ...” Stiles sighed, shaking his head. He had texted Kira the abbreviated version of the cliche moment he literally found lipstick on his husband’s collar.

Kira slowly shook her head. “He’s a dick,” she plainly stated.

“A dick?” Billy asked, brow furrowed.

“Don’t repeat that,” Stiles quickly stated.

Billy shrugged after a moment before returning to his spaghetti and meatballs.

Stiles looked at Kira.

“Sorry,” Kira sheepishly muttered. “But it’s still true.”

“I know,” Stiles agreed. “I think I’m more upset over seeing Derek.”

Kira sat up some, straightening in her seat. “You saw Derek?”

Stiles closed his eyes, sighing. “He owns the company Trent now works for,” he evenly said, finally opening his eyes to see Kira’s shocked expression.

“Yikes,” Kira noted, grimacing as she turned to look at Billy. She motioned towards him, trying to gage what she could say.

Stiles shook his head. “He gave me his handkerchief, and told me to keep it because it wouldn’t be the last time Trent made me cry,” he recounted to Kira in a low voice. He was glad that Billy seemed preoccupied by his food.

“That’s rude,” Kira noted with a frown. “You’d think he’d be happy that he might have another shot.”

“Kira,” Stiles quickly uttered her name.

“I’m just saying,” Kira shrugged. “You both were my best customers when I started out. I got a break because of it.”

Stiles genuinely smiled at the memory. He loved those nights when Derek was free, and they could steal a booth in the back of the restaurant Kira had started out in. It was nice—a break from reality where Stiles’ family didn’t exist, and Derek’s work wasn’t an issue.

“You know … now that I’m thinking about it,” Kira pondered. “I’m pretty sure Derek gave me a deal on this place. And he definitely gets orders to go.”

Stiles lightly laughed.

“Honestly, I don’t think Derek is as bad as he tries to act,” Kira noted with a faint smile of encouragement.

“He was always prickly,” Stiles sighed, remembering just how pensive and scowly Derek was when they first met, and even throughout their first date.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Kira stated. “It’s Derek, you know he’s tough about holding onto things.”

Stiles’ brow furrowed. “Kira, I broke his heart. A heart, you remember, that wasn’t the easiest thing to get close to.”

“Stiles, you had a stupid fight,” Kira uttered. “One that most young couples have. Things got out of hand, and your parents didn’t help the matter.”

Stiles looked away from Kira.

“I think he’s in as much danger of falling in love with you as he’s ever been,” Kira stated.

“Who is?” Billy asked.

Stiles looked at Billy, seeing the sauce covering Billy’s lips and cheeks. He faintly smiled as he wiped Billy’s face clean.

“Who is in love with you?” Billy’s words were muffled by the napkin Stiles was using to clean up the sauce.

“A prince in disguise,” Stiles jested. “Auntie Kira was teasing,” he finally explained.

Billy’s brow furrowed, his mouth opening to ask more questions.

“Would you like some ice cream?” Kira quickly asked before Billy could even think of what he was about to ask.

Billy’s eyes lit up, completely forgetting what he was about to ask.

~*~

Stiles busied himself with folding the laundry after Billy was asleep. He took his time with Billy’s clothes, plotting out what new clothing he would need after the next growth spurt hit. He paused, frowning when he looked at Trent’s clothes. He had separated them on purpose, part of him wanting to stuff them in a garbage bag and toss it out on the front doorstep.

In all the years of blatant abuse he suffered with Trent, it was the humiliation of Derek seeing him cry that finally tipped him over the edge. He knew the truth, it was his own anger and pain over Trent that brought up these feelings. His own regrets plagued his thoughts—he told himself it was a memento, that’s why he kept Derek’s handkerchief folded up in his nightstand drawer.

Stiles startled when he heard the front door open, taking hold of the basket with Billy’s clothes in it as he made his way towards the steps.

“Hey,” Trent’s voice called out to Stiles. It wasn’t a greeting, but a command for Stiles to pay him attention.

Stiles stopped on the middle landing of the staircase, turning to look at Trent. “What?”

Trent had the nerve to look annoyed. “I’m home, that’s how you greet me?”

Stiles scoffed. “What, you expect me to be standing in the kitchen, apron and smile on, as I fetch you your slippers and cigar?” He condescendingly questioned.

“You’re unbelievable,” Trent stated as he walked towards the kitchen.

Stiles grew angry, marching down the steps to follow him. “You have some fucking nerve saying that to me,” he snapped as he entered the room after Trent.

“I expect the bare minimum from you,” Trent replied as he pulled a beer from the fridge, loosening his tie with his other hand.

Stiles shoved the door to the fridge closed as Trent started to walk away. He hated when Trent left things messy—always the same pattern.

“I work hard, and I come home to an ungrateful family,” Trent continued to bemoan.

“Yeah, must be really hard fucking your personal assistant,” Stiles snapped.

“I wasn’t fucking her,” Trent yelled back at Stiles.

“Oh, her lipstick just fell onto your collar, and you left your fly open after a bathroom break,” Stiles’ voice rose as the anger in his stomach twisted.

“For fuck’s sake!” Trent yelled at Stiles as he slammed his beer down on the counter, turning to look at Stiles. “What do you want from me?”

“Honesty!” Stiles snapped at him. “You’ve been an asshole, you know that? Accusing me of having a relationship with your boss while you’re actually fucking someone.”

“You did fuck him,” Trent accused.

“When I dated him,” Stiles loudly stated back to Trent, wishing he could scream at the top of his lungs. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I dated him in college, Trent. You knew I wasn’t a virgin when we got married.”

“That’s the point,” Trent uttered, leaving his beer on the counter as he walked closer to Stiles. “You fucked him, but you made me wait until I married you.”

Stiles tightened his hold on the basket, using it as the only barrier between him and Trent.

Trent was the opposite of Derek. Blonde hair and blue eyes. His hair was a bit longer than Derek, and he almost never let his beard grow in. He was as tall as Derek, but had a completely different build.

Derek’s shoulders were much broader, and his muscles were never for show.

Stiles clenched his teeth as he drew in a deep breath through his nose. “I thought I was going to marry him,” he finally replied.

“But he realized what a mistake that would have been,” Trent bitterly uttered. “I’m sure he’d be as miserable as me right now.”

“You’re not miserable,” Stiles calmly replied. “You’re doing everything you want, Trent.” He shook his head as he started to head back towards the steps.

“I’ve given you everything,” Trent accused. “And you’ve given me nothing, Stiles.”

“You know what?” Stiles cruelly laughed as he paused his steps, his anger and pain dissipating into pity. “The only thing you ever gave me was Billy,” he pinned Trent with a glare. “And you didn’t even want to give me him.” He shook his head. “I wish I had married Derek Hale. And I’m sorry I’ll never get the chance to.” He headed up the stairs, ignoring the sound of the beer bottle smashing against what was likely the wall. He stopped caring about Trent’s tantrums.