These Four Walls / pandabomb
She tilted her head to the side. “What’s the rush? Too eager to get away, to run off into the great beyond? And here I thought you loved us,” she snarked,
elongating the word like a grade schooler. And just like that, the evasion was over: Stiles hesitated. He opened his mouth, closed it; he tried
again, eyes widening as he looked for words—the right ones, nothing that would register as a lie
to three pairs of werewolf ears. “It’s not—” He tried, pulse steadily increasing. “I’m—
”“You can be safe here!” He yelled. In the ensuing pause, there was only the sound of Stiles’s quickened pulse; but Derek couldn’t tamper his volume, not this time. “Haven’t I been kind to you? Haven’t I done everything you asked—given you everything you needed?”
“You’ve been good to me,” Stiles replied, hushed and soft, as though if he spoke louder he’d break into pieces—or Derek would. “But it’s never been what I needed. I always—I kept telling you, ....................
“Fuck you,” Derek croaked out. He was losing his fury fast—but the terror and frustration kept steady. ....................... You’re—you could be everything to me.”
“That’s bullshit,” Stiles tried to bite back; it just sounded miserable. “Things would be a lot simpler if we could be everything to each other, but we can’t. We shouldn’t. Do you think I’d want to subject you to that, even if I could? Being my everything? .................................. Derek leaned his hand against the table, arm straight. He took a steadying breath, head down, then spoke again, feeling sick. “Did you—when you first invited Isaac over, did you do it because you wanted to make sure I would have someone, when you’d left?”
She tilted her head to the side. “What’s the rush? Too eager to get away, to run off into the great beyond? And here I thought you loved us,” she snarked,
elongating the word like a grade schooler. And just like that, the evasion was over: Stiles hesitated. He opened his mouth, closed it; he tried
again, eyes widening as he looked for words—the right ones, nothing that would register as a lie
to three pairs of werewolf ears. “It’s not—” He tried, pulse steadily increasing. “I’m—
”“You can be safe here!” He yelled. In the ensuing pause, there was only the sound of Stiles’s quickened pulse; but Derek couldn’t tamper his volume, not this time. “Haven’t I been kind to you? Haven’t I done everything you asked—given you everything you needed?”
“You’ve been good to me,” Stiles replied, hushed and soft, as though if he spoke louder he’d break into pieces—or Derek would. “But it’s never been what I needed. I always—I kept telling you, ....................
“Fuck you,” Derek croaked out. He was losing his fury fast—but the terror and frustration kept steady. ....................... You’re—you could be everything to me.”
“That’s bullshit,” Stiles tried to bite back; it just sounded miserable. “Things would be a lot simpler if we could be everything to each other, but we can’t. We shouldn’t. Do you think I’d want to subject you to that, even if I could? Being my everything? .................................. Derek leaned his hand against the table, arm straight. He took a steadying breath, head down, then spoke again, feeling sick. “Did you—when you first invited Isaac over, did you do it because you wanted to make sure I would have someone, when you’d left?”