At the honeymoon resort, someone makes the mistake of asking for the proposal story. It’s meant innocently enough, the type of thing most couples are more than happy to gush about.
Stiles snorts into his glass and Derek’s eyes narrow. He makes a pointed noise that’s probably meant as warning, but Stiles just puts down the glass and leans across the table, smirking.
“Which one would you like? We’ve got two hundred and fourteen of them.”
Stiles gets that Derek’s not exactly Mr. Communication. That’s something he learned to accept about half a decade ago. Sometimes he even likes it – the fact that he knows Derek well enough to work out his moods when no one else can, that he’s the only person that can squeeze past those walls he’s built up and actually get some real heart-to-hearts going.
That’s probably why these past few days have hit him so hard. Because Derek has been closing off, keeping secrets… and secrets can only mean terrible things.
Because Stiles has thought this through, ok? He’s not about to fall into some clichéd half-hour comedy trope of freaking out about their relationship, only for Derek to have been planning him a surprise party or something. But the dates don’t match up. His birthday was two months ago, Valentine’s a couple months before that. Their anniversary’s not ‘til the fall. Stiles hasn’t been promoted lately, has already graduated college, and there’s just no reason for this to be leading to some awesome reveal. Which means it’s completely reasonable for him to be freaking the hell out.
“Are you dying? Oh my god, you’re dying aren’t you? You’ve got some kind of horrible werewolf disease, and you haven’t told me because you know it’ll freak me out.”
“I’m not dying, Stiles.”
“Which is exactly what you’d say if you were dying and trying to keep it a secret.”
“Is there a new pack in town? Or witches again? Derek, don’t you dare fucking keep witches from me, just because I kind of got stabbed a little bit last time. If you’re keeping me out of pack business I swear to god—“
“I’m not keeping some threat from you, Stiles.”
But Stiles might just spy on his call log and discover he’s been talking to Danny, of all people. And Derek doesn’t ever contact Danny unless he needs some serious research done.
“…Are you gonna skip town?” He’s been thinking about it for a while, dwelling over the possibilities. Danny lives in New York, which is like Derek’s second home or something. And the group’s gone to him a few times about things like fake IDs and forged credentials over the years.
Derek looks up from his steaming omelet, snorting a little, eyes rolling.
“I’m not leaving you, Stiles. “
Stiles hadn’t said “leaving me.” He’d said “leaving town.” He hadn’t even thought about that, but if that’s what Derek’s mind had jumped to…