Derek used to feel jitters his first day in a new school, worry about what people would think of him, if they’d avoid him because of the mark on his wrist branding him as a werewolf, or if they’d do the exact opposite and try to bait him into something because of some fucked up idea they got about his species on the internet. He used to keep his head down, hide his wrist with long sleeve shirts and try to look smaller, weaker, anything.
It’s his fifth school in three years though, and this is his senior year, and Laura promised him she’d do everything in her power to make sure him and Cora would be able to spend a whole school year in one place, which means this might be the last school he’s ever obligated to attend before he can say a big fuck you to standardized education, so he can’t make himself care about anyone.
He walks down the school corridors confidently and with his head up after passing through the school offices to get his schedule since the move to Beacon Hills was so last minute he wasn’t even enrolled until the second week of classes. He can feel eyes on him, hear the whispers. He knows his brand is showing because he didn’t cover it up on purpose, he doesn’t want to hide who he is, doesn’t want to feel ashamed of something he can’t change.
He finds the classroom he’s supposed to be in by following a couple of girls who were whispering about the class, and sits on the first open spot he sees, not caring if anyone already thinks it’s their seat one week into the semester. He’s grabbing a notebook and a pen from his backpack next to him on the floor when someone stumbles and almost falls onto him.
“Oh, shit. Fuck. Sorry,” The boy says. “I wasn’t paying attention and that’s usually my seat which I know it’s completely ridiculous because we’re fucking high school seniors and we don’t have assigned seats or anything but it’s not a big school so people are usually in the same place all the time and I didn’t even imagine there’d be someone here and I’ve never seen you before so you’re probably new, so, yeah, sorry.”
Derek blinks at the rambling, ignores the stares from some of his classmates, doesn’t say anything until the boy staring at him starts nodding and walks to a different place to sit, two rows down, next to the wall. Their teacher arrives.
As he’s done ever since he started high school, he spends his lunch periods in his car eating whatever Laura packed for him. The Camaro is flashy but he’s used to the stares and Cora sometimes joins him now that she’s a freshman. They sit together in the car eating the vegan lunch Laura made since she thinks it’s hilarious to be able to say she’s vegan while showing off her brand and surprising everyone.
It’s usually quiet. He doesn’t have anything to say and Cora doesn’t like to talk more than the absolute necessary, so they just enjoy the company, feeling settled just by having family next to him, having pack next to him. They don’t need words when they share a bond bigger than blood, bigger than the years they spent together, a literal magical bond that connects them.
It’s his third week of classes and Cora is looking at Spotify playlists on her phone in one hand and holding the fork she’s using to eat her salad on the other when he sees someone stop next to his car in the corner of his eye. He looks left to see Stiles, the boy who’s in half of his classes and seemingly runs into all the time since the first day when Stiles almost tripped over him.
Derek makes a show out of rolling his long sleeves so his brand is on clear view before Stiles even manages to get a word out. He knows Cora is probably rolling her eyes from the passenger seat of the car, but he doesn’t care now, he’s past the days when he wanted to be like everyone else and now he just wants people to know who he is and leave him alone if they can’t handle it. Stiles doesn’t even blink though and Derek makes an inquisitive face, as if asking what he wants.
“Your notebook fell out of your bag when you were running out of class today, so I’m just returning it,” Stiles says, hands him his history notebook but doesn’t seem to be making any move to go away.
Derek thanks him after Cora elbows him and he realizes it’s the polite thing to do. Stiles gives him the bright smile Derek has seen him give to some other people. It’s weird seeing it, seeing someone grinning at him like that. Stiles is still stuck in place though, and he wonders if there’s something he’s missing, some social cue he’s not reading, until Stiles speaks again.
“Also, I’ve been meaning to ask, since you’re new here and everything, do you want to hang out? I could show you around. As a born and raised Beacon Hills resident, I can show you the whole town, it’ll be really thorough and take about fifteen minutes,” Stiles looks nervous, even with the smile on his face, and Derek can hear his heart beating faster than normal, but he doesn’t understand why he’d be so anxious about offering to be a glorified tour guide.
“Uh,” Derek says. “I think I can manage my way around the town. Thanks though.”
Cora elbows him again and, in a tone so low Derek knows it’s meant only for him to hear, whispers that Stiles is clearly trying to ask him out on a date. That explains the look of disappointment in Stiles’ face, but Derek has never once been asked out by a human in his life, so he doesn’t feel bad. He’s not going to say anything else, he’s ready to see Stiles nod and walk away and never try to come up to him again, but Cora angrily whispers at him to say yes, to try to be a normal person for once in his life, that she knows Stiles looks very much his type, and he’s always been a pushover when it came to his sisters. Stiles is already turning around when Derek clears his throat to get his attention.
“So, yeah, I don’t need a tour guide,” He says. “But I wouldn’t mind going on a date.” Stiles’ blinding grin at his words still surprises him, but he thinks he can get used to it.
Derek has given his number out to some people, classmates he had to do group projects with, werewolves he hooked up with or tried to date. None of them were like Stiles, apparently.
Stiles (8:34): They opened a McDonald’s in Beacon Hills about ten years ago. It lasted seven months and then it went out of business. I never had McDonald’s since. The fries were nothing special, but I still miss those chicken nuggets.
Stiles (9:27): You’re actually paying attention in class. You don’t even have your phone on your desk. That’s super impressive, dude.
Stiles (12:52): I’m not going to crash your sibling bonding time, but I saw you walking towards your car and you look smashing today.
Stiles (12:52): I did not type and send the word smashing. Please kill me.
Stiles (03:03): Thought of you. You said we should meet Friday night but today is Friday and soon it’s going to be night and I don’t know what time we’re meeting or if I should pick you up or if you don’t want me to know where you live because I seem like a stalker.
Stiles (03:05): Not that you’d ever be afraid of me, being a werewolf and all when I’m just, you know. Human.
Me (03:10): Humans are the scariest species. Let’s meet at 6 in front of the Starbucks on Main Street.
Stiles (3:11): There’s literally only one Starbucks here, dude, you didn’t even have to clarify. Also, I hope we’re just meeting there and you’re not hoping we’ll have a Starbucks date because I’m broke and there are two other coffee shops that are better and cheaper and willing to give me the your-father-helped-me-that-one-time discount.
Me (3:17): Your father randomly helps people a lot?
Stiles (3:18): Ha! You really are new in town. My dad is the Sheriff.
Starbucks is too expensive, runs small coffee shops out of business everywhere in the world, the coffee is not even that good, and the food is all over-processed crap that tastes even worse for him since he can literally smell everything in it. Starbucks has a nondiscrimination policy though.
Everywhere he ever lived, from small towns to big cities, he had to worry about not stepping into a place that didn’t allow werewolves. It’s a big politics discussion, if people can deny service to werewolves or not, but it’s not explicitly illegal, so people can do it until states start making laws prohibiting it. That’s why he likes Starbucks. There’s one everywhere and he always knows he’s going to be allowed in.
Stiles meets him in front of the Starbucks, smiles at him and tells him to follow him, doesn’t stop talking long enough to allow any awkward pauses when he realizes Derek’s not going to say anything, doesn’t have anything to say.
By the time Derek realizes they’re walking towards a diner, Stiles is already pulling him in and he doesn’t have time to look around and see if there’s a sign saying he’s not allowed in. He pulls on his long sleeves just in case, hiding the brand on his wrist. He thinks he’s subtle about it but Stiles sees it, puts a hand around his arm, tells him not to worry about it.
Stiles orders a burger and curly fries and an Oreo milkshake, tells Derek about every single item in the menu in detail until Derek decides on the grilled chicken with a side salad, which has Stiles rolling his eyes dramatically at him.
Derek thought it would be weird, that they’d have nothing to talk about, but they bond over ranch dressing and old cars and baseball and trashy reality shows he never admitted to anyone he watches. They complain about school and Derek talks about moving so much and Stiles talks about his whole life and his friends and his dad. It’s not weird.
He slips up once and rolls his sleeves back a little so he can eat without worrying that he’s going to get food on them and he can almost feel the waitress staring at his wrist like it’s a ticking bomb.
“It’s ok, Sarah,” Stiles says loudly enough for the waitress to hear from where she stands over six feet away from the table. “We all got it, this is the first time you see a werewolf in your life, now can you please get our chocolate cake before you manage to ruin my first date? Thanks.”
It’s the first time Stiles acknowledges Derek’s werewolf status and Derek can see he feels guilty after his little speech, like he’s ready to apologize. Derek really doesn’t care though, it’s supposed to be the year he feels proud about being who he is, what he is. He puts his hand over Stiles’, they look at each other in silence until Sarah brings the piece of cake over. Stiles asks for two forks so they can share it.
“They’re talking about us,” Derek tells Stiles one day while they’re walking side by side on the school corridor, not holding hands but too close to look like just friends, touching each other too casually to look like they’re anything less than a couple.
Stiles told him he had never been in a relationship before, asked Derek to tell him if he messes up, like he thinks Derek knows better when his longest relationship was with another werewolf and lasted two weeks before her pack was moving somewhere else. Stiles likes holding hands and walking Derek to his classes and stealing quick kisses before running off to wherever he has to be at any time. Derek likes Stiles.
It’s different, dating a human, because he can’t expect Stiles to know when he’s lying by the rhythm of his heartbeat or when he’s uncomfortable by changes in his smell, there’s no magical bonding that helps them sense what the other is feeling. He has to actually talk about stuff and in a voice loud enough that a human can hear, no mumbling phrases he’s too ashamed to say at a normal volume.
But it’s… good. Stiles is funny and sarcastic and a little mean and doesn’t take shit from anyone, not even Derek, doesn’t make Derek feel less for being a werewolf, doesn’t throw fits when Derek knows stuff about him just because he has “werewolf powers”, doesn’t tell Derek to stop listening into his conversations as if he could control his hearing.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks. “What are they saying? Are they jealous of you for managing to lock me down?” Derek snorts at that and Stiles makes a sound like he’s offended, twists his face into a fake frown.
“They’re calling you, you know…” Stiles looks at him like he literally has no idea and Derek takes a deep breath before continuing in the lowest tone possible while Stiles is still able to hear. “Kinky, a werewolf fetishist.”
Stiles stops walking at once at that and stares at him, worrying Derek for half a second before he throws his head back laughing so loud everyone who wasn’t already looking at them turns to do just that. Derek wants to be a little mad that Stiles doesn’t take it seriously but he also falls a little in love with how beautiful Stiles looks when he laughs like that, with his whole body.
They’re walking again, almost at the door for the history class they share when Stiles speaks again, not even trying to be quiet.
“I can’t believe I spent the last two years trying to avoid talking about the porn folder on my laptop just to be called kinky for being in the most vanilla relationship a person can be in.” Derek smacks him in the back of his head.
To say Laura hates Stiles is an understatement. Laura’s eyes flash red every time Derek even mentions him, she breaks a glass while she’s drinking some water and Derek answers a call from him, she tells him that he can’t have Stiles home when nobody else is there. She doesn’t tell Derek he can’t see him though.
Stiles thinks it’s hilarious. Whenever Derek invites him over for dinner and Laura has to make an actual effort not to roll her eyes at every joke Stiles makes or grind her teeth every time Stiles even mentions the fact that they’re a werewolf pack, Stiles looks amused like it’s funny the most important person in Derek’s life, his older sister, his alpha, can’t stand him.
Derek wonders, sometimes, if Laura thinks this is his rebellious phase, she makes some snide comments that suggests she thinks he’s dating Stiles just to piss her off, dating a human in a town they’re supposed to be living for at least a year, where she has a job that she almost enjoys and pays her well enough that she doesn’t have to use the money their parents left just so they can use the car instead of running to school, just because he wants attention or something.
He doesn’t know how to tell Laura why he dates Stiles. He doesn’t know how to say that Stiles’ smile makes him feel happy inside, that when they talk he forgets he was branded different from the day he born, that when they kiss he feels a connection he never did with anyone that wasn’t pack, that he likes Stiles so much he almost wants to say the other word, the one that means more than like with the same number of letters.
Derek knows Stiles is ignorant of what werewolves have to go through, he never met a werewolf before Derek and he doesn’t feel the difference, Derek never shifts in front of him, never runs as fast as he can, at most helps Stiles carry his things when they’re too heavy for him but weight nothing for Derek. But he also knows Stiles wants to ask, bites his lip not to sound too curious or too nosy when they almost breach the werewolf subject, afraid something will change between them. So he knows they’ll talk about it one day. And he knows Stiles will understand. He knows. He also knows it won’t matter anyway because he’ll have to leave soon.
Stiles’ dad isn’t a huge fan of Derek either, but he at least makes an effort. Derek knows he’s afraid Derek will hurt Stiles in any way, that he’ll lose control one day and Stiles will end up with broken bones or claw marks scars on his body. Derek is afraid of that too.
Winter break comes and Derek feels like he’s drowning on Stiles. In a good way. They’re always together, in each other’s space, in each other’s house, in each other’s car. They’re always touching, kissing, to the point he feels Stiles’ hands on him even when he’s alone on his bed, too pent up with sleep, Stiles’ voice still on his head whispering “I’m just waiting for you to be ready so we can finally have sex”.
Like any born werewolf, Derek spent a good part of his childhood getting to terms with his strength and his speed, broke a lot of bed frames by jumping on his bed, left people behind because he was walking too fast. He likes to think he has perfect control now he’s not a child anymore, but he knows his eyes still flash bright gold when Stiles turns him on too much, his fangs still drop accidentally when he thinks something bad is about to happen.
It worries him. He’s not a virgin but all the sex he’s had was with werewolves and he was too into it to even realize if there were any scratch or bite marks before it was all done and he was satisfied and everything already had time to heal. Sometimes Stiles bumps into a door frame and the bruise stays on him for over a week before it disappears.
Derek tries very hard not to think about it, sex with Stiles, jerks off in the shower every day before going to meet his boyfriend, forehead resting on the tiles while he’s making an active effort not to let his claws pop out, trying not to imagine Stiles touching him.
On Christmas, they’re sitting across each other at the diner they had their first date and Stiles grabs something out of the pocket of his hoodie, puts it on the table and pushes it towards Derek.
“It’s a Christmas’ gift,” Stiles explains, biting his lips nervously while they both look at the wrapped box on the table. “There’s a letter in the box too, but you can’t open that now. You have to save it for when you think you're going to break up with me.”
Derek snorts, rolls his eyes and finally reaches for the box. He unwraps it quickly and sees a fake rabbit foot keychain and a sealed envelope. He looks up at Stiles, eyebrows raising in question.
“I thought it’d be funny, you know. You’re a wolf and wolves eat rabbits so… And you saved the foot because it’s supposed to be lucky,” Stiles says. “Haha, am I right?”.
Derek laughs and leans over the table to kiss him.
Stiles decides to drag Derek to a double date on a Friday night the week before Valentine’s day. He says it will be fun and that Derek and Scott need to spend more time together because they’re his two best friends. Derek only lets him because he likes Kira, he actually wants to watch the movie they’re going to before going to the pizza place, and because it’s Stiles.
If anyone had asked Derek before that Friday night to guess what would be the reason of his and Stiles’ first fight, he would have described exactly what happens that day with very few differences.
The movie is good and they decide to walk to the pizza place and then go back for their cars instead of driving there because it’s only a five-minute walk. Stiles and Scott walk ahead, talking about the movie and laughing, with their arms around each other’s shoulders, while Derek and Kira stay a little behind talking about martial arts training and politics.
It’s a cold night and Derek is wearing a leather jacket over his t-shirt but he can see Kira shivering under her sweater so he takes his jacket off and puts it around his shoulder since he runs hotter than humans and they’re almost there.
He’s too distracted talking to Kira to bother looking around the place’s front, too comfortable after being so much around Stiles everywhere in town and not being stopped anywhere, so it’s a surprise to him when they all sit down, Stiles by his side, placing a light kiss on his cheek before grabbing the menu, and this guy with a Henrique’s Pizzas polo shirt comes up, looking a little scared, points to the brand on his wrist and tells him they don’t serve werewolves.
It takes Derek a few seconds to process the information. His wrists are bare because he’s only wearing a t-shirt and Kira still has his leather jacket, he didn’t pay enough attention before entering to see if there was a non-werewolf sign anywhere. His cheeks blush when it finally sinks in, though, with shame, and he nods and instantly makes to get up, ready to leave, when Stiles puts a hand on his shoulder to keep him in his place.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Greenberg?” Stiles asks. “I know there’s no fucking sign at the door saying you guys don’t serve werewolves because I would have noticed it before, so when was this novel policy invented? Just now? Just because your dad saw Derek’s wrist and decided he didn’t want him here? Is that it? Or is it just an excuse since he’s always been crazy to have an excuse to kick out the gays out of this place but couldn’t since this is fucking California? Or is it both? Your dad is afraid of the gays and werewolves too? Gay werewolves are probably going straight to last fucking circle of hell in his mind, right?”
“Isn’t Derek bi? I thought we were against bisexual erasure,” Kira says, clearly trying to break the tension. It makes Derek laugh, but Stiles still looks like he’s going to murder someone and guy, Greenberg, is still mostly looking at Derek like he’s going to shift at any moment and rip his throat out.
Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’ wrist and pulls a little, tells him to forget it, but Stiles is still ranting and making a scene when a man on his fifties appears to tell Stiles he has the right to refuse service to anyone in his establishment.
“And fortunately,” Stiles tells him, still ignoring how uncomfortable he’s making everyone, including Derek. “I have the right to tell you to go fuck yourself and ask my dad to tell everyone he interacts with to never come here again, you asshole. I hope you fucking go out of business.”
Derek is too stressed out by then, too pissed at Stiles for ignoring him, so he just nods to Kira and leaves without waiting for Stiles. He picked Stiles up and drove him to the movies, but he’s sure Stiles can make his way back without him, so he just goes straight to his Camaro, turns the five-minute walk into a two-minute one, and drives straight home, to his family, to his pack.
He doesn’t say anything to his sisters, even though they can clearly see he’s upset, just sits down next to Cora on the couch, grabs one of the throw pillows to hug and stares at the TV where they’re watching Dance Moms reruns.
He turns his phone off after three calls and no less than seventeen texts. He’s going to have to talk to Stiles on Monday and they’re going to fight and Derek’s going to be mad and he’ll have to tell Stiles how he doesn’t want people – humans especially – fighting for him and he definitely doesn’t want to stay at any place where people don’t want him. He’s going to have to say how he’s proud of being a werewolf and he’s not going to give anyone the satisfaction of being upset that they won’t let him do something because of it. They’re going to have the conversation they’ve been avoiding and it’s going to be fine and they’re going to be fine and then they’ll kiss and Derek will still not say “I love you”, but he’ll feel it and everything will be good again.
For the rest of the weekend though, he’ll stay with his pack, settled by their bond, relaxed from being near them, seeing they’re safe, phone off, completely offline.
It’s April and people are getting their college admission notifications and celebrating everywhere they might be in town when they see the e-mail on their phones. Derek didn’t apply anywhere so he doesn’t have a reason to check his e-mail account every five minutes, but, though he would never admit it out loud, it makes him happy to see people he sees every day in school celebrating something that they were really looking forward to.
The one thing Derek has always looked forward to was graduating high school and turning eighteen so he could be done with people who are not pack thinking they have any kind of authority over him. He’s kind of dreading it now, the end of the school year, the end of school altogether, the fact that Laura will probably decide that they’ve stayed put too long and they’ll move somewhere else where Cora will be sophomore and Derek will look for a job that doesn’t require a higher education diploma, and Stiles won’t be with him.
“You haven’t talked about college admissions,” Derek mentions to Stiles one day while they’re on Stiles’ bed, lying down, completely dressed because Derek still isn’t sure if he has the self-control for more than the quick handjobs they’ve given each other in their cars a few times. “I thought you had applied to a lot of schools.”
Stiles turns from his back to his side to look him in the eyes, his hand brushing Derek’s hair in a way that makes Derek want to moan in pleasure, waits a while before he replies.
“Yeah, I spent all my savings on the applications,” He says, with a little unhappy smile. “And I was admitted in a lot of places and also got a lot of rejections.”
“So, do you have any idea where you’re going?” Derek knows Stiles doesn’t have a dream school, he just wants a good school that offers him enough financial help so he won’t be in crippling debt after graduating, the closer to home the better.
“Do you have any idea where you’re going?” Stiles shoots back.
“You know I’m not going to college,” Derek says, confused. “I don’t have to think about it.”
“Yeah, but you’re leaving, right? You told me no pack ever stays long in one place because it starts to get dangerous, people start commenting about it online, hate groups start getting too close and no one is ever arrested for a hate crime against a werewolf. So, you’re leaving,” He says.
Derek takes a deep breath, wonders for a second what he’ll say, didn’t want to talk about them being apart yet, wanted to enjoy the last couple of months of school in relationship bliss, sure he’ll never find someone like Stiles again.
“I don’t know. Laura is thinking Minnesota, probably. I’ll try to get a job as a waiter, wait until I’m 21 and then try my luck as a bartender, I don’t know, mixing drinks seems cool,” Stiles nods.
“I got accepted into two universities in Minnesota and I’d tell you I could go there, but then you’d just leave before I graduated so there’d be no point,” Stiles tells him, then wraps his arms completely around him, rests his head on Derek shoulder. “Are you going to break up with me?”
“I don’t know what I’ll do, Stiles. I have to think about it,” He says and feels Stiles nod more than he sees. “I love you, you know?” It’s the first time he says it.
“I love you too,” Stiles says it back immediately, not even pausing to consider.
It’s December 23rd. I am looking at the pile of things you’ve left in my room over the last two months because we’ve been together for almost three months. It’s almost Christmas. I don’t even know if you celebrate Christmas. What is Christmas even besides another way to reinforce capitalism?
So, yeah, I’m looking at your things. Your physics notebook, your fleece North Face hoodie I never plan to let you have back, those disgusting vegan cereal bars you always have with you even though I have never seen it in any store in my life, and your aviator sunglasses you sometimes put on when you’re trying to look cool.
It’s December 23rd but this is not a Christmas letter. If you’re reading this you either completely ignored me and got too curious to wait – that’s what I would have done and you know it – or you’re thinking about breaking up with me. I really hope it’s not the latter but, let’s be real, you’re not the curious type and I’m still amazed you stayed with me for over two months already.
See, this is not a please-don’t-break-up-with-me letter. This is a love letter. By the time I’m writing this I haven’t told you I love you but I do. Maybe I will have done it by the time you’re reading it, maybe I’ll find the courage. Anyway, this is a love letter because it’s the holidays and I guess the one gift everyone needs to receive in their lives is a love letter.
I know we’re seventeen and statistically speaking the chances of us staying together for much longer are not great. That doesn’t bother me though because I don’t think people have to stay together forever to have been in love. My mom died over ten years ago and my dad still loves her. You’re going to break up with me and leave with your pack and I’ll probably meet someone else and fall in love again but I’ll still love you.
I guess this is the beauty of a love letter. The love in them lasts forever. You’ll be able to read it twenty years for now, even if you’re with someone else, a werewolf or a human, and know that in this moment in time, this December 23rd, I was in love with you.
Here’s what happened: I almost tripped over you trying to sit on my spot in class. I know you’re rolling your eyes because we’re basically adults and anyone can seat wherever the hell they damn want, but I had spent a whole week there already before you came along, ok? You stole my spot.
And then I just started noticing you. For the two weeks before I tried to talk to you again, I was watching you. Not in a creepy stalker way, but you just seemed to be everywhere. I saw your car in town and saw you walking the school corridors and saw you writing notes in the classes we share so diligently that I still can’t understand how you decided not to go to college.
That’s why I asked you out, if it ever crossed your mind to wonder. You seemed to be everywhere I looked and I felt like it as fate’s way of telling me that stupidly hot guy with most beautiful green-blue-brown eyes was meant to be with me, even if just for a little while. Yeah, attraction and curiosity and a little push from fate got me a date.
But obviously that’s not why I fell in love with you, and this is what matters, right? Since this is a love letter. A capital L Love Letter. A this-is-my-moment-to-embarrass-myself-to-tell-you-how-I-feel letter.
You’re amazing. I know I like to tease you that I bring the sense of humor in our relationship but you always make me laugh, you always bring a smile to my face, I’m never unhappy when I’m with you.
You’re warm and you’re nice and I can always count on you to help me with anything, my homework, or carrying things, or finding something healthy to buy to my dad so he won’t clog his arteries.
You’re never embarrassed to be seen with me, you let me hold your hand and kiss you and hug you and follow you around like a love-struck puppy. And you never seem to mind, and I love when you initiate things and hug me good morning or grab my hand to walk me to my car. You’re just sweet, even though you don’t want to admit that you are.
You’re just a good person, Derek Hale. I know you’re usually scared to offer help when people need it because too many people have been put off about your werewolf mark to let you help them, but you still offer, to help people with their groceries, to find the cats that disappeared on them, to mow some lawns and clean some gutters for the Beacon Hills elderly population, to make me company.
You’re you. You’re nobody else. You’re Derek Hale and don’t talk much, and the sound of your laughter is rare, and your heart is big, and you’re a werewolf, not a human like me. That’s you. You can shift into your werewolf form and you can lift a car with your bare hands and you can run to Nevada and back faster than it’d take me to drive. You’ve been through shitty things and stayed good at heart and brave and strong – not physically strong, that’s just a werewolf power.
And you made me fall in love with you. Sappy teen love. Serious adult love. Who knows? I’ve never felt like this about anyone else and maybe I won’t feel like this again, maybe we fall in love differently with everyone. Maybe we’ll stay together, you’ll let me go with you the next time you move because I’ll be 18 already, and we’ll see Laura trying not to have a heart attack about it, or we will do long distance and you’ll visit me in college if I get into anywhere worth it that I can afford. Maybe we’ll break up and find each other again years later during the holidays and you’ll see me and remember this letter and we’ll both be single and start dating again. Maybe this is it for us and you’re breaking up with me as soon as I give this to you.
It doesn’t even really matter, my future possible heartbreak. Because I’ll be able to say that you were amazing and I wouldn’t change anything. Not a single second. Because every choice that I’ve made led me to this, to you, and there’s no one else in the world right now I'd rather be with but you.
Please don’t break up with me.