“Are you…” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting around the living room to avoid his father’s gaze. “Are you disappointed?”
“Stiles, please look at me,” the Sheriff quietly pleads. But it’s not that easy. Stiles is scared. Even though he asked the question, needs the answer, hearing it is one thing. Seeing it written all over his father’s face, the image seared forever onto his brain, is quite another. “If I’m disappointed in anyone, it’s me.”
Stiles’ brow furrows, brown eyes burning a hole in the cushion of the ugly old plaid recliner his father refuses to get rid of, because his mother brought it home on a whim two years before she passed away. “I don’t understand.”
John sighs. “I don’t expect you to, at least, not right now. It’s part of being a parent, I think. You want things for your kids, picture them in your mind, clearer and sharper than anything you’ve ever imagined before. When you were an infant, Claudia and I used to lie in bed and daydream about what your voice would sound like, your laugh. As you got older, the dreams got bigger: what you’d be when you grew up, where you’d live, your wedding. It was so vivid, that future for you I fabricated in my mind, Stiles, but it was mine, not yours.”
From the corner of his eye Stiles can see his father’s shoulders square up, stubborn and determined. “Maybe it doesn’t turn out exactly as I’d envisioned, but that’s on me, not you. Now, will you please look at me?”
Stiles drags his eyes to his father’s face, takes in the deepening grooves around his eyes and mouth. His father is smiling.
“I know it’s… complicated.” Stiles winces. “You and mom probably didn’t account for a child who’d like both men and women. I’m sorry.”
“Never apologize.” The passion in John’s voice booms, reverberating like a gong inside Stiles chest, shaking loose the ragged breath he’s been holding. “No matter what those pictures we painted looked like, they all had one thing in common, the only thing that counts. You were happy.”
Stiles’ eyes get wet at the words and his heart fills with so many emotions it’s impossible to pinpoint just one.
“Are you in love with someone, Stiles?”
“Yeah, Dad, I am.”
His father nods. “And does this person make you happy?”
It may not have always been true, but it is now. Happy and crazy and whole. “Yes. More than anything.”
“Then for me, it’s really not that complicated. I will never be disappointed in your happiness, son. It’s something to celebrate. Now, does this guy have a name?”
“He does.” Stiles wipes the wetness from his cheeks and grins. “Derek Hale.”
theproblemwithstardust 