[ derek doesn't deserve stiles. he doesn't deserve him, and stiles doesn't deserve this relationship to devolve into constant reassurance and constantly having to tell derek that he has a right to be happy, and derek feels this uncomfortable squeeze in his chest as he criticizes himself for finding another way to make their conversation all about him.
but then he lets that go and actually listens, really fores himself to reread what stiles said. the promise to be there for him, the unwavering determination to see derek in a light that he just doesn't understand. stiles has been nothing but good and kind and supportive, even back home. he didn't have to keep him alive, all those times he did. he didn't ever have to care about him.
so derek paces by his front door again, waiting, impatient. this place has felt so much better, since stiles started coming over - there's a soda stain on the carpet from where they first played chess, derek has some of stiles' clothes washed and folded by his bed, he can smell stiles in the sheets. the new place is going to have stiles ingrained in it, and derek might not be able to survive it.
he hears stiles coming through the door, ears picking up and head raised like a dog hearing its owner come back from the store. derek genuinely tries to be good, he genuinely tries to hold himself back from playing all his cards and showing just how badly he wants to see him, but he honestly can't help himself. stiles stands by the door and derek swings it open, and when he sees him, he can't find the words to express just how happy he is that he's here.
so he doesn't bother using them. he all but dashes forward, sets his hands against stiles' jawline, and he takes him in a kiss, sweet and frantic. he closes his eyes and he just feels stiles' lips against his own, breathing a sigh through his nose like he's finally able to just relax, after hours of being tense and alone, hours of waiting. he holds his breath while they kiss, and he doesn't mind the feeling of his lungs burning when they run out of air.
he pulls back, looking at stiles with his usual level of stern, unapproachable apathy, but there's color in his cheeks, and he doesn't seem to know where to look, flicking his eyes over every inch of stiles' face or off to the side. he breathes in deep, filling his chest, then lets go. he takes stiles' things without asking, then heads into the bedroom to set them down.
derek comes back to the entrance with his thumb grazing over his bottom lip, like he can still feel stiles against him, then quickly drops his arm the second he realizes he could be seen. he's moving sort of mechanically, like he's not really paying attention to what he's doing - his mind's still on the kiss, on stiles, too distracted for anything else. he turns on his heel, looks at stiles, and he's touching his lip again, automatic and unnoticed. he's forgotten to actually say hi.
so. shit. okay. he raises his other arm. gives a bit of a wave, scrunching his fingers down to his palm. ]
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but then he lets that go and actually listens, really fores himself to reread what stiles said. the promise to be there for him, the unwavering determination to see derek in a light that he just doesn't understand. stiles has been nothing but good and kind and supportive, even back home. he didn't have to keep him alive, all those times he did. he didn't ever have to care about him.
so derek paces by his front door again, waiting, impatient. this place has felt so much better, since stiles started coming over - there's a soda stain on the carpet from where they first played chess, derek has some of stiles' clothes washed and folded by his bed, he can smell stiles in the sheets. the new place is going to have stiles ingrained in it, and derek might not be able to survive it.
he hears stiles coming through the door, ears picking up and head raised like a dog hearing its owner come back from the store. derek genuinely tries to be good, he genuinely tries to hold himself back from playing all his cards and showing just how badly he wants to see him, but he honestly can't help himself. stiles stands by the door and derek swings it open, and when he sees him, he can't find the words to express just how happy he is that he's here.
so he doesn't bother using them. he all but dashes forward, sets his hands against stiles' jawline, and he takes him in a kiss, sweet and frantic. he closes his eyes and he just feels stiles' lips against his own, breathing a sigh through his nose like he's finally able to just relax, after hours of being tense and alone, hours of waiting. he holds his breath while they kiss, and he doesn't mind the feeling of his lungs burning when they run out of air.
he pulls back, looking at stiles with his usual level of stern, unapproachable apathy, but there's color in his cheeks, and he doesn't seem to know where to look, flicking his eyes over every inch of stiles' face or off to the side. he breathes in deep, filling his chest, then lets go. he takes stiles' things without asking, then heads into the bedroom to set them down.
derek comes back to the entrance with his thumb grazing over his bottom lip, like he can still feel stiles against him, then quickly drops his arm the second he realizes he could be seen. he's moving sort of mechanically, like he's not really paying attention to what he's doing - his mind's still on the kiss, on stiles, too distracted for anything else. he turns on his heel, looks at stiles, and he's touching his lip again, automatic and unnoticed. he's forgotten to actually say hi.
so. shit. okay. he raises his other arm. gives a bit of a wave, scrunching his fingers down to his palm. ]
Hey.