[ anxiety has a very specific smell. it's acidic and bitter and burnt, overpowering and concentrated. stiles' anxiety feels a little different to everyone else's, because derek's spent enough time with him by now to pick up subtleties in him he can't pick up in anyone else; he can tell when stiles' anxiety is a fuse leading up to anger, like when he was reeling from their fight on the full moon. he can tell when his anxiety reflects a feeling of being overwhelmed, like on nights when the two of them are staring at his evidence board together, piecing together what they can. he can tell when stiles is anxious from a bad night's sleep.
but this is confusing. derek doesn't know what this anxiety means. his eyes very pointedly look down to stiles' thigh, brows pinched together. he smells for-- blood, or something, which is kind of invasive, but it doesn't feel like stiles is hiding an injury, which means he's probably just groping at his leg to keep his hand busy. derek runs his hand over his chin and just... silently lets stiles stumble through everything. one minute this isn't important, and the next, it is. one minute he's told not to worry about it, and the next, well. he's allowed to worry about it.
derek really isn't good with uncertainty. he never has been. he's willing to take risks, because risks are justifiable within the context of themselves. if he knows he's going to get hurt, knows he might die, he can prepare for that. if he knows something bad might happen as a consequence for a choice he's made - at least he's still the one who made it. something like this, though? seeing someone he loves feel shaken by something that's so completely unknown to derek, so completely out of his hands? he hates that lack of control. he hates knowing that he's not a part of something big, and he hates knowing that all he can do is stand on the sidelines and wait for things to change without him.
luckily, he trusts stiles. more than he's ever trusted anyone before, which is scary, in its own right, but ultimately what saves him from spiralling back into irrelevant thoughts of breakups and illicit confessions. stiles asks for some water and derek nods, not really sure what else he can do. if stiles needs some time to talk, then derek will give him that. he figures he'll just - find somewhere comfortable to sit, so stiles doesn't have to talk to him about this while they're both standing semi-awkwardly by the hallway.
he drops into one of the leather couches in the living room, immediately feeling uncomfortable. he scooches to the other end of it and rests his elbow on the armrest, keeping his legs tense and together for about two seconds before slovenly manspreading and trying to act more relaxed than he is. he watches stiles meander towards the kitchen, keeping his eyes on him while he gets his water, and if his knee starts to bounce while stiles isn't looking, he stops it before he does. ]
So, uh.
[ ... that's all he's got. his knee bounces again, probably right when stiles is looking back at him, and he sighs through his nose, roughing up his hair on the back of his head. the den is getting kind of dusty and the sun's hitting him in a way that makes him feel like he's going to sneeze, which he petulantly thinks is sort of unfair, because again, stiles looks fucking beautiful in the sun, but.
whatever. derek folds his legs up underneath him, tapping his fingers against his thighs. selfishly - unfairly - it crosses his mind that stiles might... want to tell him that he's changed his mind, and that he wants the bite, and it makes his heart skip in anxious sort of thrill. derek doesn't want to bite him, but knowing that it could be a possibility - knowing that stiles could come around, it's -
irrelevant. that's not what this is. he knows stiles. he knows that's not what this is. he wouldn't even want it to be. this fucking biological impulse to bite the mate he wants to be with is kind of fucking killing him. feels like he's in middle school getting unwanted boners in gym class again.
he's not going to think about bites. or gym class boners. he's just going to think about stiles. ]
no subject
but this is confusing. derek doesn't know what this anxiety means. his eyes very pointedly look down to stiles' thigh, brows pinched together. he smells for-- blood, or something, which is kind of invasive, but it doesn't feel like stiles is hiding an injury, which means he's probably just groping at his leg to keep his hand busy. derek runs his hand over his chin and just... silently lets stiles stumble through everything. one minute this isn't important, and the next, it is. one minute he's told not to worry about it, and the next, well. he's allowed to worry about it.
derek really isn't good with uncertainty. he never has been. he's willing to take risks, because risks are justifiable within the context of themselves. if he knows he's going to get hurt, knows he might die, he can prepare for that. if he knows something bad might happen as a consequence for a choice he's made - at least he's still the one who made it. something like this, though? seeing someone he loves feel shaken by something that's so completely unknown to derek, so completely out of his hands? he hates that lack of control. he hates knowing that he's not a part of something big, and he hates knowing that all he can do is stand on the sidelines and wait for things to change without him.
luckily, he trusts stiles. more than he's ever trusted anyone before, which is scary, in its own right, but ultimately what saves him from spiralling back into irrelevant thoughts of breakups and illicit confessions. stiles asks for some water and derek nods, not really sure what else he can do. if stiles needs some time to talk, then derek will give him that. he figures he'll just - find somewhere comfortable to sit, so stiles doesn't have to talk to him about this while they're both standing semi-awkwardly by the hallway.
he drops into one of the leather couches in the living room, immediately feeling uncomfortable. he scooches to the other end of it and rests his elbow on the armrest, keeping his legs tense and together for about two seconds before slovenly manspreading and trying to act more relaxed than he is. he watches stiles meander towards the kitchen, keeping his eyes on him while he gets his water, and if his knee starts to bounce while stiles isn't looking, he stops it before he does. ]
So, uh.
[ ... that's all he's got. his knee bounces again, probably right when stiles is looking back at him, and he sighs through his nose, roughing up his hair on the back of his head. the den is getting kind of dusty and the sun's hitting him in a way that makes him feel like he's going to sneeze, which he petulantly thinks is sort of unfair, because again, stiles looks fucking beautiful in the sun, but.
whatever. derek folds his legs up underneath him, tapping his fingers against his thighs. selfishly - unfairly - it crosses his mind that stiles might... want to tell him that he's changed his mind, and that he wants the bite, and it makes his heart skip in anxious sort of thrill. derek doesn't want to bite him, but knowing that it could be a possibility - knowing that stiles could come around, it's -
irrelevant. that's not what this is. he knows stiles. he knows that's not what this is. he wouldn't even want it to be. this fucking biological impulse to bite the mate he wants to be with is kind of fucking killing him. feels like he's in middle school getting unwanted boners in gym class again.
he's not going to think about bites. or gym class boners. he's just going to think about stiles. ]
Sit down already, jesus.