Archive of Our Own

“What are you afraid of?” people ask sometimes and then inevitably add, “No, but besides that?”

Stiles’ answer remained the same, much to their disappointment. Were he little, he would’ve said that he was afraid of the dark or the bad people his father caught. Then his mom showed him what real fear was — numbing, deafening, freezing cold. It stilled the air in his lungs, it cinched his throat, it blinded him. It was the only thing to force a cry out of him at night and a tear on a sunny day.

Now, as he stood in front of the feral wolf, knowing he would die within minutes, it wasn’t fear that he felt.

It was an overwhelming relief.

*

Everything was green.

The woods, the houses wrapped in cocoons of vines, the very mist in the air.

Stiles closed his eyes. The microscopic droplets coated his face, caressing it in a welcoming, though cold touch. It was nice after the unforgiving scorching sun. His pale skin had enough sunburns for the rest of his life.

It was charming, really. Beacon Hills.

“Get your ass inside, you’re not a dog.”

Stiles smirked and turned from the open window to his father.

Dad caught his gaze out of the corner of his eye and harrumphed. “Don’t—”

Stiles took a deep breath and howled as loud as he could. Dad tried to swat at him but couldn’t look away from the slippery road; his failed attempts and grumpy face with lips pursed together as he tried to suppress a smile made Stiles burst out laughing.

“Idiot,” Dad grumbled.

“C’mon, let me live a little,” said Stiles but clambered inside. It wouldn’t be a good look for a new Sheriff to have a son bending the rules on his first day in a new town. “Besides, you always said you wanted a dog.”

“Yeah, and Claudia brought you in.”

“Haven’t I chewed through things enough?”

Dad sighed.

Despite his glum, Stiles still thought this was for the best. The move. After his dad saved a woman and a child from a violent break-in case, they crowned him a hero and, after his recovery from a bullet wound, sent him to a small town with a new rank of Sheriff. Stiles still had a photo of him running out of the house while shielding a woman with his arm, his face coated in blood and determination.

His dad was a badass.

And now, he got to be a badass in a small town where nothing ever happens. Yay!

Stiles was over the moon. Dad was not, but, at least, he was quiet about it. Perhaps, it was the new salary that shut him up. Both knew nothing would happen to him in Beacon Hills besides a mountain of tedious paperwork and reports every month. Well, maybe a couple of kittens saved from the trees and speeding tickets.

Again, yay.

At last, they turned onto a sleepy street with sprawling trees shading them from the grey sky. Stiles had never seen so much greenery in one place before. It seemed like moss would grow on you if you just stood still for a minute.

Their house was the last in the row, the closest to the forest edge. Stiles grew giddy with the thought of exploring the woods. God, and the smell. The pines, the oaks, heavy and old, filling his lungs with fresh sap and decades of standing still.

When Dad stopped at the parking spot, Stiles stumbled out of the car.

“Careful,” his Dad grunted, as he slipped and caught himself on a car door. “Jesus, you are a disaster…”

But Stiles wasn’t listening. He decided to grab his things later and flew up the porch of the two-stored house colored in dirty light blue. It took one glance at the rocking chair overlooking the front yard for Stiles to chuckle — he could just picture his dad sitting in it, sipping beer, and grumbling over the newspaper.

The front door was locked. Stiles huffed in annoyance, grabbed the handle, and plucked at it.

“Open it, open it, open—”

Dad slapped his hand out of the way. “Stop it.”

Stiles pushed down a smirk at his frustrated grunt. Hey, he was stuck on a plane for four hours and in the car for one. The least he could do was to annoy his dad about it.

The inside was nice, if a little dusty. Dad had already moved in all their furniture in the weeks prior, and the familiarity of it soothed the homesickness.

It is for the better, Stiles reminded himself.

He flew up the stairs and quickly found his room. Light blue walls, white pillows and blankets without covers, an empty bookcase, a chair in the corner, and a desk with an old lamp, overlooking the small backyard. Right under the house, a tiny patch of prickly grass lay like a giant green hedgehog. Beyond the grey fence, there was nothing but the woods.

Stiles opened the window wide, letting in the fresh woody air. He shivered from the cold.

It would be a nice place for his Dad to retire. Stiles should make him pick up his old fishing hobby. Or, adopt a dog. Though, a cat would be more useful since it would keep out the mice.

If luck would have it, Beacon Hills would be a place where Stiles’ hands would stop shaking every time he said goodbye to his dad when he went to work.

The only thing he would have to be worried about was—

Stiles groaned.

*

Not to be dramatic, but Stiles despised school.

In his previous one, he had no friends aside from Heather, and somehow, within five thousand people, he was the one to be picked on. Teachers sucked, his anxiety was through the roof, his nails were bitten down to the skin. If not for his anger issues, he would have ducked his head and bore through it all. Especially after his mother’s death, he was eager to pick up any fight — anything to not feel the grief.

People quickly left him alone with his anger and anxiety as a cherry on top. It got so bad that Dad had to withdraw him for a year. When he returned, kids looked at him as if he was a wild animal one blink away from tearing into someone.

Stiles hoped this time would be better. If not… well, it was only one year.

The school administrator — a thin mouse-like lady in giant glasses and skyscrapers of papers on her desk — greeted him with a gasp when he told her his name. Stiles clenched his teeth; it seemed like everybody already knew about the new Sheriff’s kid. Fantastic.

He took the schedule from her hands along with the school map and glanced over it. He wasn’t about to walk with his nose stuck in papers, because kids like those had a shining sign over them inviting every bully to the buffet.

Math was first, then Lit and English with lunch following.

Quickly noting his directions, Stiles stuffed the map into his bag and walked into the busy hall. And, of course, everyone stared.

How could he forget it was the tiniest school in the world? Everyone here knew each other, and every new person became a subject of gossip for a year. Well, they all could suck it.

Ignoring everyone, Stiles marched into his first class with a stony face and a clenched jaw. He went through a humiliating ordeal of a teacher trying to pronounce his name to the class and had to introduce himself instead. Thankfully, the teacher didn’t try to learn anything about him besides his name and sent him to the empty seat at the back. Despite the placement, the students found a way to stare at him. Their gazes were curious rather than spiteful, but Stiles knew it could change within a minute.

He stayed quiet during the first lesson. As soon as it ended, though, he was approached by a guy with black hair, an uneven jaw, and the sunny smile of a Labrador puppy.

“Hi,” he grabbed Stiles’ hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m Scott. You’re Mi— uh...”

“Stiles,” he corrected, smiling tightly. “Don’t try to pronounce my name, you’ll summon someone.”

The guy stared at him for a moment. Stiles’ heart ratcheted up, and he cursed himself for opening his mouth when suddenly Scott barked a laugh.

“Summon someone,” he repeated and shook his head. “You’re funny, man. What’s your next class?”

“Literature.”

Scott’s face brightened. “You’re with me, then! Come on, I’ll show you the way. How’s BH for you?”

“Green.”

The guy laughed again.

Slowly, Stiles’ palms stopped being clammy. Scott was so friendly that Stiles couldn’t help but breathe out a bit. They talked about Florida and why Stiles was so pale despite the sun. He had to pull out his ‘the sun makes me look like a boiled shrimp’ for this one, which was a hit, as usual.

They didn’t have much time before the class since Stiles had to sort everything out with the teacher. Thankfully, this one didn’t make him go through introductions and dismissed him immediately. He sat behind Scott and his girlfriend Allison — a pretty brunette with big brown eyes and dimples. She was as sunny as Scott and invited him to sit with them at lunch.

Calm the fuck down, he said to his wildly beating heart. It’s a small town, people are nice here.

He met Allison’s red-headed friend Lydia in English and quickly learned that she wasn’t Scott’s friend. She simply tolerated him for Allison’s sake and pursed her glossy lips every time he made a joke. Lydia would be a better fit for Stiles’ former school, with her high heels, short skirt, and chin lifted high. However, she was quite smart with her answers, which warmed Stiles up to her a bit.

Scott talked to him throughout the lunch. He pointed at the tables, showering him with names Stiles forgot the second after, while Allison supplied him with gossip. The book club nerds over there, the goths sulking in the corner, the mayor’s kids absent from the peasant’s lunch room.

Lydia waved at the lacrosse team’s table and said her boyfriend was somewhere in there in a bored tone. She kept glancing at Stiles, though, as if waiting for his reaction. She looked like the girl to dismiss every guy’s attention and then sulk when she didn’t get it at the first flutter of her eyelashes.

Stiles’ attention, though, escaped her, as his gaze locked on one table in particular.

There were five of them: three guys and two girls. The blonde bombshell had her hand weaved around the muscly arm of a tall dude, the only black one of the group, who kept picking at his fries with little interest. Next to them, was a tall lanky guy with a mop of golden curls on his head and giant blue eyes. He was arguing with another girl who had her head on the shoulder of the black-haired guy beside her. The girl all but snarled at the curly boy about something, though Stiles could hear none of their talk.

Stiles put his chin on his hand as he gazed at the black-haired guy, the most handsome of them all. He looked older, like he didn’t belong here at all. There was even some stubble on his angular face. He was in a jersey like the black guy, and Stiles wondered why they weren’t sitting with the other players.

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Stiles swerved his head to his own table and found Lydia picking apart an orange with her claws. Under her highly arched eyebrow, her gaze was too knowing for Stiles’ comfort.

“I didn’t do anything,” Stiles huffed, meeting her eyes in a challenge.

“Those are the Hales,” Allison hissed like saying their name was a curse. “Two of them, at least, the others are adopted.”

“The black one is Boyd and the girl next to him is Erica,” Scott supplied helpfully. “The one in the scarf is Isaac, he’s a real douche. The rest are the Hales: Cora and Derek.”

“Don’t even try,” Lydia drawled. “They don’t talk to anyone, don’t date, don’t make friends. The rule is: you leave them alone and they do the same to you.”

Stiles took a bite of his carrot, shutting himself up. Someone was salty.

“What happens to someone who doesn’t?” he asked instead.

Scott winced. “Greenburg walked with a broken nose for a month after he asked Cora out.”

“I don’t know what he was thinking,” muttered Allison, making Lydia’s lips twitch upward. “If Cora didn’t clock him, it would’ve been Derek.”

Stiles shuffled in his seat. “He looks old.”

“He’s nineteen,” Lydia said in distaste. “The Hales send their kids to school a couple of years late. I think, it is weird.”

“Why?”

“Nineteen in high school?” Lydia looked at him as if he was insane. “Gross.”

“Have you asked him out?” Stiles asked suddenly and smirked when the girl lifted her chin.

She definitely did. And got rejected.

With a smirk still rolling on his lips, Stiles looked over his shoulder once more.

Derek was staring right at him.

His gaze, clear and unnerving, green like everything in this town, sent a jolt through Stiles. His heart stumbled and sped up, beating on his ribs like a bird caught in a trap.

He looked away with the full knowledge that Derek continued to stare. He could almost feel his gaze on the back of his head.

Stiles took a sip of Coke. The drink soothed his suddenly dry mouth.

God, it’s just a boy. Calm down, Stilinski.

“—iles?”

He looked at Scott. “Hm?”

“I said, do you want to be on the team?” Scott replied, nonplussed. “I play lacrosse.”

“He’s very good,” Allison grinned, glancing at Scott with hearts in her eyes.

Lydia rolled her eyes so hard that it took Stiles considerable effort not to snort.

“Nah,” he said, rubbing his hand down his shoulder. “I’m more of a track guy.”

“Must be nice for your school to have budget for different sports,” said Lydia sweetly.

“No track then,” muttered Stiles and turned to glance over his shoulder.

Yep, still staring. Not gawking like others, just… observing. Despite his resting murder face, Derek appeared quite calm — the complete opposite of the jocks at the other table. It wasn’t until the curly one — Isaac — asked him something that he shifted his glance away. His mouth folded in a very clear and frustrated “What.”.

Stiles looked away.

After a few minutes, the five of them left. They moved with a weird grace — weird because of how natural it seemed, as if it came from within.

Stiles lowered his eyes to his plate. He didn’t want to be caught again. Or disappointed were he to find Derek’s gaze not on him.

Stupid. It was stupid.

He could not develop a crush right now. Derek would smash his head against the wall if he found out that a newbie was pining for him. They were not in the same league. In different stratospheres, more like.

Stiles didn’t say much for the rest of the lunch, but thankfully, Scott filled the silence. He tried to breathe slower to calm his racing heart, but nothing seemed to work.

When they finished, Allison led him to a Biology class, which they shared and apologized profusely when he found out she already had a lab partner and didn’t want to ditch them mid-term. Stiles was fine with it. He reassured her and couldn’t help but smile a little at her relieved dimpled grin.

She and Scott were truly made for each other.

Stiles handed his papers to the teacher and was about to glance around the room when he saw him.

Derek Hale.

Drawn by magnets, their gazes locked again. It wasn’t even the game of who drops it first, it was as if they couldn’t break the eye contact.

How striking Derek’s eyes were, damn. Stiles didn’t dare to dislike his own brown eyes since his mother had the same, but he couldn’t help but find the other colors attractive. Green like Derek’s? Sign him the fuck up.

The spell broke when another student pushed between the desks, blocking Derek from Stiles’ view. Instantly, his face grew warm. For how long had he been staring? God, please, he didn’t want to be a weirdo on the first day. And not in front of Derek fucking Hale who would probably make his life hell for that.

Stiles took the slip from the teacher along with some books and went to find the—

Shit, of-fucking-course, the only available seat was next to Hale.

Tightening his lips, Stiles went over to his desk, lowered into the seat, and pulled out his books. When he turned to introduce himself — because that’s what normal people did, right? it wasn’t weird and Stiles wasn’t either — Derek grew rigid.

The words froze on Stiles’ tongue at the sight of the guy’s white knuckles. Derek didn’t acknowledge him at all, he just looked… shocked. He stared at the spot on the table between them, his pupils weirdly wide, and clenched the edge of the desk between his fingers as if he was afraid he would fall if he let go.

Stiles glanced at the muscles shifting along the sharp line of his jaw and decided right then and there that he had enough.

If Derek Hale would rather have an aneurysm than say hello, then fuck him. What was he shocked about? That someone dared to sit next to him?

Stiles sighed, put his cheek against his fist and his stare on the teacher.

Fuck him.

Fuck. Him.

The entire lecture went over his head. Fortunately, he had studied cellular anatomy before, so he could afford to fume in silence.

Not once did Derek look at him. Or moved, for that matter.

Stiles heard his breathing, slow and deep but measured. It seemed that if he concentrated hard enough, he could hear the guy’s heartbeat. Would it have matched his galloping one?

He glanced at Derek surreptitiously. Nope, still as a stone. He was quite muscular, actually, and those shoulders looked heavenly under the baggy jersey.

Stiles couldn’t have prompted that shock, could he? He was nobody to Derek. Nobody to everyone in this school. There was no way they’d met before — Stiles would remember a guy like him.

Derek was up and gone as soon as the bell rang. He was so quick to get the fuck out that several students began muttering amongst themselves and shrugging.

Somehow, it felt like Stiles’ fault.

Growing red, Stiles gathered his things and was ready to run when Allison gently touched his elbow.

“What did you do to Hale?” she asked, bewildered.

“Nothing!” Stiles huffed. “Haven’t said a word.”

Allison tsked. “I haven’t seen him this bothered, like… ever.”

“Then it’s healthy for him to be bothered once in a while.” Allison looked at him weirdly, and Stiles sighed. “Nevermind…”

“You know, Malia liked you.” The girl smiled, suddenly mischievous. Wasn’t it nice how some people could simply shake things off… “She’s my partner. Asked about you the whole time.”

“Mm.” Stiles swung his bag over his shoulder, barely listening. He wasn’t the guy anyone would fall for. It was made quite clear to him in his previous school. These people just craved something new, and Stiles’ newness would fade rather quickly.

“She’s nice.”

“Nice, yes. Umm, can you tell me where the gym is?”

Allison chortled and shook her head, muttering something like, “Boys…” under her breath.

At P.E., he thankfully managed to avoid any balls to his face, which was a victory in his mind. However, that couldn’t be said for gazes that stuck to him like bees to honey. Guys stared at him without any shame, and the girls giggled. Stiles didn’t understand. His cheeks were probably patchy with redness, and that’s what was funny.

Exhausted and done with the day, Stiles walked into the administrator’s office only to see the familiar spikes of black.

“Mr. Hale,” begged the mousy woman, staring up at Derek. “I cannot give out other student’s information.”

“What if—”

“It is confidential. I’m afraid, I can’t. If you have problems with him—”

The door behind Stiles opened. A tall woman on heels went up to the desk, dropped off the papers onto the careening stack of them, and turned away without a word.

Suddenly, Derek’s shoulders tightened. He glanced around, his eyes zeroing in on Stiles immediately and widening.

“ —suggest you take it up with the office—”

“No, it’s…” Derek blinked a couple of times at her. “It’s fine. Thank you.”

Leaving the blushing woman behind, he turned on his heels and stormed out of the tiny office.

Stiles clenched his teeth.

That was totally about him. What was he trying to find out? His home address, to egg his house at night? What the fuck?! Stiles didn’t care how aloof and non-friendly this Hale dude was, he would get Stiles’ fist in his perfect face if he tried literally anything with him.

“How’s your first day?” asked the woman with her cheeks still flushed.

Stiles slapped the slips from the teachers on her desk and grunted, “Fine.”

“Wonderful,” she chirped, her mind somewhere far away.

Naturally, Hale was a local heartthrob.

Did Stiles see it? Oh, yeah.

Oh, yeah…

As he walked out of school under the stares of many, his gaze found Derek’s entirely on its own.

The guy stood next to the gorgeous black Camaro — and of-fucking-course it was his car — and, you guessed it, stared at Stiles. It was a strange gaze, steady and unblinking. It held leftovers of his earlier shock, though now it was mixed with disbelief and… determination?

When Stiles broke off the stare, his palms grew clammy again. It felt like he had just turned his back to a predator who was ready to take off and set a deathly chase.

Stiles did not look back.

But he was certain that Derek was still looking at him.

*

It was easy to settle into a routine at home. Mostly, because Dad was there. He arrived late from his shift as usual when Stiles was finishing prepping dinner. Well, as much prepping as a casserole and tamales that their neighbor Melissa brought as a welcome gift.

It was a surprising coincidence that Melissa turned out to be Scott’s mother. A nurse and a single parent, she instantly became Stiles’ hero. It would’ve been a heartwarming love story between Melissa and his dad if only the latter hadn’t been so hung up on Stiles’ mom.

He would never get over it. The ring on his finger said it all.

Stiles didn’t like to think about it too much. Their parents were soulmates; they were a fairytale turned nightmare. Besides, he couldn’t imagine someone loving him the same way.

Anyway. Casserole.

“How’s school?” asked Dad.

Stiles shrugged. “It’s school, it’s fine. Made a friend.”

Dad’s fork stopped halfway to his mouth, and his face brightened up. “Really?” He aimed for nonchalant but missed for a mile.

Stiles arched his eyebrow but broke the minute he saw his earnest gaze.

Of course, his old man knew about his previous school, no matter how hard Stiles tried to hide it. A kid wouldn’t fake being ill so many times for no reason. He would bet that Dad was happier than him when it came to Stiles having friends.

“Yeah. He’s our neighbor, Scott. Tried to rope me in their lacrosse team.”

Dad put a bite in his mouth.

“Any girls caught your attention?” he asked with the subtlety of a rhino in a porcelain shop.

Stiles felt obligated to roll his eyes. “No.”

“Boys?”

DEREK HALE.

“No.”

“Alright. You’d let me know if that changes, wouldn’t you?”

Not in a million years.

“Of course,” Stiles smiled. “Actually, you would know faster than me. Nothing in this town is a secret.”

Dad pointed a fork at him. “That. Couldn’t be more true. I get why the last Sheriff quit so early: they do nothing but gossip.”

And that’s exactly why Stiles loved Beacon Hills.

“So?” Stiles stared at him expectantly. “Spill!”

Dad barked a laugh.

His ridiculously pointless tales helped Stiles get his mind off school and its scowling dark-haired boys. He could only hope that tomorrow Derek Hale would forget Stiles ever existed.

*

“No way,” Stiles rasped in a sleepy voice.

Dad smirked at him. “Way.”

The Jeep sat in a driveway, blue and moldy with rust, giant, and probably loud as hell. It was perfect.

“When did you even get this?” Stiles’ breath clouded before him as he stomped down the porch. His hand glided along the blue ice-cold metal forcing a shiver of excitement out of him.

Dad preened so much that he looked ridiculous. “Yesterday before dinner. I was sure you would be onto something, but you were yelling to your songs again—”

“Singing.”

“Yelling. So I was lucky. It’s a bit old, I guess, and I have to get a look at the carburetor, but it’s working and cheap, so I thought— Oof!”

Stiles tightened his arms around his dad’s ribs until the old man let out an uncomfortable grunt. “Thanks, Dad.”

It wasn’t fair to surprise Stiles with a fucking car first thing in the morning when his brains were still scrambled. If anyone asked, he’d blame the early hours for the hoarseness in his voice.

Dad slapped him on the back and cleared his throat. “Sure, son. Sure.”

*

The Jeep only intensified the attention. Stiles cringed at the curious gazes that followed him as he circled the school’s parking lot. Yes, the car was fucking loud, okay? But it was his car.

Stiles smiled.

His fucking car.

He didn’t have one in Florida because of how close his school was to his house. Honestly, with his reputation, it was for the best that he didn’t: some douchebags weren’t above cutting the wires or something worse.

He found a spot at the back and jumped out of the Jeep with an invigorated sense of determination. Everybody can get fucked. The girls whispered to each other and giggled as he walked by; the boys clenched their jaws; the teachers could not pronounce his name. Fuck them all. And, while he’s there, fuck Camaros and the Hales.

Stiles was going to finish this year, and it would be an amazing experience that would turn into nostalgia later on. No nightmares, no fights, and no crushes.

God, why the fuck was everyone giggling?

Grinding his teeth, Stiles adjusted his bag strap and dove into the first available men’s room he could find. He didn’t see anything on his face or clothes, so it could not be about him. With a muffled curse, Stiles washed the sweat off his hands and walked to his first class.

He aced Chemistry, now that Harris wasn’t there, and then Advanced Math and Statistics. Perhaps, he shouldn’t have been so eager to lift his hand in case he would be labeled a know-it-all, but he decided he didn’t give a fuck, right?

Less bad grades equaled less nerves lost on his father’s behalf. Fewer nerves lost meant more years for him to live. Easy.

It was Lydia who accompanied him to lunch. She complimented him on his answers but did it in such a dry and indifferent voice that it sounded like she did him a favor.

Stiles couldn’t care less. She was nothing to him and, in a year, would be gone from his life.

His heartbeat grew in tempo as he looked around the lunchroom. The goths, the nerds, the jocks, and… the Hales.

Derek wasn’t there.

Stiles didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

They sat at their usual table along with Scott and Allison who had a hard time looking away from each other. Scott lamented about a failed test but then switched to the first upcoming game of the season. It was impossible to refuse his giant puppy eyes, and Stiles begrudgingly agreed to attend the game.

He tended to avoid massive gatherings of jocks and their loyal fans. Never ended well for him.

Throughout lunch, he kept thinking that maybe he should’ve refused and said he was going out of town or something. Then again, Dad would be relieved if Stiles made a friend like Scott. But then, what if it’s a collective prank?

Stiles glanced at Scott above the half-peeled orange in his hands. The guy was listening to Allison and Lydia’s talk about the fall dance, and Stiles would bet he hadn’t heard a word. He looked at Allison with quite literally nothing going on in his head.

Stiles grinned to himself. Nah. The guy’s a dork.

Tearing off pieces of the fruit, Stiles glanced over his shoulder at the table in the corner. Cora was lying with her arms crossed on the table, and Erica was laughing at something in Isaac’s phone. Boyd looked like he might as well fall asleep on Erica’s shoulder with his arms around her waist.

Stiles turned away. A wave of pins and needles slowly released their grip on his body.

No Derek.

*

He wasn’t there the next day. Or the next.

In fact, Derek Hale remained absent for the rest of the week.

Stiles had bitten all the skin around his nails down from the thought of him somehow being the cause of it. You’d think he would relax and forget about the guy, but that shocked face simply wouldn’t leave his mind.

What if Hale left school because of him? It would be devastating for his lacrosse team, considering he was their captain. And he had to have a lot of people pining for him — the same people would maul Stiles’ throat if they found out he was the reason for their crush’s absence.

Then Stiles would be shunned again and give his dad a heart attack.

It became worse each day. As he counted four people at the Hale’s table, his stomach turned the size of a cherry pit.

One day, Allison even asked him why he was so pale, her face tense in concern. Stiles dismissed it by saying he had a sleepless night, which turned out to be a mistake. Apparently, some people heard it, and now the entire school was speculating who exactly was keeping him awake at night. When Stiles complained about it, Lydia stopped her sacred hourly procedure of reapplying her gloss to give him a glare of utter disdain.

“Of course, you’re the talk of the entire school,” she said. “A new older guy, decent-looking—”

“Thanks,” Stiles muttered, resting his cheek on the heel of his hand.

“Decent-looking means you’re hot in her book,” said Allison, smirking at Lydia’s indignant scowl. “In everyone’s book. You should hear the locker room talk…”

A slice of cheese dropped from Scott’s sandwich.

“Do you think he’s hot?” he asked in a lost voice.

Allison rolled her eyes. “Everybody does! Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”

Both of their cheeks flushed, sending Lydia into another bout of eye-rolling.

She was wrong, of course. Stiles was just a new shiny thing for a bunch of bored teenagers. They probably wanted to get in with the Sheriff’s kid to make their speeding tickets annulled.

“Whatever,” Stiles frowned, dismissing the talk. He shouldn’t have brought it up. It was just annoying. All those stares made his skin crawl.

Lydia glanced at him as if he was an idiot but returned to her mirror without saying anything. Allison and Scott were busy kissing.

The following weekend Dad had a shift, so Stiles went through their stuff on his own. It was a nice reprieve from the school. Here, he could turn on the music as loud as he wanted and sort through their things on his own time.

Halfway through the clean-up, he received a call from the station and nearly had a heart attack, but thankfully, it was just his dad — the old man had forgotten his phone home again. Stiles got through the kitchen stuff, grumbling to himself about old people, then found a cookbook and brought it to the bookshelf where all the books were out of order. The top of it was collecting dust, and then there was the whole adventure of searching for the duster. He gave up twenty minutes in, as he stumbled upon a laundry that needed sorting out. He swept through a house with the chaos of a hurricane and was completely exhausted by the time Dad came home.

“Oh,” said Dad, closing the door and shaking the rain off his new fancy uniform jacket. “You cleaned up.”

Stiles mumbled something unintelligible into the cushion he was lying on.

Chuckling, his dad came up and ruffled his head. “How ‘bout pizza?”

“Veggie for you!” Stiles lifted a finger.

“No.”

“A salad?”

“… alright.”

They spent an evening eating pizza and watching a baseball game.

Stiles tried not to think about how evenings like this were numbered — warm, cozy nights with him poking fun at his dad’s bad jokes. They were safe now (not as safe as when his dad would retire, but oh well), and Stiles had no reason for his heart to thump that quickly.

Yet, it did, the forever traitor.

*

“Stiles? You coming? We’re gonna be late.”

“There is an apple in my locker.”

“Huh?” Scott came back and leaned over Stiles’ shoulder. “Huh.”

It was a perfectly nice red apple — big and shiny, not waxy at all. Next to it, right on top of the stack of books was a double Snickers bar.

Stiles stared at it dumbly as apprehension clouded over him.

Who would do that? Was the apple laced? The bar didn’t seem to have been opened, though he needed to inspect the wrapping, but anything could’ve been done to an apple. He was no Snow White, but he was familiar with pranks.

Stiles leaned back and glanced over the hall. A couple of people were looking at him, though they seemed too skittish to do anything. A group of girls walked past; one of them said, “Hi, Stiles” shyly, and they all burst into giggles.

Huffing in irritation, Stiles glared back at his locker, wondering how easy it was to break into it. Nah, this wasn’t the safe space.

“What are you doing?” Scott asked, bewildered, as he watched Stiles shove everything out and into his bag.

“Precaution,” he grumbled and slammed the locker door shut.

Throughout the day, his stomach kept churning. He was suspicious of everybody, though the level of attention didn’t differ from the day before. When at noon, they walked into the lunchroom, Stiles gave it his usual glance over.

And then froze in place.

There were five people at the Hales’ table.

“—get something? Earth to Stiles?”

Stiles snapped his gaze to Scott. “Uh… um…” he swallowed around his dry mouth. “I’ll just get the soda today.”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott lightened, grabbing a tray for himself and Allison because he was a gentleman like that. “You got snacks already. You sure you don’t want more?”

“Mm-m.” Don’t look there, don’t look.

“You seem weird today,” said Scott, filling his tray as he went. His genuine concern warmed Stiles up.

“My head hurts.” Stiles shrugged him off in as gentle a voice as he could master.

Scott went on a tangent about the benefits of caffeine for low blood pressure patients. Stiles followed him to their table and sat down with the skin on his back crawling with shivers.

He was there. There!

Stiles opened his Coke and took a gulp, coughing a little at the gas bubbles popping right into his nose. Scott was busy eating, and the girls were heads deep into the discussion about the Jane Eyre essay and the presence of fantasy in it. Taking out his Snickers bar, Stiles twirled it between his long fingers, tracing every seam. He looked for a break or a loose drop of glue, but it appeared to be a perfectly normal bar. Perhaps, someone put it in his locker as a distraction for the apple, which he didn’t even take out of the bag.

Alas, his stomach was too shrunk up to eat. Even soda was hard to get inside.

Licking his lips, Stiles looked at his friends and, after making sure they were distracted, glanced around his shoulder.

The Hales looked exceptionally lively today. Boyd was having a heated discussion with Cora who kept shaking her head, which Isaac took advantage of by stealing her baby carrots. Erica was reapplying her lipstick and cursed every time Boyd nudged her arm in the heat of an argument. Derek was watching them with a smile.

“What are you looking at?”

For a fleeting breath of a moment, their eyes met.

With his stomach jumping a mile high, Stiles swiveled around.

Lydia lifted her eyebrow. The corners of her mouth kept twitching. “Well?”

“Nothing,” Stiles muttered and unscrewed the metal ring off the soda can. His heart pounded in his ears.

Lydia hummed and raked her fork around her premium salad bowl.

“Derek Hale is looking at you.”

FUCK.

He could feel his cheeks growing warm. He clenched his teeth instead.

“You look like he’s gonna kill you,” Lydia drawled. Oh, she was having a field day with him, at last.

“Does he look like that as well?” Stiles asked. He thought to drink his Coke, but then it would be too obvious that his mouth was dry. Instead, he twirled the Snickers bar in his hand.

He nearly cursed when Scott of all people leaned around him to look. He then glanced at Stiles and shook his head. “No,” and returned to his lunch without providing any more information.

Stiles was ready to strangle him.

“Stop jiggling your leg,” Lydia snapped.

Stiles did.

In fact, he stared at everything except for The Table for the rest of the lunch.

He thought that P.E. would let him take the edge off, but it just made everything worse on an empty stomach. He walked into Biology class with a flushed face and immediately sighed in relief.

His table was empty.

Stiles fell on his chair and began skimming through his notes in preparation for the class. There were microscopes on the tables, which meant they would be doing some lab work. He was certain in his abilities since he had this lab before—

The chair next to him scratched against the floor.

Every tendon in Stiles’ body stiffened.

“Hi.”

Whether it was adrenaline or his body giving up, the tension left Stiles at once. He looked at Derek. How could anyone be more handsome from this close?

“Hi,” Stiles replied.

A light smile was playing on Derek’s lips — a flirtation in itself. This guy truly needed nothing more than a simple grin to charm anyone to their knees. His insane eyes were a deep breath of fresh forest air.

“Sorry, I was a douche last week,” he said in a quiet rumbling voice. Its calmness forced Stiles to unclench his fingers. “Didn’t even introduce myself. I’m Derek.”

His clear eyes didn’t drop from Stiles’. He sat sideways in his chair, his posture open and relaxed. God, how did people like him exist? Here Stiles was, second-guessing his every breath for an entire week following their interaction, and this dude was just… smiling.

Damn, he looked good doing it, though.

Incredibly good.

“Stiles,” he said at last.

A smirk bloomed in the corner of Derek’s lips. “Oh, I know.”

Ah, yes. New Sheriff’s kid.

“’course you do,” Stiles muttered and had his head spin when Derek chuckled.

They got interrupted by a teacher who grunted his way through lab instructions. And, even though Stiles was looking at Mr. Bennet, he could feel Derek’s gaze burning the side of his face.

Strangely, it made him want to laugh. Was Hale jealous of all the attention, just like Lydia?

When the teacher gave them five glass slides with onion pieces, Stiles shifted toward the microscope.

“You mind if I go first?” he asked, glancing at Derek.

“Mm-m,” Derek gave a tiny shake of his head.

Stiles cleared his throat and quickly turned to the instrument. He felt a weird kinship with the eviscerated onion, now that both of them were under an intense studying gaze.

“Prophase,” said Stiles and picked up his pen to write it down.

“May I?”

As Derek took the microscope, the tips of his fingers caught on Stiles' hand.

They were hot, feverishly so.

Stiles, however, barely noticed because as soon as they touched, a spark of electricity burst between their skin. It traveled through Stiles’ body, lighting it up, bursting inside, filling him with the fizziness of champagne elation—

Stiles swallowed.

Calm down, Romeo.

He cleared his throat again. “Uh, sure.”

On some unconscious level, Stiles tried to imitate Derek’s weirdly deep breathing to calm his heart down. It raced, the idiot. God, if he becomes flushed because of it…

“Prophase,” Derek agreed and wrote it down. He leaned forward to pick up the second slide, and Stiles’ breath froze from the close distance. Of-fucking-course, Hale smelled amazing. “Anaphase.”

Stiles startled, scrambling his thoughts together. He carefully slid the microscope toward himself and glanced at the slide.

Huh. The jock had brains.

“You seem surprised.”

Stiles huffed, writing down the answer. “In my experience, sports players aren’t the brightest tools in the shed. It’s good if they know a ball from their teammate’s head.”

“You know a lot of jocks?” Derek asked.

At last, Stiles leaned his elbows against the table and looked straight at him. “Wish I didn’t.”

“Ouch,” Derek smirked, though his eyes narrowed.

Stiles hurried to answer. “Nothing against you. Just…” he turned away and shrugged.

“They’re fucking dumb?”

Stiles couldn’t help it and let out a laugh. Immediately, the teacher hissed at him from the back of the class.

“Sorry,” Stiles muttered. Mortified at the multiple pairs of eyes gawking at him, he quickly turned back.

“Sorry,” Derek repeated. His polite smile turned wicked when he met Stiles' gaze; it seemed like the attention didn’t bother him at all. “C’mon, Stiles, I’m the captain. You think I don’t know how stupid they are?”

Stiles pushed down a smile and took the third onion slide to keep up the pretense of work.

“I see you value them highly,” he murmured. “Does Boyd know this?”

Derek locked his hands and leaned back on his chair, balancing it on two legs. “No, Boyd’s good. The rest don’t have a single brain cell between them.”

“Even Scott?”

Derek lifted his eyebrows. “Did I stutter?” His chair made a loud thunk as he put it on four legs. He took the offered microscope and glanced into it, frowning a little. “Interphase?”

“Yup.”

Derek smirked again and wrote it down. “Speaking of dumbasses: Aiden thinks you and Lydia are a thing.” He looked at Stiles, studying his confused expression. “What? Everyone says you two would be a good pair.”

“Nope,” Stiles shuddered from the thought. “Not in a million years. I’m not a masochist.”

“She’s beautiful,” Derek shrugged.

Ah.

Stiles picked at the edge of his notebook. His chest grew heavy. Why on Earth was he disappointed? Nothing was happening.

Nothing.

He sighed. “She won’t mind if you ask her out, you know?”

Derek stopped flipping his pen. “That’s not—”

“Too much talk, gentlemen.” Mr. Bennet appeared at their table like a poltergeist, sudden and unfriendly. He leaned over their table and pursed his thin lips at their half-completed work. “Mr. Hale, I would much appreciate it if you didn’t do all the work by yourself—”

Stiles glanced at Derek and frowned at the difference in his face. He all but glowered at the teacher; his jaw was visibly tense, his shoulders stiff.

“Stiles did two out of three,” he grunted out.

Mr. Bennet’s eyes acquired a curious glimmer. “You did this before?”

“Uh, yes,” said Stiles. “In my previous school.”

“I see, I see. Well, if you’d be so kind not to disturb other— Greenberg! Why on earth would you—” Mr. Bennet clenched his fists and flew to the back of the class. Turned out, Greenberg pushed the slide so tightly against the microscope that it shattered.

“I don’t want to ask her out,” Derek said with an urgency in his quiet voice. Stiles was taken aback by the seriousness in his expression. “I would never do that.”

Stiles blinked at him. “Okay?”

“Never.”

“Chill, dude, I got it.”

Derek’s shoulders sagged as he breathed out. “Don’t call me dude.”

Stiles clenched his teeth to hide a smile. “Okay. Derek.”

He put the forth onion slide down, studied it, and wrote down the result. The whole time Derek Hale was silent, though his presence was anything but. He had a nice build, strong and athletic, the way that requires years of constant work. It felt heavy, his looming existence, so close to Stiles; not an asphyxiating pressure, but welcome and warm, like… Like sun. Or a blanket at the end of the tiring day.

His gaze didn’t bother Stiles as much as the others’ did. It was surprising but nice. Perhaps, it was because of his attention that Stiles was able to focus on the lab work and finish it quickly.

“Your, um…” Derek’s throat clicked. Stiles looked at him; the guy appeared dazed. He blinked a couple of times, then nodded at Stiles as if shaking off his thoughts. “Is that your stomach rumbling?”

Oh, fuck. Was it really that loud? Stiles didn’t even notice when his stomach settled for the first time that day, enough for it to experience hunger.

“Yep, sorry,” he pursed his lips. “Wasn’t hungry during lunch, but after P.E. it caught up to me, I guess.”

Derek hummed. The way his pen rested between his fingers was strangely erotic, and Stiles fought down a blush.

Get it together.

“Don’t you have an apple or something?”

Stiles stared at him. “How do you know?”

“Scott told everyone at practice that someone left it in your locker.”

Of course. Stiles rolled his eyes. “You want it?” he asked, pushing down his annoyance.

“You don’t like apples?” Derek frowned.

“You’re missing the point, d— Derek,” Stiles caught himself in time. “Someone left it in my locker.”

“You’re pissed off you got a secret admirer?”

“It can be laced.”

“Who the fuck would lace—”

“Well, now that you said it, Aiden is my number one suspect,” Stiles turned, now facing him fully. Derek was looking at him weirdly. “I’m not gonna eat it without knowing who it came from.”

Derek looked down, pondering something. When he started speaking, Stiles’ stomach dropped.

“So… your first thought after finding an apple in your locker is that it’s drugged, and not that it’s a present.” His eyes bore into Stiles so intensely that he had to roll his eyes to break off the gaze.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he picked up his bag, found the now wrinkled double Snickers bar, and took it out. Stiles opened it quietly and offered one to Derek.

“This one’s clean,” he said, ignoring everything that was said before. When Derek made no move to take it, Stiles’ smile tensed. “I checked the seams. Or, are you, like, on a diet?—”

Derek took the offered bar without breaking his gaze. A red light reflected off something and, for a moment, painted his eyes in crimson. Stiles glanced around swiftly, but before he could find what the light was, Derek spoke again.

“Thank you.”

Stiles’ stomach unclenched and, thus, felt hunger again.

It seemed that Derek didn’t trust Stiles fully because he waited for Stiles to take the bite first. Which, he did, with full confidence.

Fuck, he probably looked stupid.

They finished their chocolate bars and their lab work with a few minutes to spare. Mr. Bennet collected everyone’s work and dismissed them right as the bell rang.

“It’s my treat next time,” said Derek, gathering his things. He swung his backpack over his shoulder, making it very hard for Stiles not to stare at the shirt stretching on his chest.

“You don’t—”

“—have to?” Derek arched his eyebrow and walked closer. Since when was he this tall? “I know.” His gaze slipped down Stiles’ mouth. Before Stiles could react, Derek swiped his finger on Stiles’ jaw.

Their eyes met.

“Chocolate,” said Derek, smiled, and walked off.

If Stiles had been calm before, then now, thunder stormed inside him. His chest grew tighter and tighter but with something sparkling and eager this time.

He stared at the class door until someone poked him in the arm. It was Allison, completely red from holding in the laugh.

Stiles cursed at her stunned face.

“Not a word,” he grunted, frantically shoving his notes into his backpack.

Allison sputtered and waved at the class. “Too late for that.”

Stiles lifted his head and paled.

Everyone was staring.

“Fuck.”

*

By the end of the day, Stiles convinced himself that he made it all up.

No, but really. Since when did hot people flirt with Stiles Stilinski? Or regular people? Anyone?

Stiles simply had to acclimate himself to a friendly environment. Not everyone who was nice to him was flirting, Stiles wasn’t a douche, he knew that. But… Derek Hale.

Why would he smile like that? Why would he stare at Stiles like they did in the movies, all sweet, and cute, and vomit-inducing? Not like Derek was vomit-inducing, more like boner-indu— Whatever!

Beside the point, why was Stiles so entranced by him? He barely knew the guy! Yes, Derek was smart (based on one Biology lab), kind (he stooped low enough to say hello to Stiles), funny (hotness level one thousand), and gorgeous (the evidence was right there, in your face). Four traits came together in harmony to create Stiles’ perfect crush.

That wasn’t supposed to happen. But, then again, a lot of things in his life weren’t supposed to happen. He had to do what he always did: lift his chin high and claw his way through it.

Stiles would harbor his crush in silence. He could totally do it. He wouldn’t be weird, not even a little bit, and talk to Derek like a normal human being with no interest in the finest of BH High School specimens.

Sure, Derek probably differed from the jocks in his former school, but… Stiles shuddered at the thought of what would happen to him were he to confess love to that kind of people.

It was just a year. It would pass. Without anyone knowing.

However, the thoughts pushed themselves into his mind as he lay in the dark, swallowed by his duvet. Thoughts of “what if?”.

What if Derek was flirting?

Despite himself, despite the bitter hope in the depth of his stomach, Stiles’ lips flinched in a smile. It felt like there was a balloon inside him, growing and expanding, and the only way to get rid of it was to give up and laugh.

The thing is, even if Derek confessed, like, tomorrow, in reciprocation of Stiles’ budding feelings, it would take something solid and serious for him to believe the guy. Was it pathetic and sad? Yes, it was.

But, again. Dad was forbidden any worry. And Dad would definitely worry if he saw Stiles’ blue face.

It took a long time for Stiles to fall asleep. In the morning, he got up early to put on the snow chains on the Jeep with his Dad. The old man nagged him all evening about the icy roads, and, to Stiles’ annoyance, he was right. The streets were covered in snowy floccus. And, yeah, the roads were plastered with ice.

“You’re putting it wrong, Stiles!” Stiles mocked him in a squeaky voice as he drove through the streets. “Too far apart— God, I’m gonna make you eat celery for the rest of your long and happy life.”

He crawled after someone’s silver Toyota around the parking lot to his spot at the edge of it. With Herculean determination, he kept himself from glancing at the black Camaro and the tall figure beside it. Stiles, however, did breathe out as he passed the Hales.

Nobody saw that, right?

Muttering to himself, he parked the car, grabbed his backpack, and jumped out of the Jeep — and, of course, immediately slipped. Fucking ice. Luckily, he caught himself on the car door and straightened out with a red face.

Pushing down the urge to yell “I’m fine!” so that everyone would stop staring at him, Stiles cursed at the contents of his backpack, which spilled over the ground.

He was just about to pick them up when suddenly, several things happened at once.

Something squealed, loud and sharp.

People yelled, petrified.

Derek’s face froze in pale horror.

A bright red truck with a deathly white Greenburg behind the wheel skidded across the ice-covered ground. It headed right for Stiles.

There was no place to go. No time to move or even take a breath.

I’m gonna die, he thought.

His body braced for impact when he was suddenly pushed to the side. Hot, strong arms weaved around him, moving him out of the way.

The force of the impact sent Stiles to the ground. All air left him as he fell, his head cracking against the ice.

The sharp squeal of the wheels was followed by a deafening crunch of metal against something solid, and then…

Silence.

A second. Another one.

The air kept moving in and out of his lungs for some reason. His heart stuttered, incoherent.

Stiles opened his eyes.

He was alive. The cold hard ground beneath him. The sharp pain on the side of his head. The red truck sitting still mere inches from his feet — he could touch it if he had just lifted his hand. A very distinct imprint of someone’s shoulders on the metal on the car’s side.

Derek Hale, lying on top of him with his eyes blazing red.

For a monumentally long second, they stared at each other with wide eyes.

“Are you alright?! Stiles?”

After one blink, Derek’s frantic eyes lost the red but not the panic. With a strange disregard for the truck, Derek grabbed his face, gently, softly, fixing his head in place.

“Answer me!” he all but growled, his face pale as a sheet.

Deep inside Stiles’ soul, something stirred. It seemed as if Derek’s command thrust inside his chest cavity, sank a hook around his will, and pulled.

“M’ fine,” Stiles mumbled in a hoarse voice.

“Oh god—” In a fleeting moment of weakness, Derek shut his eyes and pressed his forehead against Stiles’ one.

His breath, warm and sharp, weaved around Stiles’ chin and neck. He shivered.

The loss of Derek’s warmth was sudden and drastic to his sense of awareness. Someone switched on the sound, the very world itself, and it was chaos.

Lydia’s shrill calling of his name, Scott yelling “My Mom’s a nurse!” for whatever reason, the voices, the shouts, the buzz of panic around him.

Jesus fuck, he was alive!

Stiles tried to sit up, but Derek’s heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“No, don’t move,” he said. His jaw was clenched, his face soaked in fury. His hand trembled. “You hit your head. There’s blood.”

Stiles lay down with a groan. “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

Derek didn’t laugh.

Stiles blinked at him, squinting his eyes against the bright grey sky. The coldness soaked into his back.

“How did you…” he swallowed. “How did you get over here so fast?”

Derek stiffened. The muscles in his jaw bulged. “I was standing right next to you.”

Stiles stared at him, befuddled.

Why would he lie?

“We both know that’s not true,” said Stiles quietly.

Derek swiveled his head to glare at him. “I told you, I was standing—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Derek pursed his lips as if he was holding down another snarl. His gaze shifted around, searching for a way out, but his hand stayed glued to Stiles’ shoulder. Iron grip.

Stiles’ heart took a second to pang at the look of utter desperation on Derek’s face. He looked as if he was losing something right at this very moment.

“Derek,” he called.

Derek glanced at Stiles with a hollowness in his eyes.

“Just… Lay down, okay?” he grunted.

At last, people managed to push away the truck, dissolving their trap. They pulled a very bloody mumbling Greenburg out of the car and onto the stretcher of the ambulance. Oh, that’s what the sound was — sirens.

Which means—

“STILES!”

Oh, fuck.

“I’m fine, Dad,” Stiles said as the ashen face of his father peeked around the truck. “Just a bump.”

His dad, of course, did not believe him. His knees cracked as he kneeled and leaned over Stiles, examining every inch of him with anger brewing in his blue eyes. Seeing him and Derek next to each other felt surreal, like both of his worlds colliding.

“He hit his head,” tattled Derek.

Stiles glared at him as his father inhaled sharply.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“Dad!”

“And who are you?” Done with Stiles, his father snapped at Derek, who, to Stiles’ surprise, remained completely unaffected.

“He pushed me out of the way,” blurted Stiles.

Both men looked at him, though Derek’s face remained closed off.

Stiles swallowed as he held his gaze, then blinked away at his dad. “He… he saved my life.”

Dad inhaled through his nose, turned to Derek, and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going to the hospital, too, son,” he said in a no-nonsense voice and got up.

Derek’s eyes grew alarmed. “N-no—”

Stiles let out a weak laugh. This guy had no idea what he had gotten himself into.

As they loaded him on a stretcher in front of all the fucking people, Stiles saw a glimpse of the rest of the Hales. He had honestly forgotten about them but now that he thought about it, their complete lack of concern for Derek was definitely weird. Cora, in particular, was seething as she glared at her brother jumping into the ambulance.

Derek did not give them a single glance.

Things made no sense. But they did start to stack up. Stiles had to catch Derek before he vanished forever.

The thought of it made panic flare up inside. Stiles pushed it down as hard as he could. Now was not the time.

He glanced at Derek who sat at the back of the car. His scowl did not link with the defeated slope of his shoulders; no matter how hard Stiles stared, he couldn’t catch Derek’s gaze.

You were standing far away, and the next second you were here, saving my life. Your eyes were red. You were scared for me.

Whether it was the throbbing pain in his head or the shock of surviving the near crash, Stiles could not for the life of him piece things together.

He gave up and closed his eyes.

*

Moonlight painted the snow powder on the grass in blue. The moon itself wasn’t yet full, but it was getting there, fattening up each night. The window in the bedroom remained closed, as it was too cold outside.

Stiles paced around the room. Thoughts kept nagging him just like his teeth nagged the skin around his nails.

Derek Hale was a traitor and a coward. Stiles caught just one glimpse of him in the hospital: the guy was sitting in the waiting room with his head in his hands. He didn’t know when Derek escaped the clutches of nurses, but when Stiles came out of the examination room, cleared of the concussion charges, there was no sign of him anywhere.

Granted, he didn’t look injured.

Which was fucking ridiculous because the guy stopped a car with his shoulders!

Derek’s escape just confirmed it, in Stiles’ opinion. Hale clearly had something to hide.

Stiles moved for his table, then stopped and cursed as he remembered that his dad had confiscated his laptop. Not even the best and brightest of the Beacon Hills Hospital were able to convince the old man that Stiles didn’t have a concussion.

“No laptop,” said Dad, cutting off Stiles’ whining, “no videogames, no phone. You are going to rest or so help me god…”

Well… He had to start somewhere.

Gritting his teeth, Stiles opened the shelves in his table and took out several pieces of paper, scissors, a roll of clear tape, and some markers. In a matter of minutes, he had taped the paper into one giant sheet and glued it to his bare wall. He opened the marker with his teeth and began to write.

Derek Hale went into the center as the main subject of investigation. Would it be too weird to print a photo of him? Did Derek even have social media? Stiles cursed his father again.

red eyes.

super strength? resilience?

[effects of adrenaline on human body — RESEARCH MORE!!!]

super speed/teleportation

Stiles tapped the marker on his lips and spluttered as he tasted the bitter ink. He looked over the board, wiping it from his mouth as best as he could. Hmm.

Hales know, he wrote. Their lack of reaction was a reaction in itself. Stiles narrowed his eyes and added, are they the same? no?

are Hales native? if yes RESEARCH URBAN LEGENDS / if not, find out where they r from

He snapped the cap on the marker, took a step back, and folded his arms.

Yeah, he ain’t got shit.

Snorting, Stiles sent the marker flying in the direction of the table and shuffled to his bed. Wrapping himself in a cocoon of a cold blanket, Stiles stared at the wall now gleaming turquoise in the moonlight.

He desperately needed his laptop. Or a library. Yeah, he might have to do with picking up some books if his Dad would continue his electronics ban.

As Stiles was on the verge of falling asleep, he remembered that he had forgotten to write the main thing.

Derek Hale was not human.

*

For the rest of the week, Derek was silent as a stone.

They didn’t talk, didn’t interact; in fact, it seemed like Derek refused to even look at him. He sat at his usual table with a grim look on his face and grimmer circles under his eyes. He rarely talked, though the rest of the family was as cheerful as ever, and plucked at his food with little interest.

Stiles, for whatever fucking reason, gained even more popularity. It was beyond him. People flocked to their table to speak to him or leave their numbers, girls and guys alike. Lydia shined from the attention regardless of whom it was given to; Allison sent Stiles pitying looks, and Scott found it all amazing and thoroughly entertaining.

“Man, that is awesome!” he grinned as yet another girl fluttered away from their lunch table. “You’re gonna go on so many dates! It’s fun!”

Stiles glared at him, then back at the piece of paper with the girl’s number on it. Was her name Jessica? He already forgot. He twirled the paper in his hands until it tore apart.

“I’m not gonna go on any dates,” he muttered, scooping the paper confetti into one pile.

“Why not?” asked Allison.

Stiles shifted in his seat. The very thought of dates was uncomfortable. “Dunno. Don’t want to.”

“Stop jiggling your leg,” said Lydia. She sent him a glare above the trigonometry book. “Word of advice: you have to pick one sooner or later. The fall dance is coming, and believe me, these girls are going to swarm you.”

“What’s a fall dance?” Stiles asked absentmindedly. He busied himself with a pack of Oreos that someone had left in his locker this morning. Yep, someone was still doing that. Every single day. At least, everything came in packaged now. Was it hard to put in a note, or something?

Lydia looked at him as if he was dumb. “It is exactly what it sounds like,” she sang in a fake sweet voice. “Girls invite boys to the dance. It’s in two weeks. Didn’t your school have one of those?”

Stiles shrugged. Even if it did, no one was insane enough to invite him. Not even Heather.

“I’m not going,” he said.

Lydia slammed her book on the table. “What.”

She looked so annoyed that the corners of Stiles’ lips turned up. “Not going. I have a trip to Seattle planned.”

“Postpone it.”

“Nope.” He shoved half an Oreo in his mouth.

“It is a fall dance!” Lydia threw her hands as if it was a royal ball he was missing.

Stiles narrowed his eyes and pointed a cookie at her. “Why are you upset about it?”

Lydia pursed her lips. Next to her, Allison pushed down a smile.

Oh.

Stiles huffed. “You wanted to invite me.”

He expected the girl to grow nervous or pink but, as it turned out, he didn’t know her that well. Lydia closed her book, put it on the table, and smiled sweetly at him.

“Yes,” she said without a hint of embarrassment. “First of all, so all of them would finally shut up. Do you know how annoying it is to hear ‘Stiles this, Stiles that’ every day from every corner?”

“Bet it is,” said Stiles.

Lydia ignored him. “And also, so my boyfriend—”

“Ex,” Allison muttered.

“— could suck it,” Lydia finished with poison dripping from her glossed smile.

Scott leaned over Allison and, before Stiles could say anything, asked. “I thought you broke up long ago.”

Slowly, Lydia turned her glare onto him. “And why would you think that?”

Scott blinked innocently at her. “Because Aiden asked Jennifer out, like, two weeks ago—”

Lydia stood up, shoved the book in her purse with force, swept her red hair over her shoulder, and stormed out of the cafeteria. The students started whispering about her as they did for years before Stiles came into the picture.

Allison rubbed her forehead. Scott swallowed the bite of his sandwich and turned his sad eyes to his girlfriend. “What did I do?”

Stiles snorted.

“Cora, no.”

Stiles frowned and turned just in time to see Derek pushing his sister back onto the bench. Cora looked like she was boiling from anger; her glare would’ve incinerated her brother in nanoseconds if it had any power.

“Let me go,” she snarled at Derek and pulled her arm out of his hold. She kicked the bench out of her way, whirled out of Derek’s reach, and stormed out with her hair blowing behind her back.

“Oh, that’s a bad idea,” Erica muttered, slumped around Boyd’s beefy arm.

“Dumbass,” Isaac sighed and tugged Cora’s lunch toward himself.

As soon as Stiles looked at Derek, they met gazes. He couldn’t figure out the expression on the guy’s face, though he definitely looked tired.

Derek sighed, broke their gaze, and stood up. He muttered something to the rest of the group, swung his backpack over his shoulder, and walked after his sister, though not in any hurry. Stiles held his breath when he passed their table and stared at his retreating back.

The only thing, that was on his mind, when he looked at those sloped strong shoulders, was their imprint on the side of the red metal truck.

Stiles longed to jump and catch up to him, to ask what was wrong and if he played a role in his dark circles. He felt like the answer was ‘yes’.

With his heart thumping harder and harder, Stiles put down his Oreos, not feeling hungry anymore. He took a sip of his juice and focused on the chill of the bottle against his palms.

He tried not to regret eating as his stomach turned into knots.

*

Each day the Seattle trip became a blessing and also something Stiles really needed to do. First of all, he now blurted the excuse to anyone who asked him to dance and tried to look apologetic to hide the enthusiasm in his voice. Little by little, people stopped asking. No, they simply stared at him longingly and sighed.

Honestly, like, what on earth were they expecting? They made up some perfect version of Stiles in their heads — the one he would never compete with — and, oh boy, were they up for a huge disappointment.

Secondly… he really needed Seattle’s bookshops. Beacon Hills library had nothing but printers, classics, and an old shaking lady in giant glasses and the thinnest lips Stiles had ever seen on a human.

“You’re going to Seattle on that thing?” Dad looked at him dubiously.

Stiles scowled and put another spoonful of green salad on his plate. Let the revenge taste like baby broccoli.

“Hey, Roscoe is fine!” he insisted.

“I know what I bought,” Dad muttered. “A car that can drive you to school and back. Not to another town.”

“I’ll be careful? I’ll make stops?”

“Why are those questions?”

“Because you apparently think that I’d burst into tears if my wheel pops in the middle of the road. C’mon, Dad.” Stiles stabbed a potato and pointed it at him. “I had the best teacher.”

“Now you’re pitching it too strong.”

“Okay, shutting up.”

Dad chuckled. It settled Stiles’ soul a little to see him that relaxed. Boring paperwork did numbers on his dad’s health. Maybe, he could look for a fishing shop in Seattle and buy his old man a fishing rod.

“It’s just…” Dad sighed as he pushed the chicken around his plate. Stiles underseasoned it as always. “You’re getting so grown up—”

Oh no.

“— and sometimes I just need a reminder of that.” Dad fell silent for a moment. “Time flies.”

“Space wasps.” Stiles caught his father’s bored glance and laughed. “I had to, c’mon.”

Dad shook his head, though Stiles saw the beginnings of a smile on his lips. “Here I go about you being an adult, and you keep joking like a twelve-year-old.”

“I had the best teach—”

“Watch it.”

“Yep.”

*

Thousands of eyes stared at him. One blink after the other, tiny dots against the clear night sky.

Stiles pulled on the hood and folded his arms behind his head. As a teenager, he would’ve killed for a roof like this, low-sloped and easy to access. It was a perfect spot for him to climb out on and rest after being awoken by a nightmare.

Blink. Blink.

They never had a sky like this in Florida. The city was too bright for the stars to show up. Here, in godforsaken Beacon Hills, he could see the whole Milky Way. How come he never was an astronomy kid?

The trees rippled in the wind.

Stiles inhaled the woody scent, held it in his lungs, then released it.

He dreamed of Derek. It was always Derek these days, with his red eyes, just staring at him. Sometimes, Stiles woke at night and almost expected the guy to be in his room, standing in the corner and watching him like a creep.

But there was no one.

Stiles closed his eyes. The same wind that caressed the very tops of the pines now stroked his cheeks.

Tomorrow was Monday. Monday meant Biology with Derek. Last time he was silent and didn’t acknowledge Stiles beyond a nod. Not a glance in his direction — just clenched fists and a tightly set jaw.

It was such a drastic change from the last time that it sent Stiles reeling. He had bitten his lips raw by the end of the class and didn’t write a single thing, and on the way home had to stop on the curb to have an anxiety attack roll over him.

He couldn’t go on like this. He had to make amends with Derek. It wasn’t even about the crush, Stiles simply couldn’t sit there with Derek sulking at him for no fucking reason.

Thus, tomorrow, he will annoy Derek into talking to him.

Derek.

What if he regretted saving Stiles? That must be it; he was so friendly before, smiling. Derek hadn’t smiled once in the entire week.

The thought of Derek regretting his decision left a dark pit in the place of Stiles’ stomach. But he had to regret it, right? He panicked and exposed his secret. What secret Stiles hadn’t yet figured out, but that was beside the point.

Wait, did Derek think that Stiles would expose him now? Oh, what a dumbass…

Stiles would never talk about it with anyone. Life taught him how to keep his mouth shut. Besides, everyone knows that you do not expose the superhero’s identity. Nuh-uh. Frankly, it was insulting that Derek would expect that of a superhero expert like Stiles.

Oh, maybe, he was genetically modified. That would be closer to reality than him being a fucking Mothman. Not that Stiles would mind if he was a Mothman, that was cool either way.

Derek was cool, whatever he was.

Derek.

Mm.

Something snapped right underneath Stiles’ spot.

He jumped high, opened his bleary eyes, and swiveled his head around.

He wasn’t falling. No one was there.

His heart beat loudly in his throat. With his body shivering from the shock, Stiles glanced at the edge of the forest. He couldn’t see anyone. Not a single movement caught his eye.

Everything was quiet.

“Oh my god…” he muttered under his breath and rubbed his face. He couldn’t believe he had just fallen asleep on the fucking roof.

As quietly as he could, Stiles shuffled back into his room and closed the window. He glanced at the forest for the second time and sighed as it remained still.

Stiles locked the window, shed his clothes, and dove for his bed, groaning at the softness of it. He was asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

*

Stiles clenched the backpack strap in his hand as if his life depended on it.

“Hi, Derek,” he chirped and sat in his seat.

Derek hummed and continued to stare at one spot in front of him.

Nonverbal, then. Okay.

Stiles pulled out his book and notes, then dove in for the Twix bar someone left in his locker that morning. After a quick glance around to see if anyone was watching (they weren’t, busy with an upcoming class), he opened the package and poked Derek in the shoulder.

Derek tensed. Carefully, he glanced over, and his eyes stopped at the Twix.

Stiles forced a smile out of himself. “Chocolate?”

Derek looked at him without moving an inch. He was careful as if he expected Stiles to shout about his red eyes for the whole class to hear.

Stiles huffed. “You can’t just ignore me. I can be very annoying if I want to.”

Derek didn’t answer. Not even a giggle. Rude.

Stiles nudged him again and said very very quietly. “I’m not gonna tell anyone. But I know. And I know that you know that I know.”

Derek leaned his head on his palm and stared at him, his gaze a little warmer. His small grin was still dark, though. “Know what?” his voice was rough from disuse. “Nothing happened.”

“Of course,” said Stiles quickly and made an exaggerated wink. “Nothing happened, and therefore we’re still friends.”

That was a reach. They were nowhere near friends. Alas, Stiles couldn’t take it back. All that was left to do was to wait and see if Derek called him a weirdo.

Derek sighed. “You’re not gonna leave it alone, aren’t you?”

“Nope,” Stiles pushed down a smile when he reached for the Twix and pulled out one bar. “I will research the shit out of it, and I will find out the truth. But I can do it without mentioning it to you, if you want to. As a thank you. Which, by the way, thank you.”

“For what?”

Stiles lifted his eyebrows. “Don’t take it the wrong way, but you’re kind of the reason that I am breathing. So.”

Derek clenched his teeth. His face grew dark.

A giant ice cube slid into Stiles’ stomach. He ruined it. He ruined it all. Now Derek would smash his face into the desk, call him obscenities, and never speak to him again.

However, to his surprise, Derek glanced to the back of the class. To the spot where Greenburg usually sat.

“Hey,” Stiles called gently, pulling his attention to himself. “It was an accident. Everyone’s alive. So stop looking like you regret saving me.”

Derek glanced at him sharply.

“You want to tell me,” he started in an astonished voice, “that you thought like that this entire time?”

Stiles pursed his nose, and then Derek actually scowled at him.

“How could you—” he started in a low voice, full of anger.

“You ignored me! All week!” Stiles shrugged helplessly. “What was I to think?”

Derek shook his head, opened and closed his mouth from sheer indignation.

“Exactly,” said Stiles before Derek could think of an answer. “And I’m gonna think worse things, if you continue the silent treatment.”

Derek huffed and snapped the bite of the Twix. Stiles grinned.

“I don’t want you dead,” Derek grunted.

“How nice of you.” Stiles caught his annoyed look and snorted. His laugh made the corners of Derek’s lips turn up.

And that’s what Stiles would call a win.

Unfortunately, they had to stay quiet for the rest of the class because Mr. Bennet looked like he sucked lemons for breakfast. It was brutal, the way he had them write after his words. After the bell rang, however, Stiles was glad to see Derek waiting for him. They walked out of the class together, though Derek caught his sleeve soon after and led him to the side of the hall.

He waited for the students to pass them before speaking. “I wanted to ask you. About the fall dance…”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat at those words. He tried to look cool and unaffected, but Derek grinned anyway.

“I heard you were going to Seattle,” he finished.

Stiles blinked at him, hoping the warmth didn’t show on his cheeks. “Uh, yeah?”

“I was wondering if I could drive you.”

Stiles stared at him. “Huh?”

“Do you want a drive to Seattle?”

“W-with you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

This… was kind of sudden. Last week they didn’t talk at all, and now Derek was offering him… a ride? Alone in the car for two fucking hours with Derek fucking Hale? Who was, by the way, smiling again?

“My car works fine,” Stiles blurted and immediately cursed himself. Why the fuck did he just say that? Why?!

But Derek only smirked. “I saw you wrapping tape around the wires last Thursday. If you think it’ll survive the drive to Seattle, you’re not as smart as I thought you were.”

“So… you were looking at me.”

“Of course.”

They stared at each other.

Stiles couldn’t help but notice the way Derek’s eyes lightened. His whole face, so handsome yet so grim before, was nothing but soft now. Relaxed.

It couldn’t mean anything except one thing. It really was about Stiles — his gloom and glare, his dark circles and lack of appetite at lunch. There was no denying it. All of Stiles’ doubts paled before the sharp glint of the evidence.

Whatever tension was between them, it only grew each time they spoke. They both knew it, felt it, thick, viscous, and sweet like honey. It left them wanting more.

Standing still in the buzzing corridor, they let the noise wash over them. Both came to a silent conclusion that they would not be able to stay apart. They tried, and look what it led to. None of them wanted to resist the pull.

Stiles pursed his lips in a smile. Derek’s glance slipped to his mouth and back before he, too, huffed out a laugh.

“Can I drive you to Seattle?” he asked in a low voice.

“Yeah,” Stiles said quietly and watched the grin bloom on Derek’s lips.

He forgot the last time he felt this light.

*

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Allison pulled on her hood and hid her hands in her pockets. She turned to Stiles with a small guilty smile. “It’s kinda boring here alone.”

“Does Scott know about it?”

“Not a word,” she frowned playfully and shook a finger.

Stiles laughed.

Not like she was wrong, per se. Up here, on the bleachers, the wind was strong and annoying, tickling the bones of anyone who dared to sit there. Stiles would bet anything that if it weren’t for him, the entire stadium would’ve been empty.

He glanced around. Several piles of people sat here and there, pretending to watch the field. However, each time Stiles’ gaze passed them, they started whispering to each other.

“God, when will they stop?” he muttered, pulling out his Lit homework. He might at least do something useful.

Allison hummed. “I agree with Lydia here: they’ll stop once you choose one.”

Stiles’ traitorous gaze found Derek’s figure almost by instinct. The guy stood in the center of the field and yelled at the rest of the team to pick up the pace. The wind flapped his dark hair around, his red t-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders. His voice was strong and commanding, and even Aiden couldn’t help but obey him.

Bossy. Stiles pushed down a smile and shifted in his seat.

“How’s Lydia by the way?” he asked mostly to steer the conversation away from himself. He did feel sorry for the girl, even though he could never understand her choice of guys. She was so mean these days that she made Greenburg cry.

“Coping,” Allison shrugged. “Pretending like it’s all beneath her and she predicted it.”

“So it’s bad.”

“… yeah, it’s bad.”

Stiles pursed his lips in sympathy. A harsh whistle reached them from the field; when they looked down, they saw Derek motioning his hands and snarling at red-looking Aiden and a couple of his goonies to complete their additional rounds.

Both of them chuckled.

Derek was great. Just great.

Stiles bit his lip and focused on the writing as the team pulled up to the center to discuss strategy. Working with Allison was nice. She didn’t look at his work and comment on his mistakes, like Lydia did, and didn’t go on tangents like Scott. Early on, Stiles proclaimed her the sanest one in their group and had yet to be proven wrong.

“Hey, Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

Allison pursed her lip and twirled a pen in her hands. The black fingerless gloves that she wore were a gift from Scott.

“About Lydia…” she looked uncomfortable. “She’s still going to the school ball, and—”

“I’m not going with her,” Stiles said quickly.

“I know,” Allison huffed. “And she knows. But we were going to Port Angeles to pick out dresses, and… um…”

Stills arched his eyebrow. “You want me to go with you?”

“Yeah. Your presence would be enough of a big ‘fuck you’ to Aiden. And, I mean, we can pick you something, too.”

“I’m not going to the dance.”

“For the prom, then. Will you go? Please?” she begged.

Stiles sighed. Allison was right, it would certainly lift Lydia’s mood and end her terror over the school. Besides, that’s what friends did, right?

He didn’t know about the prom but he might as well raid some bookstores. Port Angeles had to have decent ones, unlike this hellhole.

“Alright,” Stiles muttered and huffed at the dimples that pinched Allison’s cheeks. “If you’re ready for a trip in my Roscoe—”

“Lydia would never step a foot inside your Jeep.”

“Ah, of course. My carriage is not fit for the bourgeoisie.”

Great. He had just signed himself up for, like, an hour in Lydia’s Porsche alone with two girls. For someone, it might sound like a dream, but Stiles, who grew quite familiar with the consequences of a pissed-off Lydia, now feared for his life.

He scribbled another weak paragraph in his notebook before his fingers froze too much for them to move. He folded his hands into fists, pressed them against his mouth, and blew warm air over them as he glanced at the field.

It took him a couple of moments to find Derek. When he did, however, he immediately pushed down a smile.

Derek was looking at him.

His gaze was a wave of warmth that covered Stiles from head to toe, seeping into his very bones. Stiles shivered and waved at him, not really expecting him to wave back. After all, the team was there and, like, their entire grade…

Derek’s lips grew into a smirk, and then he fucking winked.

Stiles’ eyes grew wide, and he could feel blood pooling in his cheeks.

It was Allison’s giggling that pulled him out of the shock. He sent her a glare, picked up his pen, and stared at the half-filled page with no thoughts whatsoever inhabiting his mind.

So, Derek was flirting-flirting. In front of everyone. Just like that.

A smile pulled his lips up without any input from him. When he looked up again — because how was he supposed to resist? — Derek was smiling, too.

*

It was embarrassing how quickly he looked at the Hales table in the cafeteria and how bitterly disappointed he grew at the sight of four people sitting there.

Pushing down a dejected sigh, Stiles hummed to Scott’s complaining about the C on his essay. The queue moved particularly slowly that day, and the fries were gone by the time he reached their station. He chose juice and a small pizza with three crumbles of some suspicious-looking meat and a pinchful of shredded cheese. Everything else looked quite disgusting.

At least, he had an entire packet of Reeses from his locker. No, it wasn’t a secret admirer. Stiles refused to entertain the thought because, well… Derek.

There was nothing between them (nothing but tension, at least) but still, the thought of flirting with someone else seemed wrong. The admirer kind of didn’t give Stiles any choice but to accept the gifts, but if Stiles found out who it was, he would definitely put an end to it.

Lydia was more cheerful than usual (she stopped wearing red lipstick, which meant that the peak of the crisis was behind them), and even said hi to Stiles and Scott. She and Allison immediately started to discuss which stores they should visit in Port Angeles. The boys exchanged a glance and mentally checked out of the conversation.

Stiles was halfway through his doughy pizza when Allison nudged him with her foot.

“Derek Hale is looking at you.”

Stiles would never be able to describe the electric shock that passed through him at those words. Without hiding it, he swiveled his head around until he found Derek. He was sitting at the empty table, far away from his family, smirking at Stiles as usual. As soon as their gazes met, Derek pulled out his hand and very deliberately motioned with his index finger to join him.

Stiles’ poor heart should receive a gold medal in acrobatics, like, seriously.

“I think he wants you to go to him,” said Allison, smiling mischievously.

“You don’t say,” Stiles muttered.

“Go,” said Scott, all but wagging his tail. The dude’s heart was made of gold. “Go and get him.”

Stiles huffed out a laugh as he stood up. His glance passed over Lydia who, for some reason, got her squinting gaze focused on Derek, but dismissed it. The thought of sitting with Derek during lunch made him so giddy that he literally couldn’t think about anyone’s sensibilities.

He was well aware of everyone looking at him as he walked, which he kind of got used to. It still made panic coil in his stomach sometimes, though it got easier with every week. No one pulled out a leg to make him stumble. Yay.

“Wanna sit with me?” Derek asked, watching him get settled. Stiles gave his fries a jealous glance and sat down with a sigh.

“Did you fight with your family?” asked Stiles.

“Nah,” Derek put his elbows on the table. It took Stiles a gargantuan effort to pull his gaze away from his bulging biceps. “Well… If I’m pissing some people off, I might as well go big with it.”

Stiles arched his eyebrow. He turned over his shoulder and looked at the Hale table. All four were looking at him with various emotions ranging from Erica’s amusement to Cora’s distaste.

“They don’t want you talking to me,” Stiles guessed, turning back. He tried not to feel bitterness pooling in his stomach.

But Derek only shrugged. “They can’t do anything about it. They know it. I know it. So, fuck ‘em.”

“Wow,” Stiles laughed. “Didn’t know I was that controversial.”

Derek’s face lost some of its joy. “It doesn’t matter. It’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“Here.” Derek pushed the untouched carton of hot fries onto Stiles’ tray.

Stiles stared at it, then lifted his gaze at Derek. He could hear the silent ‘let’s not talk about it’, which meant that Stiles would obsess over it for the next week. But he could be nice. For Derek, he could be.

He picked up a fry. “Now they’re gonna think that I’m stealing your food.”

Derek watched him eat, which was… weird, but also kind of not. It made Stiles’ cheeks warm up. It also made him strangely calm. And hungry, for some reason.

“I don’t care what they think,” Derek said with a hint of resignation in his voice. “Besides, your friends are sad, too.”

“Because you stole me?” Stiles chuckled.

“Yes,” Derek shifted his gaze behind Stiles’ back and lifted an eyebrow. The gesture was so effortlessly hot that Stiles couldn’t help but grin. “Scott thinks you’re too cool to sit with them now.”

“Likely thing for Scott to think.”

Derek glanced at him. “I’m not giving you back.”

Stiles stopped chewing as he processed the serious tone with which he said it. “Okay?”

“That doesn’t scare you?”

“You’re not as frightening as you think you are,” Stiles noticed, picking up his fries again. They were so much better than pizza. “I feel like you’d let me go if I didn’t want this.”

Something strange flickered in Derek’s face. He looked down at the table between them and smiled dejectedly. “You—” he shook his head and gave up. “So you think I’m a good guy?”

To his surprise, Stiles barked a laugh. “You are. Unless this is all a deliberate prank—”

“It’s not,” Derek insisted hotly.

“Okay. Fine. Cool,” Stiles shrugged with a light smile. “I’m very familiar with bad guys, Derek. Believe me when I say that you’re not one of them.”

“What if you got to know me a little better?”

“Now we’re talking,” Stiles shifted on his seat, making Derek lighten up with a laugh.

“I can’t believe I tried to stay away from you,” Derek murmured, his gaze distant. Stiles tried not to show how hard these words affected him. “It’s impossible to do when you are everything everyone talks about.”

“Do you talk about me?” Stiles teased, not really expecting an answer.

Which, Derek gave without any embarrassment. “Yes.”

Stiles swallowed, growing pink. Then Derek smirked at him, and he grew even pinker.

“Did you find anything?” Derek asked, taking pity on him.

“About what?” Why was it so hot in here?

“Well… The whole thing.”

Stiles lifted his gaze sharply at him. Derek remained calm, unaffected, and even smiled a bit like they were discussing the weather.

“It’s in process,” said Stiles, watching him closely. Derek looked entertained. “I’m slowly going through a list of red-eyed creatures.”

“Any ideas?”

“I’d say Mothman, but I haven’t seen you around lanterns yet.”

Derek laughed. It was such a good sound that it made Stiles shiver. He wanted to hear more of it.

“No,” said Derek. “That’s not it.”

“Well, any help would be appreciated.”

“I want you to leave it alone and you expect me to help you?”

“Ple-e-ease?” Stiles fluttered his eyelashes stupidly and laughed when Derek shut his eyes with a groan.

“Don’t do that,” he complained.

“Why?”

“You look… stupid.”

“Nah, I don’t think that’s it.”

To Stiles’ utter astonishment, Derek’s ears grew red. It was weird seeing his words affect someone like this. Derek liked him. Liked him.

“Eat your fries,” Derek grumbled, though now Stiles was too familiar with his face to take his scowl for truth.

Stiles hummed and took a piece. “Why don’t you eat?”

“I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s overly processed. Tastes weird.”

Stiles squinted at him. Does he eat only organic food? Was it connected to his inhumanness? Or was he vegan? No, that couldn’t be, Stiles saw him pick out a patty from the burger. He had to add this to his sheet.

And then Stiles realized that Derek must have picked the fries specifically for him. He didn’t know how to thank him (did he have to?) so he just continued eating, thus accepting the gift.

“They’re nice,” he murmured.

Derek’s shoulders lost a bit of tension. “Good.”

It wasn’t long before the bell rang, and the students begrudgingly shuffled towards the exit. Stiles jumped from his seat and took his bag off the floor.

“You coming?” he asked, watching Derek not make a single move.

The guy sighed. “No, I’m skipping.”

“Really?” Stiles smirked. “You just want to convince me you’re a bad boy. In which case, it’s kinda too late.”

Derek looked at him. “Sometimes, you just gotta skip it.”

Stiles huffed. “Whatever, big guy. Be mysterious, I’m gonna find out either way.”

“See you later,” said Derek instead as he watched Stiles go.

When he was almost at the exit, Stiles glanced at him for the last time. Derek was sitting alone with his fist against his temple and staring at him with an amused smile.

Flushing yet again, Stiles hurried to the class.

He flew in just in time for the second bell and smiled innocently at Mr. Bennet.

Biology without Derek would suck ass, for sure, but oh well. Stiles was giddy enough from the memory of their lunch together to push through.

A couple of minutes into the class, he regretted not joining Derek in his escape.

“Today, we are studying blood type,” announced Mr. Bennet cheerfully, ignoring a few distinct ‘ew-s’ from the class. “I’m gonna give each of you a set. In it, you’ll find an indicator card, an applicator, a sanitary wipe, and a sterile micro-lancet. Do not touch them until I come up to you.”

Stiles stomach turned with all its contents. His palms grew clammy, and his head span. Desperately, he closed his eyes, breathing through his mouth.

No. Nope, nope, nope.

He could deal with toad’s innards any day of the week but not with blood. Especially human blood. And now, he’s gonna fucking vomit all over the class and probably faint like an idiot. He was the Sheriff’s son, for fuck’s sake, he couldn’t faint from the sight of blood.

Get it together.

His stomach rolled in indignation.

“Here.” Suddenly, his hand was lifted. Stiles pushed his eyes open and stared in horror as Mr. Bennet showed his hand to the whole class. “You disinfect the finger, pick the lancet—”

The sharp scent of alcohol smashed into Stiles’ nose, yet did little to disintegrate the black dots in front of his eyes.

“Mr. Bennet—” Stiles mumbled.

Mr. Bennet pricked his finger and squeezed it. A droplet of blood came out of the tiny cut before the man picked it up with an applicator.

“Then I’ll drop some water in it— Stilinski? Are you alright?”

Stiles’ throat got tighter and thicker. He looked in the direction of the teacher with a tightly shut mouth and shook his head once.

“Ah, sh— Someone got to bring Stilinski to the nurse.”

If Stiles had any blood in his face, he would’ve gone red from the sheer number of volunteers. Alas, he was really close to passing out so he didn’t even see who it was that picked him up and swung his arm over their shoulder.

All voices turned to grey muttering. Stiles dragged his feet; if not for the person holding him, he would’ve fallen.

He inhaled sharply as they walked out of the building and closed his eyes against the bright sky. Wasn’t it grey? Why was everything so strangely wobbly?

“Wow, Stiles, you’re pale,” said someone in a concerned voice.

“I’m…” Stiles swallowed. His lips felt like the Sahara desert. “Put me down.”

“The nurse is right there—”

“I know, just for a minute.”

“Okay.”

They lowered him onto the edge of the walk. Stiles’ arms flopped down, and he leaned his heavy foggy head against the metal post, so blissfully cold.

“Just a m’nute,” he mumbled.

Someone chuckled. “I’ve never seen someone react like that.”

Stiles didn’t answer. First of all, fucking congrats to this person. Second of all, what a time to fuck off.

Stiles swallowed repeatedly, pushing the vomit down, and tried to breathe. Slow and steady.

“You never texted me.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Stiles opened one eye and glanced at the person crouching in front of him.

It was a guy from his class, though Stiles didn’t remember his name. He was good-looking, tall, and very smiley. Green-blue eyes and some freckles on his young face that Stiles felt like he would forget the minute he turned away.

“Stiles!”

Oh no. Not him.

“M’ fine,” Stiles muttered, closing his eyes, as the earth shifted its axes once more.

“What happened?” Derek breathed hard as he ran up to them and fell to his knees in front of Stiles. “Is he hurt? Stiles, can you hear me?”

“Leave him, Hale,” the guy said with a poorly hidden disdain. “He’s about to faint.”

“What. Happened.”

“Nothin’,” said Stiles, though everyone ignored him.

“Bennet pricked his finger,” said the stranger. “I’m taking him to the nurse. Nothing to watch here.”

“Stiles,” Derek called again. An overly hot hand took his chin so gently that Stiles could weep and turned it from the metal post. Stiles blinked his eyes open with a groan. “That’s it, keep them open. I’ll take him, get back to class,” he said the last sentence harshly.

“I’m with him,” the guy insisted, his voice going quiet.

But Derek wasn’t listening. In the next second, Stiles felt the ground disappear from under him and yelped.

“No, no, no, put me down—”

“Hey!” shouted the stranger.

“You look awful,” Derek murmured.

Stiles whined from humiliation and closed his eyes as he grew dizzy from all the motion. “This is so fucking embarrassing…”

Derek chuckled. It was ridiculous that he didn’t even breathe harder when picking Stiles up. And Stiles wasn’t a small thing, far from it. He was a fully grown eighteen year old… whom Derek Hale picked up in a bridal carry as if he was a kitten.

“Shut up and let me take care of you,” Derek insisted. Before Stiles could glare at him, though, they walked into the nurse's room.

The woman gasped and dropped her papers.

“What—”

“They tested blood in Biology,” Derek lowered him onto the examination table and caught his hand as Stiles wavered to the side. “Easy.”

“Make him lie down,” said the nurse, shuffling towards the medical cabinet. “Cindy! Where are the salts?”

Grumbling under his breath, Stiles lay down. Derek was still holding him by the wrist as if he thought Stiles would escape. To Stiles’ dismay, he did feel instantly better. His nausea ebbed away, leaving him thirsty but conscious.

“I don’t need anything,” he muttered, blinking his eyes open. “I’m fine, I just need to breathe a bit.”

Derek leaned against the cot and looked down at him with amusement. “You should’ve ditched with me.”

“Next time, try to be more convincing.”

“Mm.”

The nurse came back in and put a plaster on his finger, which was twice as embarrassing. It didn’t even hurt anymore, and his nausea had passed. He was fine, really.

He was left to lie for a little bit longer, and a couple of moments later, Derek came up with a paper cup of water.

“Can you sit up?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

Stiles lifted himself carefully and swung his legs off the bed. He blinked for a couple of moments to let the dark dots disappear and reached for the water.

“Thanks.”

Derek said nothing. He waited until Stiles drank it all and took it to the bin. With a tired sigh, Stiles leaned back against the wall with his eyes closed.

Did Derek think less of him now? He wasn’t a coward or anything. It was just this one thing — blood. He could beat anyone’s ass at any minute. For real.

Something soft stroked his cheek, a fleeting breath of a touch.

Stiles opened his eyes.

Derek was watching him, standing close like a loyal guardian. His hand fell to his side. Stiles missed its warmth.

For the first time since they’ve met, Stiles wondered what it would be like, to be kissed by him.

Derek looked away. Before Stiles’ heart could stop its beat, he tensed and muttered. “Someone’s coming.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. Did he hear the newcomers?..

“Come on,” Derek tugged him into standing and caught him by the waist as he staggered. “Easy. I’ll drive you back home.”

“But my Jeep…”

“Cora will take it,” Derek cut him off and, for some reason, hurried to the exit. A moment later, the same guy who volunteered to take Stiles, led in a green-looking Greenburg (ha!) and dropped him onto the cot.

“Hey, Sti—”

Derek whisked him away before the guy could finish the sentence.

“Sit here,” he said, lowering Stiles onto the bench outside the medical office. “Look pale. I’m gonna get you a pass.”

“My hero,” Stiles smiled weakly and closed his eyes as he heard Derek huff.

He barely kept himself from laughing when Derek spoke with the secretary. It was the same assertive voice he used with his teammates, the one that did not allow any objections. And, even though the woman was in her forties, she listened to Derek’s commands and hurried to write a pass for both of them.

“You look better.”

Stiles opened his eyes and pushed out a smile for the same freckly stranger. “Uh, yep.”

The guy rubbed the back of his head. “Do you need a ride home? I can—”

Stiles nearly yelped as someone grabbed his hand and pulled up. When his head stopped spinning, he saw Derek, standing very very close and glowering at the stranger.

“I’ll take it from here,” he said without an ounce of politeness in his voice. He weaved his arm around Stiles’ waist and steered him to the exit with his jaw set.

Stiles couldn’t do anything but comply. Not that he wanted to stay and have a small talk, but still. He glanced around Derek’s shoulder and got a glimpse of the stranger’s glare before the door shut in his face.

“Who was that?” asked Stiles.

“You don’t know?” Derek asked and chuckled darkly. “The guy talks about you as if you are already dating, and you’re asking me who he is.”

Stiles frowned. “What the fuck?”

Derek shook his head. “Only you…” he muttered. They reached the Camaro. Derek, being the perfect… everything, opened the door. “Get in.”

“Get in,” Stiles teased in a silly voice and snorted as he caught Derek’s expression. “Alright, boss baby.”

“The fuck is a boss baby—” Derek muttered under his breath before he shut the door, cutting off his voice.

Stiles laughed. He couldn’t help but feel light when he was with Derek. At least, now when they were talking.

Derek got in, ordered him to put his seatbelt on, and drove off. Stiles could feel it in his veins that Derek loved speed, but held himself back. Firstly, for Stiles’ wobbly head, and secondly, because he probably didn’t want to get stopped by his dad.

It would be hilarious. Stiles never wanted it to happen.

“Just for the record,” said Stiles as they drove through the now sunlit streets, “I’m not dating Mr. Volunteer.”

“His name is Parrish. Jordan Parrish.”

“I don’t care about his name.” Stiles glanced at Derek and snorted at the smug grin widening on his face.

It was ridiculous. Derek Hale was infuriatingly ridiculous. They were friends for, like, two seconds, and now behaved like an old married couple. If Stiles was brave enough to admit it, he’d say that Derek was jealous.

Whatever it was, it was hot. And made him laugh. What an insane concoction.

When they stopped near Stiles’ house, he threw Derek a knowing grin. “You could’ve pretended not to know where I live.”

“Why would I do that?” asked Derek.

“I think, it’s considered creepy.”

“Everyone knows where Sheriff lives,” said Derek casually and laughed when Stiles’ face grew red.

“Well, let’s hope Parrish doesn’t, ‘cause if he comes here—”

“I’ll break his jaw if he comes here,” said Derek without a hint of humor. The sentence fell so easily from his lips, so light was his tone, that it became very clear how serious he was. He was ready to do it for Stiles. No questions asked.

“I’m a big boy, I can defend myself,” Stiles reminded him gently.

“I know you can. I just thought you should know.”

As Stiles stared at him, he started to get what Derek meant about being a bad boy. One did not say things like these lightly. Some people could say it and then run with their tails tucked at the first sign of danger.

Something told Stiles that Derek wasn’t one of them.

“Then you’d better give me your number,” Stiles arched his eyebrow as they gazed at one another. “You know, so I could call you. In case that happens.”

He pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and offered it to Derek with his heart drumming against his ribs. Stiles had never been so bold before, so open, and brave. Punching bullies was nothing compared to this.

Derek looked at the offered phone with his smile turning from predatory to smug. He took it without any word, typed in the number, and returned it to Stiles.

“Call me any time,” he said. “I mean it.”

“Okay, boss baby,” Stiles snorted and jumped out of the car before Derek could retort.

Halfway to his house, he heard the car window slide down.

“It’s not funny.”

Stiles turned around and continued walking backward. “Oh, I know. But your face is worth it.”

Derek shook his head, put on the sunglasses, and smiled like he couldn’t believe Stiles was real.

“Bye, Stiles.”

“Bye, Derek.”

*

The next day, the entire Hale table was empty.

It did not put a pit in Stiles’ stomach. Shut up, it didn’t! It just made Stiles… very distracted and anxious for no reason whatsoever.

He twirled his phone in his hands the entire lunch, so much so that Lydia threatened to put it in a blender. He ignored her, though put it aside, and ate the mushy pasta in silence. His locker gifted him an entire package of peanut butter cups, though it didn’t bring him the usual joy. Now he knew the admirer wasn’t Derek since he wasn’t at school today. It was stupid to think it was him.

Whatever.

Stiles hoped everything was okay, though. It was weird for the entire family to be so suddenly absent. What if someone died? What if—

Stiles’ heart jumped.

No. Derek was alright.

… right?

Pursing his lips, Stiles took his phone in his shaking hands.

“Stop jiggling your leg.”

Stiles didn’t even hear her. He opened his contacts, found Derek’s number, and typed a message.

you:
Hi

Stiles deleted it.

you:
I hope everyt

No, that’s too much. Stiles bit at his lip.

you:
listen I know school pasta is a health hazard but that’s not an excuse for skipping lunch

But what if someone did die? God, why is everything so hard?

Stiles tightened his jaw, retyped the message, and hit send.

you:
is everything okay?

Excellent, now Derek would think that he’s annoying and clingy. A+, Stilinski. You’re gonna be alone forever.

Growing red from mortification, Stiles opened his water bottle and took a gulp, trying to soothe his dry throat.

His phone pinged, sending him into a coughing spree.

“Ew!”

“Stiles!”

“Are you choking?” Scott asked, alarmed, and started to stand up. “I know Heimlich. My mom’s a—”

“A literal angel, and I love that for you,” Stiles said in a hoarse voice and waved at him. “I’m fine, sit down.”

He didn’t stop to see if Scott sat down, as his focus was instantly turned to his phone.

Derek:
hi Stiles

Stiles grew red again. It was just his name, but knowing that somewhere in Beacon Hills, Derek Hale was typing his name…

Derek:
not gonna be at school today sorry

Derek:
forgot to tell you since you were bleeding to death

A strong wave of relief sent Stiles’ head spinning. If Derek was cracking jokes then it couldn’t be that serious.

you:
was not

Derek:
sure

you:
u didn’t answer the question

Derek:
everything is okay dw

“Care to share with the class?”

Stiles looked up at Lydia. “What?”

Lydia smiled sweetly. “What are you giggling about?”

“M’ not giggling.”

“Is it Hale?”

Stiles sighed, locked his phone screen, and put his chin on his palm.

“What if it was?” he mirrored her poisonous smile.

Scott widened his eyes and opened his mouth, but Allison nudged him to shut him up.

Stiles expected Lydia to continue injecting her venom into the conversation, smile, or poke him with sarcasm, but the girl stomped on his expectations like on a shriveled sig.

She sifted through him, calmly, the way she would a mathematical problem.

“Whatever,” she said instead of what she was thinking.

Allison and Scott exchanged a glance. Lydia wasn’t the person to hide her opinions. Why would she do it now?

“Dude…” said Scott and nudged him with his leg. “Are you, like…”

“Like what?” Stiles wasn’t above torture.

“Like…” Scott lifted his eyebrows exaggeratedly.

“I’m Stiles.”

Allison giggled. Lydia rolled her eyes and muttered something about stupid men.

“We’re leaving at three,” she said, interrupting Stiles’ torture session. “I have to get Prada from home.”

“I thought you were going to buy one,” said Stiles.

Lydia looked close to boiling. Back to theatrics, then. “My dog,” she snapped.

“Ah,” Stiles nodded and drank some water to hide his smile. It was fun teasing her.

In the end, Scott didn’t get his juice, which was probably for the best. God bless him, but if he found out just how Stiles felt about Derek, the entire school would find out as well on that same day. Scott wasn’t even malicious with it, he just liked to share his happiness for other people’s achievements.

And it wasn’t like Stiles achieved anything. Yet. At least, not something the school should know about.

With Lydia’s crazy driving, they reached Port Angeles within an hour. Prada spent nearly ten minutes of that time barking at Stiles with her entire body consumed by trembling rage. Only when Allison gave her treats and cuddles did the little demon calm down. No one could resist Allison’s dimpled smile.

Port Angeles welcomed them with the lack of rain. The dry sun was on its way to the decline, forcing life into the streetlights.

Initially, Stiles was supposed to watch after Prada, but given that the animal went absolutely nuts when he tried to hold it, the dog went shopping with the girls. After two stores, however, Stiles rebelled and left them to their chiffons, sequins, and shoes.

It took some time but eventually, Stiles reached the bookshop that he found online. It was a tiny dingy nook full of dust and yellowed pages, but oh god, exactly the thing he wanted. He gave a fake smile to the old wrinkly man with an even wrinklier newspaper behind the cashiers and snuck between the bookcases.

The sections were all over the place. Some books lay upside down and some looked ready to disintegrate if he so much as breathed at them. One by one, Stiles went through the ones who looked fairly legit. He was searching for a needle in the hay, he was perfectly aware of that. Dozens and dozens of what could be complete crap for just one book that would uncover The Truth.

The tips of Stiles’ hands tingled in anticipation. The gut told him it was here.

North American Folklore: Myths and Legends. Creatures of the Unknown. Monster High, the Coloring Book.

Stiles rolled his eyes and shoved it between Dracula and The Lord of the Rings. This shop was a librarian’s nightmare.

He went past the Esoteric corner, muttering to himself, when, suddenly, came upon the decrepit face of the bookstore owner.

Stiles cursed in fright and stumbled back into the bookcase. The owner watched two books fall with a sour face.

“What’cha looking for, boy?” he grunted, his voice rusty like the store’s door. “We’re closin’.”

Stiles swallowed and smiled as politely as he could. “I’m, uh…”

He really didn’t want to tell anyone about Derek. Even the thought of betraying his trust like that sent his heart into palpitations.

“I’m looking to revolutionize DnD!” Stiles blurted. “And, uh… I need some lore, you know, on… shapeshifters. The ones who ship shates— I mean, shaft shitters—”

The old man rolled his eyes, turned around, and shuffled into the farthest row of bookcases. Stiles stared, wide-eyed, at his back, and quickly moved after him. Mumbling under his hairy nose, the man drummed his fingers along the books. The lights were so dim that even Stiles couldn’t read the covers, let alone a dinosaur like this.

At last, the man pulled out a book wrapped in plastic with a giant yellow sticker on it and shoved it into Stiles’ hands.

Hyperfixations: A Not So Quick Fix. by M. Doodley.

Oh, go to the fucking hell…

“Thank you so much!” Stiles chirped and waved a book at him. “That’s… what I need.”

The man looked him over and nodded. The further he went to the register, the more Stiles’ smile dropped. He cursed again without any noise, ran back into the Mythology section, and grabbed the North American Legends book.

If Derek turned out to be an immigrant…

With two books in the paper bag and not a lot of hope, Stiles came out of the store just to stop in his tracks. When did it get so dark? He shouldn’t have opened that novel with a sexy werewolf on the cover…

The full moon peeked at him from the clouds before hiding again.

Stuffing his hands in his pockets and with the package under his armpit, Stiles marched in the direction of the busy streets. He really fooled himself by trying to find something of use here. what he needed was a bestiary. A proper one, with an author who knew the stuff.

Stiles glanced around and turned the first corner on his way.

He would never find a source more credible than Derek, that was obvious. He was The Creature. That’s it. Red eyes, red eyes…

With another glance around his shoulder, Stiles clenched his teeth and snuck into the tight alleyway to his left. His heart picked up a pace. As he jumped out on the other side, the busy street somehow became further away.

Ah, panic. The old friend. Stiles couldn’t say he missed it, but at least, he knew what to expect.

The sweat pulled up to the surface of his palms. Stiles clenched his hands into fists and back. They trembled for a bit and then stilled as the adrenaline flooded in.

With his face setting into stone, Stiles turned his head and looked at the three men who had been following him for ten minutes now. Herding him, he realized, away from people.

Beacon Hills made him too relaxed. He didn’t have his pepper spray or his jacket with hidden pockets inside where he could hide his money. His knife collected dust back at home, his cracked baseball bat rolling around under his bed.

It would be him and his fists, then.

Alarm, alarm, alarm beat in his temples. He thought of his dad first. The old man would be worried sick when hours pass without Stiles coming home. He would be all alone, fall into depression, and die. Lydia and Allison would roam the streets in search of him, and god knows what trouble they’d get in because of him.

Stiles would be lucky if he survived. If not… it was a pity he never knew what Derek’s kisses tasted like.

When Stiles made another turn, almost running now, his heart stopped, then fell and crashed into the coldest pits of apprehension and horror.

It was a dead end.

Stiles turned.

“Got a lighter?” asked one of the men.

He couldn’t see their faces as they were coated in shadows from the streetlights behind their backs. The road was right there, behind them. But they won’t let him through, would they?

“No, sorry,” Stiles grit out, trying not to show how hard it was to swallow. “Not allowed to smoke yet.”

He had never used the pretense of being a minor before, since all his bullies were as well, and he doubted it would work now. He knew how he looked: tall, with a slim but firm build from years of running.

“Maybe you’ve got something else?” one of the bulker men stepped forward. They were closing in on him with small steps and smirks pulling on their lips. Stiles didn’t dare step back.

“Nah, man,” he said carefully. “Nothing much. Forgot to buy books for Lit class tomorrow.”

“Why d’you lie, kid?” said the short one. His hand fumbled with something in his pocket. “It ain’t nice to lie.”

Stiles’ heart beat so hard, trashing in panic, that he could feel its beat.

“Show me your pockets,” the bulky one closed in on him.

“I’m not looking for a fight,” said Stiles, staring right into his bleary eyes.

The man was high but not enough for Stiles to win. He clenched his lips tight and tried not to breathe in the rancid stench coming from the man’s mouth.

He did not see, but heard a flick of a knife.

“M’ not either, kid,” the man widened his mouth in a yellow smile. “Give me your phone and your wallet before I change my mind.”

Stiles pulled out ten bucks from his pocket of his jeans. It was instantly snatched from his fingers.

“Your phone.”

His phone was a present from his dad. It had pictures of his old house, of him and Heather. It had pictures of his mom.

Stiles knew, he knew he should give it away.

However, along with panic, the rage came rushing in. He could fight. He had won fights before. He didn’t particularly want to die.

He shrugged. “I’m telling you, I didn’t take it. My house is right around the—”

His phone pinged with a notification.

Stiles’ blood rushed away from his face. A moment later, the short one jumped on him and struck him in the jaw.

The flesh inside his mouth sliced against his teeth and broke. Rust and metal flooded his mouth, and then, came the pain. Stiles’ fists clenched, a Pavlov dog’s response.

“C’mon, take him,” the third man drawled. “Search the pockets—”

All four of them jumped at the sharp squeal of tires against the wet asphalt. They swiveled to the end of the alleyway and squinted from the bright lights.

It was coming at them. They were all going to—

The car screeched to a stop. The door opened with a click.

“Get in.”

The command pulsed through him, a lightning strike. His body moved on its own. Stiles broke out of the hold of stunned men and ran to the Camaro. He jumped inside before they could take another breath.

The door clicked shut, the engine roared, and the tires squealed again, flooding the narrow space with white fumes. They swerved sharply to the left, then back, and out into the road.

Stiles’ guts tightened at the speed.

With a dull painless throbbing in his jaw and lip, he turned his head and stared at Derek.

Crisp shock, razor-sharp elation. Echoes of fear and panic brew like the faraway storm cloud in the distance. But most of all, relief.

Under the tilted eyebrows, Derek’s eyes glowed red. The leather wheel creaked under his knuckle-white grip. His jaw was set so tightly that Stiles could see the tendons of its muscles bulging against his stubble.

It was dark and quiet inside, and only the rhythm of the streetlights they passed allowed Stiles to see just how livid he was.

“Put on your seatbelt.” His voice was low, inhumanly so. It resembled the rumble of the engine, purring with threat.

Stiles grabbed the seatbelt before he could realize what he was doing. The sharp click of it felt too loud.

They blew past the streets and the signs, swerving around the turtle-slow cars without any consideration. It seemed like mere seconds passed before they drove out onto the main road, right near the coastline.

Stiles felt… calm. And it astonished him. His heart that’s been fighting for its life before was slowly ebbing to its usual beat. His hands didn’t shake and those fuckers shook on a good day. Here, in the car that drove god knows where, Stiles’ hands remained still.

He nicked himself, he realized when he saw the cut going straight across the back of his hand. Blood trickled down his hand on the leather seat, making him clench his teeth. It must’ve been the dude’s knife. He had to disinfect it, but thankfully, no stitches were needed. The pain was absent, but Stiles knew it wouldn’t be for long. Carefully, he probed at his teeth with his tongue, but they were whole.

Derek, though, was the polar opposite.

Stiles looked at him again. At first, he didn’t see it because of the dark, but the guy’s hands were shaking. When Stiles looked closer, he saw that Derek’s nails were replaced with claws.

Weirdly, Stiles wanted to laugh. Of-fucking-course, the dude had claws.

“Are you alright?” he asked instead in a deliberately quiet voice.

“No.”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut at his curt half-growl. The answer made his stomach churn, though. He licked his lips and looked around, desperately trying to think of something to soothe Derek with—

“Stiles?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Uh—”

Stiles yelped as the car was put to a sudden stop. Coughing at the seatbelt pressure, he turned to look at Derek only for the driver’s door to shut in his face.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask what the hell was going on when his own door opened.

“Get out.”

Stiles felt as if he was doused in ice. What did he do? They were in the middle of fucking nowhere with Port Angeles sparkling in the distance. It would take Stiles close to an hour to walk back. But… Derek wouldn’t leave him.

Right?

His heart clenched at the thought.

Whatever calm he felt dissipated within seconds. Stiles unlocked his seatbelt with numb shaking fingers and got out of the car. He fought the urge to cross his arms.

Derek was pacing. His hands were in his hair, inches away from ripping it all out. God, please, don’t let any cars pass by. No one can see his eyes glowing red.

It’s funny how even in this tense minute, Stiles was fascinated by them. Magnificent, rich, royal red; his eyes were on fire. Not the roaring destruction, but the flame you’d warm your hands above. Scalding, yet smoldering. Safe.

Derek snatched his hands from his head and looked at them — the claws had disappeared. He breathed out and finally — finally — looked at Stiles.

His eyes dragged across Stiles’ face, halting at his cut lip and the pulsing bruise forming on his jaw. His nostrils flared with rage. Then, his gaze narrowed and fell to Stiles’ hand. Oddly, Stiles wanted to hide it.

Get out. Go away. What the hell were you thinking? You are nothing but trouble. We’re done.

Derek said nothing. He walked up to Stiles so close that the heat of Derek’s body seeped into his. His hand cupped Stiles’ jaw. Before Stiles could blink, the pain ebbed away, and holy shit was there a lot of it. He groaned and started to sag, but Derek caught him with his arm around his waist.

“Just a bit more,” he muttered.

Stiles’ gaze fell onto his hand. He gasped.

Derek’s veins were black.

Stiles looked up at him sharply. “What are you—”

“Taking your pain.”

Stiles tried to wiggle out of his hold, but Derek held him still as if he was a disobedient pup.

“Don’t.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’m not gonna hold back.”

“And what happens then?”

“I’m gonna drive back and kill those guys.”

Oh.

Oh.

Derek’s gaze dripped to Stiles’ chest. “Your heart is racing.”

Stiles fought the urge to cover it. “You can hear it?”

But Derek wasn’t listening. His lips stretched into a bitter smirk. “Are you afraid? You knew I was a monster. What happened now?”

“Derek—”

“Red eyes are fine but nothing more, is that it?”

The ache in his voice sounded hundreds of years old. Stiles couldn’t take it. Physically couldn’t.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he snapped, pulling Derek out of his weird trance. “Dude, you saved me twice—”

“You haven’t seen enough to be afraid.”

Stiles threw his hands. “Then show me!”

Suddenly, Derek’s face morphed. His jaw stretched in a long shape with his teeth lengthening and sharpening into full-on fangs as he snarled.

Stiles yelped and took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. He was trapped between Derek and the Camaro.

In retrospect, he didn’t know how he would’ve reacted if no one interrupted them. However, right at that moment, another car turned on the road. Its headlights lit them both, casting sharp shadows across Derek’s distorted face.

Panic flooded Derek’s eyes.

Stiles didn’t think.

He grabbed Derek and pulled him in, shoving his face into his own neck.

Derek froze, his hands gripping Stiles’ shirt at the sides. Breathing heavily, Stiles raked his fingers through his hair. He stilled as they encountered the sharp pointy ears and god, Derek was so fucking stupid.

Scary monsters don’t have cute pointy ears. Well, aside from Dracula… And orcs. Whatever, it didn’t matter because there was one thing scary monsters didn’t do for certain: save the lives of measly weak humans. Fucking twice!

Stiles closed his eyes and rested his cheek against Derek’s head. The car rolled merrily past them in no particular hurry. It drove on the snake-like road in complete silence before disappearing behind a hill on another turn.

Stiles took a deep breath, held it in, and released it. Derek’s warmth covered him like a blanket, soothing and safe. The guy seemed to have his hands glued to Stiles’ sides. Was he afraid to let go?

Well, he certainly didn’t look like he wanted to come out yet.

Stiles fought down a smile as Derek’s shaky breathing rolled down his neck. He blinked into the darkness, caressing Derek’s hair while giving him time to collect himself. In front of him, the sea was full of glistening ink.

The full moon shined from above.

Stiles stared at it.

He stared until his eyes dried so much that he had to blink.

Slowly, carefully, he cupped Derek’s face and brought it out of hiding. The fangs were gone. In fact, his face was normal again, if grim.

Well, not normal. The fangs and the ears and whatever Derek had were already normal, just unfamiliar to Stiles.

“Maybe, this isn’t the right place,” Stiles huffed a laugh. He hoped to coax a smile out of Derek but failed. “Hey. I’m still not afraid.”

Derek’s gaze pinned him to place as if he was looking at an alien. Stiles sighed. He looked to the side, away from his penetrating gaze, and swallowed.

“Listen, I’ve been afraid. When my mom died, I was afraid. Or when the cops came and told me my dad was shot. Hell, like, half an hour ago? When I thought I was going to die?” he shrugged. “You saved my life twice now—”

“Too many times,” Derek grunted.

“— so… Dude, not the point! All I’m saying is that you — even with all your superpowers — you, big guy, are Winnie the Fucking Pooh compared to the shit I’ve seen. Heart of gold, the eye of the tiger.”

“That’s not—”

“And! Don’t get me started on your face! That shit was so fucking cool! The way you transformed—”

“Shifted.”

“— and you grew fangs and… and skin and ears? Do you realize that we can just take the entire science of biology and fucking… throw it in the trash because what?!”

The corner of Derek’s mouth lifted.

“The whole world as I knew it — and I’ve got an A in physics, thanks for asking — had just turned upside down.” Stiles made a big explosion gesture with his hands. “Gone. Dead. Everything is beautiful, and nothing is the same. So, no, Derek, I haven’t seen enough of you. Please, for the love of god, show me more.”

Derek gazed at him for some time, then shook his head and chuckled. “Okay.”

“Really?” Stiles’ face lit up.

Derek shrugged. “There’s no going back. Not for me. So, sure, if you want to, then… Then I’ll show you.”

Stiles’ giddy grin made his lip bleed again. He cringed his nose in pain, which there wasn’t a lot of, but Derek sighed as if he had the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. He reached out, stilled Stiles’ chin with his fingers, and swiped his thumb on the edge of his lip. His touch could be called nothing but a caress.

The pain was gone within seconds.

“C’mon,” said Derek in a rough voice. He reached behind Stiles and opened the car door. “Let’s get some food in you.”

“What? I’m not hungry.”

“Humor me.”

*

Lydia didn’t seem at all surprised at Derek’s presence. Allison went red and tried very hard to push down a smile, but Lydia simply glowered at Derek before ripping Stiles a new one. He scared her, that was clear.

It would’ve been an uncomfortable talk if not for Prada of all creatures. As soon as she saw Derek, she went ballistic, howling in Allison’s hands and scratching her arms, trying to get away. She would’ve probably peed herself were it not for Derek who rolled his eyes and walked off to ‘park the Camaro’.

Yeah, right.

Stiles reassured the girls as much as he could — enough for them to give in and leave without him. Something told him the conversation in that car would be all about him.

Derek’s choice in the restaurant was a bit too fancy for Stiles, especially with his freshly shining bruise. However, he could only follow his lead and obey Derek’s hand on his lower back, pushing him forward.

Derek asked for a booth in the back, which Stiles was grateful for. When they settled, he was relieved to find himself facing away from the room. Knowing Derek, the seat choice was deliberate.

The waitress came to wipe their spotless table and spent too much time lighting the candle. At some point, Stiles stopped cupping his cheek to hide his bruise — the girl wasn’t paying him an inch of attention. He kind of got it, because Derek was there, but still. They could’ve been on a date. Which, they weren’t, of course.

He softened a bit when Derek dismissed her almost instantly without even looking.

“Give me your hand,” he said, grabbing Stiles’ hand without waiting for an answer. An amused smile took over Stiles’ lips as he watched Derek inspect his cut with sharp precision under the candlelight. “It doesn’t look deep.”

“That’s because it isn’t,” Stiles replied. “I washed it with soap, it’s fine.”

“Is that enough for you?”

“What?”

“Soap.” Derek looked at him curiously. “They always douse it in alcohol in movies.”

“You’re saying it like you don’t know what a cut is.” Stiles widened his eyes. “Wait—”

“Here’s the menu, gentlemen,” the waitress pointedly waited until their hands separated before putting down two brochures. “I’ll be back with your water in a sec.”

Derek’s jaw twitched a little bit. Stiles hid his smile in a palm. He opened the menu, widened his eyes at the list (everything was too expensive), and closed it quickly. Derek didn’t pick it up at all.

“You’re not gonna eat?”

Derek shook his head. “Nothing here for me.”

Stiles glanced at him. “Are you vegan?”

Suddenly, Derek barked a laugh. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and said, smiling, “I am something, but definitely not that.”

Oh, if that’s the game they were going to play…

“You’re one of those meat-eaters?” he asked, wiggling in his seat.

“Yeah, you could say that.”

“There’s steak…” Stiles narrowed his eyes, looking for a catch.

Derek looked like he saw the cogs turning in his head. The tip of his lips kept turning up.

“I was hoping for a steak tartare.”

“Tartare?”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other.

“Raw?” Stiles mouthed, cringing his nose.

“Uh-huh.”

“I saw you eat lunch,” Stiles reminded, “at school. I shared candy with you.”

Derek shrugged. “Imagine if my family just sat there, not eating anything. Ever.”

“You could just skip.”

“We did, Cora and I. But then, the others joined us, and it would’ve been weird if they suddenly started skipping.”

We. So, Derek wasn’t alone in this.

Stiles’ hands itched to get to his board. He couldn’t believe they were finally talking about it. Openly, nonetheless.

“Do they know that I know?” Stiles asked quietly.

Derek inclined his head. He stared right at Stiles but didn’t answer. Stiles frowned, unsure about what he was waiting for when suddenly, someone appeared at their table.

Stiles startled at the sound of the waitress’ saccharine voice.

“Are you ready to order?”

Derek lifted an expectant eyebrow at him.

“Uh,” Stiles blinked at the menu. “Burger, please. And Coke.”

“Two Cokes,” Derek added. “Nothing for me.”

The waitress looked at him with a smile waning from her lips, tapped the back of her pen on the notebook, and nodded. “Sure. Two Cokes, one burger.”

She bit her lip, waiting for Derek to say anything or look at her.

Stiles’ face heated up when Derek did nothing but stare at him.

“Alright,” chirped the waitress and walked off.

Stiles stared at her retreating with his nose pursed. “Ouch. Now she’s gonna spit in my drink.”

“She won’t,” Derek tilted his head again. “She’s trying to convince the chef to cook something on the house.”

“Oh my god…” Stiles rolled his eyes, then froze, and looked at him. “Wait, you can hear her?”

“Yes.”

“From here?”

“Yes.”

Stiles lifted his eyebrows.

Superhearing. Check.

“How good is your hearing?” he asked. “You said you heard my heart, earlier.”

“It’s calm now,” Derek frowned and shifted his gaze from his chest to his eyes. “I don’t get it.”

“What?”

“How you can be alright after what happened.”

Ah.

Stiles picked up a toothpick from the holder and began splitting it to keep his hands busy and his eyes lowered.

“Oh, it’ll come to bite me in the ass later,” he said lightly. “The reaction gets delayed sometimes. It’s fine.”

“Nothing about this is fine.” Derek’s voice was quiet and serious.

With anyone else, Stiles’ knee-jerk reaction would be to laugh it off with a joke or snap with the vilest poison he could spew to ward off the conversation. But Derek softened him. Stiles didn’t know what it was about the guy that made him feel so safe.

“Why did you follow me here?” he asked instead.

Derek didn’t answer. Nor did he seem surprised at the change of subject. He waited until the food came and the waitress was gone once more, and then started talking.

“Eat,” he nodded at the burger.

Stiles rolled his eyes. First, he drank all of his Coke in one go, unaware of how thirsty he was; Derek immediately pushed his own glass over to him, making Stiles’ cheeks warm. He sipped some more and but picked up the burger. Just the smell of it, juicy and rich, made his stomach growl in anticipation. His mouth watered. Jeez, where did this hunger come from?

When Stiles looked up with his mouth full, Derek smirked at him.

“I followed you because I wanted to,” he said.

Stiles waved at him with the burger. “That’s nowhere near the answer.”

“But it’s the truth. I skip one class, and then some douche is dragging your half-dead bleeding body across the lot—”

“I wasn’t—”

“— and then you decide to go away to another town. Today. And look what happened.”

Stiles took one fry and pointed it at Derek as menacingly as he could. “Nothing happened, alright? If someone asks — no, if some old balding Sheriff drags you into an interrogation room — you know nothing and nobody, got it?”

Derek flashed his red eyes at him. All it did was make Stiles smile.

“Doesn’t work on me, Hale.” He waved his fry around and put it in his mouth. “By the way, what did you mean by ‘today’? Is it your birthday?”

Stiles, of course, knew what today was. Or, at least, heavily suspected today’s certain date and its impact on Derek. He was just proving a theory.

“My birthday is on 25th of December.”

Stiles widened his eyes. Derek sighed at the smile spreading on his face.

“Aw!” Stiles grinned widely. “You’re a Christmas baby! I knew you loved whimsy!”

“Stop it,” Derek muttered.

But Stiles only smiled harder. “And you’re telling me you’re not a miracle? Ha! Do you know who else would have their birthday on fucking Christmas?”

“Don’t—”

“Winnie the Fucking Pooh, that’s who.”

Derek closed his face with his palms and sighed. Stiles started laughing, then hissed when his jaw started aching again. He was about to dismiss it when Derek reached across the table and cupped his cheek.

Stiles froze, and he was pretty sure that the world froze, too.

That was intimate. If Derek didn’t want this to look like a date, then he would have to keep his hands to himself.

Derek’s hand stayed in place. The skin was hot as if he held it above the candle flame for too long. But there were no candles — just Derek’s blood and his heartbeat against Stiles’ cheek.

They stared at one another. Stiles, a deer frozen in headlights; Derek, a predator watching his every move. When the pain was gone and Stiles’ heart long since betrayed him by racing, Derek took his hand away, but not before swiping his thumb along his cheekbone. Like he simply couldn’t help himself.

“You have to understand that I’m dangerous,” said Derek somberly. “I’m not this— this fairytale you believe I am. I cannot let you think that.”

“You want me to be afraid?” asked Stiles.

“No,” Derek said quickly as if begging. “I…” he stopped for a moment, lost for words. “It’s the last thing I want. But… I would understand if you did. It’s a normal reaction.”

Stiles looked down in thought. His fingers caught the condensation droplets on his glass.

“Did it happen to you before?” he asked quietly. He hated the thought of Derek opening up to someone only to be rejected. “You told someone, and they were—”

“I didn’t,” said Derek, making Stiles look up. “My sisters did. It… did not go well. It never does, with humans.”

Stiles shivered at the last word and the meaning behind them. Humans. Just how many creatures were hiding among them? Pretending to be human, like Derek?

“There are always exceptions,” said Stiles at last. “I can be your zero point zero one percent.”

Derek watched him, and, boy, was that gaze heavy. The weight of it was in the multitude of emotions Derek was experiencing: in hope, contemplation, and wondering if telling some human would ruin his entire life. Stiles hoped he could convince Derek that he was worth it.

“It’s dangerous for you to be around me,” Derek confessed quietly.

“Didn’t time prove the opposite?” Stiles arched an eyebrow.

“I can claw people apart like it’s nothing.” Derek’s gaze was dark and unblinking. “I can tear their throat with my teeth within seconds. Do you know what it took for me to take you away from those mongrels and not go back? I could’ve easily dropped you off with Lydia, found those men, and killed them. I would have if you left me alone. I still want to hurt them.”

“But not me, right?”

Derek blinked at him, stunned.

Stiles sighed. It was true that he didn’t know Derek, not nearly enough to make drastic judgments, but it didn’t matter. It just didn’t. His gut, his instincts, his fucking soul — call it whatever you want — told him that, sure, Derek could hurt people.

But not him.

“I feel safe with you,” said Stiles, feeling warmth in his cheeks. “Whether you want it, or not. If you don’t, then, maybe, think before you save my life again.”

“I will always save it.” His words were simple, genuine, soft.

It made Stiles frown. This very way Derek said it, like it was that obvious. Sure, you should always seek to save lives instead of destroying them, but it was almost like for Derek, there was some other meaning to it.

There’s no going back. Not for me. That’s what he said once.

Why?

Stiles couldn’t help but feel like even after finding out who Derek was, he was just barely scratching the surface.

Once Stiles finished his burger and didn’t have a panic attack, they left, as it was getting late. Derek paid, and Stiles couldn’t even argue with it: firstly, because Derek looked like he wouldn’t allow it, and secondly because he spent his money on stupid books that were lying on the ground in that damn alley. He was lucky he didn’t drop his phone.

The road back was quiet. Derek put on some soft music, and Stiles, with his stomach full and the adrenaline crushing down, fell asleep rather quickly.

He was aware of the car movement, of twists and turns Derek took. He smelled the breeze from the ocean coming from Derek’s open window. It was more of a lull than a full-on sleeping, but Stiles, for some reason, could not keep his eyes open.

He didn’t know when they stopped. The first thing he became aware of was the caress upon his cheek.

With a deep inhale, Stiles forced his eyes to open.

It was dark. The music was off. Outside, just a couple of houses down, was Stiles’ home with its lights on the first floor. His dad was probably waiting for him.

Derek met his gaze with a strange, content warmth in his eyes. Stiles could barely see him in the dark, but he could feel his gaze like a touch upon his cheek.

“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled. The atmosphere between them demanded quietness.

“Don’t be.”

Stiles chuckled and held back a yawn. “I left you driving on your own for an hour.”

Derek watched him, amused. “How many humans do you think would fall asleep with me in the car after seeing me shift?”

Stiles’ stomach clenched with irrational jealousy he had no right to feel.

“Hey,” he complained playfully, “I thought I was your only human exception.”

Derek smiled at him knowingly, making Stiles grow red. Could he hear the bitter possessive edge to his sleepy voice? Fuck.

“There can be only one,” he said cryptically.

Stiles did not understand. This feeling of stumbling around blind in the dark was getting annoying.

“You love being mysterious, don’t you?” he said, and Derek laughed. “You do.”

“Comes with the package,” Derek leaned his head back on the headrest and watched him softly. “I’ll be at school tomorrow.”

“You promise?”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “Are we gonna sit together at lunch again?”

Derek’s eyes sparkled as he grinned. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” It wasn’t butterflies in his stomach, it was a damn swarm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Stiles opened the door with a sweaty hand and was about to step out when Derek called him.

“Stiles?”

He turned his head back, only to realize that Derek was very very close.

Stiles’ breath caught, his heart frozen in the sugar coating of trembling anticipation.

The sharp point of Derek’s nose touched his cheek, lighter than the wind. He inhaled deeply, taking the greedy lungfuls of Stiles’ scent into his body. Stiles fought the shiver at the thought of it seeping into Derek’s lungs, traveling with his blood, making Derek think of him, staying with him even when they were apart. It was a feral thought, new but so strong and lustful that it made his head spin from how pleasant it was.

Derek’s eyes fluttered open. His pupils were huge, with the thinnest thread of red wrapped gently around them.

“Sleep well.” His voice was a murmuring thunder.

Stiles swallowed against a dry throat, nodded, and exited the car.

He walked in a daze to his house, his heart left in that damn Camaro. He stuttered through a weak explanation about his bruise to his Dad (he had to tell Lydia and Allison that he defended them from bad guys just so they knew) and stumbled upstairs.

The room was dark as he walked in. The soft light of the full moon lit the square on the carpet just below the window.

Stiles took a couple of minutes to glance over his makeshift board. With his lips set and his heart thundering in his ears, he tore it all away, leaving scraps of tape stuck to the wall. He then took a fresh sheet of paper, stuck it to the wall, and wrote one word in bold black letters.

Werewolf

Stiles stared at it. The word glared back, standing out harshly against the white.

He capped the marker and tossed it onto the table. Thoughts swarmed his head the entire time, all at once, different and scary. The life and death, the moon and the ocean, the secrets and their reveal. The thread of red wrapped lovingly around the black depth.

Derek.

Stiles thought about him the most. Something told him that it wasn’t the last time, far from it. He thought about his softness and his open desire to kill. Stiles’ hands remembered the heat of his hands. His neck longed to feel the coating warmth of Derek’s breath. His lips burned from the kiss that never happened.

Everything was so fucking complicated.

Except one thing.

It was the only clear thought in his head. The one that made his stomach clench from fear, his heart stutter from hope, and his lips stretch in a smile.

He was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with Derek.