Work Text:
And Derek wakes up all sweaty on a cold February morning.
Outside, the pines are whitened and bent under the light heaviness of the snow that is still falling down from the ethereal sky.
Inside, only silence and a lot of loneliness of a broken heart lost in the abyss of a nightmare that would only go over those thousands of constellations of moles drawn on a skin too pale.
In another universe.
And Stiles wakes up shivering in an August afternoon.
Inside only silence, the silence of those who, in desperation, cannot live but survive to the present.
Outside, the sun burns the ground and warms the atmosphere. The thirsty animals keep looking for water in a desert land.
And Stiles is looking for a mirage, even briefly, that could bring back those deep green eyes in front of him.
Because, sometimes, the only thing we can do is dream.