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Derek didn’t sleep. He needed to, because he’d been fighting and then injured and then healing for most of the night, but he couldn’t. He lay there, propped up on pillows, and stared at Stiles asleep in the chair beside the bed.
It couldn’t have been comfortable sleeping like that, and judging by the angle of his head, Stiles was going to have a crick in his neck when he woke up. But right now he was deeply asleep, his breathing slow and even.
Stiles, who had hauled him out of harm’s way yet again. Stiles, who had carted him home and bandaged the wounds that weren’t healing fast enough. Stiles, who’d always stood by him, who’d always come back for him, who’d always protected him, even when they hadn’t liked each other. Stiles was there for him in a way no one else had been since Laura had died.
At some point in the past several years, his anchor had stopped being anger and had started being this fiercely protective, fiercely sarcastic, fiercely loving man sleeping at his bedside. Derek knew that, and yet, the knowledge still took his breath away.
His heart twisted painfully, and he closed his eyes.
It’s you, he thought. It’s always been you. It will always be you.
Derek reached over and took Stiles’s hand, dangling off the arm of the chair. Stiles made a soft noise, but that was the only indication that he noticed anything.
It felt like taking hold of the only thing in his life that made sense.
Derek squeezed his hand gently. “We need to talk when you wake up.”
The only response was a quiet snore.
Derek closed his eyes and finally managed to fall asleep, this time with a smile on his face.