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Stiles woke with a panicked jerk, coming half-way up to seated as he stared around the dark room, his heart thudding. Screaming, someone was- oh fuck, it was his roommate.
Stiles dragged a hand over his face before fumbling for the light at his bedside, not sure where the switch was. He tried to pull up his new roommate’s name out of the hazy half-asleep fog of his brain.
“Derek,” he croaked, shoving his legs over the side of the bed and clambering out. His roommate was still crying out in low, desperate gasps and Stiles’ chest tightened at the raw hurt in those panicked noises. “Derek,” Stiles said again.
The lamp lit the room with a soft glow and Stiles groggily made his way across the short distance between his bed and Derek’s, where Stiles could see that Derek was curled up in a foetal position. He’d kicked off the duvet and sweat shone on his forehead, which was wrinkled with pain.
Stiles wasn’t awake enough to feel embarrassed at seeing Derek in just his boxers, even though he had quickly been developing a crush on the man, who’d helped him carry boxes up the stairs using biceps that made Stiles want to melt, ever since they’d moved in a few days ago. But when Stiles reached out to shake Derek’s shoulder, it was just in the hope of getting rid of the horrible pained noises that Derek was making, and the agonised set of his features.
“Derek it’s just a nightmare,” Stiles said. Derek twitched with a sharp inhale when Stiles grasped his shoulder and he reeled backwards after a second, his eyes coming open sharply.
Derek looked at Stiles like a panicked animal and Stiles was barely quick enough to grab Derek’s arm to stop him scrambling off the bed and he pushed him firmly but gently back onto the bed. Derek was strong enough that he could have fought Stiles off easily but after a moment of brief resistance, he allowed himself to be manhandled back onto the bed.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Stiles said quickly, taking his hands off Derek and moving back a step when Derek continued to eye him like he was a threat, one arm raised protectively, even though Stiles was half his size. “Remember me? Stiles, your roommate? Shitty nightmare, huh?”
Derek blinked and looked sideways, his throat working on a swallow. “Sorry,” he said roughly.
Stiles gestured nervously with his hands. “Yeah, of course. Not your fault, is it?” he huffed an awkward laugh and shrugged. “You okay? You want some water or something?”
Derek shook his head. “No, thanks,” he managed.
There was a heavy silence where Derek sat looking at the floor, shivering slightly, and Stiles eyed him worriedly and couldn’t think of what to say.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he said finally.
Derek’s expression, which had been closing off steadily the more lucid he got, shuttered completely and his tone was positively cold when he said, “No.”
“Er, right, sure,” Stiles said tightly and, lacking anything else to do, returned to his bed. “Night, then,” he said softly and reached to flick out his bedside light without expecting an answer from the beautiful man on the other side of the room.
Stiles was half-asleep when he heard Derek roll over with a creak of the mattress, readjusting his covers.
“Night,” Derek said, his voice soft in the dark and Stiles felt a small, pleasurable heat blossom in his chest. Sighing as he closed his eyes, Stiles resigned himself to the fact that he definitely had a crush on Derek, who apparently slept only in black boxers. Stiles groaned softly and turned over to bury his head in the pillow. It was going to be a long year.