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When his honey-whiskies inevitably found Derek again he exhaled sharply against his skin. It was unfair, really, how quickly Derek could take him apart with a small quip of his eyebrow and the softening of his grey-green eyes, like he had somehow learned to read between the lines and see Stiles for who he really was. The thought was absolutely terrifying. Stiles wasn’t really sure what Derek would see because sometimes he didn’t know who he was. But he knew Derek. God, did he know Derek Hale. And it shouldn’t hurt to look at him, but sometimes Stiles couldn’t stop that deep ache in his chest, his heart beating against his ribs until his entire body hummed with a longing he could never satisfy. There was never a good time, but Stiles felt like it was always the wrong time and they would be cursed to spin in each other’s orbits until the universe burned up. Until it took them with it.
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Bookmark Notes:
Sniffle. So sweet.
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Hurt Stiles
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