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Summary
Sliding his hands around Stiles’ chest Derek found the scents of the Camaro, Laura, and New York still clinging to him like a map of the places he had been.
Holding him made him real. He wasn’t a figment of Derek’s imagination. Stiles was here, and he was staying. Uncontrollable relief spilled out of him, but the right words, the right voice was there to pick him back up. Repeated apologies whispered against his skin relentlessly, melting the last of the anger he stubbornly held on to.