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Derek woke up and immediately knew something was wrong. He reached over and found Stiles’ spot in the bed cold, and Shadow standing by the bed, whining.
“Take me to him,” He said, climbing out of the bed.
He watched as Stiles reached to pull a book from his stack, and he saw his hands shake as he fumbled with the pages. Instinctively, Derek grabbed his hand in his own. It’s cold and clammy, and he immediately wrapped his other hand around it to rub some warmth into it. Stiles didn’t pull away from the touch.
“Mischief, when’s the last time you ate anything?”
Stiles shrugged. “This morning, maybe? Don’t remember,” he mumbled. Derek released his hand, and Stiles dropped his head to the table, letting his eyes close for just a moment.
“Baby, it's late and you’re sick-“
“I said I’m FINE!” Stiles’ raspy shout echoed through the loft, startling Derek and Shadow.
The dog whined, pawing at Stiles’ leg. Derek sighed and took Stiles’ hand in his again.
"Baby, will you please come to bed with me? We can figure things out in the morning, get everything organized for the home stretch of this thing. But you've got to get some sleep." Derek held his breath, praying that Stiles didn't put up a fight. He let out the breath when Stiles sighed and leaned over to pick up Shadow.
“Okay, take me to bed, Alpha mine.”
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In the middle of the night, Stiles woke up due to some noises in the kitchen. He grabbed his trusty baseball bat, thinking it’s a robber, and tiptoed downstairs. He was well aware of the fact Derek wasn’t in bed, but he didn’t know where he was
There are pans in the sink, it’s all dark beside the light from the TV, and Derek is tiptoeing to his chair in the living room, holding a tiny plate piled high with at least 8 flapjacks.
“Der, what the fuck.”
“2-AM-Pancakes. Want some?”
Stiles sighed and put his baseball bat next to the door. Shadow, on the other hand, happily hopped over to Derek. Stiles followed, at a more sedated pace, and took a seat on the couch.
“Why are we having 2-AM pancakes? I thought the manic and off the wall thought processes were my go-to, not yours.”
Derek sighed, looking over at him.
“I just couldn’t sleep. I figured that I would eat something and then crawl back into bed with you. I’m sorry that you woke up alone.”
Stiles smiled softly.
“It’s okay. You eat your pancakes, I am going to take Shadow out. When I get back, we are getting into our bed and cuddling.”
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Derek woke in the middle of the night. He heard a slow creak from the hallway outside, and then another. A month ago, he might have grabbed his phone to dial the police...but not now.
He left their bedroom and peek into Stiles’s library. A swath of moonlight spills between the curtains, across the rumpled, empty bed. Derek sighed and padded down the hall.
Stiles had gingerly settled into the couch, his injured leg propped up awkwardly across the cushions. Derek murmurs his name. Stiles looks up quickly, then winces as the movement jars still-healing wounds.
“I’m sorry.” Stiles keeps his voice hushed, though there’s no one else in the house. “I was trying not to wake you.”
“Baby, you should have. Are you in pain?”
“A little, nothing I can’t handle. Come sit with me, since you’re up,” Stiles said, offering him a soft smile.
Derek sighed and made his way over to the couch, taking a seat next to Stiles. Shadow followed him, curling up on his bed next to the couch as Derek let Stiles lean against him. He knew it would be a while before Stiles decided it was safe to go back to bed, but Derek was content to sit with him all night if he had to.
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Stiles woke up and was confused. He knew that he wasn’t supposed to be awake, and he could figure out why he was awake. He pulled the blanket tighter and turned to face Derek before he realized that his mate wasn’t in the bed with him. He sighed and climbed out of bed, pulling Derek’s shirt on as he got chilly.
“Hey, what are you doing up?” He asked when he found Derek in the living room.
“I was drawing pictures of you, but I wasn't happy with any of them.. try not to judge," Derek said, looking up and giving his mate a serious look.
Stiles found himself smiling brightly as he took a look at the scattered pieces of paper on the table.
"I think they're gorgeous. You have real talent. How about you show me some more tomorrow? It’s very late and I would hate for you to be a grumpy wolf when all the puppies come over tomorrow."
"So says the guy who is incapable of sleeping for more than three days in a row," Derek said, putting the pages back into his notepad and closing it.
Stiles pressed his lips to Derek's forehead as he placed the last of his drawing into the notepad. Derek smiled and stood, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
“I love you,” Stiles whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Derek’s hand.
“I love you,” Derek said, pressing a kiss to the top of Stiles’ head.
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Derek turned off his alarm and slipped silently from their queen-sized bed, which has started to feel a little cramped. One of the reasons for that cramped feeling reached out after him, two lightly tanned arms stretching from beneath the covers accompanied by a quiet groan of protest. The other was laying across the pillow, nosing his way under the blanket now that Derek was up. A smooth tenor manages to slur, “Der?”
“Shhhh,” the wolf crooned. “Go back to sleep, babe.”
“Kisses first,” the Spark grumped, glaring out of his warm nest. When the taller man seems to ignore his pleas in favor of pulling on sweatpants, Stiles began to whine: “Derrrek.”
“Fine.” Derek leaned down over his boyfriend and smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to his warm, sleep-chapped lips. “See you after my run, sleepyhead.”
His only response from the nest of blankets was a groan.
If he returned from his run and accosted his boyfriend in the kitchen while he made pancakes, no one needed to know that. If Stiles then followed him into the shower, to make sure that he got completely clean, no one needed to know that either.