Teen Wolf: A Love Story

He wasn’t sure how long he was asleep but the moon was still high and bright, inhaling the sweet stale smell of the rotten earth below him, stretching his palms outward above his head, feeling the rough touch of leather beneath his out stretched fing ... ers .... wait.

“Oh my GOD,” he practically shouted, eyes flicking wide, scrambling up and away from the pair of feet standing just above his head. His gut was wrenched in terror. He should fucking know better than to fall asleep in the woods with crazy shit running around like, like kanimas and ghouls and werecreatures and Derek Hales and ...

“Derek Hale,” came the pathetic croak of his voice, wrenched around that tight knot of his gut. “Derek,” he reaffirmed when he got his big boy voice back and managed to swallow the shiver starting deep in his shoulders. It wasn’t anything out to kill him, but the look on the man’s tired face said he could be persuaded if he said the wrong thing.

“Stiles,” Derek acknowledged, raising one of the books he revealed in his hand as if he needed the moonlight to read the title. “What are you doing?” he spoke again after a moment, brow raising.

Stiles fluttered, wringing his hands together before throwing his arms open with a nervous laugh, finally pulling himself away from Derek and his minor flight of terror, picking up a book to mimic the werewolf across from him.

“Reading. In the woods. At ...”

“Midnight.”

“Right. Midnight, and anyway--“ he started, tossing the book into the depths of the book jail carved deep into the dirt. “Midnight?” he finally spat, frowning deep across at Derek who stood with his eyes locked on the gaze of Stiles’.

“Midnight.”

“My dad is going to kill me, I was supposed to tell him when I got back to Scott’s and I-...

... middle of paper ...

...it. He felt the weight of Derek’s eyes on him once more, and startled when the wolf reached for something.

Derek produced a lighter, grabbing for Stiles’ wrist. He froze as Derek twisted his arm, pried apart his fingers, and placed the metal Zippo square in his palm.

“Do mine, and I’ll do yours.”

At first, Stiles had no idea what he meant, eyeing the lighter in his hand as Derek stared him down in the darkness. He stopped breathing, desperately trying to focus on what he meant. Oh.

“You … should probably do mine first, I guess. I have a lot less … you know… to a pile of a books than you do to …” He stopped himself, hissing out an exhale. Get it together, Stiles. Derek hesitated before he took the lighter back gingerly from his palm. He flicked open the lid, slipped against the dial and bent down, hooking the small, golden flame to the corner of a piece of paper.