"Hey, Stiles, look."
"No, Derek," Stiles refuses to look up from his book. "Go back to bed."
"I dun need to go to bed, I need you to look. At me."
"I look at you all the time. I know what you look like," Stiles promises patiently. "I would like to look at you in bed—”
"I can do that."
Stiles knows Derek is leering at him, determinedly keeps his eyes on his page. Derek is the only person in the world that would successfully pull off being sick and sexy. He can’t risk looking.
“Asleep,” he finishes firmly.
"Creeper," Derek huffs. Stiles glances up when he hears movement, sees Derek struggling to stand in four sweaters, a scarf, and a desperate need for sleep. He’s been running on empty for weeks at the restaurant, had come home last night, pressed a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck in bed, and then sneezed all over him. Stiles had suggested they find the cold medicine. Derek had suggested they find the lube.
Safe to say, Derek is sick, and in total denial about it.
john diggle appreciation week | day 2: favorite quote(s)
i’m just used to being your girl.
you will always be my girl, Felicity.
I’m not fearless. I’m terrified. I’m always terrified of dying. I act like I know what I’m doing but I don’t. I don’t know if Isaac Is dying right now…if I made a mistake with Scott. I don’t know what my dad is thinking. I don’t know if we should trust Derek. I don’t know anything.
“Hey,” Stiles elbows Lydia gently, juts his head across the room. “Who’s the hottie?”
Lydia looks over, smirks, “That’s Scott’s brother.”
“What?” Stiles does a double take, “That’s—that’s Derek?”
“Shit,” Stiles breathes out, “He was… Lydia, he did not look like that in high school.”
“And, you, thankfully, look much better than you did at seventeen, too. So what?”
“Fuck, he’s really,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, gaze still trained on Derek, “He’s fucking smoldering.”
Lydia glances across again, spots Derek mouthing I hate you at Stiles, and snickers to herself.