#i almost swapped boyd with isaac and erica with allison but this works

[chasing-chimeras]

this is the vision behind green zone

[when-they-write-stuff]

can you do "Can we please pretend I never said that?" if your still doing prompts? love your blog xx

Stiles heard something somewhere. 

Something about rising and falling into love. That you don’t ‘rise into love’ but you ‘fall into it’. There’s no moving upward, there’s no ‘head in the clouds’. There was just falling. Falling head over heels, taking that step off the edge of the cliff, accepting the impending doom of bottom where there’s no more rush of the drop.

The idea of the fall. God, what a cliche. But Stiles thought it had to start somewhere.

It wasn’t big like in the movies.

The first time Stiles realized he might be in love with Derek Hale, it was long after the fight with the latest monster of the week. Stiles had stayed in the back with Lydia, but he was always ready to move forward. To hell with Derek’s warning of “Don’t do anything stupid” because the moment the omega had clawed Derek across the back and the man’s roar had cut through the air, Stiles had nearly gone feral too.

But he didn't. Then Isaac ripped out the omega's throat, Scott rushed to Allison’s side, Lydia rushed to Jackson’s, and Stiles continued to stand on the sidelines, baseball bat held loosely in his hand. He watched Derek without thinking about it, eyes following as the man moved over to his own pack and carefully checked them up and down.

Gentle fingers traced over the back of Erica’s neck and combed through Isaac’s hair. Boyd had been hurt the worst of the three and Derek took some of his pain as the beta’s open wound stitched itself back together ever so slowly.

There were still bloody marks across Derek’s chest. His shirt was hanging on in tatters but he paid it no attention. Only when Boyd was climbing slowly to his feet, pulling Erica close, did Derek glance down at himself.

Then grey-green eyes snapped up to where Stiles stood. Derek’s eyes searched Stiles up and down and the man nodded quietly before turning away. Stiles swallowed hard and turned away too, plodding in the silence back toward his jeep. He wasn't even sure where Scott had gone.

The clearing was empty when he glanced back.

He probably should have expected the window to open up much later that night, but Stiles would like to say he never expected anything Derek Hale did. He startled so hard he nearly flailed out of bed and Derek froze, one leg inside Stiles’s bedroom and one still outside of it.

Stiles groaned, rubbing at his eyes.

“Dude, Sourwolf, what the hell are you doing here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

Stiles blinked a few times, pretty sure he’d heard that wrong. But then Derek carefully pulled himself all the way into the room and glanced at Stiles almost nervously, before leaning closer and taking a small sniff. His face did something weird.

“Scott hasn’t been here tonight.”

“Uh, no, dude. He went home with Allison, as usual. Is something up?”

“Scott should have checked in on you.”

Stiles looked at him for a long moment and then chuckled humorlessly, running a hand through his hair. “Hey, nothing against Scotty-boy, big guy, but I’m totally fine! See, one-hundred percent still in one piece. Trust me, if I’d been anything but, I would have been making a big fuss by now.”

Derek still didn’t look satisfied. In fact, he almost looked unsettled. Stiles decided this was way more than he’d expected tonight to go and he nervously picked at his covers. He was only sleeping in his boxers, dammit. And he’d decided to skip showering tonight.

“So, is there anything else I can do, or…?”

“No,” Derek said, stepping back. He still didn’t look content. “No, I’ll go.”

For a moment, there were a million different things on Stiles’s tongue. Like maybe he could call him back. Invite him downstairs for a late-night snack or something. But that was stupid, right? Derek had come here because… well, Stiles wasn’t sure exactly he'd come. But it wasn’t like Derek wanted to stick around.

The man still glanced back one more time. Then he nodded and ducked out of the window again. 

And Stiles was left picking at his covers in the silence.

-

The first time Stiles showed up to Derek’s loft with a black eye and split lip, he was pretty sure the man was about to kill someone. The thing is, Stiles hadn’t actually expected to show up with a black eye and split lip, but then he pissed off the wrong hunters and ended up calling Scott a few times before giving up and dragging himself to Derek’s loft instead.

Stiles honestly thought the man was going to kill someone. And he was a little terrified that someone might end up being him.

Except, Derek didn’t seem upset about the hunters. He seemed upset about Stiles.

Stiles would like to say he knew what to do with that realization, but that would be a total lie. As Derek studied his face and growled, the betas watching silently from the couch, Stiles honestly had no idea what to do.

“Derek, dude, I’m fine. Really.”

Derek flat out ignored him, turning toward his betas. “Go track down the hunters and make sure they know not to step foot into Beacon Hills again. Understand?”

Boyd silently nodded, nudging the other two up. Carefully fingers ghosted over the back of Stiles’s neck as the betas left and the moment the door closed, Derek was turning toward the kitchen.

Stiles just stood there feeling like an idiot. Because this was the last thing he had expected. Ever.

“Derek, seriously. It's nothing bad. Like, at all.”

Derek came back out with an unimpressed expression on his face and a first aid kit in his hand. Stiles blinked at it, studying the man’s face, and then Derek pointed him toward the couch. Slowly, Stiles moved to comply.

“So, uh, a first aid kit?”

Derek’s face didn’t betray a thing. He sat Stiles down and then popped it open, pulling out a few cotton swabs and a container of something clear. Stiles smelled chemicals and winced.

“Oh no, that's gonna hurt. Seriously, dude, I’m fine.”

“Just stay still, Stiles.” 

Normally, Stiles would probably agree to disagree and maybe make this as difficult for Derek as possible. But instead, he went still and found himself watching Derek work instead. The man looked far less angry and far more concerned, and Stiles didn’t know what to do with the pit in his stomach at that. Grey-green eyes searched Stiles’s face and Derek carefully reached forward.

“Where was Scott?”

This time, when Stiles winced, it was for a different reason. “I dunno. Out?”

“How did this happen?”

“I got jumped leaving the station a couple of hours ago,” Stiles said quietly. “But really, dude, it’s fine. I couldn’t get an answer from his phone so I figured I’d come here instead—”

“Not the hospital?”

“Dude, it’s a few bruises and cuts. I’m not going to the hospital for that.”

Derek clenched his jaw, eyes flashing, but didn’t protest that. Instead, he dabbed a damp cotton swap against Stiles’s check and looked a little angry again when Stiles flinched. But Stiles still didn’t think it was aimed at him. Which was… confusing, right?

Maybe he should have just taken care of this himself.

“Listen,” Stiles said, catching Derek’s wrist and starting to push himself up. “I have a first aid kit at home too. I didn’t mean— I should have gone there. I didn’t mean to interrupt your evening, dude.”

Derek blinked at him. Stiles tried to duck around the man but then Derek was pulling him back and sitting him right back down. Stiles stared dumbly at the man’s face.

“Dude—”

“Don’t call me dude.”

“Derek—”

“Just shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, although he sounded more exasperated than anything. “Shut up and let me take care of you.”

And  oh. Stiles thought maybe he should say something else but he just closed his mouth and focused on the wall over Derek’s shoulder instead, trying not to shiver at every careful touch. Because this wasn’t a thing. He was totally not overthinking this.

This was Derek Hale and Stiles Stilinski. It was pack stuff and that was all. Stiles swallowed hard and concentrated on the wall until Derek finally have him a soft look and announced himself done. 

And then Stiles hightailed it out as fast as he could.

-

“I’m just saying,” Stiles said, gesturing his hands out uselessly. As if that would somehow help his argument. “Remember that one thing about orange and blue? Colors? T-shirts? All of that stuff? Well, maybe it makes a little more sense than it had three years ago now and—”

“Stiles,” Lydia said, cutting him off. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I do,” Jackson said, looking bored. Stiles startled, having nearly forgotten the asshole had been hanging around, and his heart thudded even harder when Jackson smirked. “Stilinski is in love with our Alpha.”

Stiles blinked once. Twice. Then he quickly shook his head. “I am not.”

“Oh my god,” Lydia said. “You are.”

“I am not!”

Jackson didn’t look impressed. “I can literally hear you lying, idiot.”

“Okay, that’s not fair! That’s not abiding by normal human rules. I call a sham. I call sham!”

“You can’t call a sham.”

“Yeah, well, I just did. Asshole.”

Jackson only rolled his eyes and pushed himself up, wandering back out of the kitchen. Stiles looked at Lydia pleadingly, as if she could somehow tell his idiotic brain to stop pining for grumpy-growly red-eyed werewolves, but Lydia just pursed her lips. She gave him a sympathetic look before standing too, following Jackson out.

Stiles sat in the silence feeling a little bit like an idiot. And since when did Jackson actually know or listen to him?

Then he heard the sound of the loft door opening, closing, and promptly cursed.

See, Stiles was pretty sure if his brain had decided to actively work against him, he could never come back to the loft again. Because Derek was so totally going to rip his throat out. Or his head off. Or maybe take one look at him, listen to his panicked beating heart, and decide that Stiles was officially kicked out of the pack.

Or something.

The point is… stiles wasn’t good at keeping things quiet. Or small. In high school, when he’d officially decided he was in love with Lydia Martin, he went to her house with a boombox. That hadn’t worked out well at all and Stiles was pretty sure things had just gone downhill from there.

So maybe, maybe, if he stayed far away from Derek Hale, he could go without embarrassing himself. Ever.

That all took a plunge off the nearest cliff when Derek came into the kitchen.

Stiles startled so hard, he almost fell off the stool. Derek paused, raising an eyebrow, and Stiles thought he would feel much safer if not for freaking werewolf super senses. That wasn’t safe at all. In fact, no part of this loft was safe at all right now.

A dozen things fell from his mouth as Stiles pushed himself up, grabbing his backpack and laptop, but then Derek was stepping in front of him before Stiles could escape out the door. The man looked confused.

“Stiles, what’s wrong with you?”

“Wrong with who? With me? Nothing’s wrong! Nothing’s wrong, ever, and I really need to get going.”

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“No. I mean yes! I have many places to be. Many, many places.”

Derek actually looked concerned now and Stiles was certain that wasn’t good for anyone. He tried ducking around Derek again but the man stepped in front of every escape he tried to make. Stiles growled in frustration, giving the man a flat look, and meant to say something useful. Something like ‘get out of the freaking way, Sourwolf.’ 

But instead, all that came out was, “There’s this thing. The idea of the fall.”

Nope, that wasn’t right.

Derek gave him an odd look and Stiles cursed, trying to just manhandle his way by. But he was one-hundred and forty-seven pounds of pale skin and fragile bone, and Derek was a werewolf. He’d never really had a chance.

Stiles still tried. And then somehow found himself backed up against the counter.

“Derek—”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Stiles said, looking anywhere but his face. Or chest. Or maybe just— “Nothing at all. Can I go, please?”

“Really, Stiles?”

“I just… Can we please pretend I never said that? Like, any of that. Like anything. Ever. In my life. I don’t know what you’re talking about Derek, I’m not in love with you!"

Oh. Nope. That wasn’t right either.

Derek straightened, looking at him with wide eyes, and Stiles kind of wished it was possible to melt into the floor. Instead, he just stared miserably at his feet and waited for the inevitable. The coming ‘get out of my loft’ that was bound to happen. Except, the inevitable never came.

Slowly, he glanced back up. And Derek didn’t look like anything but relieved.

“God, Stiles. Finally.”

Had he— Stiles had missed something. He’d missed so many things. 

He was pretty sure he was staring with a mouth half-hanging open and Derek carefully pulled his backpack and laptop from his hands. Setting them aside, gentle hands moved to cup Stiles face and yup, he’d died. But then the man rolled his eyes and Stiles promptly realized he’d mumbled all of that out loud, clamping his mouth shut with a burning face.

"I didn't say anything."

“Yes, you did. And Stiles, you’re not dead.”

“Are you sure about that, big guy? Cause I might have died. I might be dead right now. Can this be heaven? Because I’d be so fine with this being heaven.”

“You’re not dead, Stiles.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, the words coming out squeaky. “I’m dreaming then?”

Derek shook his head, thumb brushing over Stiles’s cheek. And maybe this was a hallucination instead. Was it a possible hallucination?

“You tell me,” Derek said. “If this feels like a hallucination.”

Stiles blinked at him, brain stalling for a second. And then the man’s lips were on his own and Stiles’s brain logged fully offline. Stiles.exe had stopped working. Possibly for the next few hours or so. Possibly forever.

Because Derek Hale was kissing him. Derek Hale was kissing him and this was real. Stiles felt like the floor had opened up beneath his feet and he was falling.

There was something he’d heard once. Something about rising and falling into love. That you don’t ‘rise into love’ but you ‘fall into it’. There’s no moving upward, there’s no ‘head in the clouds’. There was just falling. Falling head over heels, taking that step off the edge of the cliff, accepting the impending doom of bottom where there’s no more rush of the drop.

There was just falling. The idea of the fall. Stiles thought it had to start somewhere. 

And at the same time, he thought the bottom might not be so much of an impending doom. Not as much as realizing that maybe, maybe, Derek Hale was falling right alongside him.

God, what a cliche.

- -

Okay, so I had so much fun with this prompt! I didn’t know where I wanted to take it at first, but I’m kinda happy with how it came out. Thanks so much for the prompt, nonnie!

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