Stiles has a magical thingamajig that’s supposed to get him out of danger. Trouble is, it took him really, really far out of danger. Like, to the point where he isn’t in the same universe anymore.
“A part of Stiles had been thinking that he’d come home, and just go, ‘hey, Derek, are we mates and you just haven’t said anything about it?’ and Derek would reply, ‘now you mention it, we are indeed! Now come to my bedchamber, where we will have super hot sex and then cuddle after!'”
“You said we’re friends.”
“Whoa, way to hold what a guy says in the heat of the moment against him,” Stiles replies automatically, but… that’s not what he wants to say, not at all, not to the quiet contemplation that is Derek Hale on his living room sofa. So he adds, “I guess, yeah.”
Derek doesn’t speak for a long moment. “Then it’s inevitable.”
“Wow,” Stiles whistles, “you are the biggest downer.”
When Derek left Beacon Hills, finally ripping the tether free and remembering how to breathe, how to live again, it was Stiles who came after him. Stiles, who showed up at his door with blazing eyes, looking like he wanted to punch him in the face, but wrapping his arms around him instead, making him grunt in surprise at the raw strength of his embrace.
“You asshole,” Stiles said, slapping him heartily on the back as he extricated himself, his voice rough under his bright smile. “You couldn’t have made yourself harder to find, could you?”