Yeah, this is bad, this is real, real bad, this is the face Stiles makes two paragraphs from the end of the story, a story in Derek’s POV, obviously, where Stiles’s eyes are kind and sad, faced smudged in shadow, limned in light, and Derek is so, so tired, but he thinks he can keep on going, just a little longer, says,
"Thanks for the ride, thanks for—" voice trailing off when Stiles drops him off at his apartment. It’s starting to snow outside; it will be cold and dark inside, and Derek looks at Stiles for too long, the curve of his bottom lip and his bare throat, stares until the corner of Stiles’ mouth twists.
"You could invite me up," he says evenly.
"I don’t—um, it’s probably not a good idea," Derek says. Stiles laughs, a soft, cut-open noise, breath white in the cold air.
"It’s not that I don’t—want to," Derek hears himself saying.
"It’s not?" Stiles asks. "I thought that was—y’know, basically it."
"No," Derek says.
"I’m—I don’t want to lose you," Derek says, throat aching.
"You don’t have me," Stiles says.
"Yeah," Derek says, turning and fumbling the door open. "Yeah, sorry, I know."
"Not yet, anyhow," Stiles says. A year ago, two years ago, he would have caught Derek by the shoulder, hand vise-tight, but now his hands stay loosely on the steering wheel, and Derek turns back towards him all the same.
"Invite me up," Stiles says, and Derek does.
We will never let you down, and we have a life time ahead to prove that.
Stiles and Sheriff Stilinski interactions in “Anchors”
requested by anon
Greg and Molly when Sherlock said “I never expected to be anybody’s best friend.”
AW HONEY ;___;
perfect moment is perfect.
Stiles holding hands with Derek, caressing his face and touching his bare back