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My Heart, Your Hands

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“Derek! Derek, get your sour wolf ass down here!” He was crazy, there was no other reasonable explanation as to why he was at the Hale house and yelling for its lonely occupant to show himself. Or maybe it was the alcohol speaking, combined with finally getting overwhelmed by the events that have happened in his life the last few months. After all there was so much a normal, sane person could take before it sunk in deep enough to shake them right to their core. As if it wasn’t enough to deal with the fact that he was a freaking teen and everything was fucked up as it was; now he had to deal with werewolves, hunters and kanima and god knew what else. Worst of all was that his heart had apparently chosen to skip beats for one particular brooding werewolf and damn it, that was so not good for his health or sanity.

Stiles took a long deep breath with the intention of calming down or maybe even screaming at the top of his lungs from frustration, helplessness, fear and every other emotion warring inside him, but instead he exhaled shakily as his eyes settled on Derek’s.

“What have you done to me, Derek? What kind of werewolf magic have you used on my stupid, stupid heart to make it ache every time I think of you getting hurt or killed? Why the hell is it skipping beats at the mere thought of you shirtless in my room?” Stiles realized that he probably sounded utterly pathetic, but he didn’t care. He was damn tired of putting up a false front to lie or bullshit everyone into thinking what he wanted. “What have you done, Derek?” The last question was barely anything more than a whisper, but he didn’t doubt for even a second that it wasn’t heard.

Swaying forward as he tried to take a step closer to where the other man was standing a few feet away from him, Stiles knew he wouldn’t make it as he tipped to fall down on the ground instead. He’s sure he hadn’t even blinked before he was met with a firm warm body, opposed to the dirty forest floor. Looking up in the other man’s bright green eyes, Stiles saw the same whirlwind of emotions in them, just like in his own.

“I could ask you the same, Stiles.”