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I shelter in your unconscious rhythms

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“Derek?” Stiles nudges a sleepy Derek in the shoulder. “When did you know?”

Derek yawns, rolls over and tangles his legs with Stiles’. “When did I know what?”

“When did you know that I was it for you?” Stiles is sure his heart beats a little faster. Whether he fears the answer or anticipates it, he isn’t certain.

Derek is silent for so long that Stiles wonders if he’s fallen asleep again.

“Stiles,” Derek says softly, “I’ve always known. It was always you.”

Stiles thinks his heart just melted. Derek may be short on words, but they’re more powerful for it. (They even surpass the language of Derek’s eyebrows, and that’s no mean feat). God, he loves this guy.

“Now, shut up and go to sleep,” Derek mutters.

And this, Stiles acknowledges, this is when he’s happiest – curled up against his favouritest Sourwolf (his only-est Sourwolf) in the world. (Maybe covered in lube and other unspeakable bodily fluids, too, but it works for them, okay? Okay).