Derek, open your eyes!
‘You don’t have to yell. I’m right next to you,’ Derek grumbles, rubbing his ear.
‘Sorry,’ Stiles says apologetically.
‘It’s,’ Derek opens his eyes and looks around the loft, ‘okay.’
It looks very different from this morning when he’d left. There hadn’t been a dining table large enough to fit the entire pack, or a couch that takes up half the loft. There definitely hadn’t been enough lamps to chase away all the shadows that lingered in the corners.
‘Do you like it?’ Stiles asks. He’s looking nervously at Derek, gripping his hand tightly.
‘Yeah. I-‘ Derek swallows down the lump in his throat. ‘You did all of this for me?’
‘Of course, I did. You deserve a home, Derek. I mean, I didn’t do all of it myself. Lydia helped. And so did Kira. And Scott and Isaac did most of the lifting. But it was my idea.’
Derek pulls him close and kisses him. He can never get enough of this. Of Stiles being his to touch and kiss.
The feeling of someone gripping his shoulders and shaking him makes him stumble backwards.
‘Derek, you okay?’ Stiles asks.
‘Yeah, just overwhelmed I guess.’
‘You feeling at home yet?’
Derek brushes their noses together. ‘Everywhere you are is my home.’
Stiles pulls back with a gasp, his eyes comically wide.
‘Are you telling me that we could have saved us a shit ton of effort and just moved me in here?’
‘Yep,’ Derek laughs.
‘Really? Are you serious? Because I will.’
Derek kisses a resounding ‘yes’ against Stiles’ lips. Stiles laughs and jumps up to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist. Everything is Stiles. His joyful laugh, his warm happy scent, his smooth hands against Derek’s cheeks. It’s perfect.
He feels something smack against his cheek, hard enough that he stumbles back and nearly drops his boyfriend.
‘What the hell, Stiles?’
‘What? I didn’t do anything. Well, I was trying to kiss the breath out of you, but that’s it.’
‘You didn’t yell my name? Or hit me?’
Stiles unwraps himself from Derek. He looks worried.
‘Are you sure you’re okay?’
‘Yeah, I think- Maybe it’s an aftereffect from the djinn.’
‘What djinn? Derek, we’ve never fought a djinn.’
‘We did. Right here. In the loft.’
‘You must have dreamed it, because I’m sure we never fought an ancient Arabian spirit.’
But Derek’s not so sure. Suddenly, something feels off. It’s like he’s missing something, something obvious.
‘Hey, come one. I’ll show the changes to the bedroom.’
Stiles wiggles eyebrows and starts pulling him to the bedroom.
Derek trips over one of the carpets. He lands on his back and pulls Stiles on top of him. He laughs.
But Stiles isn’t laughing. He looks worried, terrified.
‘Come on! You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you,’ Stiles says, choking on his words. He pulls his arm back, hand balling into a fist. Right before that fist connects with his face, Derek grabs Stiles’ arm.
‘Oh thank god,’ Stiles sighs and leans his forehead against Derek’s.
Derek brushes their lips together in attempt to reassure him, but it has the opposite effect. Stiles startles back, falling on ass.
Now that the guy is no longer hovering over him, Derek realizes the loft is a lot darker than it was ten seconds ago. He looks around. The pack is standing around him looking worried. Two feet away there’s a puddle of blue goo that he assumes used to be the djinn.
The djinn. None of it was real.
‘I need to get some air,’ Derek says. He gets up and moves to the balcony. He doesn’t look back at Stiles when he closes the door behind him.
The pack’s gone. Or most of them are. There is still a single heartbeat in the loft. It’s Stiles’. Derek hopes that if he stays out here long enough the guy will give up and go home.
The balcony door opens and Stiles walks up to stand next to him.
Why doesn’t he ever do what Derek wants him to?
‘Derek, why did you kiss me?’ Stiles’ voice in gentle, like he thinks Derek might jump if he talks too loud.
Derek doesn’t answer. He hunches his shoulders a little more, but keeps staring straight ahead.
‘Derek? What did you see after you bit that djinn?’
Stiles places his hand top of Derek’s and squeezes it lightly. It’s rougher than the hand of the djinn-Stiles.
‘Us,’ Derek spits out.
‘You saw the pack?’
‘No,’ Derek says, turning towards Stiles. ‘I saw us.’
He starts pulling his hand away, but Stiles grips it tightly.
Stiles moves forward and brushes their lips together. It’s so soft that Derek almost doesn’t feel it. But all his other senses go in overdrive. He can smell Stiles’ happiness, the same way he had in the dream. But this time it’s mingled with sweat and fear and djinn-blood.
‘Kiss me, Sourwolf.’
He pulls Stiles against his chest, making the guy stumble and almost fall onto Derek’s lips.
It’s not perfect, but Derek doesn’t mind. He knows it’s real.