pale-silver-comb:

For @sterektrashbag because she’s been feeling a little down lately and Sterek cuddles always make me feel better when I hit a low. Based on the Taylor Swift lyric one night he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses, then says “you’re my best friend” and you knew what it was, he is in love.

Thank you to @hoechlindylan for being a beautiful beta.

Stiles kicks back, startling awake.

He’s certain the dream is real; Derek is gone, he knows it. This time, he’s really dead.

Bracing himself for the worst, Stiles prepares to turn around; he can’t breathe, the sweat dripping down his face stinging his eyes. His head swims as he imagines Derek covered in blood, cold and lifeless – exactly as he was in his dream – but when he finally turns, he’s met with nothing but a sleeping face.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, touching Derek’s cheek.

“I’m okay,” Derek whispers back, smiling reassuringly instead of opening his eyes, bringing his hand up to cover Stiles’ shaking fingers.

Stiles tries to swallow the lump still in his throat, burying himself a little closer to Derek’s warmth, breathing him in. He doesn’t know if dating a werewolf has changed him much but lately, breathing Derek in, scenting him as hungrily as Derek scents him, has become the only comfort Stiles knows he can rely on when his head becomes too much. “They took you. I couldn’t get to you.”

“You would have,” Derek says, no hesitation.

Stiles shakes his head, clenching his fists. You were in so much pain. I couldn’t do anything. “I wasn’t enough.”

“You tried. That’s what matters.”

Stiles snorts because it’s expected of him, because Derek is teasing; laughs, even though it’s not funny. You died. Died because Stiles failed to get to him; because that’s what happens when someone loves him, they end up paying for it, regretting it.  

“Stop thinking,” Derek chastises, pulling him closer. “You’re perfect. Maybe not to everyone else. Maybe you’ve done some shit. But you’re perfect to me and – wherever she is, I know she’s proud of you.”

He doesn’t realise he’s crying, doesn’t even notice his eyes are wet, until Derek rolls them both, cradling Stiles under him, shushing him. Stiles hates it when Derek tries to quiet him like this, like a child, but right now he welcomes it, shamelessly pushing his face further into Derek’s neck, filling his lungs with as much of him as he can, silently pleading for him not to disappear.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. When he opens his eyes again, Derek has pulled back but he’s still there, close, real; staring at him, a funny look on his face.

“What?” Stiles asks, touching his pillow. “Was I drooling again?”

Derek shakes his head, even though Stiles can plainly feel he was drooling.

“Then why are you looking at me like that? Oh god,” he groans, “please tell me I wasn’t snoring. I am already the world’s most unattractive sleeper, I don’t need this too.”

“No, not snoring,” Derek leans in, surprising him with a kiss, “and for what it’s worth, I think Sleeping Beauty needs to hold onto her nightcap. You’re a beautiful sleeper.”

Stiles narrows his eyes. There is no amusement in Derek’s voice – he doesn’t even roll his eyes – and Stiles knows something is up. Derek always rolls his eyes; whether he’s teasing, playing or arguing. It’s their thing. They roll at one another. It’s how they say-

“You’re my best friend.”

Stiles blinks. “What?”

Derek shrugs, ducking his head, his tell-tale sign he’s blushing. “You’re my best friend. You don’t have to say it back or anything. I…just wanted to tell you.”

Stiles’ breath hitches. Derek has never used the L word before and Stiles has never asked him to; he doesn’t need him to. It’s in everything Derek does, from the way he gives Stiles his jacket when it’s cold out to the way he holds his hand for no reason at all; in every jar of peanut butter Derek makes him because he knows Stiles hates the store bought ones; in every blanket he covers him up with when he falls asleep researching. Stiles understands why Derek is afraid to say it; every time he has, something bad has happened, someone has died.

He exhales shakily. “Yeah?” he asks, even though he knows; he knows what Derek is trying to tell him.

Leaning in again, Derek kisses him for a second time and Stiles kisses back, heart pounding. “You’re my best friend,” he repeats, louder this time, beginning to shake a little.

Stiles slides his hands up Derek’s sides, uncertain which one of them he is trying to reassure. “You’ll always be my first call, Der,” he whispers back, cupping the side of his face. “You’re my favourite. You know that, right?”

Derek smiles, nods. “I do now.”

Rolling his eyes, Stiles laughs, the last bit of tension leaving his body. “You’re a dork, you know. You fool no-one, Hale.”

“Your dork,” Derek noses at him, nipping at his jaw playfully. “Do you want to know a fact about dorks?”

Stiles nods.

“They never leave you.”

You don’t know that, Stiles wants to say. Instead, he nips Derek back, eyes fluttering shut at the rough texture under his lips.  

“Go to sleep, Stiles.”

“You first.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Like hell it isn’t.”

Derek rolls his eyes, sighing long and suffering, before manhandling Stiles onto his side, tucking himself in behind him. “Last one to fall asleep is a rotten egg.”

Stiles grins, lacing his fingers with Derek’s, squeezing them. “Original,” he says. Derek kisses his neck in return, snuffling at it, knowing it makes Stiles squirm, ticklish.

Derek puts a hand on his leg, stilling him. “Sleep.”

Stiles’ grin widens and he pulls Derek’s arms tighter around him. Love you too, Der.