Author's Note: This just wouldn't leave me alone. There might be a second part? If people want that kind of thing? It would involve penises...

Anyway, here you go!

A week.

Seven excruciatingly long days since Mexico: Take Two, and Stiles still couldn't get the sound of Derek's breath rattling wetly in his lungs out of his head. He heard it in his sleep, over the the pounding rain and the sound of Malia breathing softly beside him. He heard it when he was wide awake, over the din of crowded hallways and classrooms, cutting through the noise of the last lacrosse game of the season and the bustle of the locker room.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours, give or take, and Stiles had yet to wipe the sight of a bloodied and dying Derek from behind his eyelids. He saw it with every blink and sometimes even when his eyes were open and each time it made his chest feel like it was caving in.

Ten thousand plus minutes since Derek evolved, shed his human constrains and came roaring back to life on four legs, beneath a thick pelt of deep black, and Stiles still couldn't make himself believe that he was really alive, that Derek was really and truly still here.

The two of them had yet to see one another since their return. Stiles was under tight watch by his father, never able to slip his surveillance for more than an hour or so at a time. Then there was Malia, of course. She knew something was off, Stiles could tell. She was more careful around him, more restrained than normal. If pressed, Stiles would say she seemed to be waiting for something, but he had no idea what.

Derek, for his part, was busy learning what he was capable of with his new found power. Shape shifting, taking on the full wolf form, was something Stiles knew Derek never thought he'd be capable of. Talia, his mother, had been able to do it, as had Laura, but Derek always assumed he'd have to be an Alpha to accomplish it. After sacrificing his Alpha power in order to save Cora, Stiles knew Derek had given up all hope of ever gaining the ability to go full wolf. Stiles thought, not without a prickling sense of jealousy, that Braeden was probably the one helping Derek learn his new power.

So, while Scott had seen Derek a few times since Mexico, Stiles was left with nothing but the image of Derek sprawled out and bleeding to death in the middle of the desert. He had nothing but the unfamiliar tingle beneath his skin, the itch he couldn't seem to scratch, driving him crazy the longer he went without at least laying eyes on Derek.

Stiles was restless and antsy, his skin feeling too tight around his bones, his mind skittering closer and closer to a panic attack as he lay in his bed, starfishing in the hopes that it would make it seem less cavernously empty with no one beside him. Malia had offered to stay, to sleep beside him as she'd done so many nights before, but Stiles brushed her off, claiming a migraine and the need to catch some serious sleep.

That was much earlier in the evening, before the sun had even begun to set. Now, well after midnight and way past sanity, Stiles gave up fighting the urgent push behind his ribs. Cursing violently under his breath, Stiles shoved himself out of bed and into a pair of jeans, barely stopping to push his feet into a pair of sneakers before he was headed out the front door and flinging himself behind the steering wheel of his Jeep.

He was out of the driveway and barreling off down the street before he even thought about leaving his dad a note, but he had only one thing driving him, one thing on his mind.

Laying eyes on Derek.

On the other side of town, just as listless and edgy and no more asleep than Stiles himself, Derek was propped up against his headboard, a book in his hands but no words reaching his mind. He read the same paragraph six times before he finally gave up and snapped the book shut with a sigh. He scrubbed a hand over his stubble, scratching at the hinge of his jaw before climbing out of bed and heading for the kitchen. He had just set the kettle on the stove and turned on the heat when the alarm went off.

Derek bolted for the table beside his bed, snatching up the pistol Braeden left with him and padding barefoot toward the loft's door. He was halfway across the room when the familiar staccato heartbeat, rapid and distinct, reached his ears and had the tension seeping out of his shoulders.

Dragging the door open before Stiles could knock, Derek caught him with his fist in the air, poised to do just that.

"Uh..." Stiles frowned, looking at Derek as though questioning how he'd gotten there.

Derek arched a brow as he tucked the gun into the band of his sweatpants. "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

"What, a friend can't drop by for a friendly visit?" Stiles sniped, fidgeting in place as his wide amber eyes skittered around, looking everywhere but directly at Derek.

"At one o'clock in the morning?" Derek snorted, turning to walk back and deposit the gun in its rightful place.

"Still using guns for protection?" Stiles asked, stepping hesitantly over the threshold. "I thought the whole magic wolfitude thing would be enough."

"It is." Derek shrugged on naked shoulder. "I just haven't broken the habit yet. Braeden was pretty adamant about drilling it into me while I was human."

Stiles gulped, glancing around the empty loft nervously. "Speaking of. Where is Braeden?"

Derek heard the flutter in Stiles' heartbeat, could smell the tangy scent of nerves wafting off him, but couldn't even begin to decipher the cause. "She's in Mexico, I think. Chris called, said they might have a lead on the Desert Wolf. She went to check it out."

"You didn't want to go with her?" Stiles pressed, twisting the hem of his t-shirt between his fingers. "I always thought of you as the type of guy who'd want to be there, you know, just in case he had to throw himself on a blade to save his girlfriend."

Derek quirked a brow but didn't comment, too busy focusing on the almost painful sounding thud of Stiles' heart against his ribs. "Are you okay, Stiles?" Derek asked, narrowing his eyes at the younger man.

"Fine." Stiles answered too quickly, his pulse jumping up a beat.

"Fine." Derek echoed, curious and a little worried, but knowing Stiles wouldn't talk about it until he was ready to. "I was just making some tea, want some?" he asked, already walking back to the kitchen.

Stiles trailed after him. "Yeah, thanks. You have spearmint?"

"I think so. Check the cabinet." Derek pointed to the cabinet above the coffee maker, reaching for the kettle just as it started to whistle. He didn't say that he knew for a fact there was spearmint tea in there, didn't tell Stiles that he stocked it specifically because he knew Stiles preferred it.

They worked together in silent tandem, fixing their mugs and putting things away before Derek motioned for Stiles to follow him back into the living room. Once they settled on the sofa, Stiles curled in one corner and Derek in the other, turned to face him, Stiles seemed to find his words.

"I haven't slept since Mexico." he started, pausing to take a sip of his tea. "Not more than a few hours, anyway. I can't close my eyes, Derek. Every time I do, I just..."

Derek shifted a little closer, knowing that Stiles responded well to proximity. "You just what?" he asked gently.

Stiles leaned forward to set his drink on the floor beside the couch, then turned in place, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I keep seeing you, dying. It's practically seared into the back of my eyelids, Derek. I see you dying and I hear your breaths getting shallower and shallower and it feels like I can't breathe, either. It feels like I'm dying, like I'm suffocating instead of you and I can't fucking sleep." His breaths were coming fast and short by the time he finished, his eyes glassy and wet even if he tried to hide them.

"Hey." Derek put his mug on the floor and pushed himself across the sofa, putting his side right up against Stiles' legs. He reached out and curled one hand around the back of Stiles' neck. "Take a deep breath, Stiles. We're both fine, okay? Scott's fine, Lydia's fine, we're all fine."

"I know that." Stiles groaned, leaning back into the soothing touch at the base of his skull. "But Scott said he saw you, that you guys talked after we got home. And I didn't, I didn't see you. I just keep seeing you die, Derek. That's all I've got, you know? The memory of you dying and me walking away from you, leaving you to die alone."

Derek's chest ached with the pain he could smell clinging to Stiles like a cloak. The teen reeked of pain and guilt, a combination of scents Derek himself was all too familiar with. His wolf whined, desperate to comfort, but Derek forced him back.

"I told you to leave." Derek reminded him, rubbing a thumb soothingly at the dip of Stiles' nape. "I told you to find Scott, to save him."

"I know." Stiles sniffed, blinking rapidly as though it would somehow stop Derek from seeing the tears clinging to his lashes.

"And, I wasn't alone. Braeden-"

Stiles' sharp bark of gritty laughter cut Derek off. "Yeah, I know that too."

Derek frowned, his thumb stilling in its stroking. The tone of Stiles' voice was off, a hollow sound that Derek hadn't heard since Isaac and Scott were attached at the hip for the better part of a year.

"...Stiles." Derek began haltingly, wanting to ask but maybe not wanting to know.

Stiles practically vaulted off the sofa, long fingers digging through his hair until it was standing up in all manner of wild disarray. "Don't, Derek. Okay? Just. Don't."

Derek stayed where he was, his fingers itching to follow the paths Stiles' own digits had created. He wanted to do something, anything, to soothe the frayed edges of whatever was making Stiles smell like confusion and pain like Derek hadn't known since right after the Nogitsune, right after Allison.

"Stiles, tell me what you need me to do." Derek tried, sitting forward on the couch and leaning toward him with his elbows on his thighs.

Another ragged bout of laughter, another sheen of wet eyes, and Stiles stopped pacing the floor, turning begging eyes on Derek and making his heart flip into his throat.

"You know what you can do, Derek?" Stiles practically sneered, some of the venom lost in the tears pooling along his bottom lashes. "You can tell me what the fuck is going on inside my head right now. You can tell me why the fuck I can't sleep, why I can't look my girlfriend in the eyes anymore without swallowing back guilt that I don't even understand." He was practically shouting but he didn't seem to care. "Tell me why I can't breathe when I think about you dying, about you leaving me here without you. Tell me why my chest hurts when I think of you being here with Braeden, and why I am so fucking confused that I'm not even sure what I feel anymore. Tell me, Derek! Tell me that I'm stupid and that this will go away, that I'm not head over heels in love with a fucking werewolf with a martyr complex and a fucking girlfriend!"

Stiles was panting by the time he finished, his eyes wider than saucers and his expression just as shocked as the one Derek wore. The flush riding high on his cheeks brightened when he realized what he'd just said, and Derek could hear his heart thumping wildly in his chest.

"Shit." Stiles' face crumbled, his lips quivering as he turned on his heel and headed for the door. "Forget that I just said that, okay? Forget I was even here."

He was less than three feet from the door when Derek gathered some of his wits around him and flew across the room, planting himself between Stiles and the door like an immovable wall. "Wait, Stiles. Just wait a minute."

Stiles stopped, his eyes fixed on the floor and the bitter scent of embarrassment hanging around him like a cloud. "Derek, please. Just forget it. I didn't mean it, alright? I'm sorry."

"Stiles, stop." Derek snapped, relief flooding through him when Stiles bit back his words and actually met his eye. "Don't go."

"Look, this is not a conversation that we actually need to have." Stiles backed up a step when Derek stepped forward. "I know how stupid this is. I am not dumb enough to think you have feelings for me. Hell, I don't even know when the fuck I caught feelings for you. But, it's not a big deal, okay? You're with Braeden and I'm with Malia, and that's... That's good. You and I are just friends, I know that. So, can I just go home and crawl into a hole of mortification and maybe suffocate myself with a pillow?"

"She's not my girlfriend." Derek blurted, the words spilling from his lips even though that hadn't been at all what he'd meant to say.

Stiles backed up another step, nearly falling down the stairs before Derek caught him by the elbow and hauled him back up. "What do you mean she's not your girlfriend? Did you guys break up?" Stiles asked breathlessly, his heart practically jackhammering against his ribs.

"No, it's not... It's not like that. We're not like that." Derek tried to explain while ignoring the rushing sound in his ears and the heat throbbing through his veins. "She and I... We care about each other but... It's not a thing. I mean, it's a thing but it's not a thing."

"That made literally no sense." Stiles scrunched his face up in confusion.

Derek exhaled sharply, trying to clear his head of the scents Stiles was radiating. "She's not my girlfriend, Stiles. She's a woman that I care about and occasionally sleep with, but that's... She's not my girlfriend."

"Ooookay." Stiles frowned again, trying to tug his elbow free from Derek's grip. "That's... Whatever. Can I go now?"

"No." Derek growled, low and rumbling. "You just said you were in love with me."

"Yes. Yeah, I appear to have dropped that particular bomb."

"But you took it back." Derek bared his teeth, flipping their positions so that Stiles' back was to the door and Derek was pressing forward into him.

Stiles gulped, eyes flicking between Derek's eyes and his mouth. "I didn't take it back, exactly. I just sort of... Invalidated it maybe? Like, just a little."

"So, which is it?" Derek asked softly, his brows questioning in the way that only Derek seemed able to pull off. "Either you're 'head over heels in love' with me, or you're not."

"Dude, I willingly put myself in the back of a prison transport van, on a full moon, with a beta who has yet to master control, just so I could be there to protect you. You tell m-"

The rest of his words were silenced by Derek's lips crashing into his. Derek's fingers dug into his hips, no doubt leaving behind bruises that would take days to fade. Stiles strained into the touch, his hands coming up to curve around Derek's neck and sink into the short hairs at the back of his head. Shoulders digging into the cold steel door, Stiles let Derek pull him in tight to his bare chest, felt the hard planes of Derek's body and the sharp jut of his hipbones as their hips collided and Derek's hands burned hot through the thin fabric of Stiles' t-shirt.

"Wait." Stiles groaned, pulling away enough to try and catch his breath.

"What?" Derek questioned, his voice rough and just as breathless as Stiles'. "What's wrong?"

"Malia." Stiles grimaced. "I can't... We can't do this to her, Derek. She deserves better than that."

Derek flinched, the reminder that Stiles actually did have a girlfriend, was dating Derek's cousin of all people, sending ice water through his veins. "Right. Yeah, okay, I understand. Just forget-"

"No!" Stiles shouted, wincing as his voice echoed through the loft. He continued in a much lower tone, "No, that's not what I meant. I just... I have to talk to her first. Let me talk to her before this," He waved a hand between their still inappropriately close bodies, "goes any further."

Relief crashing through his system, Derek nodded quickly. "Absolutely." he agreed. "Talk to her. I can wait."

Stiles smiled softly, leaning in to press one last lingering kiss to Derek's lips. He held Derek's head in place, pressing their foreheads together and simply breathing in the same air. "I should go." he whispered, a whine hitching in his chest.

Derek chuckled, squeezing Stiles' hips once before releasing him and taking a few steps back. "Go. Come back after you talk to Malia. I won't... I'll still be here, Stiles."

Stiles whimpered at that, forcing himself to turn and grab the door handle. "Tomorrow. I'll be back tomorrow." he promised, stepping through the doorway and turning back to get one last look at Derek.

"Tomorrow." Derek smiled, the wide open, knee-weakening smile that Stiles was sure he fell in love with well before he'd even truly known what an amazing person Derek was.

Stiles made himself slide the door shut, made himself walk down the hallway and climb into the elevator, forced his fingers to hit the button for the ground floor and ride the elevator down. Once he was back behind the wheel of his Jeep, Stiles blew out a shaky breath and argued with his fingers until they turned the key in the ignition and guided the Jeep out of the lot.

All the way back to his house only one word kept echoing in his head, sending warmth flooding his limbs and butterflies fluttering in his belly.

Tomorrow.