When Stiles woke up, it was to wonder why he was on the floor of his room.

He lifted a hand up his head and groaned, eyes squeezed shut as he sat up slowly. Only to freeze when he heard someone snort.

Stiles gulped and opened his eyes, just as it all came rushing back to him.

A boy around his own age hovered over his bed, his legs crossed under him, and he was staring at Stiles with an unimpressed look on his face.

"I never had someone pass out from fear of me before," the boy said, tilting his head to the side before smirking. "I kind of like it."

And Stiles might have been scared and he might have been thinking the world as he knew it is just one big fat lie, but there was just something about the look on the boy's face that kind of made Stiles want to punch him.

"I'm not afraid of you," Stiles said.

And then yelped and scrambled backwards when the boy suddenly appeared right in front, eyes glowing and teeth turned into fangs and face shifting to something that was definitely not human. Not that Stiles thought the boy was human before. Since, you know, he looked exactly like Stiles thought someone's ghost would look like.

But this was definitely something more than that.

"What the fuck was that?" Stiles wheezed, resting a hand over his heart.

He was actually pretty impressed he with himself when he didn't pass out again. His ears was buzzing, heart beating fast, palms sweating.

He must have been hallucinating, right? Because there was no way this was really happening. There was absolutely no chance in hell that ghosts were real and there was one standing right in front of him.

A ghost who, judging by the expression on his face, looked incredibly pleased with himself at having scared Stiles, something he showed by shifting his features back to how they were before and then grinning.

"How the fuck did you do that?" Stiles asked, because that was what was important here, obviously. How the ghost he did what he did, and not why he was here or the fact that ghosts existed.

"It's just something I can do," the boy shrugged. "You know, to be able to scare people."

"Something you can do," Stiles repeated weakly, blinking.

The boy grinned again, and in the next instant he looked nothing like he did a minute before, which was a like a seventeen year old boy with black hair and pale eyes and the thickest eyebrows Stiles had ever seen on someone.

Mostly because he didn't have a head anymore.

Yup, that's right. In its place was, well, nothing. But the boy's neck a gaping wound, dripping blood down his skin and soaking his clothes. It looked so realistic Stiles had to close his eyes and cover his mouth so he wouldn't gag.

"See? It's just something I can do."

Stiles's reply was a faint, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't."

"I'm back to normal now," the boy said.

Stiles had to laugh at that, sounding a little hysterical even to his own years. Normal, he said. What was normal for a ghost?

"I can't believe this is happening," Stiles muttered, blinking his eyes open slowly.

The boy hovered in front of him, looking like his regular self, if somewhat unsympathetic. When he offered no response, Stiles asked, "Who are you?"

He couldn't believe it took him this long to get to it, but in his defense he was in shock. It wasn't every day you got your entire world turned upside down.

"I'm Derek," the boy said.

"Derek," Stiles repeated. Now at least he didn't have to keep calling Derek Ghost Boy in his head anymore.

"I'm Stiles Stilinski," Stiles said, offering his hand for a handshake only to drop it when Derek looked at it in horror. "Right, sorry. Ghosts. They go through stuff. I forgot that."

He forgot that. Ha.

He never thought that'd be useful knowledge to have.

Stiles took a deep breath, letting it out slowly to try and calm himself down. "So, Derek. Do you have any idea why you're haunting my house?"

"Your house?"

"Well, yes," Stiles said. "My dad and I live here. Since a few days ago."

Derek blinked, and then his expression twisted into something painful and ugly and bitter. And that's when he said, "Yes, well, this was my house first."

"Well, this isn't helpful," Stiles muttered, shutting off his laptop.

It was no surprise that after hearing Derek tell him this used to be his house, Stiles went straight into research mode. Not that he could find anything useful. There were no recent news related to the house or someone called Derek that used to live in Beacon Hills, which meant Stiles would probably have to go to the library to go through old scans and see if he found anything.

At least now he knew that whatever it was that happened to Derek, whatever that got him stuck in the house, haunting it, it happened a long time ago.

Stiles sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn't had any breakfast yet.

Just as soon as he got up he felt something cold at the back of his neck. He reeled around only but didn't see anything, letting out a nervous chuckle and scratching the back of his neck.

He was being dumb about this. There was no reason to be scared of a seventeen year old boy who was a ghost.

Or at least that was the lie that Stiles kept telling himself. Because as soon as he turned around again it was to come face to face with Derek, who was now sitting right in front of him and staring at him with a raised eyebrow as if to say well?

Stiles didn't scream.

He also didn't scramble back, flailed, and ended up tripping on his own feet and falling on top of his bed. Really. He didn't. No matter what Derek's mocking smile said.

"Dude," Stiles glared at him. "Not cool."

Derek shrugged, unconcerned. "It's not my fault you scary easily."

"I don't," Stiles said. "That's just what happens when someone suddenly appears right in front of me without making any noise. That scares me. You know, we should make a rule: no scaring Stiles. I'm too young to die of a heart attack."

"Whatever," Derek rolled his eyes.

Stiles stared at him.

Derek just stared back.

Stiles kind of wanted to punch him again. Too bad his hand would just go through Derek's face if he did.

They sat there in awkward silence, staring at each other until Stiles cleared his throat and said, "So. I'm about to head down for breakfast."

"Okay."

Stiles pursed his lips, watching Derek with narrowed eyes for a few seconds before turning on his back and heading down to the kitchen.

He tried not to fidget when he saw Derek following from the corner of his eye, and not when Derek hovered by the kitchen table while Stiles made himself breakfast. But he did feel kind of bad when he sat down to eat, suddenly aware that Derek must not have tasted bacon and toast since, well, he died.

"So," Stiles said again.

"Yes?"

"You're a ghost."

"And you're a genius," Derek bit back.

Stiles made a face at him.

"So how does that work? The being a ghost thing and all?"

Derek got a look on his face as if saying really?

Stiles shrugged. He was curious. It wasn't everyday someone found out about a teenager haunting their bedroom.

"How do you think?" Derek huffed, annoyed.

"Okay, nevermind," Stiles said, waving a hand, because being a ghost meant being dead, and there was nothing good or funny about that. "What kind of stuff can you do as a ghost, then?"

Still didn't mean Stiles wasn't curious about it.

"I can scare the crap out of you," Derek pointed out with a smile.

Stiles glared. "Besides that."

"Why don't you ask me questions?" Derek said. "You obviously have things you want to know."

Stiles perked up at the thought, going through the millions questions rolling around in his head before saying, "Can you turn invisible?"

Because, of course. That was what was important.

"I can," Derek said, and a second later he wasn't there anymore.

Stiles's stomach flipped as he looked around, his cheeks flushing pink. Because if Derek could turn invisible while in the same room Stiles was in then, "You don't lurk around when I'm naked, do you?"

"What?" Derek yelled and made himself visible again, sounding and looking so horrified and embarrassed Stiles had to bite the inside of his cheek not to laugh. "That's— I don't— I wouldn't never—"

"Okay, okay," Stiles said when Derek seemed to get more and more worked up about it. "It's alright. I get it. You didn't stay around like a creeper watching me while I changed or showered or, uh, did other things."

Derek snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head vigorously.

"Right," Stiles said, clearing his throat. "So, you can change your appearance at will to scare people and you can turn invisible. What else?"

"That's pretty much it," Derek shrugged. "I can move some things around if I concentrate hard enough, but that usually gives me a headache."

"Ghosts get headaches?" Stiles blinked.

Derek glared at him.

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, considering Derek. There didn't seem to be much to life as a ghost, not that Stiles should have expected any different. There was still something he wanted to know, though.

"Can I touch you?" Stiles blurted out, and then immediately wished to swallow those words back. As soon as they were out of his mouth Derek's glare slid off his face, his eyes widening in both surprise and horror.

And wasn't that something.

"You want to what?" Derek asked, sounding strangled.

"I— Is it—," Stiles started. "Touch you? I mean, if that's— Is it allowed? Is that something that— Can I even do that? Can I touch you?"

Stiles knew he wasn't explaining himself well, not that he thought he needed much explanation for asking Derek if he could touch him. Stiles wanted to know what he felt like, wanted to know how Derek's hand would feel against his, if there was anything to feel at all. Well, Stiles had noticed he felt a little bit chilly whenever Derek was close to him, but he had no idea of touching Derek would be like that.

Derek was still staring at him like he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.

"You want to touch me?" he asked, just as bit incredulous as before.

"Yes?" Stiles said, wincing. Only to shake his head and gather himself. If he wanted to go through with this, he needed to sound like he meant it. "Yes, I do. I do want to touch you. But only if it's okay with you."

Derek blinked at him once, twice, three times in quick succession. He went from seeming surprised to seeming awkward, and it took him a few seconds before he answered, "Yes."

"Yes?" Stiles repeated, trying not to sound too excited. He didn't think he succeeded.

"Yes," Derek said, swallowing hard.

But Derek didn't make any moves, just kept hovering in front of Stiles, an intense look on his face. Stiles bit on the inside on his cheek, figuring that if he was the one to ask he could be the one to do something.

"Okay," Stiles said, taking a deep breath and mentally preparing himself. "Okay."

Stiles raised one of his hands between them, palm to Derek.

Derek didn't move, though, just kept staring, an expression on his face Stiles couldn't quite make out. Which was why he started to worry.

"Can I hurt you if you touch me?" Stiles asked, thinking that must have been something Derek had on his mind.

"No," Derek said softly, eyes still glued to Stiles's hand.

"Can you hurt me if you touch me?"

Derek's face did something complicated then, but he minutely shook his head.

Well, that was that.

"C'mon, then," Stiles said, wiggling his fingers a little.

Derek stared at him for another beat or two before pressing his lips together, his jaw clenching. He had his determined look on his face, so it wasn't a surprise to Stiles when Derek lifted his own hand up.

They both moved slowly, inch by inch, until their palms were almost touching.

The air seemed charged around them, especially when their eyes locked right before their hands pressed together.

Stiles's mouth parted in a silent gasp at the cool feeling of Derek's hand against his, Derek's fingers going through his, and he shivered a little.

"You're cold," Stiles blurted out.

Colder than he was when just sitting by being close to Stiles but not touching him, and there was Stiles's answer.

Derek snapped his hand back, brows furrowed. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Stiles said, smiling a little. "I just wasn't expecting it."

That wasn't entirely true, but Stiles didn't want Derek to know that. Not that Stiles's words seemed to reassure Derek, who was looking down at his hand with a frown on his face, his shoulders tense.

"Hey," Stiles said, leaning forward a little. He made sure to wait until Derek was looking up at him to say, "Thanks for letting me do that."

"Yeah," Derek said, and Stiles could see his throat working as he swallowed. "No problem."