The hospital released him early. According to them anyway. Stiles had stayed for two nights. Two nights too many. When he was released it was on Friday and he didn't even get the joy of skipping out of school because of injury.

Friday was teacher planning day.

What a waste.

His injuries weren't too bad, they mostly consisted of cuts and bruises but he was advised not to lean too much of his weight on his right foot. It wasn't broken or sprained; just sore. Stiles was slightly disappointed because he felt a whole lot worse than what his injuries actually required.

Whatever, spring break was next week.

Scott came, picked him up and dropped him off at home. He stayed for awhile and played some video games with him. Stiles was glad for it but after two hours, Stiles sighed in defeat and said "Scott, just GO."

Scott gave him a sheepish grin. Like Stiles could miss the way he kept twitching and checking his phone for a text from Allison.

"Dude, seriously, it's fine. Go do your thing," he said.

Scott beamed at him.

Clearly forgetting Stiles's injuries, Scott hugged him and said a quick "Thanks," as he ran off to go suck face with Allison.

Ew.

After hissing his discomfort from that fucking hug, Stiles started for his room. He surveyed the living room for minute. Considered and then came to the conclusion that he'd clean up later after a nice afternoon nap. Going up stairs when you're sore is such a bitch. After he reached his room and had stopped wheezing like Rip Van Winkle, he turned on his lamp.

Only to discover Derek Hale laying in his bed.

Like it was HIS bed.

"AHH OH MY GOD ARE YOU TRYING to kill me, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU, besides the whole I-Like-To-Brood-In-The-Dark-Like-Every-Stereotype-Ever?!" Stiles screeched.

Derek just barely lifted his head from one of his pillows, blearily looked at him and said "Turn off the light."

Stiles scoffed in disbelief.

So what if Derek's hair was adorably mussed and his voice was rough with sleep?

This was still weird.

"Um, no Derek, how about you tell me why in your spare time you seem to be always crawling into teenagers's bedrooms? Because I feel like you need an intervention about that."

Derek responded by flipping him off and snuggling up to Stiles's pillow.

Oh Fuck No.

Normally in a situation like this, Stiles would have pushed said person in his bed OFF his bed and hope not to get mauled, because lets face it, most of Stiles's friends mauled people like most people flick each other. The joys of Werewolf packs.

But Stiles was tired and a bit irritated with Scott.

Oh, and don't forget that Derek Freaking Hale, the man from everyone's wet dreams, was laying in his bed.

Without a shirt.

Oh my god, why is he shirtless.

No. Why. Whyyyy.

"Dude, how long have you been here," he asked as he shoved his way into his OWN bed because it was being packed with hot Werewolf muscle.

Like seriously, Derek's abs had abs.

Stiles winced a little when he lifted his right foot onto the little space available on his bed for his feet. Sensing his discomfort does discomfort have a smell?, Derek scooted over and made room for Stiles. Stiles gently laid on his back and looked up at his ceiling.

"I just got here," Derek murmured into his pillow but loud enough for Stiles to hear.

"Why are you here, though? Don't you have puppies to take care of?"

Derek ignored the dog joke and said "They can take care of themselves."

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you completely avoided the first half of my question," Stiles said staring straight at the ceiling as a faint blush crept unto his cheeks.

Dead Silence.

Derek finally broke the silence and said "I don't wanna talk about it." He then turned on his side as if the conversation was over.

Now Stiles looked at him.

"Well listen up, Poptart, I don't think you exactly have a choice here if you wanna continue to hog my blankets. You at least owe me some kind of explanation," he said.

No response, whatsoever.

Well that just won't do.

Gently, Stiles rolled to his side, facing Derek's back.

God that tattoo was practically lickable.

FOCUS STILINSKI

"Derek," he said, prodding the center of Derek's back.

Derek feigned sleep.

"Derek. Derek. Derek. DerekDerekDerekDerekDerek, I know you're awake!"

Maybe it was the Adderall or the adrenaline from being in such close proximity with Derek that made him do it. Either way, Stiles ended up clamoring on top of Derek and whispered in his ear "Tell me."

Derek's body went stiff and then Stiles was rolled over and pinned underneath Derek. Stiles gasped and Derek leaned in closer, his nose pressed against Stiles's neck, barely, his stubble rubbing deliciously on the skin there and INAPPROPRIATE BONER INAPPROPRIATE BONER INAPPROPRIATE GOD DAMN BONER. Derek balanced himself on his elbows, shifting his weight from Stiles but not his eyes. God what color is that even-

And then Derek got off him.

"Whoa whoa where-"

"Out. I'm going out. I'm-I'm not tired anymore," Derek said through gritted teeth.

And then he just jumped off the window ledge and left.

Stiles laid back, dazed and said "whattheactualfuck," in a breathless tone.

Little did he know that somewhere near by, there was a certain Alpha hitting his head against a tree over his own stupidity.