The Scott Incident made Stiles forget about The Derek Incident until sometime around three a.m. as he was lying awake in bed thinking about all the embarrassing things he'd done when he was thirteen. One train of thought led to another and then The Derek Incident exploded in his memory, making him sit up and toss his sheets aside.

"Jesus fucking Christ Almighty on a grilled cheese sandwich." He clutched his head and stared at his carpet. "Oh my holy fucking God. This cannot be happening." This is literally the most embarrassing thing to happen to me in the history of embarrassing things and I have a lot of embarrassing things on my record. It wasn't even the fact that he'd said that kind of thing to a guy. Stiles knew that he was probably bisexual—so that wasn't the issue. But it was actually the fact that he'D SAID IT TO DEREK OH GOD. All his insides were keyboard smashing and rolling on the floor with embarrassment, but on the outside he almost didn't dare to breathe.

It made Stiles really think. Did he say that just because of the simple fact that Derek was attractive and then turned into a sun when he smiled or did he say that because he was attracted to Derek who turned him on when he smiled? Most of his feelings toward Derek had been one of two choices thus far: fear or fear. But Derek hadn't of late exuded the dangerous air of loathing and murder whenever he was around Stiles. It was mostly annoyance and amusement. Stiles in turn learned to not be as afraid of Derek, and when that happened he'd begun to have fun—to flirt with him. And he couldn't believe it—but he could almost swear to it—that Derek had been flirting back.

Stiles' mind shut down right there at that thought. No. Nope. No way. On a scale of 1 to 10, Derek was a 4845969 and Stiles was a -2. And if the math was impossible, so was the flirting. So it had to just be banter—just witty, innocent banter between almost-not-really frenemies.

Yeah, banter that results in eye sex and stepping a little too close in the personal bubble zone. Stiles smacked his face. Mind out of the gutter. He couldn't be attracted to Derek. The guy probably had a sniffer on him that could sense attraction from Sweden. And that was probably where Stiles was going to have to move if he wanted to maintain any shred of dignity. He'd have to learn Swedish. He could probably do it—if Lydia could learn archaic Latin, he could definitely learn Swedish. Was he really considering moving to Sweden?

Moreover, Stiles couldn't be attracted to Derek because then he'd know for sure that he had a problem crushing on people completely out of his league. He'd been in love with Lydia since the third grade and was only now beginning to let her go. She belonged with Jackson. It was just the way it worked. Hierarchy and all that. So Stiles knew he couldn't just switch to another equally unattainable target—didn't he learn his lesson?

And he wasn't going to get in to the fact that Derek was a creeper and Brooder McBrooderson on his best days. Sure, underneath all the dark, mysterious, badass-in-a-bad way exterior Derek might have some semblance of a personality that didn't involve being emo. Hell, he might even enjoy things like joy and laughter and happiness. But from what Stiles could see, he and Derek were polar opposites on the spectrum of humanity. Other than the fact that they both suffered familial loss, he couldn't think of anything that they had in common. It just didn't add up.

Stiles stayed in the crouched position on his bed for what seemed like hours until he finally had the power to move his limbs and lie back down. From there he fell asleep and let his dreams torment him instead.

He was awoken by a rapping on his chamber… nevermor—mind! Mind. Never mind! Someone was rapping on his window in a that's-so-not-a-raven way. In fact, Stiles' delirious mind was fairly sure it was a certain wolfy fist rapping for entrance. He pulled off his sheets and shuffled over to his window…and stopped.

What am I doing? His mind was waking up to reality. His heart was speeding up like they were running ten miles this early. His hands were fidgeting by the curtains.

"Stiles I know you're there," Derek's muffled voice floated through. "And calm down! I can barely hear myself think!"

Stiles tried to force his heart back to normal. He took several breaths and instantly felt stupid for freaking out. They were bros! (Almost. Not really. Logistics, okay?) They were both dudes! His little almost crush would wash away into the wind as a passing fancy and later he would look back and laugh at himself for how stupid he was thinking Derek as one hell of a delicious—no.

Stiles threw the curtains open, cringing at the sudden flare of sunlight. "Gyaaah! No, stop… turn it off." He flapped his hands.

Derek rolled his eyes. "Glad you're awake," he replied dryly. "Open the window."

"A please would be nice," Stiles sniped, hands still shielding his face.

"Please?" Derek flashed his teeth in a sarcastic grin.

Stiles grumbled and undid the latch. Derek shucked it open and jumped inside.

"We need to talk," he said.

Stiles waved his hands. "I haven't had a chance to eat or shower or brush my pearly whites. And I'm definitely not going to have some serious discussion until I get some bacon in me. Because bacon." Stiles glared. "Asshole," he added for good measure.

Derek looked him up in down. Stiles refused to think that he checked him out. "Nice pajamas."

"Captain America is the best avenger and if you say any different or insult him I will personally arrange for you to be thrown out with a loud 'go fuck yourself.'"

Derek held up his hands in mock surrender.

Stiles glared but didn't press his point. "I'm going to go eat food now."

"As opposed to…?"

"Shut up. Asshole."

"Wow someone's not a morning person."

Stiles glared. "Yesterday was crappy. I couldn't sleep. You're an asshole for coming here at the asscrack of dawn. So, yeah, I'm a bit of a crankasaurus."

Luckily, Stiles' father left early for the station or there would have been an awkward line of questioning as to why an ex-murder suspect was following Stiles around the house like a lost puppy as he did his morning ritual.

Derek even sat down across from him and watched as he chewed on his bacon.

"You want some?"

Derek shook his head. "I'm not hungry."

Stiles raised his brows but didn't press it. He looked like he was salivating from Stiles' view. "So…"

Derek nodded.

"Right." He chewed and swallowed. "What exactly do you want from me here?"

Derek looked tongue-tied for a moment. "What…do you mean?"

"You rang remember?"

"Yeah," Derek said quickly. "Scott."

Stiles ripped off a giant chunk of his bacon. "What about him?"

"Isaac said he came to see you last night."

"Isaac didn't come to see me last night."

"You know what I meant."

Stiles shrugged. "So what if he did?"

"I told you to make things better."

"It's really none of your business." Stiles swallowed his bacon and poked his fork into his eggs. He ate in silence for a few minutes before asking, "Did Dr. Deaton call?"

"No change."

Stiles glanced at Derek between bites. Derek was handsome—beautifully carved cheeks and jaw line with gorgeous hazel eyes that Stiles knew could be equally intimidating and sexy as hell. But there were dark circles under his eyes, paleness to his usual tanned galore, and he even looked a little slimmer as though he'd lost muscle mass over the last couple months. And the guy didn't have his usual air of menace hanging around these days. Derek was upset that his wolves were sick and he was upset that his pack was sick. And it clearly made him sick. And maybe that was it—if the pack as a whole wasn't healthy and in sync, neither was Derek.

"Why do you keep coming around here, Derek?" Stiles asked quietly.

Derek had been sitting in contemplative thought, arms slumped in his leather jacket. But when the question came up after several minutes of not uncomfortable silence, he was startled. "What?"

"It's just…you don't look too good. You've got…bags—which I am sure are designer!" Stiles bit his lip. Derek's death glare turned into suppressed amusement. "All I'm saying is that you look like you haven't slept in days. I mean your hair, for one, usually so delicately arranged—the perfect compromise between running-through-the-forest tousled and I-at-least-put-a-comb-through-it neat—is now the subject of, er, flatness. And then of course you look like you need to eat a little bit to fill out the hollow in your cheeks. And maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to let someone give you a hug—it might help with the frown lines that are beginning to form." Stiles didn't even think about half the things he was saying—all he knew was that half-way Derek began to look like he was either going to rip someone's head off or burst into laughter. Stiles hoped it would be the latter.

"And you know," Stiles continued, breaking into a wide grin, "Stilinski's give great hugs."

Derek broke. He snorted and started laughing into his hands. "Oh my God. You really are ridiculously annoying."

Stiles couldn't stop himself. "And what did I tell you about smiling?" Stiles might've just died of embarrassment inside. But he was determined to keep it together.

Derek got his laughter under control and eyed Stiles. "That it was attractive."

"That was rhetorical."

Derek raised his brows. "Your heart rate is rather abnormal, Stiles. Well, it's always abnormal just like you, but right now—"

"Shut up."

"Stiles are you—"

Stiles put a hand up. "No really shut up." A deep red blush was making its way up his neck.

"—attracted to me?" Derek had a wide, mocking grin.

Stiles grimaced. "No." But the blush just got worse. "Can't a person point out to another person an attractive quality without being accused of being attracted to said person? It's just ridiculous. What is this world coming to?!" Stiles coughed. "And you never answered my goddamn question."

"Which one was that?" Derek asked, still grinning.

"Why your ass keeps showing up around here," Stiles grumbled.

"Maybe I like watching you squirm."

"Maybe you're lonely as hell and your pack is so screwed up you found an excuse to hang out with someone else." Derek's brows flew up and his mouth opened to make some retort, but Stiles put up a hand again. "Don't look at me like that or try to deny it. I kind of figured it out the other night when you came to tell me Boyd and Erica showed up again. And I'm not judging you or making fun of you. I'm…sympathizing."

Derek was at a loss for words apparently.

Stiles pressed his lips together and nodded. "I might be in the same boat."

"I'm not—"

"No. Nope. Don't even try. I'm lonely. You're lonely. It takes one to know one. Yada yada. It's an established thing now. Don't worry about it. And, as long as you don't rip my throat out or maim me in some other horrific way, you can come over here whenever you want. You don't even have to talk. You can just sit while I work on my project or my winter holiday assignments if you want. Open invitation. Except when my dad is home. Then it's a closed invitation." Stiles chewed the last of his eggs with a small smile and winked.

"You think you're so fucking clever," Derek grumbled.

Stiles snorted. "I am fucking clever, you fucker. Now shut the fuck up and eat the rest of the fucking bacon on the grill before you drown the fucking table with your fucking werewolf saliva."

Derek got up.

"But give me like three more slices. Please."

That asshole did as he was told. Damn straight.