Then Derek looked up, saw him, and smiled, and Stiles saw the rest of it. Derek looked like he’d hit his head against a car window. He had a small constellation of tiny cuts and scrapes along the left side of his face, only one long gash deep enough to have required stitches, and his skin had the sort of angry coloring that promised spectacular bruises in a day or two.
"Hi," Derek said, watching him. Derek set the magazine down and lifted his good hand, holding it out. "Come on, come here, I’m fine."
Stiles made himself walk over and take Derek’s hand. He brushed his thumb across Derek’s knuckles, thinking over and over, be cool, be cool. He wasn’t going to lose his shit again when Derek was right in front of him and holding his hand. He was moving on from the emotional overload portion of the night, he was.
"Your car is totaled," Stiles said quietly.
"Sorry about dinner," Derek said, giving him half a smile.
“Don’t." Stiles let go of Derek, taking a step back and tucking his hands under his arms. "Don’t make jokes, you didn’t — you didn’t come home, I thought — Christ. And Laura is on all your paperwork, she wasn’t even in town, I—”
"I’m sorry," Derek said. He hardly ever apologized, and Stiles couldn’t even enjoy it, that was hideously unfair. "I didn’t think about it, I didn’t think we’d need it."
The Skies Above Are Blue by trelkez
Reblogué depuis redandbluesterek