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So, they broke up. It happens, it wasn’t a big deal - it was a mutual decision. They dated for three years and now they were not dating. And Stiles was fine, really. He was.
Except for the fact that he was apparently unable to sleep on his own now. He thought that would go away after a couple days, then after a couple weeks - but it had been almost two months, so he was a little concerned that this was an actual issue.
His bed - despite being the full-sized one in his childhood room, opposed to the massive Alaskan King he was used to in Derek’s loft - was too big. He shouldn’t have been able to starfish his limbs out in the middle of it like he’d been doing these past thirty-seven days. It was too weird. As much as he had liked to complain about Derek somehow hogging the entire bed, he’d gotten used to clinging to the edge of the mattress with a heavy Alpha werewolf laying halfway on top of him. It was admittedly more comforting than it was annoying.
Another issue was that his bed was the wrong temperature, and he had no idea how he managed to sleep in it before. His sheet wasn’t warm enough, but blankets were too warm. They clung to him and made him sweaty - and how the hell was he supposed to sleep while all sticky and gross? He was pretty sure the loft didn’t even have blankets - they always just used a sheet. Between his own body heat and that of a werewolf , it would’ve been much too hot under there. The California heat was not kind to the sleeping habits of werewolves. Unfortunately, it was also not kind to humans.
He’d thought a weighted blanket could help both of those problems - he’d feel secure with the heaviness and he’d be warm enough. Though after spending way too much money on it - seriously, weighted blankets were ridiculously expensive - he found that it was definitely not the same. He’d thrown it into the corner of his room in a rage and it had been living in a heap under his desk ever since.
Another problem, which he didn’t actually think about until day thirteen post-breakup, was that his bed smelled wrong. His dad’s laundry detergent made him feel sixteen and reminded him of too many things he didn’t want to think about, when he and his stupid rag-tag group of friends were taking on the world way too young. He thought about buying the woodsy cologne Derek always wore - which wouldn’t have been pathetic, because it didn’t belong to Derek and anyone could use it if they wanted, including Stiles - but he didn’t have money to spare on absurdly expensive cologne after the weighted blanket fiasco. He wasn’t even sure why a werewolf would use cologne in the first place, since that seemed like it would fuck up their senses and things. Derek said it wasn’t terrible because it was subtle - but Stiles vehemently disagreed, considering the absence of it in his bed really wasn’t subtle at all.
Stiles was fine, though. He didn’t need that much sleep anyway. It was unfortunate that something about being awake all night triggered his brain to replay his entire relationship with Derek, but that was life. Stiles was healing. He was coping. He was fine.
They didn’t end on bad terms. They weren’t necessarily friendly at pack meetings, but they were civil. The fighting and passive aggressive bickering that was driving the pack up the walls and led to the break up had obviously stopped. Derek seemed okay. And so was Stiles. All fine.
Except for the sleeping. Or lack thereof. Whatever.
Really, Stiles could deal with that - if he weren’t in college. And, of course, college meant assignments. Lots of them, too many of them. Including a ten page essay on really ancient books he hadn’t read because they were boring, due in less than twenty-four hours. And he had yet to sleep.
So maybe he wasn’t completely fine.
There wasn’t a lot of thinking involved as he rolled out of bed and got into his Jeep. It wasn’t until he was parked in front of Derek’s loft, that he realized this might’ve been weird. Or inappropriate. Or mortifying. Select all that apply.
But, really, Derek was the alpha. He was Stiles ’ alpha - regardless of their former relationship. Which meant it was his job to help with problems, right? And Stiles wasn’t there, walking up to his door, as his ex-boyfriend - he was going as his beta . It wasn’t a boyfriend thing, so it wasn’t weird.
As he knocked on the door, that was what he decided he would tell him. When Derek hadn’t answered the door after twenty minutes - or maybe it was about ten seconds, but it felt so much longer - Stiles had the sudden, horrifying thought that maybe Derek was busy . Like, with someone. Who was not Stiles.
And then he realized that maybe the lack of sleeping wasn’t the only thing making Stiles not fine - because he wasn’t sure what he would do if Derek opened the door and he saw some hot guy or chick in his loft, occupying the space that Stiles had for so long. Actually, he was sure. He was going to cry and drive his Jeep into a ditch on the way home.
This was a bad idea.
He was about to turn around and sprint back down to the parking lot - but then the loft door unlocked and slid open. Derek stood there in only a pair of loose sweatpants, with sleep-mussed hair and a confused frown on his face - which had red pillow lines in it from the amazing sleep he was evidently having and Stiles was interrupting.
“Stiles?” Derek asked, his voice a bit raspy. It reminded him of sunny mornings and coffee in bed and sleepy touches that he had been trying to forget for weeks. “You okay?”
No. Stiles was not okay, actually - thanks for asking.
“Not really,” he admitted softly, before he could tell his mouth that white lies were best at a time like this. He was going to blame it on the exhaustion. “I mean, yeah. I am. Nothing’s wrong - I’m… I’m good. Great , actually. I just, uh… I have to be up in a few hours to write that essay I’ve been putting off all semester. It’s due tomorrow night. Or, well, tonight.”
Derek nodded slowly. “The Charlotte Brontë essay?”
“Yep - that’s the one.”
“Okay. Did you need help with it?”
Stiles’ mouth fell agape at the offer - not having expected it. “You’d do that?”
Derek shrugged. “Is that not what you came here for?”
Oh, right. Stiles hadn’t actually explained anything.
“I can’t sleep,” he said. “I’ve tried and I can’t and I need to do well on that essay or I won’t pass the class. And my only chance of figuring out how to understand Brontë’s weird writing is to have half a functioning brain cell.”
“And you need help… sleeping?”
“I can’t sleep without you!” Stiles said, maybe a little too loudly. Derek flinched a bit from the sudden noise, but Stiles was too overtired to care about manners. “I need… I need to take a nap in the bed. Your bed. If that’s fine.”
Derek looked down and worried his lower lip for a moment, before his eyes swept back up to meet Stiles’. He couldn’t quite make out the color in the dim light, but he could recognize the despondence and conflict in them clearly. He saw that every day in the mirror, after all.
“It was your bed, too,” Derek whispered, as if Stiles didn’t know . As if he hadn’t been missing that stupid bed and the way sleeping in it made him feel.
“I should go,” Stiles decided, taking a step backwards - but Derek reached out in a flash and grabbed his wrist to stop him.
“Come in.”
Stiles hesitated for a moment, but then let Derek gently pull him into the loft. He was really doing this. He really showed up at his ex’s house and asked to sleep in his bed again. The sound of the door clanging shut and the soft clack of the lock sliding into place sounded much too loud and final - but Stiles’ feet were on autopilot, bringing him up the spiral staircase two steps at a time, just as they always had.
This really would have set him back in his healing process, if he’d actually made any progress in the first place.
Stiles kicked his shoes off as soon as he entered the room and practically leapt onto his side. Well, not his side anymore, but still. As he heard Derek making his way up, he felt a brief flash of embarrassment - but then he noticed something.
The pillowcase wrapped around the pillow on his side… was not a pillowcase. It was a blue shirt. Specifically, his stud muffin shirt he’d worn two days ago, which was supposed to be in his dirty laundry hamper at his dad’s house. Derek was sleeping with his shirt on a pillow.
Then he realized, no - Derek wasn’t sleeping with his shirt on a pillow. He was sleeping on the shirt. The bedding on Stiles’ side was all rumpled, while Derek’s side was pristine - the top sheet still tucked neatly under the mattress.
“I, uh,” Derek said awkwardly from the doorway, apparently noticing that Stiles was realizing what was going on. “Your scent. I’ve been having trouble sleeping, too.”
Stiles bit his inner cheek to hide his smile as he nodded. “Well we’re not both fitting on this side.”
It was a lie - they absolutely could and would fit on one side. They had three years of proof.
Derek chuckled, his shoulders relaxing as he shuffled over to his side and pulled the sheets up. He slid in and grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening the alarm app.
“We should probably get up by eight to start the essay.”
Stiles’ eyebrows furrowed as he asked, “We?”
“Have you read the material?” Derek’s unimpressed stare told him that he already knew the answer, so Stiles just gave him a guilty smile. “Exactly.”
“You’ve seriously read those books?” Stiles asked. A sigh passed his lips as he sunk a bit into the mattress, as if it were welcoming him back. “They’re so boring.”
“Every atom of your flesh is as dear to me as my own: in pain and sickness it would still be dear. Your mind is my treasure, and if it were broken, it would be my treasure still,” Derek easily recited, the weird almost-poshy demeanor that always came with flaunting his knowledge clear in the subtle lilt in his words and the way he proudly tipped his chin upwards. “Of course I know Brontë.”
Stiles wasn’t sure why he got such a kick out of it, but it was endearing. He also had no idea how Derek got a Master’s Degree in literature without dying of boredom - but it was really gonna save his ass in the morning.
Stiles was pretty sure that they had fallen asleep on their own sides of the bed, but any evidence of that was long gone by the time the alarm went off in the morning.
The annoying ringing pulled Stiles to consciousness and he lightly smacked the firm arm wrapped under his arm and up his chest.
“Turn it off,” he mumbled.
Derek made an unintelligible sound and pulled Stiles tighter against him, burying face into the back of his neck as if he could hide from the sound.
“Derek,” Stiles whined, elbowing him gently. “Turn it off .”
Derek groaned dramatically, before rolling over towards the nightstand and slamming his finger down on the screen. Stiles wondered if he broke it, but figured it didn’t really matter - because the alarm had stopped. Mission accomplished.
“Cold,” Stiles complained, then turned over to face Derek. As soon as he did, he was encompassed in the familiar warmth of his mate wrapping his arm over him and holding him against his bare chest. He nuzzled his face against Derek’s pec, the sprinkling of hair tickling his nose as he inhaled his scent slowly and deeply - almost hoping the smell would stay permanently, if he held onto it long enough.
Derek was right - the cologne was subtle. The natural scent of his skin, though, was a different story. It blended with the pine in the cologne and brought out other smells - rich soil, wet moss, petrichor. Sweat. The preserve. Derek . That was what really wasn’t subtle at all.
No wonder he couldn’t sleep without it - he hadn’t felt so relaxed in weeks.
Because they were not together.
Stiles stiffened at the realization, but Derek just ran his fingers firmly down his spine and said, “It’s okay.”
“We’re cuddling,” Stiles whispered, as if it were a secret.
“We have sixteen hours to write the essay,” Derek reasoned. “We can lay here for a second.”
Stiles pulled back - not out from his arms, but just enough to be able to look up at him. “That’s not really the issue with the cuddling.”
“It could be.”
Stiles felt his stomach flutter with a giddy excitement that Derek shouldn’t have still been able to spark in him after so many years. “It could be?”
“You… you don’t have to leave. After the essay. You could stay.”
Derek’s kaleidoscope eyes flickered between Stiles’, searching for some sort of response. Stiles didn’t think he would find anything, because he was still trying to wrap his head around what Derek was saying. As he mulled over how to respond, his hand crept up Derek’s hip to hook a finger in the pocket of his sweats and rub the seam with his thumb. It helped him focus. It let him touch.
“I don’t want to leave,” Stiles finally said.
Derek smiled softly and held him tighter. “I never wanted you to.”
Stiles looked down at his lips, which were quirked up at the corners and parted just enough to see a glimpse of his bunny teeth. He had such stupid teeth - Stiles loved them.
He didn’t actually realize that he’d made the decision to kiss him until their lips were already pressed together - and didn’t have any time to think about whether or not it was a good idea, before Derek was tipping onto his back, and pulling Stiles up to lay on top of him. Derek firmly gripped the back of his neck, pulling him down and tilting his head so that he could deepen the kiss, licking up into his mouth hungrily.
It probably would’ve been more comfortable for Stiles to straddle his waist properly, instead of the tangled mess of bony limbs they currently had, but the hand holding his nape wasn’t letting him move even an inch away. He tried to use his hand to hold his own weight, but Derek smoothly interlocked their fingers. So, crushing the werewolf with his full body weight was the only option. That was Derek’s fault.
Stiles was starting to get a little light-headed by the time they finally separated - a centimeter, maybe, but it still felt like too much distance. They panted against each other’s mouths, laughing breathlessly. This was stupid - breaking up was pointless.
“I thought I lost you,” Derek told him, his voice raw. His warm hand moved to gently cradle Stiles’ face, and he readily leaned into it.
“Never, Sourwolf,” he assured him. “You’re actually stuck with me - since I can’t live without sleeping and I can’t sleep without you.”
Derek chuckled. “I guess that means I can stop sneaking into the Sheriff’s house to steal his son’s clothes from the hamper like a creep.”
“Y’know, I thought you would grow out of that creeping in through the window thing - but it seems it’s only gotten worse,” Stiles teased, then let out a very manly squeak as Derek rolled them over to lay on top of him.
“Why do I want to put up with you so badly?”
Stiles grinned cheekily. “Because I’m cute.”
“That’s gotta be it,” Derek agreed, as he leaned back down to meet his lips again.