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Stiles woke to someone slipping into bed with him. He turned immediately to the new source of warmth. “I hope you closed the window.”
"Yes, Stiles," Derek breathed out with a little huff.
Stiles rolled his eyes and buried his face into Derek’s shoulder. “Whatever Mr. I’m-a-werewolf-and-therefore-don’t-get-cold.”
Derek wrapped his arm tightly around Stiles’ waist and pulled him closer. Stiles stroked the alpha’s bare chest and wondered when he’d taken his shirt off. Maybe he’d run here that way. It was worth contemplating.
"You smelled sad today," Derek said into the silence.
Stiles dropped his forehead down further so that it was resting in the middle of Derek’s sternum. He liked how he could feel Derek’s steady breathing and the vibrations of his speech through his body—as if they were one soul. “It’s the anniversary of my mom’s… you know.”
"Yeah," Derek said. And then, "I’m sorry."
Stiles laughed a little bitterly. “Not your fault.”
Derek said nothing, just stroked Stiles’ shoulder through his sleep shirt. Stiles sighed and felt the tension leave his body. “You should go back to sleep,” Derek said.
"You were the one who woke me," Stiles replied, but there was no anger in his voice.
Derek shifted and Stiles’ hand quickly tightened on his arm. “Stay, please.”
"Okay," Derek said, settling back down. Stiles closed his eyes, waiting until Derek’s breathing had deepened a bit.
"Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through," Stiles murmured.
"What was that?" Derek said, voice starting to be sleep-ladden.
"Nothing," Stiles told him. "Nothing at all."