Kings of the Moonlight

Superman

But I can only write this song and tell you I'm not that strong because I'm no superman, I hope you like me as I am.

-

The next day dawns crisp and light; Derek quickly hushes the booming noise of the alarm clock on his bedside table and indulges in a few stolen moments of peace buried within the layers and layers of white sheets in his bed. Waking up in Beacon Hills is always so much more different than to waking up in the bustling heat and demand of the city.

In the city there's always something to do, someone to see, business to attend to, offers to make, et cetera, et cetera. It just goes on and on. It's a never ending list of things that are of imperative importance and situatons that demand to be dealt with in the here and now. Meanwhile whenever Derek returns to Beacon he can while away the hours so easily. He can take his time here, he can mark his days in the rise and set of the sun and everything seems so much slower here, so much more effortless.

Beacon Hills is like a fresh breath of air in his lungs, and if he closes his eyes in the perfect stillness of his bedroom he can smell the oncoming spring: the air carries with it a scintillating scent, like rosewater, scented oils, sand and citrus. It's completely intoxicating.

There is a brisk rap on knuckles on the heavy wood of the front door, shortly thereafter, that echoes throughout the apartment. In the privacy of his room and sole company, Derek allows himself to smile a little at just the thought of seeing Stiles. He thinks about the precious few minutes he spent with Stiles the night before, sat companionably in the close comfort of the couch, carrying an entire conversation in hushed tones, lest they wake Isaac up.

A little flutter of nerves travel up his spine, making his skin shimmer with uncontained delight. He can't stop thinking about Stiles, he has been thinking about Stiles a little more than sporadically through the past week.

He and Isaac are far away from Kate, Stiles is a new and comfortable fit in his life, Isaac will soon be getting the help he needs and everything seems to finally to slot into place.

It's a thought that fills his insides with tentative kind of warmth and allows his mind to dare to hope the most insubstantial of dreams.

Derek's good mood evaporates somewhat when he opens the door to Stiles looking haggard and withdrawn. In a kind of awful contrast, his bright orange plaid overshirt washes him out completely, and instead it highlights the sallow tone to his skin. His eyes are red and swollen but a large, albeit dithering, smile is already present on his face.

His dark hair looks as if he has been running many a nervous fingers through it and his voice is thick and stumbling, like his words routinely get stuck to the back of his throat each time he tries to speak. 

"Hey, you're awake this time," Stiles greets, but he isn't actually looking directly at Derek, rather he directs his gaze almost through Derek as he brushes past him and heads straight towards the kitchen to dump his backpack by the table. "Is Isaac up yet?" Stiles asks. "Is it okay if I make coffee?"

Derek can tell that Stiles is upset, it isn't that hard to figure out given the nervous energy Stiles is carrying around in himself but he has no idea how to begin that particular conversation and Derek isn't sure that he particularly wants to open up that conversation route anyway. The only person Derek knows how to comfort is his son, and Stiles definitely isn't Isaac.

He doesn't want to risk upsetting Stiles even more just because he has the emotional range of the proverbial teaspoon.

So instead Derek stands in the middle of the kitchen with his hands wringing uselessly at each other, his eyes tracking Stiles' every movement as he bustles in and around the kitchen with both comfort and familiarity, despite the short amount of time he's spent there.