Hangover

Chapter One - Part 4

Derek began to walk away. After a few steps, he turned around, looking back at a confused Stiles. "You coming?"

Stiles had barely reacted. He blicked a few times before he looked at Scott, who nodded violently. It was a you-better-do-as-he-says-or-he-might-kill-us-all-and-i-don't-wanna-die kind of nod. The others didn't say anything, but Stiles took it as if they agreed.

"Eh, yeah... right." He said, as he stood up and followed the big guy, to, what could very well be, his death.

He stalked Derek, staring at lether covered back, almost stepping on his heels a few times as he imagined Derek's back without the lether jacket...

... or his t-shirt...

... or just simply naked...

Stiles shivered, and mentally slapped himself for even thinking it.

Derek stopped once they reached a smaller, empty corridor, and turned around Stiles stood in front of him, looking up at the taller boy. Actually, he wasn't that tall, maybe just an inch or two taller than Stiles. He was just... big.

... And his brain went to all the wrong places.

DAMMIT, STILES!

Then the possible sex-God infront of him took something white, paper-ish out of his pocket.

"What is that?" Stiles asked.

"It's, um..." Derek began. Somehow, his face changed. It no longer looked angry, stiff and terrifying. He looked, in a way, less confident than before. "You gave it to me yesterday." He held the note infront of Stiles. Stiles frowned. You could barely see it, but there were some bed written numbe... HoooooolyGod...

He's given Derek his phone number. Or some of them, at least. They were completely out of order, and some were just missing.

"You were really drunk when you wrote them. And... there's only seven of them, so I couldn't call."

Wait... HE WANTED TO CALL?

"I-I, uhh..." Stiles studdered out the words, that he didn't know how to get out at all. "... I d-don't remember gi-giving you this- eh, that... I don't even remember you!"

Derek didn't look surprise.

"Well, I don't blame you. But..." He sighed.

"But... what?" Stiles pushed.

Derek looked as if he didn't know wether to tell Stiles or not, eyes avoiding him. "I wish you would have."

Stiles didn't know how to react to that - neither did he know what to say. So he didn't. Say anything, I mean. He just stood there, stared, and let Derek do the talking.

"I mean, Saturday wasn't the best, you didn't even know what you were doing. Not even now. But Sunday was... nice. It was kind of fun, actually. I don't know if you would have thought the same if you weren't... you know, affected, but I hope so." Another dissapointed sigh. "You really don't remember anything?"

Stiles shuck his head, as if that was the only part of his body that he could actually move. He felt quite paralyzed, his brain going fucking crazy.

"Nothing?" Derek looked sad. Or not SAD really just disappointed. And sad. He really wanted Stiles to remember. Stiles did to, he just didn't know how. Unless Derek just told him.

"I mean, I remember being at Lydia's house. And they told about some stuff that happened over there. And that you were there, uh... watching over me...?"

"Yeah. Sorry." Derek said.

Sorry for what!? Being PERFECT!?!? Stiles thought.

"Oh no, they were glad you stalked me! Uuh, I-I mean, they didn't wanna deal with a drunk Stiles, ya' know. From what I've heard, I'm a horrible drunk." Stiles blurred out the words so fast, he himself barely heard what he said.