'Stiles' Stilinski

It had been a rough day. One of those days where you could almost feel your life veering off the rails, sparks burning orange behind your lids every time you blinked. It was one of those days. Between Scott talking about wolves and that weird stunt with smelling the gum in his pocket, things had just been a little bit off. And then there was the body that Scott swore he found, and Derek Hale showing up... Stiles recognized him, though it had been how many years since they'd last seen each other? He didn't remember their first meeting very clearly, but he'd been young, nine or ten and with his nose in the new Incredible Hulk comic book, as their parents had talked very seriously about something. Derek had given him something that was probably still buried somewhere amoung his Star Wars and Star Trek and Avengers and X-Men and other sundry geek and sci-if and fantasy knick-knacks.

Then, he'd gotten home just in time to overhear from his father that the fiber analysis had come back, and there were animal hairs on the body. Wolf hairs. So much for his insistence about wolves having not lived in California for decades. It had him thinking back to the jokes he'd made early about lycanthropy, though he shook his head and tried to banish the thought. He was slumped in his computer chair, spinning from side to side and nibbling on the end of a pen with worry.

Stiles had absolutely no awareness of the connection between him and Derek, let alone anything like betrothal. He thought he just remembered him because of being with his father after the fire, because of those sad green eyes. And, well, he could ever forget that jawline?

Derek had his work cut out for him, to put it mildly.