[ It's a thing that Derek never thought would happen, between the guilt of Paige and his family, and the fact that for the longest time they were perfect examples of the Greco-Roman feud. Constantly bickering and provoking one another, he can't quite remember the moment that things... shifted. They didn't really change, exactly, since they constantly go at each other still two years later, but there are more quiet moments. Have been, for a while.
He can remember their walks in the Halfblood woods, sitting in the heart of them when Stiles got the news about his mother and saying nothing, letting loose when the numbness from the fire had finally shattered. There's a layer of understanding, of empathy, that is the foundation of their relationship. They keep each other on their toes, can have rapidfire exchanges of sarcasm and matching humor, fights more volatile than Greek fire, but in the end they're just Stiles and Derek. Not a Greek, not a Roman. Just them.
It works, and it's what he needs. Stiles, it turns out, is what he needs.
Which is why he's more than a little relieved that the son of Hecate decides that he wants to check out New Rome, maybe actually stay there for the schooling. There's no denying that he became attached to Camp Halfblood while he was there, enjoyed New York for the most part, but the thing is that California is his home. His pack was destroyed, a scorch left on Beacon Hills, but New Rome is in his blood just as much as he's one of Pluto's sons. And he wants to share it with Stiles.
Rubbing his fingertips across the lines of his tattoo in his inner arm, Derek watches Stiles as he takes in the city laid out before him. There are some nerves there, but he largely shoves them down in favor of the warm, gooey feeling in his chest. Stiles stands out with the bright, warm orange of his shirt, but he...
He looks good here, amongst purple and white marble and everything he's known since he was young. ]
wiggles around
He can remember their walks in the Halfblood woods, sitting in the heart of them when Stiles got the news about his mother and saying nothing, letting loose when the numbness from the fire had finally shattered. There's a layer of understanding, of empathy, that is the foundation of their relationship. They keep each other on their toes, can have rapidfire exchanges of sarcasm and matching humor, fights more volatile than Greek fire, but in the end they're just Stiles and Derek. Not a Greek, not a Roman. Just them.
It works, and it's what he needs. Stiles, it turns out, is what he needs.
Which is why he's more than a little relieved that the son of Hecate decides that he wants to check out New Rome, maybe actually stay there for the schooling. There's no denying that he became attached to Camp Halfblood while he was there, enjoyed New York for the most part, but the thing is that California is his home. His pack was destroyed, a scorch left on Beacon Hills, but New Rome is in his blood just as much as he's one of Pluto's sons. And he wants to share it with Stiles.
Rubbing his fingertips across the lines of his tattoo in his inner arm, Derek watches Stiles as he takes in the city laid out before him. There are some nerves there, but he largely shoves them down in favor of the warm, gooey feeling in his chest. Stiles stands out with the bright, warm orange of his shirt, but he...
He looks good here, amongst purple and white marble and everything he's known since he was young. ]
So?