#imnotxahero

scrEAMS WHAT IS HAPPENING

send me a ship and i’ll say:

who falls asleep on the couch: stiles. duh.

who wakes up first: shim. she always ends up sneaking out early.

who cooks the most: shim and derek tend to cook more while stiles just kinda goes to school and comes home and gets naked and plays video games and gets chef one and chef two horny.

who’s in charge of the tv remote: take a guess.

who takes the longest getting ready: shim.

who takes up most of the bed: stiles. d u h .

          If there is anything he misses about his childhood home, it's the view from the roof. The stars had been so vibrant, so bright against the sky, spread wide and thin, with all the consistency and permanence of spilled ink -- until morning, of course. The silence of the night had been peaceful, instead of maddening, as it'd always seemed to be in his bedroom. And God, the breeze through the trees had seemed to kiss his face and his naked chest. It was beautiful.

          The view from the roof of the loft isn't nearly as pure. The lights of downtown blur the bright stars into unfocused splotches, and the noise and the bustle drown out any hope Derek has of clearing his mind completely. The wind is often harsh and hot, or there's not much at all, and the air lies still and stale. Still, though, the moon shines full, visible as ever. It hangs over his head like a silent, benign reminder. And yes, though a bit foggier, it's still quite the view he's got above of him. The wolf sighs.

          Maybe fifteen minutes later, Derek hears vaguely familiar footsteps padding up the black spiral staircase, and he sits up, propping himself up on his elbows, eyebrows furrowed. He isn't expecting anybody, and he's sure whoever it is won't be expecting him lying out on the roof, half-naked, reclining somewhat comfortably beneath the cosmos.

                                                             "On the roof," he calls.                                                              "Close the door behind you."

          For all the shit he’s been through, all that he’s done, all the people that have died because of him, all the horrible decisions he’s made, it’s so beautiful to hear somebody say he’s proud of him. It means that somewhere along the way, he did something right; that somewhere along the way, he found a boy that found pride in him; he found somebody that didn’t think he was a fuck-up, or that disguised it well enough that Derek’s mouth was curving upward instead of downward, and his eyes were filling with tears unwarranted and warm and happy.

          “…I’m proud of you too.”