Viridian by betp (wordcount: 5,967)
"Dude, forget Stiles. We're going to be late." And this—this sounds weird. Like Derek ate something and instead of coming apart, it's sitting sideways in his stomach. He's having trouble digesting this command. "Forget Stiles," Derek repeats.
In which Stiles figures he's probably overreacting; Derek is allowed to make friends, okay. That his abilities to meet new people who aren't terrible are clearly in need of honing is up for discussion.















