Stiles Stilinski

Two nights to go til the solstice. He's seen Derek every day since this started, pretty much; the library, the preserve, whenever Derek shows up in his room. It's barely even creepy anymore, mostly, but then it's always been easy to forget how old Derek is, if not what he is.

Tonight, though, Stiles isn't buried in research like he has been for the duration. Instead, he's stretched out on his bed, headphones in, as he air-drums to the song nearly audible even without the speakers, something loud and fast with a driving beat. The only books open on his bed are comic books, not the dusty texts on local history and folklore, and he looks entirely unconcerned, eyes closed as he keeps silent time.