derek's been wearing the same leather jacket for years; his father's jacket. it finally tears in a battle and he tries to pretend he doesn't care, that he hasn't just lost the last thing he owns from his family, that connects him to his dad. but it's clear he cares too much, despite the angry way he shoves the tattered jacket under his bed just like his train of thought, and refuses to look at it any longer.
in comes stiles. like always. nosy, curious, inquisitive, insistent stiles.
who rummages around under derek's bed in the loft, looking for some book or another, and pulls out the jacket instead.
derek can hardly even acknowledge it. if he does, he might cry. and yes, he trusts stiles the most out of anyone, but not that much. he just can't be seen like that. especially over a stupid jacket of all things.
so it doesn't even bother him when stiles leaves the loft with the heavy jacket thrown over his shoulder. good riddance. to both of them.
the next week stiles is back. like always. with the same jacket safe in his arms, but now it smells a little more like stiles and a little less like blood and misery.
except.
where a large tear in the arm seam once was, there's a series of small x's. like kisses, stiles explains. you know, like in the addams family, when gomez kisses all up and down morticia's arm. stiles always thought that was cute. and his mom used to leave him notes in his lunchbox at school, signing them "xoxo, mom." now that derek thinks of it, his mother did that, too.
he accepts the jacket back warily, and the handiwork is as neat as stiles can get it, and derek doesn't fucking know what to say. thank you doesn't seem like enough.
"a kiss would suffice," stiles smiles at him, motioning to the stitched-up sleeve, "you know, since i gave you a bunch already. no pressure, though, i mean, nevermind, forget i even—"
when derek's lips meet stiles', his mouth is soft and careful and gentle and grateful. and stiles kisses back, and holds derek up. like always.
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