Red Fabric {Young Sterek}
Your prompt: Person B lends their sweater to Person A. When Person A is home, they realize they still have Person B's sweater and find Person B's iPod. Out of curiosity, Person A looks through Person B's music and finds a playlist titled with Person A's name.
P: Derek Hale & Stiles Stilinski
A/N: I forgot to post it here.
“Dude… just take the damn sweater! Stop being stubborn” Stiles groans as he tried to shove his sweater into Derek's hands, the sick omega
Refusing his friend's request. They've been repeating this little argument since Derek first walked into History, taking a seat next to Stiles and dropping his head onto the table ignoring Mr. Harris words to pick up his head, and that it wasn't nap time. Derek hadn't picked up his head, instead, he made a sound that nearly sounded like a growl. The sound even caught Scott's attention, looking away from Allison to look toward the Omega who sat one row ahead. Stiles kept his eyes down on his notations scribbling away— adding in extra for Derek later. He kept his voice low so Mr. Harris didn't try to give him detention for the simple fact that he spoke.
“Are you okay?” the lanky teenager asked in a low voice. Derek had hummed in response. Not good enough.
“Der” Stiles tried again.
Derek let out a raspy breath shifting his head against the desk to peak towards Stiles, the brunette doing the same— side-eyeing the werewolf. The omega looked like hell, his tan skin was paler— Stiles couldn't even blame that on the season— the cool air in the room being a reminder of the freezing cold outside that is known as winter.
“ ‘mm fine” he mumbles in response.
Stiles snorts, keeping his eyes on the paper. Bullshit.
“Something funny Mr. Stilinski?” Mr. Harris questions
Stiles glanced up at the teacher with a pen in his mouth— when did he get it there? Stiles glances around the room to see everyone looking at him— facing his attention back on the teacher.
“Uh—” the pen drops from his mouth, making a sound against the table— he looks down then back up real quick to do a one-over when his brain comes to a halt.
“Then why did you snort?”
“Cause I farted— what else?” He asked his expression mocking a duh look mixed with ‘are you stupid?’ Look.
Derek made a low strangled sound. Scott covered his mouth while ducking his head. Stiles twisted in his seat to turn and look at Allison who was sitting with Scott and behind Stiles.
“Forgive me Ms. Argent for passing gas, is that nose okay?” Stiles asks dramatically.
Allison pressed her lips together trying her best to hide her smile as she just nodded at Stiles. Stiles smiles brightly, turning back to the teacher. Mr. Harris stares at Stiles then sighs— deciding not to argue with the lanky boy today.
Now, back to what’s wrong with the sourwolf.
Stiles found out in second period Art what was wrong with his friend.
“Sick? you’re sick. How the—.”
“Breathe Bambi,” Derek declared as his hand moved in strokes on the canvas.
Stiles takes a second or two to breathe and then speak.
“I thought werewolves couldn't get sick?”
“Bitten one can't, born can. We're still Humans Stiles, just grow extra hair on a full moon” Derek spoke in a low tone.
Was— did he— did Derek unintentionally make a joke to Stiles on the last part? nevermind that he'll go back to that later.
“Stiles what are you—” The back of Stiles's hand touches the omega's cheek, Derek's droopy eyes widening a bit at the contact of Stiles's cool skin against his face. Before the sick wolf can even consider leaning into the touch of Stiles' warmth— which he will blame on his sickness— Stiles pulls away.
“Dude— you're cold, you, Derek Hale who is usually built like a real-life heater are cold!” Stiles stresses out, Derek didn't need to look at the lanky teen to see what type of face he was making.
“No, I'm already wearing my leather jacket” Derek declines, pushing down the feeling of accepting the human request— the excuse of Derek wearing his close friend's sweater and smelling his scent for the rest of the day was tempting– but he wasn't going to. He was sick, those little ticks were all a part of his cold.
The want to lean into the cool touch, the want to accept the sweater, the want to be even closer to Stiles and bury his face deep into his friend's neck and take in his scent till his mind is dizzy with the smell of Stiles.
Roasted hazelnuts with the lingering smell of black coffee and medication—Adderall.
“And clearly it's not keeping you warm enough if you caught a cold Derek”
Which leads to now— they were in third-period gym playing dodgeball, Derek weak on his feet— stubborn and very human Stiles still arguing with the Hale boy over his sweater as balls were being thrown at them.
Stiles dodges barely fast enough from the flying ball that hit the wall hard, Derek glares at the culprit that threw the ball— Tyler Johnson.
“Johnson!” He barks picking up one of the red balls that landed by his feet throwing it towards the brunette hitting him in the stomach making the other teen wheeze sinking to his feet, Stiles winches at the site.
“Derek—.” Derek grabs Stiles by the front of his shirt yanking him towards himself— making the lanky human not get hit by a ball.
“Take my sweater and I will!”
“Stiles it’s cold outside-.”
“I’ll wear your leather jacket— just take the damn sweater you stubborn—.”
A ball gently hits Stiles in the head, the pale teen blinks a couple of times. Staring— staring at Derek who had pulled him close to him with a ball in his hand and with enough force hit him in the forehead with it. Stiles looked at the omega as if he committed a crime, his mouth opening and closing— Derek catching a ball before it hit him in the face.
Derek gives him the famous Hale smirk.
“Got to sit down Stilinski”
Stiles gasp, then looked over to Scott who just shrugged his shoulders.
“I look stupid” Derek mumbled as he tugged at the red fabric that hugged his body, Stiles' sweater was loose but also fitted tight around the werewolf’s sick frame. He wore the cuffs of the sleeves over his palms looking down as the two walked down the hall— Stiles fixing Derek’s leather jacket around his body, patting the pockets filling his curiosity that can sometimes be dangerous.
“You look nice in red sourwolf I don’t see the reason to complain” Stiles says in a tone that can let anyone know he’s not paying attention to his words.
“That’s not— not that pocket Stiles”
Stiles stops his hand barely above the chest pocket looking at Derek while they walked down the hallway as the last bell rang.
Stiles nods moving his hand away shoving them in the pockets walking in silence.
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