My Soul to Keep by jacyevans, Jmeelee
Teen | 18k | 7/7
Stiles came with a whiteboard, and blue dry erase marker, flapping it over his head like a white flag on a battlefield.
"Come on," he coaxed. "You must want to say something. You've never gone this long without telling me to shut up." He waggled the marker in Derek's face. Stinging alcohol and pungent polymer singed Derek's nose hairs.
His fingers itched to pick up the board, and not because he wanted to tell Stiles to be quiet. He enjoyed the babble that filled the apartment every few days, the hearty food, Stiles' particular, reassuring smell: maple sugar buzz, spicy-sweet deodorant, milk-sour frustration, floral shampoo, and spring grass at night. It soaked into Derek's couch, his bed, his skull.
If any of it were real, Derek would take the board and write: thank you.


















