shinpaci:

“You’re not allowed to do that, okay, you’re not allowed to, to fucking,” Stiles’ voice hitches and Derek stops breathing, “to send me off. I can’t walk away again, I—”

“What?” Derek’s hands grip the upholstery. Fear rolls through him, the mouth of a wave, but he thinks maybe there’s something hopeful there, too, “Stiles.”

Stiles’ heartbeat is so loud. He whispers, “Don’t make me say it, Derek. Please.”

The enormity of his words makes Derek’s body clamp up, aching, arthritic. He looks down at his hands before he speaks again. 

“You love me.“ 

Stiles closes his eyes. The car is warm, and Derek has never felt so cold.