Goal of series: 1 chapter per day, indefinitely. Drabbles.

Disclaimer: This was swapped with the 8th chapter. This is just a fluffy chapter. Fluff!

July 30, 2012

DSD #1: Anchor

"Wait, so you're telling me that the way to stay human during a full moon is to act human?" Stiles asked incredulously.

"Yes."

"Goddamn. That sounds like real heartfelt advice: to not be a werewolf, be a human. Sound advice. Really. I give you the slow clap for that one," Stiles commented as he rolled his eyes and brought his hands up to start clapping the slow clap. Clap... … Clap… … Clap… …

"Ha. Ha. Stiles, you're hilarious," Derek laughed dryly, "No. You have to find an anchor. An emotion that makes you remember your human side."

Stiles tilted his head as he looked at Derek. They were sitting in Stiles room –Stiles in his desk chair, Derek on the chair beside Stiles' bed– on a Sunday afternoon. Derek had dropped by to ask about Scott since he had been hurt recently and couldn't loose his cool by actually going over and checking on Scott. So instead, he went to Stiles for information on Scott. Then, surprising both of them, Derek stayed to chat. Stiles just assumed that the rest of the pack (namely Erica) were being really annoying and Derek'd nothing better to do. No trouble afoot equated to nothing to do.

"So, Scott's anchor is Allison (obviously). Well then, what's your anchor?"

When Derek seemed loathe to answer and even blushed a little, Stiles' interest immediately perked up.

"Um... It's uh. It's anger." Derek couldn't even look at Stiles when he said it.

"Anger? Really now..." Stiles remarked unimpressed. Obviously, Derek's anger was not anger. Stiles' didn't know many things about Derek (other than he was Derek, resident crapehanger, a moody son of a gun with anger issues, a "dark past" that made girls squeal in excitement, and the emotional variety of a wall –not to mention, enough muscle to feed a starving family for a year); however, this was the first time, absolute first, that Stiles witnessed Derek blush and stumble a little bit. "Somehow, I don't believe you," Stiles added, and shockingly, Derek responded with a deeper blush. Okay, this was freaking Stiles out now.

Derek has to be high or drunk or something or aliens have switch out his brain because this is not the Derek we all know and hate to love, Stiles thought to himself, his face unconsciously recoiling into a confused "WTF" face.

"Nothing. I mean, n–no, I'm not lying." If Stiles knew Derek better (and he did), he could have almost sworn that Derek had just stuttered.

"The apocalypse, it's coming, isn't it? This is a sign from the heavens. Oh my god, I have to stock up on handguns and food and water and dig a mile down to build a house. And then I can probably only choose one friend. Maybe it'll be Scott. But then, he'll take Allison and three's one too many mouths to feed," Stiles ranted, swatting the air with various hand gestures.

"Stiles. What the fuck are you saying?" Derek grimaced with a serious and revolted look, this look seemed to fit "old' Derek.

"Well, the world's obviously coming to an end because you are stuttering and not acting like yourself," Stiles gestured to Derek's self who scoffed.

"No, idiot. That's not why. Why are you so fucking thick?" Derek crossed his arms and shook his head in a slow, disapproving method, one that somehow really annoyed Stiles.

"I don't want to hear that from you 'Mr. Too-Cool-For-A-Shirt'," Stiles retorted, wincing when he realized that what he said wasn't technically a snarky comeback, but he'd said it so he was sticking to it, "Well, then what's your anchor? It's not anger. I can almost bet all of my life's savings that it's not."

Derek flinched, and immediately shut his mouth.

"Oh. My. God. Just fucking tell me what it was. It can't be so bad," Stiles groaned.

"..." Derek sat in silence, amusing himself with his nails.

"What is it? What could possibly be so embarrassing that you can't tell me? Is it unrelieved sexual tension towards Scott? Or Erica? –Or Erica and Scott. See, it can't be as bad as that? Maybe it's a fetish of furries? See, can't be that bad, honestly," Stiles scoffed.

Derek frowned, frustrated and infuriated, "Do you want to know? Do you really want to know that badly, Stiles?"

Now, Stiles frowned, confused and a little bit scared. Did he really want to know? What if it was something really sick? Did he really need to know so much about Derek? Oh god, what if it's like bestiality or some sick shit like that... actually considering he's a werewolf. It could make sense... All jokes aside, Stiles suddenly felt nervous for some reason. Maybe it was the way that Derek's eyes boring into his as if it had some truth of the universe. Maybe it was the way that Derek hadn't moved since he spoke. Maybe it's the way his muscles were tensed under his shirt or that his hands were folded much too neatly for the Derek he knew. Everything about this situation was screaming 'wrong!' or 'warning!'.

Abruptly –not that it was fast but it was so sudden– Derek stood up and trudged to Stiles and where he stopped inches from Stiles, he gazed into Stiles' eyes with an intensity that Stiles squirmed under.

"Do you really want to know?" Derek asked again, quieter this time because the rest of the world stopped breathing at some point.

Stiles didn't nod, but him not shaking his head made Derek decide to tell him. Stiles' ears felt stuffed with cotton because he could hear his heartbeat thrumming in his head. Something about this moment was off. Something about it, Stiles felt, could change his life as he knew it, and he wasn't sure if he was okay with that or not.

"Stiles, my anchor: It's you. It wasn't at first, but now, it's you."

Somehow, Stiles wasn't surprised. In fact, he felt quiet good about the whole thing.

AN: I know about that ending. But it felt right. Just like chocolate in the middle of the night during a week of dieting feels right. Haha. Exactly like that. Actually, (if you can believe it!) I'm not very good at romance. I love romance and I am a romantic (in all sense of the word: not just in love); unfortunately, my love life is fucked up –more so than a lady dog in heat. (Let's just say that I don't really know what I'm doing in the context of 'love' –but then again, who does?)

These stories are a way for me to express the sweeter side of love; of course, I'll try to make them realistic as possible later on, maybe, but for now, I like where they are. They feel a bit (artsy) pulled back, distant, but I like it that way for now. XD Like Heaven. It was pretty but quiet and it seemed as the narrator is just an observer more than actually in the story (well, that's the feeling I got from it –and I'm the writer, dammit!); it's quiet, unassuming, with a subtle charm. That's how I'd like to think of it. I dare you guys to tell me differently. =]

Anyhow, I feel pretty poetry-y 'cause I've been listening to some soulful music, courtesy of John Legend, a legend in his own right. He's just amazing, which segues into the following:

Song of the Day: "Ordinary People" by John Legend.

Word of the Day: exuberant (filled with/characterized by lively energy/excitement)

Life is exuberant –it can be when you're looking at anything living.

Stiles is exuberant –his wit and geeky charm bringing happiness to everyone around him.

Love is exuberant –when it's done face fucking you.

That's all good and fun, but you know what's not exuberant? Derek. Derek's hardly ever exuberant.