Prompt Post 01
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He starts getting a headache long before lunch starts, a dull pain that pulses behind his eyes. The lights in the school seem unusually bright, the sounds of people talking and laughing loud enough to make his ears ring. If he didn’t know better, he would say he’s hungover. But he knows he didn’t drink anything. He would have remembered that.
Rather than heading for the cafeteria, Stiles makes his way outside at lunch time. He walks around for a while, enjoying the relative silence and the breeze, the way the trees smell when the wind blows through them. He props himself up against a wall and sighs, content. The sun is warm where it beats down on him, and he closes his eyes, limbs outstretched.
He’s nearly asleep when he smells something strange - faint, but definitely there. It’s a warm sort of smell, earthy, something Stiles has never smelled before. He can’t even find the words to describe it, to explain the smell in a way that makes sense.
He feels a presence in front of him and opens his eyes. Derek is standing a few feet away, staring at him with wide eyes, looking lost, confused. He can see Derek sniffing the air. Maybe he smells that weird smell, too, Stiles thinks. But then Derek is coming closer, expression suddenly angry, dangerous.
“What the hell happened to you? What did you do?” Derek growls, almost shouts. Stiles raises his hands in a defensive gesture.
“What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything,” Stiles snaps. His mind reels, trying to remember what he might have done this time to set Derek off. Derek’s jaw is clenching and unclenching, his hands keep forming into fists. He can see Derek’s nostrils flaring, like he’s trying to breath something in. Stiles should feel afraid in this position, sitting down in front of an angry Derek, vulnerable, but he feels strangely calm.
Derek looks away suddenly, lips drawn in a thin, angry line. “Tell Scott to come by my house later.”
“Uh, dude, don’t you have a phone? You could have just called. Or texted him or something,” Stiles says. “No need for the middle man. It’s not like I’m invited to your werewolf party.”
Derek glares down at him. “It’s not a party. Scott needs to learn how to control his powers.”
“Yeah,” Stiles says.
He feels hungry, sort of, but the idea of getting up is annoying. He shifts, stretches his arms over his head and yawns. When he opens his eyes, Derek’s face has gone slack and he’s sniffing hard, eyes dark and sort of glazed over. Is he - is he smelling me? Stiles thinks. He self-consciously lowers his arms, draws his knees in close.
“Uh, dude? Are you okay?” Stiles asks, wary. “Cause I’m getting kind of weirded out, just saying.”
Derek looks away again, glaring at nothing. “Just pass on my message, Stiles.”
“Uh, okay.”
And then Derek is leaving, turning a corner around the building. Stiles watches him go. The smell from before - the warm, earthy smell - it fades slowly, like it’s being stretched out in the air, and Stiles stays until it’s gone.
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