I hate everything.
Miranda, 20, Canadian, gay, university student, LGBTQ+ advocate, into fandom, writer, avid reader, feminist, hopeless romantic, and everything else.
Talk to me!
My heart belongs to her <3
Prequel to It Followed Me Home; aka, here, have an awkward-cute first meeting. <3
Mate-scent was something his family talked about often.
“You’ll know it when you scent it, sweetie,” his mother used to say and she was, of course, right.
Derek knows the moment he finds his mate.
The scent lingers outside of his apartment building when Derek gets home from his morning workout. It’s sweat and nerves overlaid with a natural scent that reminds Derek of the woods outside his family home; his favorite place to escape. His stomach clenches and when he takes another breath, a shudder runs through him.
His hand shakes as he reaches for the building door and stepping inside only makes things worse. Outside, it was scattered, faint. Inside, there’s no wind to carry it, nowhere for it to go; it hangs in the air, a concentrated dose that leaves Derek punch-drunk and wanting more.
Even so, he doesn’t mean to follow the scent to its source. That would be more than a little creepy and Derek is too caught off guard, too frazzled, to make a good impression. It happens, though, the scent growing progressively thicker the closer Derek gets to his own apartment.
When he turns down his hallway, he sees a person standing outside 22A, the apartment across the hall. Their face is hidden from view by the stack of boxes they’re attempting to juggle long enough to open the door. It wasn’t working, though, and the boxes wobble dangerously, the arm under them not strong enough to hold their weight any longer. When they inevitably tip forward, Derek darts forward to catch them before they hit the ground.
The guy behind them looks like a college student, probably the same age as Derek’s betas. He’s sweaty, dark hair a mess and thick-rimmed glasses askew, mouth open as he gapes at Derek. Derek feels similarly, gut-punched by the dual assault of sight and scent.
“Um.” His mate clears his throat, hastily fixing his glasses. “Thanks.”
Derek, like an idiot, just stands there and stares. An appealing flush creeps into his mate’s cheeks and he averts his gaze, fumbling with the doorknob to his apartment until he finally manages to get it open. His head is still down when he turns back to Derek and he looks up through his eyelashes; the effect, for Derek, is devastating.
“I’ll, um. I’ll take those back,” his mate says, reaching for the boxes. Derek hands them over. “Thanks again.”
Derek’s never been good with people. Laura’s the social butterfly of the pack, she’s the one that knows how to turn on the charm, how to get people to like her. He’s never cared if anyone liked him. He didn’t even care when it was his pack. After Peter’s death, he let Laura bring them in, let Laura earn their trust.
Now, though. Now Derek wishes he knew what to do, what to say. He wants his mate to like him but the thing is that Derek’s never been likable.
His mate moves to leave, once again burdened by boxes, and in a desperate attempt to get him to stay, Derek forces out, “you’re moving in?”
His mate pauses, gaze flicking back to Derek. “Yeah,” he says. “I just signed the lease yesterday.”
“Congratulations.” And then, to make himself feel a little less stupid, he adds, “I’m Derek. I live across the hall.”
He gestures to the apartment in question and his mate glances over before looking back at him.
“Uh, Stiles. Is my name. I’m called Stiles.” The flush on Stiles’ cheeks becomes more pronounced and Derek feels his heart trying to beat out of his chest. Stiles takes a step towards his open door. “I’m sorry, I have to get these inside or my arms are going to boycott.”
“Of course,” Derek says inanely and then watches Stiles disappear into his apartment.
It takes him three tries to get his key in the lock of his own door, his hands are shaking that badly, and when he finally gets inside, he slumps to the floor.
His mate. His mate’s name is Stiles.
Derek runs a hand down his face and tries to calm himself by aggressively not thinking about the way he just made an idiot out of himself in front of his mate.
His mate. Jesus.
knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit
wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad
That was deep
philosophy is wondering if that means ketchup is a smoothie
That was deeper.
common sense is knowing that ketchup isn’t a damn smoothie you nasty
things i learned in ancient greek art today:
- Achilles had a gay lover
- Zeus had a boy toy that he thought was pretty so he snatched him up and made him into his wine bitch and kept him under his throne on olympus always
- there was a woman who wanted to be a man so Poseidon changed her sex and then made him impervious to metal weapons to boot
- They made Aphrodite marry a lame and ugly guy and to retaliate she slept with everyone, but mostly Ares.
sounds like high school