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Stiles doesn't like to sleep with his hands or feet dangling over the edge of the bed.
He remembers when he was six, sleeping over at Scotts, his limbs spread eagle and dangling towards the floor, his lips parted and breath heavy in almost sleep, he remembers the moment when Scott had grabbed his wrist and his ankle and dragged him to the floor.
He can remember the slow second of silence and the echo of a crack and he can still feel the phantom pain of his broken arm, and see Scotts wide eyed apologies. He forgave Scott straight away, made sure he was the first (almost only) person to sign and scribble across the bright blue cast,
but his feet and hands stayed tucked towards his body after that.
-
Stiles often finds himself swimming in the lake behind Derek's wreck of a house. He knows it's not safe, far from it, but it's quiet and calm and he can let himself float across the murky water, and feel stray plants curl around his body, and feel safe. He thinks it's odd, that he can let seaweed and vines wrap around his ankles, around his throat, and not panic, that he can feel the water lap at his chin and lick at his arms and close his eyes and dream.
In the summer he finds himself there more.
Everybody else is occupied with family or friends or partners, and the weather is almost bitter considering the time of year, but Stiles goes at least twice a week, wrapped in nothing more than a thin jacket and a blanket he keeps in the jeep. He sometimes takes food, and sometimes he'll take a book, but more often than not, he'll take nothing, instead stripping off as soon as he reaches the lake, letting his toes wiggle in the pebbles and frigid water at the edge, before stepping further in, allowing the quiet sway of almost waves drag him out.
On the third week thinks he sees a shadow of movement behind the trees. Stiles doesn't hear anything, but there's a dark blur, like something flitting between the trees, something watching, but it doesn't come any closer and it doesn't make a sound, and when he leaves an hour later, there is nothing there.
On the fourth week the shape moves forward, and when Stiles fully opens his eyes he sees a figure.
He knows who it is straight away, and he thinks he should probably try and cover himself up, should float underneath the water and stammer out a reply, an accusation, but instead stays on the surface, limbs spread out and calm.
"You know it's rude to stare." He says, and Derek doesn't reply, but he does turn his head away, before turning back and stepping forward.
Stiles thinks for a moment that's he's going to join him in the water, but instead he folds to the mossy floor, legs crossed and looks at Stiles with a raised eyebrow.
"You know it's rude to trespass." Derek's voice is low and quiet, but there's a faint hint of amusement and Stiles feels a laugh bubble past his lips.
"You gonna' make me leave?" Stiles says later.
Derek doesn't look like he's going to reply, but he doesn't leave and he doesn't make Stiles leave, he just sits, looking across the lake, and when Stiles closes his eyes a few minutes he thinks he hears a faint "No."
-
The next time it happens, Stiles is barely in the lake before Derek is walking through the patch of trees.
He goes closer than the last time and takes off his shoes and socks so his feet and the edge of his trousers dip into the cold water.
They don't talk, only the sounds of birds and rustle of leaves mixing in the air, and Stiles closes his eyes, doesn't find it weird with Derek there, even when he can feel his eyes on him, feels it strangely comforting instead, and when he opens his eyes again, at some point Derek had moved until he's lying on his side, fingers swirly in the dirty lake water, his face relaxed and open, and Stiles can't help the small hitch in his breathing.
They don't leave the lake until it starts to get dark, and Stiles' skin is wrinkled tight and he's shivering, Derek long ago put his shoes and socks back on. Stiles doesn't turn as he puts his clothes back on, his shirt sticking to his skin and his jeans rubbing raw, and they continue not to speak as they walk back the house, but when Stiles leaves to go to his Jeep, Derek stops him with a warm hand on his arm.
"This was... Nice."
And Stiles blinks, because, it was.
He smiles, says, "Yeah, it was." and when he's halfway driven down the lane, shouts "Same time next week!", he doesn't think he imagines Derek's laughter.
-
They visit the lake four times in the next week, and on the third Stiles convinces Derek to go in.
He stays in his boxers, and Stiles kind of thinks the way he shy's away from the water reminds him of a scared cat, but he doesn't say anything, and when Derek's finally all the way in, he resists the urge to splash him.
Stiles allows himself to float on the surface, and tries to ignore the shiver of something low in his gut, and the lump of nervousness in his throat at being so bare and pale thin compared to Derek, but Derek doesn't say anything.
By the time they leave, they're both shivering and flushed cheeks, and there's something like live-wire between them.
-
There's a pile of rocks on the corner of the lake, with a small almost cave underneath it. Stiles doesn't know how he found it, but he likes to swim under and place his face there, likes to see the small fish that live there.
It's not until a shadow falls over him, does he come up for air, and when he does, he sees Derek, hands in his jacket pockets, and face scrunched into a frown.
"What are you doing?"
Stiles blinks water out of his eyes, tells him all about the little cave, and only laughs and swims backwards when Derek simply raises an eyebrow.
Derek doesn't walk to the edge of the lake this time though instead crouches down on the pile rocks and waits for Stiles to swim back.
There's something odd, something intense and almost scary about the way Derek is staring him, something that makes Stiles' stomach flutter and his breath catch.
When he opens his mouth to question, the words are quickly muffled before his teeth, his lips covered by Derek's.
It's not a messy kiss, and there's not tongues or clacking of teeth and knocks of noses, only dry chapped lips and warm breath and when Derek pulls away he tips his head up so their noses barely brush together before leaning back and watching, waiting, for Stiles.
"Oh," he says, and it's quiet, just a breath of sound, and he ducks his head, his eyelashes fanning across his cheeks, "Oh."
"Oh?" It's a question, but Stiles can only breathe "Yes" in reply before he's leaning up and catching Derek's lips in another kiss.
He thinks that when he looks back on their first kiss he's going to laugh, and play it over and over again in his head, because it's like a scene from The Little Mermaid, but it's perfect and soft and quiet and it fits.
-
Stiles doesn't like to sleep with his hands or feet dangling over the edge of the bed. And when he and Derek started sharing the same bed, he tucks his feet between Derek's, and one hand curled to his chest, the other around Derek's waist, and sometimes he'll dream of their lake and broken arms.