Stiles stood in the elevator of Derek’s building, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground as the lift took him to the top floor.
Derek had texted him a simple, "Come to the loft", and Stiles practically bulldozed his way out of his house to get on the road.
See, with Derek, his texts were always so vague and so many possible interpretations could stem from them. Stiles didn’t know if “come to the loft” meant that something serious was happening, and that Derek needed aid, or if Derek just wanted to talk.
Nevertheless, it had been quite a while since Stiles had actually come face-to-face with Derek, alone. Not since everything had finished up with the Darach and the Nogitsune.
The doors of the elevator lift opened and Stiles stepped out. He made his way down the darkened corridor until he reached Derek’s loft. He grabbed the handle of the door, and slid the monstrous hunk of metal down its track, opening the loft to himself.
Beyond the threshold of Derek’s door was a sight that caught Stiles by surprise. It was dark, but there were about thirty twinkling light-bulbs hanging from the ceiling by cords of various lengths—almost as if they were floating.
"Wh—what is all of this?” Stiles asked, stepping forward into the loft, while Derek stood in the middle of all the floating lights with a soft grin tugging at the corner of his lips.
"An apology," Derek paused. "and hopefully a second chance to do what I should have done from the start."