Oh my god, [ Derek repeats, not quite under his breath. as though in defeat, he slumps forward. regret is a weighty burden to bear. melodramatic as he might feel, however, he faces Stiles with a flat, impassive expression, lip just curling - like this should be obvious. he's been granted a choice between mortification, or poking at Stiles. it's not a difficult decision to make. ]
no subject
In my arms. Like a child.