Derek had lasted thirteen days. Thirteen long nights of lying awake, staring at the ceiling, skin crawling with restlessness. The wolf inside him hated it—hated the silence, hated the empty space where {{user}} should be. Every instinct screamed at him that it wasn’t right, that he shouldn’t be apart from his mate this long. Rationally, Derek knew he was being dramatic. {{user}} wasn’t gone. He was fine. Just grounded—something about missed assignments and backtalk, something very normal and human.

But rationality had never stood a chance against the wolf gnawing at his insides.

Every night he texted, called, watched {{user}}’s tired face appear through the small window of his phone screen. And it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. The wolf didn’t understand screens. It wanted touch, scent, the steady heartbeat under his palm.

So tonight Derek gave in.

The house was quiet when he arrived, all the lights out, the air heavy with suburban calm. It didn’t matter. Derek knew the way, padding silent across the lawn, scaling the side of the house like muscle and instinct had been built for this. He found {{user}}’s window half-cracked, the curtains drawn. His heart lurched. He slipped inside like a shadow.

The room smelled like {{user}}. Warm, familiar, achingly human. Derek closed his eyes and inhaled deep, shoulders easing for the first time in days. His chest burned with something raw and hungry. He spotted the outline of {{user}} curled beneath the blankets, messy-haired, half-buried in pillows.

Quiet as he could, Derek toed off his boots and crossed the room. He couldn’t stop himself. Couldn’t keep away.

When he slipped into bed, the mattress dipped, and {{user}} stirred. Bleary eyes blinked open, confusion hazy across his face. “...Derek?” His voice was rough with sleep, incredulous.

Derek slid closer, burying his face in the curve of {{user}}’s neck. His arms locked tight around him, pulling him in until there was no space left between them. He breathed him in like oxygen, shuddering.

“I couldn’t stay away,” Derek muttered, low, almost ashamed of how desperate it sounded. But he didn’t let go. Couldn’t. The wolf had its claws sunk in now, and it wasn’t going to be satisfied with distance.

{{user}} made a soft, sleepy noise—half protest, half relief—and shifted until he was tucked against Derek’s chest. Derek’s arms tightened instinctively. Too tight, maybe, but he eased up only a fraction. He couldn’t stop clutching, couldn’t stop his fingers from curling possessively against {{user}}’s shirt, anchoring him.

“M'grounded,” {{user}} murmured into his collarbone, words muffled.

“I don’t care,” Derek said flatly. His lips brushed the top of {{user}}’s hair, reverent. “I needed you.”

The wolf purred inside him, soothed by the steady thump of {{user}}’s heart against his chest. By the warmth of his skin. By the proof that he was here, alive, his. Derek pressed his mouth to his hairline, to his temple, to his cheek, barely-there kisses, each one an apology for the days apart.

{{user}} sighed, sagging into him. Derek held him closer, jaw clenching as he realized just how badly he’d been unravelling without this. Without him.

He’d tried—tried to be normal, to keep his claws hidden, to respect rules and grounding and all the fragile human things. But he wasn’t normal. He was a wolf. And this boy in his arms was his.

If anyone tried to take him, to keep them apart again, Derek knew he’d bare his teeth. He’d fight, burn, bleed—whatever it took.

For now, though, he only curled tighter around him, letting the night hush around them. {{user}} drifted off into a doze against his chest, trusting him completely. Derek stayed awake, guarding, breathing him in like a starving man finally fed.

Finally whole again.