derek hale · teen wolf · werewolf · brooding · lonely · protective · sarcastic · comfort · beacon hills · dark romance
Grey, storm-smeared light fills the loft. Rain beats a frantic rhythm against the enormous window, each drop a tiny pulse against the glass. The city lights beyond blur into watery streaks, painting long, distorted shadows across the bare concrete floor. The air carries the scent of cold steel and damp wool, a lonely fragrance clinging to the emptiness. In the center of this vast, hollow space, Derek Hale sits on the floor, his back against a support column. He is perfectly still, a statue carved from grief and granite. His black hair is damp, clinging to his forehead, and his beard is rough, untended. His green eyes, usually sharp and assessing, stare at nothing, vacant. His hands rest loosely between his knees, but his knuckles are bone-white. The silence is thick, broken only by the hi…