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Stiles is dancing.
He's nearly knee-deep in the freeze of it all, a paper bag of roasted peanuts and jellybeans swaying precariously in his hand, lines from the play and laughter spilling from his sugar-salted lips, dancing.
Derek's lungs, twinkling from the sharp, crisp air, forget altogether how breathing's supposed to get done. His heart seems to decide to pick up the slack, and the butterflies in his belly are honestly so juvenile he's a little surprised at himself.
Stiles twirls with the wind and the snowflakes and the height of his damnable ridiculousness, sunshine eyes bursting supernovas when he smiles, all that bright in him just pouring recklessly out. Like it's infinite, endless, like he doesn't have to worry about reaching the bottom and coming up empty. And the fresh snow soaks up all that lovely, reflects it back until even the stars can only stare on in jealousy.
Derek wants to tell him he's being an idiot, wants to tell him he's going to catch a fucking cold, wants to wrap his loose scarf more warmly around his bare, cinnamon-speckled sweet-cream throat.
But he's still trying to remember how to breathe.
[Or: That one with a whole fucking lot of xmas fluff, honestly]
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ohhhh
you know these short fics that are written so well they feel like long ones? it's definitely one of them
my heart is so full