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Derek has been at his house for less than two days and Stiles is deeply regretting his decision to offer Derek a place to stay. Well, it was more like he didn’t try to throw Derek back out the window when he creeped in two nights ago, but he would have made a valiant effort if he’d known what a pain in the ass Derek would be.
“Dude, you don’t have to sleep on the floor. Scott and I sleep in this bed together all the time and we just stay on our sides of the bed. No unwanted touching,” Stiles says into the dark room. There is just enough light from the window that he can see Derek’s outline on the floor. Even the shadow of Derek looks grumpy.
“For the last time, the floor is fine,” Derek pauses, “and stop calling me dude.”
Stiles scoots back into his bed so Derek can’t see his face in the dark and smiles. The only bonus to having Derek here is that he is so easy to annoy. Stiles runs his finger along the small tear on the seam of the blanket covering his bed.
“You know, the probability of being falsely accused of a crime and sent to jail is only like 10% tops, so there is hope we’ll figure something out, at least before you get sent to jail for life.”
Derek’s sigh is loud in the room, even to Stiles’s ears. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yes? But when you ask it in that tone, it makes me feel like it isn’t working.” Stiles has to work not to laugh and make his voice sound as grumpy as Derek’s. He fails though because no one in the history of the world has ever been as grumpy as Derek Hale.
“Go to sleep, Stiles. You have school in the morning.” Derek’s voice is firm like he is going to will Stiles to shut up and go to sleep.
“I’m not tired yet.”
“You will be if I punch you in the head.”
Stiles flops over and fluffs his pillow. “Okay, geez. No need for violence, Sourwolf.”
The next day at school, Stiles sits in World History. They are talking about Churchill, and Stiles read that book last year, so he is barely paying attention. Instead, he wonders what Derek gets up to while Stiles is at school. Maybe he should have gone to the store to get Derek some extra food. Fridays are slim pickings at the Stilinski household because he and his dad go to the store on Saturday mornings, after they go eat breakfast at Gina’s diner.
Not for the first time, Stiles wants to tell his dad what is going on. He is soul tired of the pained look on his Dad’s face when he knows Stiles isn’t telling him the entire truth, which these days, is all the damn time. In true Stilinski fashion, Stiles has managed to avoid any conversation that would lead his Dad to have a closer inspection of his room where a rather large, unfairly good-looking, werewolf has been sleeping at night and hiding out for most of the day.
An image of Derek from this morning, face up to the morning sun with the sheet slipped down to his waist and exposing his bare chest rears unbidden in Stiles’s mind. Derek always, always looks as tight as a spring, ready to escape at a moment's notice, but when he sleeps, he looks young, relaxed, and more approachable. Stiles shifts in his seat and adjusts himself. Derek Hale has no business being that perfect of a specimen when he is such a grump that he borders on asshole. Stiles feels, as with most things, that life has been particularly unfair to him because of course he finds Derek with all his asshole grumpiness attractive.
At lunch, Scott sits down before anyone else joins them. “How’s your guest?”
“Cantankerous. Surly. Crotchety. Sullen. Irritable. Bad-tempered. Querulous. Petulant.” Stiles shoves a fry in his mouth and chews with more vigor than necessary.
Allison sits down next to Scott, followed by Lydia, and a frowning Jackson.
Lydia cocks an eyebrow at him, “Why are you listing off synonyms for grumpy?”
Stiles shoves another fry in his mouth as if it has wronged him. “SATs.”
Lydia gives him a look that would melt a snowman. Stiles ignores her and continues attacking his fries.
Scott tries again in Chemistry. “Seriously, how’s Derek?”
“I need a way to get him to relax. The dude does not know how to have fun, like, at all.”
“If anyone can figure it out, you can.” Scott grins at him and Stiles knows that Scott will always think the best of everyone.
“That’s it. I know what to do.” Stiles needs to treat Derek like he would Scott. Derek needs to have some fun.
“See, I knew you could do it.” Scott claps him on the shoulder.
The teacher is suddenly looming by the desk, her mouth turned down into a tired frown. “Gentleman, please pay attention to the open flame in front of you. I already had to send two kids to the nurse.”
That night, after Derek has eaten the roast, potatoes, and carrots Stiles snuck up to him while his dad was out back on the porch, Stiles puts his new plan into effect. He starts out easy.
“Play Mario Cart with me.”
Derek blinks at him as if he is speaking Latin instead of demanding Derek play a fun video game.
Stiles tries again. “You know, characters in cars throwing mushrooms and stuff. If you want we can play the one where we try to pop the balloons on the back of our cars.”
Still the blankest of stares, but this time the eyebrows go down and Derek narrows his eyes.
Stiles sighs, the deepest of sighs. “Look, you need to relax. Have some fun. If you’re trapped in this room with me, you have to learn to do something other than brood, stare, and sleep, because you’re going to start to affect my psyche and I’m still an impressionable teen who is growing. It could have serious detrimental long-term effects on me. I might need therapy. More therapy than I already receive from a certified professional.”
“Shut up, Stiles.”
“Excellent. I’m taking that as a yes.”
Stiles pushes Derek onto the floor. He is well aware that Derek is letting him maneuver him around the room, but he enjoys it anyway. Derek’s shoulder is warm under his hand and Stiles has to work to ignore the remaining sensation when he lets go. Stiles hands him a controller and sits next to him. Their backs are to the bed and their bodies are twelve inches apart.
It takes Derek two rounds before the rigid set of his shoulders eases, then it’s like a slow stream over rocks as Derek’s body eases into the space around him. It takes four rounds before Derek pops all the balloons on Stiles’s car. After that, it’s a dead heat as to who has the upper hand. After the last game, Derek turns to Stiles and the corners of his mouth move up.
It’s an honest to God smile, a small one, but it transforms Derek’s face and it constricts everything in Stiles.
“Thanks, Stiles.” Derek’s face still holds the small smile as they put away the controllers and turn off the system.
Stiles nods because he’s not sure his voice can get across the feeling in his throat. He swallows and finally says, “No problem.”
Stiles lays in bed when they turn off the lights and thinks about the heat of Derek's shoulder and the power of his smile. He can hear the sheets rustling as Derek gets comfortable in his bed on the floor and Stiles has to work to not let his brain go any further than that. He rolls over and pushes down all the thoughts that want to crowd forward. He absolutely should not be having them and they will do him no good.
***
While Stiles and Noah are gone during the day, Derek prowls around the house. He checks all the windows, tests the fire alarms, and reads one of the books he pulled off the built-in shelves in the living room. It’s a well read copy of Pride and Prejudice . The first page has a book plate in it that reads, “From the library of Claudia Stilinski.”
Derek’s gut twists. Stiles knows what it means to lose someone and Derek thinks that is why Stiles is trying so hard. Last night was the most fun Derek has had since Laura. Laura would insist on movie nights, curled up on the couch eating popcorn, until they fell asleep. The weight of grief presses on him and Derek drops onto the couch.
His family is gone. Peter hardly counts, after all. Derek is the only Pack left. There is nothing worse than a wolf alone in the world and Derek can feel the crazed press of loneliness leaning into him from all sides. He takes a deep breath and his senses are filled with the smells of home, not his, but a home nonetheless. Noah’s crisp scent, a mix of the Irish Spring soap he uses, gun oil, and pine. Stiles’s scent is more complicated. Citrus, cedar, soap, and a spark of electricity. There is something else about Stiles that Derek can’t place, an underlying note that feels like it should be familiar. The mystery should worry him, instead it feels like safety, and it has been a very long time since Derek felt that.
He wrestles that thought down. Nothing is safe. If life has taught him anything, it’s that.
Derek reads and thinks of nothing but the way Austen writes dialog and characters until he hears the rumble of a familiar Jeep. There’s a small thrill from knowing Stiles is coming home and Derek does let that feeling stay. He’s been alone for a long time and it’s been nice the last few days to not be. Derek notes the page number in his book and slots it back into place, running his finger over the spine.
The front door opens and brings with it a fresh wave of Stiles’s scent overlaid with anxiety. There is a dropping sound in the entryway and Stiles toes off his shoes before he starts walking toward the stairs. He jerks to a stop when he sees Derek standing in the living room. The anxiety smell dissipates and Derek wonders what made Stiles worry - that he would be gone? - but that seems ridiculous. No one worries about him.
“Hey, you left the room.” Stiles bites his bottom lip quickly and Derek’s eyes follow the movement instead of Stiles’s arms that make a sweeping motion. “Not that you can’t leave the room. I’m glad. I was worried you felt trapped in there all day like an animal.”
Derek raises his eyebrows at that, mostly because he knows it will make Stiles keep talking and less because of what Stiles just implied.
Stiles takes a few steps closer to him and waves an arm again. “Not that I think you’re an animal. I mean you do turn furry, sort of, why can’t you turn into a real wolf? I feel a bit let down by that, to be perfectly honest. Wolves are so soft and fluffy, but also want to bite out your throat, so I really would have loved the opportunity to pet one.”
“Stiles, stop.”
Stiles nods a few times. “Dad will be home for dinner and I promised him I’d make chicken picatta for dinner.” Stiles makes a face. “I need to shower first. Finstock was a beast today. You can grab a snack if you want and then keep me company in the kitchen until Dad gets home.”
Derek agrees and Stiles whirls around and bounds up the stairs. Derek stays downstairs and sits at the table. He does not, as Stiles suggested, get a snack. He can wait for dinner and, besides, he’s been careful not to eat much while neither of the Stilinski men aren’t home. He doesn’t know if Noah would notice the extra food gone. Noah is smart, observant, and Derek does not want to be found. He does not want to lose this place that has become a sanctuary.
Stiles is singing in the shower, a song Derek has never heard so he knows it must be something recent. It’s been about a year since Derek listened to the radio. The first time Derek heard Stiles sing he was shocked. Stiles has a liquid tenor, sure on every note, and Derek allows the sound to seep into his bones as he sinks into a kitchen chair.
Stiles is downstairs in less than ten minutes, hair wet and amber eyes shining with energy, the singing voice tucked away for the next shower. Derek watches as he starts pulling things from the fridge.
Derek decides to try. He used to know how to talk to people. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
Stiles pauses with a pan in his hand. His hand tightens on the handle then the tension releases. There is the slight smell of grief in the air, but it disappears almost as soon as Derek smells it.
“My mom died when I was a kid. After a few weeks of hit or miss meals, my dad and I made a pact. We both learned to make five meals well and we rotated between them.” Stiles smiles and twirls the pan in his hand. “We expanded our repertoire, but those ten are our comfort foods. Later on, we mastered some of Mom’s old recipes, but it was a long time before we tackled those.”
“It hurt too much to make them.” Derek knew.
Stiles’s back is to him but he nods. “Yeah, it did. The first time we made goulash we both cried.”
Derek is on his feet and moving towards Stiles before he is conscious of it. He wants to touch him through the grief. He fists his hands instead. “Can I do anything to help?”
Stiles squeaks a little and looks over his shoulder with a frown. “Make some noise. You just took twenty years off my life.”
“Why? That noise you make when you’re scared is funny.” Derek leans against the counter and smiles but it’s predatory.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “That big bad wolf smile doesn’t scare me, dude. I know it’s a fake smile. You don’t actually smile because it would break your face. I also know you wouldn’t hurt me.”
Stiles is right, Derek would never hurt him, but he can’t help but poke. “Are you sure? I want to punch you in the face every time you open your mouth.”
“First off, rude.” Stiles waves a knife at Derek. “Second, I’m holding a knife so maybe keep the insults to a minimum. Third, if you wanted to hurt me, you already would have, a long time ago.”
Derek’s mouth twitches up into a real half smile. Stiles’s eyes see the expression and Derek catches the pleased look on Stiles’s face before he looks back down at the chicken on the cutting board.
“You can cut things up for salad.” Stiles starts slicing the chicken into filets.
Derek blinks. He had forgotten that he had asked Stiles if he could help. A warm feeling settles in his chest and Derek does not hide the upturn of his mouth as he chops lettuce, cucumbers, tomatoes, carrots, and peppers. He knows Stiles steals glances at him every so often.
“What else can you cook?” Derek asks.
“Spaghetti and meatballs and macaroni and cheese. Eventually, I learned how to make those from scratch, took me a bit though. A tuna noodle casserole recipe that I had once at Scott’s and liked. I also chose fried rice and baked chicken with vegetables. Oh, and french toast.”
“That’s six things.” Derek dumps the last of the peppers into the salad bowl.
Stiles looks up at him and grins. “I know but I really love french toast. I’ll make it tomorrow and save you some.”
Derek must look confused because Stiles adds, “Tomorrow is Saturday.”
“I lost track of the days,” he admits.
“I forget what day it is and I’m not on house arrest, so…” Stiles shrugs and pokes at the chicken in the pan.
Derek tilts his head slightly, listening. “The patrol car just pulled onto your street.”
Stiles chuckles.
“What?”
“You tilted your head like a dog.” Stiles’s grin is full of amusement with no hint of malice.
Derek knows he can and that it unnerves Stiles, so he steps into Stiles’s space and drops his voice. “I’m a wolf, Stiles, not a pet.” Derek expects some anxiety or fear, but what he gets is a fresh wave of warm citrus filling his nose. It unsettles him more than he cares to admit that Stiles isn’t scared of him when he absolutely should be terrified.
Stiles’s smile fades and he reaches out to Derek, wrapping his long fingers around Derek’s arm. “I’m sorry you have to hide upstairs. I’ll bring you some food once Dad settles on the couch. If we get through this, I want you to come to dinner some time and sit at the table like a normal person.”
Derek nods, swallowing past the lump in his throat as he escapes up the stairs, arm branded with kindness he does not deserve. Derek goes into Stiles’s room and listens as father and son greet each other. They talk about their days and share stories. A canyon of longing opens in Derek. It’s been years since he had that kind of conversation with his parents, with anyone but Laura, and now she’s gone too.
Stiles brings him food later, then retreats back downstairs to watch a show with his dad. Derek takes the first bite and closes his eyes. It’s perfectly cooked and wonderful. He takes slow bites and savors every taste and tries not to think about the way Stiles’s hands looked as he cooked.
Stiles comes back into the room a couple of hours later, Noah moving past him to his own room.
“The picatta was perfect. Thank you.” Derek speaks first for once.
“Awesome. It’s early still. Want to watch some Netflix?”
Derek nods. Stiles grabs his laptop and flops onto his bed, then pats the comforter. Derek crawls onto the bed, taking the side next to the wall that Stiles has left him.
“Have you watched Community or Parks and Rec?” Stiles asks.
“Laura and I started watching Community but didn’t finish.” A sharp grief pinches at him.
“Great. We’ll pick up where you left off then.”
They settle in with the laptop between them. Stiles starts laughing before the jokes land when he knows they’re coming and Derek finds himself being more in tuned to that sound than what is happening on the small screen. He relaxes into the feeling, allowing himself to exist in the moment for once. It feels foreign, but not threatening, to be here with Stiles.
After six episodes, Derek looks over and Stiles is asleep, his long brown lashes against pale skin. Something tightens in Derek and he breathes through the desire, which only serves to give him an entire lungful of the smell of Stiles asleep. Derek clenches a handful of the blue plaid comforter to keep from reaching out to Stiles. Instead, he closes the laptop and slips out of the bed. He unrolls the sleeping bag Stiles has left for him while sneaking glances at the prone figure on the bed, snoring softly. The floor is hard, but it’s not the worst place he’s slept. At least here, he can think about the person in the room with him and know he’s not alone.
The next day, the french toast is amazing, as promised. Derek eats in the kitchen while Noah and Stiles are at the grocery store.
“Want to watch some more Community?” Stiles asks later when they are in his room and Noah has gone to bed. “I can make some popcorn.”
“Sure.” Derek sets up the laptop and waits for Stiles.
Stiles joins him a few minutes later with a bowl of popcorn that smells like chocolate. Derek looks inside the bowl and what is nose sensed is confirmed. “Why are there M&Ms in this popcorn?”
“Because extra butter and M&Ms on popcorn is the best way to eat popcorn. That’s why.” Stiles hops on the bed and presses play.
Derek resumes his spot on the bed from last night. He reaches in and grabs some popcorn. “You’re wrong. It’s just extra butter. This is sticky.”
“I know,” Stiles says as he licks his fingers.
Derek’s eyes follow every movement, unable to look away. Stiles isn’t even paying attention to him anymore. He’s looking at the screen, which is good because it takes Derek a few minutes to recover from the visual stimulation of seeing Stiles’s tongue do that.
Once Derek gets himself under control, it’s warm and cozy. During the second episode they watch, Derek identifies the peaceful feeling in his chest. Safety. He hasn’t felt this safe since before the fire. It’s ridiculous that he feels it now when he is wanted for murder and hiding, but he knows with a surerity that has no place in his messed up life that he is safe with Stiles. He should panic. Instead, he inches closer to Stiles and closes his eyes with his lips titled up.
***
It’s the end of the second episode when Stiles hears Derek’s breathing change and he chances a glance at the werewolf. Derek is asleep.
Derek Hale is sleeping in his bed.
Stiles’s brain short circuits then reboots and he notices everything. There are circles of exhaustion under Derek’s eyes. The eyebrows that so frequently judge Stiles are relaxed and Derek is smiling in his sleep. It’s not a full smile, but it is a content one. Derek looks young, and Stiles is reminded that Derek is only a few years older than he is, too young to have lost so much.
Stiles knows grief, has looked into its darkness and come out the other side with scars. He can’t imagine losing the way that Derek has lost. Stiles wants to keep Derek asleep in his bed forever if only to protect him, but also because even asleep, Derek is gorgeous.
Stiles closes his laptop, making as few movements as possible, and places the laptop on the floor next to the bed. There’s a blanket on the foot of the bed and Stiles pulls it over both of them. He scoots as close to Derek as he dares, until he can feel the heat coming off him, but maintaining a small buffer of space. Stiles closes his eyes and falls asleep.
In the morning, Stile wakes up and the other side of the bed is empty. Panic lances through him as he rolls over to look on the floor next to his bed. Derek is blinking up at him, hazel eyes shuttered.
Stiles stills. “Morning,” he ventures.
“Thanks for last night. I haven’t slept that good in…” Derek pauses and his eyes look out the window. “It’s been a long time.”
“You could have stayed up here. I don’t bite.”
Derek’s mouth does the almost smile. “No, but I might.”
Stiles barks out a laugh. “Oh my God, did Derek Hale just make a joke? An honest to God wolf joke?”
Derek stands up and Stiles is almost silenced by the sight of a shirtless Derek looming over him. “Don’t get used to it.” Derek turns and goes into the bathroom.
Stiles is glad to be alone because the way Stiles reacted to Derek standing that close with so little clothing on is no laughing matter. His skin feels electrified and, even now, the proximity of Derek is enough to shut down his brain. It’s how Lydia makes him feel on steroids and if Stiles thought he never had a chance with Lydia, there is no universe in which he has a chance with Derek.
Later that night, his Dad goes to bed at nine pm because he volunteered to take an extra early shift Sunday morning. Stiles and Derek end up on Stiles’s bed again to watch Netflix.
After one episode of Community, Stiles pauses the video before the next episode can play. “Derek, you can sleep in the bed tonight.”
“I can’t kick you out of your own bed.” Derek sighs.
Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “Who said I was sleeping on the floor?” He’s tried for bravado even though the idea scares the shit out of him.
Derek laughs. “You’re hilarious.”
“You said sleeping here was the best sleep you’ve had in a long time, right?” Stiles takes a risk and pokes Derek in the shoulder.
It looks like Derek is in physical pain when he replies, “Yes.”
“So sleep here. I promise not to hog the bed if you promise not to bite.” Stiles tries to sound calm but his heart is pounding in fear that Derek may say no or that he may say yes. Either prospect is terrifying.
Derek growls and it should not be sexy, but everything tightens in Stiles and he sucks in his bottom lip to bite in and hold in the retort on the edge of his lips. Derek’s eyes flick down, then back up to Stiles’s face.
“Fine.”
Derek crawls over Stiles and Stiles moves over to make room. They watch five more episodes and when Stiles yawns for the millionth time, Derek reaches over and pauses the video.
“You’re tired.”
Stiles stretches, aware of Derek’s eyes on him. “I’m fine.”
“Stiles, let’s go to bed.”
They get ready for bed, in a routine that has begun to feel comfortable and timeless. Stiles lets Derek crawl into the bed first. The werewolf scoots until his back is to the wall. As promised, Stiles gets in bed, leaving as much space between them as possible. He turns out the light and then the moon, not yet full, is the only light coming into the room. Stiles becomes acutely aware of the presence in the bed next to him and he curses himself for not thinking through the consequences of his offer. This is not like sharing a bed with Scott. At all.
“What were you like in high school?” Stiles asks, searching for something, anything, to distract him from the person next to him in bed.
His back is to Derek so the first part of his body that registers Derek’s voice is the back of his neck. It’s like a physical caress and Stiles wishes for a moment he would have just gone to sleep, but then Derek’s words flow over him.
“I thought I knew everything, I believed in people for the most part, and I thought nothing could hurt me. I was a lot like you and Scott, actually, except not as smart as you are.”
Stiles turns over in bed to face Derek. He can only see an outline of Derek’s features. “You think I’m smart.”
“I would say yes, but then it’ll inflate your already ridiculous ideas about your own cognitive abilities.”
Stiles chuckles. “Those are a lot of big words for you.”
“I did go to college, Stiles.”
He sucks in a breath. “Wait, you went to college?”
“Yes, what did you think I’ve been doing all this time? Drinking the blood of innocents?”
“Well, no, you only do that on the weekends.” Stiles smiles in the dark.
“Which left my weekdays free for school.” Derek chuckles and Stiles wishes he had night vision as good as a werewolf’s so he could see it. “I was going to NYU. I was studying English literature and business. I wanted to come home and start a business, a bookstore or somewhere people could gather.”
“What happened?”
Derek makes a movement that could have been a shrug. “Laura went missing and I dropped out to come looking for her.” There are so many emotions in that statement that Stiles has trouble parsing them all out.
“How much do you have left?” he asks.
“A year.”
“You should finish.” Stiles wants Derek to have his bookstore.
“I’m wanted for murder and possibly other things, by your dad, I remind you. I can’t make any plans now.”
Stiles reaches out and wraps his hand around Derek’s arm. “We’re going to figure this out. We’ll clear your name and then you’ll be able to get back to your life.”
Derek lets out a long breath. “To be honest, I don’t know what my life is supposed to be anymore. I haven’t had one for a very long time. Since before the fire. Laura tried, but we were both lonely in our own heads.”
Stiles doesn’t have a jaunty quip for that so he gives Derek’s arm a squeeze and lets go. Before he can tuck his hand back underneath his head, Derek grabs his wrist. His grip is firm and sends fire up Stiles’s arm that pools in his lower belly. Desire roars to life in Stiles and he sucks in a breath at the pleasurable sting of it.
“I don’t know if I’ve said it before, but thank you, Stiles - for keeping me safe and for helping me.” Derek doesn’t release his wrist.
“No problem, dude.”
“I know it’s a problem for you and you're more generous than I deserve.”
Stiles swallows past the emotions in his chest. Derek squeezes Stiles’s wrist then releases him. The absence feels unnatural, like Stiles was moored and now is afloat in the waves. It’s unpleasant and he has to close his eyes to get past the sensation.
“Goodnight, Stiles.”
“Goodnight, SourWolf.”
Derek chuckles and he settles in. Stiles falls asleep with the memory of that low sound in his ears.
***
Derek doesn’t wake up until the gray light of dawn is creeping into the window. He’s slept through the night again. He listens to the house. Noah is in the shower. Derek will have to move before he checks on Stiles.
Stiles.
Derek’s chest hurts as his eyes move to the person asleep next to him. There is less room between them than there was when they went to sleep. Stiles is drooling on his pillow and Derek smiles at the sight. Stiles is ridiculous - ridiculously reckless, generous, loyal, and fierce in a way that Derek never expected. He has somehow managed to make Derek feel things he hasn’t in a long time. Hope. Comfort. Things Derek isn’t ready to name.
One of Stiles’s hands is in the abyss of the bed between them. It’s the one Derek grabbed last night when his emotions were too much and he needed the comfort of touch. Wolves touch each other often and it’s been too long since Derek had someone to touch to reassure him that things were okay.
Derek’s movements are slow as he lays his hand over Stiles’s. Stiles doesn’t stir and Derek closes his eyes. The smells around him are of Stiles and Derek, mingled, and Derek lets that settle around him like a blanket. The sounds of this house are safe. Noah is in the next room. Derek knows he could trust Noah under different circumstances. He remembers well the kindness of the man as a deputy after the fire. The Stilinski house feels like home in a way no place has since the fire and Derek wants to stretch and settle into it.
Noah is almost done getting dressed so it’s time for Derek to move. He inches off the bed, careful not to move Stiles and covers up the evidence of another person on the bed as he goes. He tucks himself onto the floor on the far side of the bed a moment before the bedroom door opens.
Noah pauses in the doorway before closing the door again. Derek should stay on the floor, but he’s tired of the floor and he resumes his place on the bed. This time he keeps his hands to himself and goes back to sleep.
That night, Stiles is downstairs for a long time with his dad. Derek can hear them talking and he ignores them until he hears them discussing him, his sister, and the fire. Wild panic nips at his heels as he forces himself to be still and listen. Noah admits that all the people that were killed lately had something to do with the fire.
Was that the reason Laura was here? Did she know something? Derek keeps listening.
Noah is quiet for a long time. “I miss these talks with you. You can talk to me, son.”
“I know Dad. I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.”
“You’re a teenager, Stiles. I expect it, but you can talk to me if something is going on.”
Derek half expects the truth to start pouring out of Stiles, but there is only silence.
Then Noah speaks again. “I miss her. Every day. She would have been better at this, at raising you, than I am.”
Derek’s legs can’t hold him and he sits on the edge of the bed. Derek knows what it is to miss someone every day, to look to the right to tell them something only to find they aren’t there, and to come home to a house that will never ring with their laughter again. The loss of his family, his Pack, is like missing multiple limbs, leaving him to learn to walk and function all over again. Derek drops his head into his hands and wishes for things long gone.
“Dad,” Stiles voice breaks over the word and Derek presses his palms into his eyes at the reflected pain in his own heart. “I miss her too, but you’re doing great.”
“Thanks, kid. I love you. Now, go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”
“Love you too, Pops.”
Stiles comes back into the bedroom a minute later. “Did you hear that?” he asks Derek the moment the door is closed. Stiles eyes are wide with excitement even though the smell coming off him is grief and love.
“Which part?” Derek is still sitting on the bed, still unable to shoulder his grief again.
“The part about the murders. They all relate to the Hale… the fire that killed your family. Someone else knows about the real reason for the fire and who was involved.” Stiles grabs Derek by the shoulders. “The text Allison got from Scott the night in the school.”
“What about it?”
“It didn’t come from Scott. Someone was trying to get her there. We have to find out who sent that text.” Stiles is vibrating with energy.
“How exactly do we do that?”
Stiles gives him a Cheshire cat grin. “I know just the guy we need.”
***
The following days are an absolute nightmare of literal proportions and at the end of it Peter and Kate Argent are dead, Derek is Alpha, and Derek’s name is cleared. Stiles barely has time to breathe. He falls into bed at the end of all of it, hair wet from his shower, exhausted and sore in more ways than one, but unable to sleep. He wants nothing more than to fall into the abyss of sleep. He stares at the ceiling for two hours instead and wonders where Derek is.
Stiles goes to school the next day, grateful for the routine of non-supernatural things. Lydia, Allison, Jackson, and Danny sit by him and Scott at lunch, because that is apparently a normal thing that happens now.
Lydia stares at him for a long time before declaring, “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” Stiles swallows the bite of chicken sandwich in his mouth. “Why would anything be wrong? You’re out of the hospital, Peter is gone, no more rampaging hunters, and Derek is a free man.”
Lydia makes a humming noise of disbelief and drops it, but she still looks at Stiles more often than makes him comfortable.
Scott leans over to him in History after lunch when they are supposed to be reading. “Lydia is right. Something’s going on with you.”
“Nope. Nothing is wrong.” Stiles points to the books in front of him. “We’re supposed to be reading.”
“You seem sad. We won. Everything’s fine.” Scott claps him on the back and gives him a crooked smile.
“I know and I’m fine.” Stiles is lying but he’s not sure yet why he feels like they didn’t win at all.
After school, he swings by the store and grabs things for chicken piccata. He’s halfway through making it, when his heart squeezes in his chest. He has to grab the edge of the counter and breathe through the lance of pain. Last time he made this, Derek was here chopping tomatoes and cucumbers. Stiles allows himself to feel morose for exactly one minute before getting back to work. His dad is happy when he gets home and Stiles is glad to have some time with him after the mess of the last few weeks. They watch a movie then go to bed.
Stiles is brushing his teeth when he looks over his shoulder and the emptiness of his room punches him in the gut. He leans over the sink and spits out the mint foam, rinses his mouth, and stumbles out of the bathroom.
Everything in his room is the same as it has been for the last two years - cool blue walls, beige carpet, the poster of a black hole on a blue background, and his desk opposite the bed. Stiles sits on the edge of the mattress and runs his hand over the comforter, before flopping onto his back. He scoots until his back is against the wall and puts his head on the pillow there, the pillow that has long since lost the faint smell of the person who slept there for a few days. The pillow Stiles has refused to move or use, instead preferring to let it be a spectre of memory.
Stiles has a knack for tumbling headfirst for people so completely out of his reach, they might as well be in a different galaxy. Lydia is becoming something more like a friend to him and he is thankful for that. Derek, though, Derek has landed firmly onto the pedestal of Stiles’s desire and is far out of Stiles’s reach.
I need to get better at falling in love , he thinks before he closes his eyes against the painful beat of his heart. I need to fall for people who I might have a sliver of a chance with.
***
Derek can’t see Stiles from where he’s perched on the roof, but he can hear his breathing even out and slow as he falls asleep. Derek stays for another hour, like he has every night since Peter died, listening to Stiles sleep. It’s ridiculous and Stiles would definitely put this in the creepy stalking category before he yelled at him to get inside and stop lurking.
Derek leaps off the roof and jogs to his car, which is parked three blocks away at a small park. He drives to the other houses, one by one, circling the perimeter of each and reassuring himself that Scott, Lydia, Jackson, and Danny are safe. He avoids Allison’s house because he wants to give the Argents a wide berth. The houses are spread out and it takes him a couple of hours each night, not counting the extra time he spends on Stiles’s roof. At the end of it, he falls into a fitful sleep. They aren’t Pack - Derek isn’t sure what they are - but they have somehow become his.
The emptiness of the old rail station is the only thing that greets him when he walks into the darkness there. Derek doesn’t bother with a light. Instead he sits on the edge of the mattress he’s been sleeping on and remembers the feeling of having Stiles in the same room, sharing the same air, the same bed. Derek’s chest feels like it’s in a vise. Being alone has never been this painful and took him about a week to figure out why.
Somehow, brilliant and beautiful Stiles got under his skin in the most mundane way possible - by always being there when the fight started, by giving him shelter when he had nowhere to go, and by making him watch tv until they both fell asleep. It’s the simplest things that Derek can’t let go of and that cemented themselves into Derek’s soul. Everything is better with Stiles. The turmoil Derek has carried is calm and when Derek is apart from him, everything feels off until Derek can settle and concentrate on where Stiles is at that moment.
That was when Derek realized what had happened. If he stills and concentrates, he can feel where Stiles is the same way he can feel Scott, which shouldn’t be possible under any circumstances except one. Stiles is Derek’s port in the ocean of a world that Derek’s been drowning in for years. Over the past few weeks, Stiles tethered himself to Derek and became his anchor.
Derek can never tell Stiles. Good things do not happen to people that Derek cares about, and Derek wants only the best things for Stiles. Stiles is not something Derek can have. He knows this as surely as he knows that Stiles can be his anchor and never be his . Derek can live with that, even if it means sitting on a roof for two hours every night and wishing for things he’ll never have. It’s a sliver of something good and it’s more than he deserves.
The night is clear two weeks later as he makes his rounds. The stars are out, as much as they can be this close to so much city light and an almost full moon, pulling on Derek like a physical force. Lydia’s house is the third one one his list, after Stiles and Scott. He hears her heart a few houses down and sees her before he’s in her yard. She’s sitting on a cushioned chair on the porch that wraps around to the back of the house.
“Sit,” she says and there is power in that short word. Lydia isn’t a wolf, witch, or druid like Deaton, but she’s something .
Derek may be an Alpha but he knows when to obey an order. He flashes his eyes at her though, to remind her that he has power as well.
Lydia’s lips curl up. “I know you’re the Alpha now, but I thought you and I should have a chat.”
Derek sits in the chair next to her. “I’m listening. Talk.”
“How long have you been guarding all of our houses, because I’m assuming I’m not the only one.”
“Since the night Peter died.” Derek’s voice comes out rough. He hasn’t spoken to anyone in days.
Lydia nods. “We’re becoming your Pack.”
“I think so,” Derek admits, and the rightness he feels at saying the words out loud tell him they are the truth.
“Good. Wolves need a Pack and you’ve been alone too long.” She pauses and continues, “You need to find a real place to live, a place we can all be together sometimes. I think it will help you.”
“How do you know that?”
Lydia gives him a sharp grin. “I’ve been doing my research.”
They sit in silence for a minute before Derek concedes two things. “You’re right,” is the first thing he says.
“I know.” Lydia is smug as she leans back in her chair.
The second thing he says is, “I don’t know how to do this.”
“I know that too.” Her voice is softer this time. “Get a real place to live and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Derek grips his thighs and tries to will away the feeling that he isn’t ready for a Pack of his own. He was never supposed to be the Alpha. Laura was going to run the Pack and he would run behind her. It doesn’t matter how he feels about it though because it appears that he has a Pack and they need him.
Lydia leans forward and places her hand over his. “He misses you too, you know. You should actually talk to him tomorrow instead of just lurking around his house.”
Derek doesn’t need to ask who she is talking about and he doesn’t need to admit to her that she is right. Lydia already knows that she is. The next few nights he continues his routine and doesn’t make himself known to anyone. Despite Lydia being right. He isn’t ready. He may never be ready for that.
He does buy a warehouse and starts renovating it into an apartment.
***
Stiles isn’t ready to go up to his room. It’s too quiet even with Community or Psych running on his laptop after Dad goes to bed. He wants company and he wants to stay downstairs where the memories of Derek’s warmth in his room and bed don’t puncture his heart. He lingers over cleaning up after dinner. He puts the last plate away and drums his fingers on the counter.
His dad is about to walk out of the kitchen when Stiles asks, “Want to play cards or watch a movie?”
“Sure, son.” His dad looks at him with eyes that Stiles swears can lay bare all his childhood fears. “It’s been a while since we played Hand and Foot.”
Stiles grins and gets four decks of cards out of the cabinet in the living room. Hand and Foot is a form of Canasta that his mom loved to play. It wasn’t Dad’s favorite, mostly because Stiles inherited his mothers luck with cards. Stiles has a knack of drawing the right card at the right time. Still, they played a few times a year and remembered how Mom would smile right before she laid down her cards and declared, “Canasta.”
They go through the ritual of shuffling in silence and play the first hand in silence as well. Stiles wins the hand and his Dad the second. They’re halfway through the third hand before his Dad says something that isn’t related to the game.
“Are we going to talk about what’s been bothering you?”
Stiles draws a card and tucks it into his hand. “Do I have the option of saying no?” He discards a three that isn’t helping him.
“No.”
“I believe this is referred to as coercing a suspect.” Stiles frowns as Dad discards a three.
His dad raises his eyebrows at him. “Did you commit a crime?”
“Not recently?”
His Dad’s mouth straightens into a line. “Is that a question? Stiles.”
Stiles discards a king and his Dad picks it up swiftly. “Aw. C’mon. You don’t really want that.”
“Stiles.”
Stiles waves his hands in front of him. “I haven't committed any crimes. Recently.”
“So what is it then?” Dad has gone from mildly frowning to laser focused.
Stiles makes one more effort. “If I say nothing, will you drop it?”
Dad leans back in his chair. “Absolutely not.”
Stiles sighs and drops his shoulders. “My love life, or lack thereof. It’s more of a mess than usual.”
Dad chuckles. “What did Lydia do this time?”
Stiles runs his tongue over his bottom lip and discards a card before laying down one hundred and twenty points.
“Already? Dammit, Stiles, let an old man win sometimes.”
They count up the points and start shuffling for the last hand. Stiles takes a breath. “It’s not Lydia, though for what it’s worth, it turns out Lydia and I are friends now and she’s just as brilliant as I always knew she was.”
Dad looks at him, shuffling and waiting for whatever else Stiles has to add.
“There’s someone else, someone even more out of reach for me.” Stiles taps out the cards on the table to straighten them, getting satisfaction from the loud tapping sound they make on the surface.
“I'm sure whoever she is, you’ll eventually win her over with the Stilinski charm. Worked on your mom just fine and she was way out of my league.”
“He.”
“What?”
“He. It’s a guy.” This is the first time since he came out to Dad that he’s admitted to liking a guy.
Dad waggles his eyebrows at Stiles. “No gender is immune to the Stilinski charm.”
Stiles snorts. “Dad, be serious.”
“I am being serious. Invite him to the house for dinner.” Dad starts dealing out the cards.
“That’s not exactly the kind of date most people find romantic, Dad.” Stiles picks up his cards and starts arranging them.
“No, but if he doesn’t want it to be a date, then you can pass it off as something casual and move on.”
A frisson of excitement zings through Stiles. “Dad, you’re a genius.”
“I have my moments. I’m also off all next weekend.”
Stiles nods. “Thanks. I’ll think about it. I have to get him to talk to me first.”
“You’ve never had any trouble talking.”
“Hardy har har.” Stiles discards a card.
Dad picks up the card. “Pretty sure I’m getting the last laugh here.” He lays down his cards and discards. “I’m out.”
Stiles makes a disgusted noise. “I regret asking you to play.”
“Want to play again?”
Stiles starts gathering the cards to shuffle them. “Of course. I have a reputation to uphold.”
Two hours later, after having beat his Dad twice more, Stiles is in complete possession of his father’s bruised dignity. He makes his way up to his room. It’s still too quiet, but he feels less lonely and he has a plan. Part of a plan.
On Tuesday night, Stiles texts Derek. I need to talk to you. Can you come over?
His window lifts five minutes later and Derek crawls into the room, black chucks first followed by legs that have no right to look that good in jeans. Derek is in his room again.
“I have a front door, you know.”
Derek puts a hand to his chest. “Do you?”
“Think you’re funny now, do you?” Stiles rolls his eyes. “You got here awful quick.”
Derek’s eyes shift right. “I was in the neighborhood.”
Stiles gives him a steady look. Derek is lying or at least hiding something.
Derek takes a step closer to Stiles. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Stiles takes a step closer to Derek, leaving only a couple of feet between them.
“Then why did you text me.” It’s not stated as a question even though it should be one.
Stiles takes a breath. “I haven’t seen you lurking around for a couple weeks. A lot of stuff went down. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Derek leans back. “I’m… fine. Thank you.”
Stiles wonders when the last time someone had genuinely cared about Derek’s well-being was, and his chest tightens. He clears his throat. “Now that you’re no longer a fugitive, would you like to come over for dinner on Friday? Like through the front door?”
Derek frowns. “Why?”
“Because everyone has to eat?” Stiles shrugs. “Because I enjoyed your company and miss your judgey eyebrows?”
Derek’s eyebrows go way up into his hairline. “Did you just admit that you miss me?”
“Nope.” Stiles pops the p and steps close enough to Derek to feel the heat coming off him. “I just admitted to missing being judged on a daily basis by your eyebrows, much like you’re doing right now.”
“Will your dad be home?”
Stiles nods. “Yes, but it was his idea.”
Derek blinks. “It was?”
“Yes.” Stiles is technically telling the truth and technically that is okay. “Look, I’d like you to come to dinner.”
Derek doesn’t say anything and Stiles has to reign in the anxiety that is threatening to overwhelm the small kernel of hope in his heart. Derek’s hands clench into fists and Stiles’s eyes flick down to watch the movements. Derek’s hands are strong and Stiles knows they are warm. A pool of desire flows through him and he can’t hold it back. Derek’s nose flares and Stiles feels his face getting hot.
Derek tilts his head to the side and looks at Stiles. “Yes.”
“Okay. We’ll probably eat at six so come a little before then.”
Derek nods and takes a step backwards, then turns around and disappears through the window. Stiles collapses onto the bed, misses the edge and lands hard on his ass on the floor. Derek is coming to his house for dinner, but it’s not like he asked him on an actual date. Still, Derek said yes and it means that Derek didn’t hate spending time with him. Stiles can work with that. Maybe. If he makes it ‘til Friday.
***
Thursday night, Lydia is waiting for him on the porch again. Derek’s steps slow as he approaches the steps and slips into the chair next to Lydia. She turns off her Kindle and lays it on the table between their chairs.
“Stiles said you are going to his house for dinner tomorrow.”
Derek nods.
“Good. Take a dessert with you. Noah is making lasagna and his lasagna is life-changing.”
Derek growls. He’s not a complete caveman. “I already bought an almond and raspberry torte.”
“It took a lot of courage for Stiles to ask you out, even if it is just dinner at his house. Don’t fuck it up.”
“It’s not a date, Lydia.” The words hurt Derek to say out loud because he had been asking himself the same thing all week. There had been a moment, at the end, when Stiles had smelled aroused and interested, but Derek had excused it as an impossibility and also as something that could never ever happen.
Derek had learned something while staying at the Stilinski house. He’d learned that Stiles is fierce and loyal, brilliant and funny, and that Derek could drown in Stiles’s eyes if he allowed himself the opportunity. Derek knows something else though. He knows that eventually, people he cares about die and Stiles is too precious for him to lose.
“It’s a date if you want it to be, Derek.” Lydia stands up, grabs her Kindle off the table, and goes inside.
Derek leaves, chased away by his own thoughts.
Friday night comes and Derek has to remind himself all the way to Stiles’s house that this is something casual. He’d left his leather jacket at home and opted for a maroon sweater and jeans. He wants Noah’s approval tonight to be friends with Stiles because one way or another, he needs Stiles in his life and it will be easier if he doesn’t have to sneak into the window all the time.
Derek knocks on the front door of the Stilinski house and hears the voices of Noah and Stiles inside.
The door handle rattles as though Stiles has grabbed it quickly from the other side and Stiles says, “Before I open this door, let me remind you that this was your idea.”
“Stiles, stop stalling and open the door.” Noah’s voice is exasperated and firm.
It makes Derek think of his own father and he smiles just as the door is yanked open.
“Derek, you made it.” Stiles smiles but he reeks of nerves.
Stiles has on a dark blue button down tucked into jeans that are tight enough to make Derek question all of his life choices. Stiles doesn’t have shoes on and his feet digging into the rug in the entryway softens something in Derek that he had planned to keep hard and hidden.
“Derek Hale,” Noah says in a flat voice.
Derek drags his eyes from Stiles to the man standing next to him. “Mr. Stilinski, thank you for having me for dinner.”
Noah’s demeanor shifts, his eyes going to Stiles and back to Derek. Noah’s mouth lifts into a smile that is only slightly forced as he motions for Derek to come in. “I’m glad you’re here. You can call me Noah. We’ve known each other long enough and I think, after everything, you’ve earned it. Come in.”
The air in the house is heavy with the smell of marinara sauce, cheese, and sausage. It surrounds Derek and it feels like home.
“It smells amazing in here.” Derek hands the torte to Noah. “I brought dessert.”
Noah smiles at Stiles who is bouncing on the balls of his feet by the door. “Stiles loves my lasagna and asked for it. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” Noah walks toward the kitchen.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Derek asks, following him.
“We can set the table and get drinks,” Stiles replies.
Derek starts to walk toward the cabinet with the plates then pulls himself short. Noah notices the movement, but doesn’t say anything.
Stiles throws himself between Derek and the cabinet. “The plates are here. I’ll get those. Derek, the silverware is in the drawer to the right of the dishwasher. You can get those.”
Derek changes directions and goes for the drawer instead as if he didn’t already know exactly where the forks and knives were located. Noah tries to appear like he isn’t watching everything they are doing while he finishes the salad, but Derek knows the man misses nothing. Everything about Noah’s demeanor is cautious and curious, not combative, so Derek tries to relax. It’s made harder by Stiles leaking nervous anxiety all over the kitchen.
After they all sit down and their plates are full, Noah says, “It’s been a long time since I had company here for dinner that wasn’t Stiles or Scott. Thanks for joining us.”
Sincerity rings though every word and Derek grips his fork. “It’s my pleasure.” Derek takes a bite and it’s perfect. “This tastes even better than it smells.”
Stiles swallows the food in his mouth. “I know, right? You’ll never eat lasagna anywhere else but here after this. They’ll all disappoint.”
“What have you been doing with your time, Derek?” Noah asks.
“I bought one of the old warehouses by the train station and I’m renovating it into apartments.”
Stiles’s eyes go wide. “You did?”
Derek raises an eyebrow at Stiles. “Yes, Stiles, I have an actual apartment.” Stiles smiles at him and Derek rolls his eyes. “I’ve been getting settled and looking for ways to finish my degree online.”
“What? That’s great. Why didn’t you say something?” The look Stiles gives him is both happy and hurt.
“Things have been… busy.” Derek shares a look with Stiles.
“It’s hard to rebuild a life after so much trauma. I’m proud of you.” Noah gives Derek a small smile and continues to eat.
Warmth spreads over Derek at the praise.
“Stiles,” Noah says, “Did you get your Chemistry test back today?”
The conversation ebbs and flows from there and it feels normal, comfortable. Derek enjoys the easy banter between Noah and Stiles. Noah goes out of his way to ask Derek questions and he listens with his light hazel eyes focused intently on Derek.
After Stiles clears the table, Noah stands and puts a hand on Derek’s shoulder. “Would you like some coffee with dessert?” The hand on his shoulder tightens in a gentle way.
Derek has to clear his throat before answering. “Yes, sir. That would be nice.”
“I’m on it.” Stiles goes into motion and Noah sits back down at the table with his back to Stiles.
Stiles faces Derek and gives him a big thumbs up accompanied by a saucy wink. Derek grins back and he swears that Stiles melts a little. The reaction is unexpected and a sliver of something he forgot about floats up within him. Derek should rip it out by the roots, but he can’t because Stiles has his back to him now and is doing a dance while he puts coffee grounds into the filter. It’s such an open and honest thing and Stiles’s ass really does look amazing in those jeans.
“Derek.” Noah’s voice cuts through thoughts Derek had no business thinking and he has to drag his eyes from Stiles.
“Yes, sir?”
“I’m glad Stiles invited you over for dinner.”
“You are?” Stiles asks before Derek can voice the same question.
“I wanted to apologize for all the misunderstandings of the last few months.”
“You didn’t need to apologize, but I appreciate it. In your defense, I didn’t do anything to present myself as someone who wasn’t guilty of something .” Derek felt he still was to blame for a great many things. He should have figured out Peter earlier. Should have taken better care of Scott, Lydia, Stiles, and Jackson. Should have done a lot of things differently.
“It can’t be easy, losing what you have,” Noah continued. “I want you to know you’re welcome here anytime.”
It’s so generous and unexpected. It reminds Derek of an offer his parents would have made. Derek can’t talk so he nods until he finds his voice. “Thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.” Stiles starts to exit the kitchen, then turns to his dad. “Don’t take this opportunity to say anything embarrassing when I can’t hear you.”
Noah sends a level stare in Stiles’s direction. “You know I will.”
Stiles groans as he bounds up the stairs to his room. The bathroom door closes before Noah leans forward.
“I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t take this opportunity to remind you that I own a gun and I expect you to continue to make good choices with yourself if you’re going to be in Stiles’s life. I have to warn you, once Stiles latches onto someone he’s unwavering. Don’t abuse that.”
“I know. It’s one of the things that makes him amazing. I would never knowingly do anything to harm him.” It’s the most honest he has been about Stiles, and Derek has to take a quick breath through the panic.
Stiles pounds down the stairs and bursts into the kitchen before pulling himself up short as if they didn’t hear him running through the house. “Did he tell you he has a gun? Because he always said that would be his opening line if I brought anyone home.”
Stiles closes his mouth forcefully and a blush creeps up his neck. He must have said more in his haste than he wanted.
Derek takes pity on him and decides if he’s going to be honest with one Stilinski, he should be honest for both. “He did, but I assured him I had no intention of breaking your heart.”
Stiles is completely still for five entire seconds while Derek’s words sink in then his face breaks into a blinding smile. Derek would gladly drown in it if he could. Stiles pours coffee and they enjoy dessert. Noah and Derek talk about baseball while Stiles recites stats about each player they discuss.
The feeling of home settles into Derek’s bones and his heart feels bruised and full in the best way. Stiles’s foot is next to his under the table and taps his every once in a while. Derek doesn’t know how he got here, but he never wants to leave. His plans for keeping Stiles at arms length and safe unravel as the night progresses, and Derek does nothing to weave those intentions back together. They are replaced with something else, something new and bright.
After everything is cleaned up, Noah grips the top of Derek’s arm. “I meant what I said earlier, son.”
“About the gun?” Stiles asks.
Noah shoots Stiles a look that clearly says shut your mouth before looking back at Derek. “About coming over as often as you want. I know you’ve been here often enough without my knowledge, but feel free not to hide anymore. In fact, I expect you for dinner every Thursday. I never work late those nights so we have family dinner then.”
“Thank you, that means a lot to me.” The bright feeling in Derek fills all the dark corners he’s been avoiding.
Noah releases Derek’s arm. “Great. Stiles, door open if you go upstairs. I’m going to read in my room for a bit.”
“Dad.”
“Open, Stiles.” Noah says from the top of the stairs. “Night, boys.”
“Want to sit on the back porch?” Stiles shifts his weight from foot to foot. “Or do you want to leave?”
“I don’t want to leave.” Derek takes a step in Stiles’s direction and enjoys the way Stiles breathes in as he gets closer. The air is heavy with anticipation. “Lead the way.”
Derek’s conscience makes one last effort to tell him this is a terrible, very bad idea, and Derek shoves it aside one last time. He trusts Noah more than he trusts himself and Noah is giving him a chance. He wants a chance for something better than what his life has been these last few years. Derek follows Stiles outside.
Stiles sits down on the steps leading into the grass and Derek sits next to him. Close. Shoulder and thighs against each other. Stiles’s breath hitches and the warm smell of arousal melts into the air around them. Derek lets himself be surrounded in the feeling of Stiles pressed against him.
“Thanks for inviting me over tonight.” Derek leans into Stiles a bit then straightens back up.
“It was Dad’s idea, actually.”
“Was it?” Derek turns to face Stiles, which puts their faces awfully close. Stiles’s eyes in the moonlight look like burnished copper. A sliver of disappointment must show on his face because words tumble out of Stiles.
“I mean I wanted you here too. I missed you, actually, and Dad confronted me about the moping and I said I liked someone out of my league and he suggested I invite that person to dinner here so that it was casual and I could gauge how things went.” Stiles slams his mouth shut again as he realizes all the words he just said.
Derek rolls his eyes. “There’s a lot to unpack there.” Derek ticks things off his fingers. “I think things went fine tonight. If it makes you feel better, I missed you too. I would have been too scared to ask you out on a proper date or say yes had you asked me on one, so your dad was right. You are not out of my league. If anything, you are way out of mine. I’m a college dropout with a lot of very dubious life choices behind me, including some that have landed me in jail. Lastly, you are the most beautiful, amazing, and stupidly brilliant person I’ve ever met.”
“You missed me?”
“That’s what you’re picking out of all that? Yes, I did.”
“Would you say yes if I asked now?” Stiles’s face is too close to Derek’s and he doesn’t know what Stiles is asking at first.
“Yes to what?”
“To an actual date, like in public.”
“Yes, I would like that very much.”
Derek wraps his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and watches as Stiles’s pupils expand. The moment tightens and Derek pulls Stiles forward incrementally, giving Stiles plenty of time to protest. Stiles does the opposite. He leans into Derek and plunges his hands into Derek’s hair, gripping it until it pulls, as they close the distance between them.
Stiles’s lips are soft and he opens almost the instant they touch Derek’s. Derek does not hesitate to take the opportunity he’s been given. Stiles tastes like almonds and coffee as their tongues tangle against each other. Derek’s other hand goes to Stiles’s hip and squeezes above the bone. Stiles releases a moan into Derek’s mouth that Derek drinks down like a starved man.
They fall into each other and Derek isn’t as afraid as he thought he’d be because Stiles is there, warm beneath his hands, falling with him. They break apart and Derek presses his forehead against Stiles’s while they catch their breath.
“I’m not good at dating,” Derek whispers.
“I’ve never really done it before at all,” Stiles whispers back.
“Then we can figure it out together.”
It is a long time before they go back inside.