“things you said at 1am”
“D’rek?” Stiles slurs on his shoulder as Derek struggles to keep him upright on the way up the stairs.
“Yes, Stiles?”
“D’you think unicorns exist?”
If Derek had a free hand, he’d be pinching his nose right now. Why did he volunteer to take care of drunk-Stiles? Oh right, because Scott made puppy eyes at him. Derek rolls his eyes at himself as he rights Stiles flush against him. It’s been nearly ten years. Scott should not be able to use the same eyes on him goddammit.
“No, they don’t, Stiles.”
“But werewolves exist and so do wendigos and werecoyotes and banshees and hunters and other werewolves and trolls and leprechauns and demon wolves and – hic – and hellhounds and – why don’t unicorns exist?”
Stiles looks like he’s about to cry. For fuck’s sake.
Derek sighs. “Maybe they exist.”
“Why’d you lie?” Stiles pouts. They reach Stiles’s room and Derek pushes the door open, manhandling Stiles on to the bed. Getting Stiles into his PJs would be a moot point plus his jeans are soft enough to be comfortable in bed so he’ll be fine, Derek decides.
“I was just kidding,” Derek offers.
Stiles cross his arms over his chest, glaring at the blanket that Derek covers him with.
“That’s mean. You should apologize.”
Seriously, Derek’s thirty years old. What is his life right now?
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes with as much patience as he can muster. Derek turns to leave when Stiles catches his wrist, stopping him. Stiles makes a beckoning gesture at him, patting the space right on the edge of the bed, and Derek huffs but sits nonetheless. “What?”
Stiles stares at him silently. “Today was my birthday.” When Stiles doesn’t continue beyond that, Derek raises his brows and nods as if to say, Okay, go on. “Today was my twenty-fifth birthday and ten years ago when Scott got bit I promised myself that if I made it ten years, I’d do something that really made me happy.”
Derek frowns. Made it ten years? Did Stiles really think he wouldn’t have been alive at twenty-five? He takes a deep breath; even the thought of it makes Derek’s blood run cold.
Stiles bites his lips, looking unsure all of a sudden. “And I want to do that.”
“Okay, you should.” Because yeah, dammit, Stiles deserves to be happy. And he says as much.
“I’m glad you said that because you make me happy, Derek.”
Derek’s eyes fly open because there’s no way–
“You make me so happy, dude, you don’t even know. Like every time you leave the Sunday crosswords for me before pack brunch and when you make popcorn for us on movie nights, you always make sure you make some of the natural ones for my dad and you send me cute animal videos when I’m stressed and you always visited me at college at least once a month but you only went to see Isaac and Scott once every two or three months so that clearly means I’m your favourite and I like that so much, dude, because you’re my favourite. We can be each other’s favourite, Derek, think of the possibilities!”
Derek feels like someone just yanked the ground from under his feet because what the actual fuck.
“Stiles–,” he starts but Stiles waves a hand dismissively.
“You make me happy and I love you and I just wanted to say it because I made promise to myself. We can deal with all the other stupid shit later. It’s late, Derek, go to sleep,” Stiles smiles sleepily, sinking into his pillow. Two seconds later, he’s snoring.
The fact that Derek even makes it to the couch downstairs is a miracle but he doesn’t fall asleep for hours, mind in a whirlwind of racing thoughts and overflowing emotions.
–
The next morning, Derek wakes up Stiles with fresh coffee and eggs made just the way he likes them and when Derek deems Stiles sober enough, he slowly puts the dishes aside before kissing Stiles senseless.
They don’t get out of bed for hours.
Sterek, #1
Published
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