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Stiles can't remember a time when he didn't have trouble sleeping. He drove his parents up the wall by not being able to sleep at night all through his childhood, and since he never made up for it by sleeping late in the mornings either, his life has basically been one long, underslept slog.
The only real progress was when his ADHD was finally diagnosed, and once he got his meds, and learned a few different strategies to fall asleep, it did help. Not by a whole lot, but enough to make life more manageable.
In any case, sleeping is just not something Stiles does a lot of, and it shows. He's always a little gaunt and skinny, and also smaller than most of his peers. His doctor assures him that he'll catch up, but, as always, adds the infuriatingly pointless advice to sleep more.
Yeah, Stiles would love to do that.
But instead he spends every night tossing and turning for hours, experimenting with fans and music and white noise and weighted blankets with varying results. Sleeping pills make him feel ill, or worse; have the opposite effect than the one intended, so those are generally out. Four hours a night seems to be his average. It's not even remotely enough, but it's the best he can do.
So to distract himself from his exhaustion he throws himself into everything with twice the dedication and determination. He learns the hard way to stay clear of sports and anything with power tools, because the number of injuries it gets him not being able to focus properly is just not worth it. What is worth it are the friends he makes along the way. He and Scott meet on the bench during Little League baseball, Scott wheezing around his inhaler, and Stiles cradling a sprained elbow, and it's an instant connection.
He meets Lydia during Mathletes, and competes with her for anything and everything while working through his massive crush on her. They end up friends when Stiles finally figures out how to stop mooning, and how to treat her more like a person. He still counts it as a major point in his character development.
Derek is a later addition to the social circle, only having been in Stiles' life for a few months, but he's quickly risen to the top tier of friend levels, because he's an almost magical combination of everything Stiles needs in his life. Derek is smart, outwardly cynical and brutally realist, but inwardly he's kind of a marshmallow with secret romantic aspirations that he's never been able to hide from Stiles. It's stupidly adorable. He's kind and sincere, but he also won't let Stiles get away with shit, and is also a secret sass master that can match him at every step. On top of that, he's also just a little bit mysterious, having switched to Beacon Hills High from Beacon Valley and restarting a year for reasons he's always been kinda vague on. If there's one thing Stiles loves more than anything it's a good mystery, and even if he never figures it out it'll always be there to add a little spice. It's perfect, really.
One thing Derek doesn't have, though, is decent movie taste.
“No, Derek, no, you can't be serious! Chronicles of Riddick is a terrible movie.”
“Coming from the guy who unironically loves Space Balls, that's really hurting my feelings. Truly, I'm gonna cry,” Derek snarks with zero emotion, because he's amazing at being deadpan.
“Hey! Mel Brooks is a comedy genius!”
Derek shrugs and keeps scrolling through Netflix. “Maybe, but his movies are so low brow I'd have to dig a hole three feet deep to even see them.”
“Rude!” Stiles cries, and elbows him in the side as he climbs onto the bed next to him. “You just don't know what's good. You'd rather torture yourself with two full hours of manpain and grit.”
“The special effects and music are amazing, though. Totally worth it.”
“But the plot, Derek!” Stiles whines, and bangs his forehead dramatically against Derek's shoulder. “What's a movie without a good plot?!”
“A good time where I don't have to think too hard and can actually relax?”
“You're a philistine, Derek, I swear to god,” Stiles tells Derek's upper arm before deciding that he's too tired to argue. Last night was another low average night of sleep, and he got barely three hours. “Fine, whatever, let's watch the manpain.”
Derek turns to stare at him, thick eyebrows raised high. “Are you sick? Did you just say-”
“Yeah, yeah, don't rub it in. 'M just tired.”
There's a pause where Derek looks like he wants to ask, but he apparently decides to let it go, plops the laptop down on the bed between their knees, and settles down with his smelly fruit drops. Which is another area where his taste is sorely lacking. Who even likes hard fruit candy, except for old people who've kept it in their purses and coat pockets since the late seventies? Stiles is half sure Derek is secretly an old man.
Luckily, Stiles has his own soda and skittles, so he's good.
Except, he's apparently not, because he suddenly jerks awake to a completely dark room. It was barely seven p.m. when they settled down for the movie, and Stiles remembers maybe the first twenty minutes of it. He can feel the corner of the completely dead laptop digging into his knee, but he's deliciously warm from the elbow and up, so it's not really surprising to turn and find Derek slumped sideways and conked out too, his profile only just visible in the faint glow of a far-away street light. What is surprising is what Stiles' phone tells him when he checks it to see the time.
“What the hell,” he whispers to himself, because it's four a.m. Which means he's been asleep for something like eight hours. He can't even remember the last time that happened.
Also, his phone is on silent, and he didn't do that. Which means Derek must have done it at some point. Derek, whose curfew is at eleven.
Considering Derek apparently went into his phone, Stiles figures it's only fair he does the same in return. It's right there on the headboard shelf next to Stiles', and his lock pattern is a square, because he's genuinely a a fossil.
The latest text conversation is with Derek's mom.
Derek: 10:49:
Can I stay a little longer, please? Stiles fell asleep on my shoulder, and I don't wanna risk waking him. I don't think he's slept a lot lately.
Mom: 10:50:
Are John and Claudia okay with it?
Derek: 10:52:
His dad came in to check on us and looked kinda shocked that Stiles was asleep. And his face kinda looked like he wanted it to stay that way.
Mom: 10:54:
I'm calling him to ask, and you're doing that gardening you promised first thing tomorrow morning. And if it gets past midnight I don't want you driving, but be back by nine tomorrow, please.
Derek: 10:54:
I will. Thanks mom. Love you.
Mom: 10:55:
Love you too, Nugget.
Stiles has to restrain himself hard from not cooing out loud, because Derek's mom calling him Nugget at seventeen is disgustingly adorable. But he can't mock Derek about it, because every so often Stiles' own mom will bring out the pet names, and Derek is bound to find out if he goes asking. Moms adore Derek, so one innocent question is all it takes for all of Stiles' most embarrassing secrets to come out. He'd rather not give Derek reason to even ask.
He puts Derek's phone back on the shelf and gets up to pee, moving quietly to not wake Derek.
When he comes back he puts the laptop away to charge, half ready to boot it up again out of sheer habit. But his arm is still a little warm, and the bed looks soft, and... well, he's still tired. And Derek has gardening to do in the morning, ugh, so Stiles decides to just go back to bed rather than risk waking Derek with his typing.
There's no chance he'll fall asleep again, so he farts around on his phone for a while, but he's been asleep sitting up for too long, and his neck kinda hurts. So he ends up laying down and putting the covers over himself, throwing them over Derek's legs as well, just to make sure he's not cold, and then...
Sunlight hits him directly in the face, and he groans in protest before realizing that the ache in his cheek is from sleeping on his phone, and that the sunlight is because it's six a.m.
Derek stirs next to him, and slowly blinks his eyes open. He's kind of a mess, hair standing up on one side, and something that looks distinctly like dried drool crusting the corner of his mouth. Stiles can't help but find him kind of adorable, though that could just be the almost intoxicating sensation of actually being well rested. He feels like he could fly.
“Oh. Morning,” Derek says, grinding his palms into his eyes to wake up, so clearly Stiles is the only one feeling well rested.
“Dude,” he says, completely unable to keep the awe out of his voice. “I slept like ten hours.”
Derek shrugs. “Well. Guess you needed it.”
“I've needed sleep my whole life, but I never get it. What did you do, drug my Sprite?”
“No,” Derek says, looking so scandalized Stiles can't help but laugh. “Why would I-”
“Kidding, jeez, Derek.”
“Oh. Okay. I'm... not awake.”
Stiles snorts. “I can tell. You can sleep for like another hour or two, since you got until nine.”
It takes a minute, but then Derek frowns. “You looked at my phone.”
“You put mine on silent,” Stiles points out, but Derek still looks upset.
“To not wake you. I didn't snoop.”
“And I went into your phone to not wake you up either. So I'd say we're equal.”
Derek looks like he wants to argue but can't think of a good enough comeback, so he ends up just scowling and pointedly changing his lock pattern.
“Okay, fine, I promise I won't do it again. I didn't see anything incriminating. Just your mom's texts,” Stiles assures, and Derek narrows his eyes at him.
“Why aren't you mocking me yet?”
“Be... cause you've got dirt on me too? Or can get it with no problem? Seriously, dude, I'm not an idiot. You're ruthless when you wanna be,” Stiles says, and swings his legs out of bed. He feels a little scratchy from sleeping in his jeans, but while Derek is a good friend Stiles doesn't quite think they're at an intimacy level where they can share a bed in their boxers.
Derek is still slumped into the pillows, looking like he's not about to move for a while yet, so Stiles lets him be and sets a phone alarm to make sure Derek gets home on time. The laptop is fully charged again, so Stiles boots it up to check his email. He's about to sit down in his desk chair when he happens to glance back at Derek, who's slumping further and further down into the pillows. He looks incredibly comfy and sleepy, and, well. Stiles has never had a very good relationship with his bed, but it looks super cozy. So he follows the sudden impulsive urge to get himself some of that comfort, and takes the laptop with him back to bed.
“You just snooze on, Der, I'll get you up on time.”
“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Derek says, and burrows his face into the pillow. Stiles grins when the soft snoring starts almost immediately, and lets himself enjoy the heat all along his side.
This is nice.
* * *
Sleepovers have never been much of a thing for Stiles. It was always too frustrating to just stare at Scott's dumb, snoring face when Stiles' body refused to let him sleep too, so he's avoided them in general. Not that he ever got invited to that many, since he never had a lot of friends to begin with, but still.
He likes late and sleepy hanging out, however, because even though he can't sleep he can usually feel the sleepiness of the people in the room, and get almost a second-hand whiff of how it feels like when you're just about to drop off. But he never does, so once people start nodding off he calls it a night.
Derek is kind of a night owl, so he's not actually the best person for that. But ever since he got his own car he's been almost insistent on staying over as late as possible, just so he can enjoy not depending on his sister to pick him up, so he's been suggesting a lot more movie nights with Stiles lately.
Stiles can't say he minds.
“I'm not watching that,” Derek says for the third time, looking like he's about to stomp his foot in protest as Stiles lines up the new Star Trek. “That reboot is a travesty.”
“Dude, I agree, but I can't very well pick it to pieces on the internet if I haven't watched it, can I?”
“Then you watch it, why do I have to?”
“'Cause I don't wanna suffer alone, dude, have some sympathy!” Stiles cries, scrolling through whatever else he can find, and grinning when he finds something he can use. “Okay, how about this. You watch Star Trek with me, and I watch Hannibal: Rome's Worst Nightmare with you afterwards. Deal?”
Derek has a such a huge thing for dramatized historical documentaries, so Stiles isn't even remotely surprised when he gives in.
They're on the couch this time because the WiFi for some reason decided to die, so until they can get it fixed they're forced to hardline it. Stiles' dad had looked distinctly unimpressed when Stiles had suggested they buy a twenty foot cable so he could have internet in his room until the router is fixed, so currently the living room is the only room in the house with internet. It's like the dark ages, and Stiles doesn't appreciate it.
“Okay, fine. But we're watching all of it. No cutting in the middle like last time!” Derek warns, and Stiles holds his hands up innocently.
“I promise, on the beautiful soon-to-be-mine Jeep, Roscoe.”
That seems good enough, and before long they're suffering through the reboot.
Except, Stiles suddenly blinks his eyes open to the DVD menu, as well as his dad in the doorway looking downright gooey.
“What?” Stiles croaks, and then realizes he's been sleeping on Derek again, when he has to nearly pry his cheek off Derek's shoulder. “What time is it?”
“About half past nine,” John says. “You've been out for three hours.”
Derek gives a little snore, and Stiles can't help but grin at him where he's tilted back, head almost wedged between two couch cushions and his mouth wide open. “Yeah, well, guess I'm not the only one.”
“If this keeps happening I might just give Derek a key to the house. Since, you know, once is an incident, twice is a coincidence, so...”
Stiles snorts and cracks his neck where it's been bent awkwardly. “Yeah, yeah, let's not get our hopes up for a pattern just yet, please.”
“You never know, son,” John says, and puts on his jacket. “Gonna go pick up your mom from work. You should probably wake up Derek and get him home before we get back.”
“Yeah, he's got early practice tomorrow, I know,” Stiles says, and waves him off. As the door closes behind him, Stiles ponders his options, and because he's a little bit of an asshole, he quickly puts on Hannibal, and fully intends to slowly wake Derek up and pretend they've been watching for a while. That plan backfires, though, when the next thing he knows, his mom is waking him with a quick shake of his shoulder.
“Hey. I thought Derek had to leave early tonight?”
“What, I'm... what?” Stiles says, feeling groggy, like he's not at all ready to wake up yet. And that's a feeling he's not at all familiar with, so he's very confused. “Yeah, uh. What... what time is it?”
“Quarter past ten.”
“Oh, crap.” Stiles immediately shakes Derek's arm. “Hey, yo, Derek, we dozed off. You're late.”
Derek makes an incredibly cute piggy-snort as he comes around, and blinks dazedly at Stiles and then Claudia. “Oh, hi Mrs. Stilinski,” he says, because he's always so polite, even to people he hates. Stiles admires that about him. Not that he hates Stiles' mom. Not even close. He'd probably not even ask how high if she asked him to jump.
“Hi, Derek. You should probably get going, but maybe splash some water on your face before you get behind the wheel.”
“Oh. Right, yeah, good idea,” he mumbles, and shuffles off towards the bathroom.
Stiles grins as Derek almost walks into a door, and then turns to face his mom, smiling softly at him.
“Do you know how many times in your life I've had to wake you up?” Claudia asks.
“I'm guessing not that many?” Stiles says, trailing off into a yawn.
“You'd be right. Please go to bed, though. Maybe you're on a roll, who knows.”
“Yeah, sure, just gonna send Derek home.”
As if on cue, Derek comes back, looking marginally refreshed. “I gotta-”
“Yeah, lemme show you out.”
He follows Derek to the hallway and watches him put his jacket on, and although Stiles isn't really awake his brain can't help but whiz around. Even now, standing in a chilly hallway, he can still feel the urge to just slide sideways and pass out on Derek's shoulder. Despite Scott's infectious sleepiness Stiles has never felt that urge so strongly with him, and he's definitely never actually fallen asleep on anyone like that. Twice.
“We never finished the movies,” Stiles says, and Derek stops fiddling with his zipper to blink at him.
“Uh. No, we didn't.”
“Try again tomorrow?”
Derek looks like he's pondering it for a second, but then nods. “Sure. I don't have to be up early Saturday, so I can stay late. Maybe I'll ask my mom if I can stay until midnight.”
“Maybe-” Stiles cuts himself off, because he's not sure how you're supposed to ask this. But Derek raises an impatient eyebrow at him, so he forces himself to get it out. “Maybe ask if you can sleep over, instead.”
There's a weird pause where Derek just looks at him, like he's trying to figure out if there's some kind of angle here. But then he just nods. “Okay.”
“Okay. See you at school tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See you,” Derek says with a small smile, and then he's gone.
It's probably gonna flop. Correction: it's definitely gonna flop. But...
Oh, why the hell not.
Derek looks cute when he's asleep, anyway.
* * *
After dinner that night, Derek shows up with a small duffle and a weirdly bashful grin on his face.
“What?” Stiles asks, leading the way to his room, since the WiFi was finally fixed that afternoon, praise baby jesus.
“Well. I know you don't- I mean. Scott told me you don't... usually do this.”
“Oh.” Stiles fidgets awkwardly with his sleeve. “I mean, look, it's... not a big deal. I might not sleep anyway, but, you know. At least you don't snore as much as Scott.”
“Uh, I don't snore at all,” Derek says, and plops his bag down on Stiles' chair.
“You keep telling yourself that, Der,” Stiles says with a snort, because that's adorable, and he's definitely gonna film Derek's disgustingly cute tiny snores at the next opportunity.
Turns out, though, that it's gonna be more difficult than he ever imagined, because the sleepover is a huge success. They both drop off embarrassingly early, Derek's shoulder again somehow having a magnetic effect on Stiles' cheek. Even when he relocates to the mattress on the floor, Derek's presence is apparently still perfectly effective, and Stiles is completely conked out until seven a.m. the next morning.
Derek is not a morning person, so he's completely unconscious when Stiles wakes up. And as much as Stiles would love to sleep in, his ADHD is not about to let him – Derek or no Derek – so by eight Stiles needs to get up and do something or he'll lose his mind. Turns out his dad is up, sipping coffee in the kitchen. Stiles usually isn't allowed stimulants, but his dad pours him a cup, and Stiles takes it gratefully, plopping down next to him at the table.
“I'm kinda freaking out, Dad.”
“That makes two of us, kid. The house is spooky when you're not awake.”
They clink coffee cups, and sip in unison.
“Do you think Derek is magic?” Stiles muses.
“Probably not. Though I'm pretty sure I heard his mom literally growl at me once, so I'm not ruling out the werewolf theory yet.”
Stiles huffs. “Like Derek would be allowed to do sports if he had superpowers.”
“You never know, kid. You never know.”
Breathing out a long sigh, Stiles ponders how his life suddenly took this turn. “Maybe I should just move to his house. Imagine sleeping for eight hours every night. I mean... sounds fake, but okay.”
John snorts. “I think the Hales have enough kids as it is. And I'm not sure, but I think maybe Talia is expecting again. You'd think six kids was her limit.”
“Yikes, really?”
The tap on the back of the head is familiar and expected. “Be nice.”
“Yeah, yeah. Derek is gonna be ecstatic. He loves babies. So do I, actually. How come you guys only ever had me?”
John casts him a look. “Stiles, you never slept. When were we supposed to have sex?”
“Oh, gross!”
“Just sayin' it like it is.”
Stiles shudders again for good measure. “Still. Ew. Don't wanna know.”
“Then don't ask.”
Silence descends for a while after that, and Stiles sips his coffee while his brain is going in all kinds of directions. “Seriously, though. Magic?”
“Nah. Chemistry. Your mom does that for me too,” John says. “Not for sleep, though. Stress. My blood pressure was through the roof before I met her. Doctors said I'd probably have to expect heart problems down the line. Never happened. She just... calms me,” he says on a sigh, and Stiles can't help but smile. As gross as it is to imagine the physical aspects of it, the knowledge that his parents are still as intensely in love as they were the day they met is just really nice. There's so much love in their home at all times, and Stiles feels blessed for being born into it, even if it sometimes makes him a little sad. Because he just can't make himself believe that the odds of him finding something like that for himself are that great when no one wants to even look at him twice. But at least if he ends up never moving away from home it wouldn't be so bad.
“Guess I'll just have to marry Derek, then,” Stiles jokes, and his dad makes a small choked sound.
“Okay. I wasn't quite expecting you to come out like this, but okay.”
“Dad, I was joking, seriously.”
John puts down his coffee to turn to face Stiles fully, and okay, it's apparently time for a Serious Talk. “Okay, well. Even if you were... you know your mom and I are gonna keep loving you no matter what, right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Stiles says, because he does know. Has always known. Considering what they'd suffered through with his ADHD and his never-ending sleep deprivation, which they got second-hand until he got old enough to be alone while they slept, Stiles has never doubted they'd stick with him no matter what.
“Good. Good,” John says and goes back to his coffee.
* * *
It becomes sort of a standing arrangement. Two or three times a week Derek will come over with an overnight bag, and almost every time, Stiles is out like a light barely half an hour into whatever movie they both know they're not gonna finish. His face is getting really very familiar with Derek's shoulder.
They don't ever really talk about it, and it can't possibly last. Especially since they're both seniors, and after graduation they're bound to go to different colleges, but Stiles is determined to squeeze as much out of it as he can. He's not entirely sure what Derek gets out of it, but there's at least a kind of satisfied look on his face every time he has to wake Stiles up to get him to move off the covers or something, so he's probably not hating it.
Stiles doesn't even always wake up completely, and he can't be certain, but he suspects that Derek might actually have tucked him in a few times. He doesn't know how he's supposed to feel about that, so he usually tries not to think about it.
“You know,” Derek says right after Christmas, a couple of months into their new, unspoken pattern. “I wasn't sure I could do this, either.”
“Hm?”
“Sleepovers. It's... not been something I've been able to do. For a few years.”
Stiles fidgets uncomfortably, because clearly the unspoken part of it has gone the way of the dodo now. “Okay?”
“I get nightmares. A lot,” Derek tells the air in front of his face, determinedly not looking at Stiles. “Or. Well, I did. I don't anymore. Not after... this. Even when we're not in the same room.”
Choosing to follow Derek's lead, Stiles nods at thin air. He's been feeling a similar effect. He still has trouble falling asleep when Derek isn't there, but he does sleep, and for a lot longer than he used to. He's almost at normal human levels, and his body is showing it by shooting up a full inch in one month. By this rate he'll overtake Derek by graduation.
“Yeah, uh. Me too. I mean. I sleep better now. All the time.”
Derek nods too, and for a while they both keep their eyes on the movie.
“I just...” Derek trails off again, and Stiles doesn't push him. He's been friends with Derek long enough now to know that pushing him only makes him clam up. That lesson was hard to learn for Stiles, because he's pushy by nature, but it was a lesson worth learning. Treating Derek gently is the key to, like, half of his personality, and, once Stiles had learned, it was a whole new level of friendship that he wouldn't trade for anything now.
“I guess I just wanted you to know. That it's not a one-sided thing. It's good for me too.”
“That's good. Thanks,” Stiles adds, and that seems to be the end of it. He's almost about to nod off when Derek speaks again.
“I almost got my whole family killed,” he whispers, and Stiles nearly stops breathing, afraid to even move, in case Derek didn't mean for him to hear it. “And sometimes I wake up, terrified that it happened. That no one stopped it in time.” He turns his head and sends Stiles a bitter sort of smile. “I couldn't sleep at other people's houses because I'd panic if I woke up and couldn't see my family. I'd have to get up and call them, or go home. It was... awkward. But that didn't happen with you. So I took the chance. And it was good. It's still good.”
Stiles nods carefully. “Yeah. It's good.”
The silence after that feels weirdly charged, but not in a bad way. Before long Stiles can feels sleep pull at him again, and he snuggles into his pillow, which by now has more or less become his universal sign for bedtime.
“Goodnight, Stiles,” Derek says, turning off the laptop and slipping off the bed to get to the mattress on the floor.
“Night, Der,” Stiles whispers to the darkness, and he's pretty sure he hears Derek sigh in response.
* * *
When Stiles first got his driver's license at sixteen, his joy was short-lived, because any freedom it might have given him was immediately taken away thanks to his lack of sleep. Being chronically underslept means that Stiles' reaction time and ability to focus is about equal to someone a few drinks over the legal limit, so while he hates it, he understands that it's just not safe for him to drive alone.
In a fit of optimism, however, he begged his parents to at least allow him to try and save up for his own car, just in case he ever actually found a way to get enough sleep, and thanks to his stupidly particular and obsessive ways, the only car in the world he wanted was the baby blue Jeep displayed at Jerry's lot across from the high school. It's probably the worst possible car for a novice driver, as well as one heck of a gas guzzler, but all those things don't matter, and Stiles named it Roscoe the moment he first laid eyes on it.
It was during his summer job between junior and senior year that he first met Derek, both of them in the same boat, carrying shit around at the farmer's market to save up for cars. Derek, ever the sensible secret grandpa at all of seventeen, got to his goal a lot sooner, because all he set his sights on was a second-hand and dependable Toyota. But it still took him all summer and then some, and by the time school starts again they're friends.
Stiles has kept saving up by selling his various skills online. He may or may not have written a few papers for people, but it's mostly legal stuff like tutoring or finding sources for other people's thesis material. But Jeeps don't come cheap, and he's barely even half-way when one day after school, not long before his eighteenth birthday, his dad hands him... a car key.
“Dad?” Stiles asks nervously, not really daring to hope this is going where he thinks it's going.
“You've been getting over six hours every night for the past month. You're healthier, and you've grown so much we need to buy you new jeans. You've been responsible about saving up and keeping your grades high at the same time, so. Your mom and I thought you'd earned this.”
“No way.” Stiles can barely breathe, because it can't be. But his dad grins hugely, and then shoves him out the door where he's greeted by his mother's delighted bouncing next to the coveted Roscoe, parked neatly in the driveway. “No way!” he yells, and he knows his limbs are flailing around in his excitement, but he barely knows what to even do with himself. His dad reels him in for a half-hug, and Stiles hugs back, clutching his dad's shoulder before flinging himself at his mom.
“You're still paying for half,” she says wetly, making Stiles swallow really hard too, and he keeps hugging her until his eyes feel less leaky.
“Oh my god,” he whispers, not daring to even touch Roscoe, and only moves closer when Claudia gestures towards the car. “Oh... my god, this is... this is amazing, I'm... oh my god.” He pets the hood reverently, the key digging a pattern in his other palm from how hard he's clutching it. “I didn't really think I'd ever-” He can't finish, and then there's a three-way hug happening right there in the driveway, because Stilinskis are huggers.
“Okay, so, rules,” Claudia says eventually, when they finally pull apart. “You pay for your own gas and insurance out of your allowance or paycheck, and if at any point your average sleeping hours drop below six again, you're not driving until they're back up. Deal?”
“Deal,” Stiles says, voice still a little wobbly. “Oh my god. Where do I even go first?”
“Well, I dunno about you,” John says. “But I think maybe someone who helped you get here would like a nice surprise.”
Stiles grins, because yes.
He's been to Derek's house a few times, usually riding shotgun in Derek's shitty Toyota and grumbling about suspension down the long, lumpy driveway to his house in the damn woods. But the Jeep is like a dream, chunky tires handling the bumps like nothing at all, and he's grinning so hugely his cheeks hurt as he rounds the bend to find Derek outside, roughhousing with several younger siblings. He stops dead, though, when he sees Stiles behind the wheel, and immediately eats dirt when three of his siblings tackle him at once.
“Get off, get off,” he sputters, and manages to get up right around the time Stiles parks and hops out of the car.
“Oh my god!” Derek, says, jogging towards him with a smile on his face almost as huge as Stiles'.
“I know, right!”
“I thought you weren't allowed!”
“That's what six hours a night gets you!”
“How did you afford-”
“My parents paid half!”
Derek beams at him so hard Stiles almost feels like squinting, as if he's looking at the sun. “This is amazing!”
“It is! And it's all thanks to you,” Stiles says, feeling his face go a little hot, because he's not used to this whole sharing and caring thing.
But Derek's smile goes all soft, and he just shrugs like it's nothing.
“No, seriously, Derek. I've never been able to sleep like this. I dunno what I'm gonna do after we graduate,” Stiles admits, forcing the smile to stay on his face, because he's not about to show how massive that worry actually is.
Derek just shrugs again. “We'll work it out. But who knows, maybe by then you'll have figured something else out, and you won't need me anymore.” He sounds almost sad, and Stiles would ask, but before he can, Cora yells at them from the house.
“Derek! Mom says to stop flirting with your boyfriend and come help with dinner!”
“Shut up, Cora!” Derek yells back, and gives Stiles a vaguely panicked look. “She's just being annoying, it's not... anything.”
“Dude, I get it,” Stiles says with a snicker. “Siblings.”
“Yeah. Congrats on the car,” Derek says, smiling softly again before turning towards the house. For some reason Stiles feels like he's missing something, but he can't quite put his finger on it, and it bugs him all the way home.
* * *
A few weeks later Stiles has a rare bout of insomnia while Derek is there, and finally gets his chance to record those cute snores.
“Here we observe the rare and beautiful snoring Der-bear in his natural habitat,” Stiles narrates in a whisper as he records. There's almost no light, so you can only see the faintest outline of Derek's profile, and hear his tiny, breathy snores. “It's an elusive creature, easily spooked. But let's see if we can't risk some light.”
He turns on his bedside lamp with a wince, but Derek doesn't even flinch on the floor, snoring on like nothing happened, and Stiles continues filming him for the better part of a minute before deciding he has enough. On a whim he takes a few pictures too, and it's only after he's put his phone away he realizes that maybe it was a little bit creepy.
As his brain is wont to do, it starts running with it, and suddenly he's wondering why he's even doing this. Why is he taking pictures of Derek's sleeping face? Why is he calling him stuff like beautiful and cute? Why does looking at him like this feel like some kind of violation when he's spent literally hours glaring at Scott's snoring face without feeling anything remotely like this?
“Oh no,” Stiles whispers to himself, because this is not happening to him. “Oh no.”
He's gonna have to rethink that talk with his dad.
His realization that there's some kind of emotional thing happening has a catastrophic effect on his relationship with Derek. Suddenly they can't be in the same space without Stiles bumbling or stammering or making an absolute idiot of himself. Derek casts him some strange glances every so often, but otherwise ignores it, and Stiles is stupidly grateful. Because he doesn't know what to do with these feelings. He doesn't even know what he's feeling, exactly.
Scott is zero help, because he's never been in doubt, emotionally, about anything in his entire life, and just keeps telling Stiles to be honest about what he's feeling. Stiles totally would do that if he could figure out what that fucking was. Lydia is even less helpful, because the minute he says the words “emotional problem” she rolls her eyes so hard it looks painful, and ends the Skype call. So clearly she's got better things to do.
In desperation, Stiles turns to his dad. His mom is not really an option, because as much as he loves her she's a bit of a hippie lovechild, and odds are she won't look at things with the kind of brutal logic Stiles needs right now. So there's nothing for it.
“Dad, I need to invoke the no-judging zone.” John looks up from the case file in his hands, eyebrows raised way up. The no-judging zone was something they'd agreed on when Stiles was about ten, and was reluctant to share when he'd made a mess or caused mayhem. After a few too many times of attempting to keep secrets and accidentally making things worse, they agreed that if Stiles would just come clean there would be no lecturing. Only problem solving.
Over time, Stiles hasn't actually used it as much as you'd think, probably in part because knowing it's there if he needs it causes him less anxiety in general, and therefore makes him less afraid of the potential fallout of coming clean.
“Okay,” John says, putting the folder aside and sitting up straighter on the couch as Stiles plops down next to him. “I'm listening.”
“Okay. Uhm. For the record, I'm sorry for whatever brain breakage I might be about to cause you, but I have, like... emotional... issues.”
“I'm not a caveman, Stiles, I can handle talking about feelings. And you are in the no-judging zone. So. Shoot.”
Blowing out a nervous breath, Stiles tries to come up with a way to ask, but it's hard. He doesn't even know what he's supposed to ask. “I'm having emotions,” is what he ends up saying, and John's lip quirks in a grin before he manages to school it.
“Well. That's good, I guess.”
“Except it's not, because I'm having emotions about Derek, and I don't know what to do anymore.”
“Okay. What kinds of emotions?” John asks, sounding deliberately calm in a way that's vaguely annoying, but Stiles lets it slide, because he's got bigger problems.
“That's the whole issue here. I don't know.”
“All right. Then maybe talk me through how you got this far.”
It's probably in the top three of most awkward conversations he's ever had with a parent, but John takes it in stride, and listens carefully as Stiles rambles through his disjointed thought process bringing him to the realization that he likes Derek a lot and kinda always thought he was cute. But when there are no boners or anything, is it even a crush, and if it is a crush, does that make him bisexual, and if so, is he supposed to do anything about it, and if so how? And, if he ever gets that far, what will Derek think, and how will Stiles know what Derek thinks, because he can't risk losing what they have right now. If nothing else because it's literally a matter of his health. And what is he supposed to do with all the goddamn awkward jitteriness just zooming around in his chest all the time now, it's really annoying.
“Well, I see what you mean, but first of all, let's cut it down to essentials,” John says, and god, Stiles loves him so much.
“All that stuff about labels can wait. You already know your mom and I won't care either way, so put that part on the shelf for now. As for what Derek thinks, there's really only one way to know, and that's asking him. You have my sympathies, son.”
Stiles groans, but there's no arguing with the facts.
“So what we're left with is how you feel and what to do about it,” John says.
“I can't be crushing on him, though, can I? I mean, I've had crushes before, and they were all...” Stiles makes a vague explodey hand-motion around his groin, and John loses control over his grin for a second. “Dad, no-judging zone, remember?”
“You're right, sorry,” John says, and clears his throat. “Well, I think maybe a lot of things are going on, here. For one thing, your other crushes all started from a distance, right? So all you had to connect with was the physical. But you already know Derek, so...”
“So I'm having emotional boners instead.”
John sputters out a laugh and hides his eyes behind his hand. “You're not making this easy for me, kid.”
“But isn't that what this is, though?”
“I wouldn't personally use that expression, but, yeah, maybe. And there's also that whole thing with the... gah, what was the term your mom used? When you subconsciously think you're supposed to be something-”
“Compulsory heterosexuality.”
“Yeah, that thing. Maybe the reason you haven't felt like this about Derek, or any other boy before, is because you didn't really know yet that you could.”
“Huh.” Stiles has to admit he's impressed. His dad has amazing problem-solving abilities, but doesn't always come off as the most emotionally insightful. But, evidently, old dogs can learn new tricks. And give sage advice about said tricks too.
“Plus, you're seventeen, you can't expect your body to make sense about much of anything at this point.”
Or maybe not so sage. “Gee, thanks, Dad, that helps so much.”
“I'm just saying, that maybe, just maybe, it isn't always about the boners. Okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” Stiles says, and this time he means it. He's still not sure about all these Derek-related emotions, but at least now he feels less lost and weird.
* * *
Luckily, Stiles' conflicting emotions don't seem to affect his new sleeping patterns, and, after the talk with his dad, he feels a little less awkward around Derek. So things are almost like they were before. Except for that fact that now, every time they settle down on a bed together with the laptop like they always do, Stiles is suddenly hyper-aware of Derek. Every little movement or sound from him makes Stiles tense a little, and there comes a point where Derek obviously can't take it anymore.
“Do you need me to move away? I can sit in the chair instead, if you want.”
“No!” Stiles blurts, and watches mortified as Derek's eyebrows inch higher. “No, look, I'm just having some... issues. It's not you.”
“Clearly it is.”
“No, I mean.” He sighs and scratches through his hair. “It's my problem, not yours.”
Derek looks a little hurt, and it makes Stiles feel sick to his stomach. “I don't want to make any of your problems worse.”
“You're not, I swear. Please, Derek, I'm just... god, I hate being a teenager,” Stiles grumbles, and that's apparently the right way to express his frustration, because Derek settles down again with a small huff.
“Tell me about it.”
“Why can't everything be simple?”
“Man, I know. Every time you think you've figured something out, something new happens.”
“Dude, I know!” Stiles cries. “You never get a chance to like... know yourself or whatever. Stuff just happens so much.”
Derek sends him an amused look. “Is that a meme? It sounds like a meme.”
“Sort of, yeah. Grandpa.”
“Shut up,” Derek says and gives Stiles a shove hard enough to almost push him off the bed. Stiles isn't about to let that slide, of course, so when he regains his balance he shoves back as hard as he can, and Derek lands on the mattress on the floor so hard that the bedside table and the lamp on it rattles.
Just as Stiles is ready to crow over his victory, Derek grabs his arm and yanks him down too, this time making the lamp topple over, and Stiles yelps in surprise as he tumbles off the bed in a heap. Derek makes a wounded noise, because Stiles' elbow definitely jabs him somewhere sensitive, and when he tries to get up he accidentally plants his hand right on Derek's junk. He yanks his hand away like he's being burned, which in turn makes him lose his balance all over again, accidentally knocking over his desk chair with his foot as he faceplants into Derek's chest with enough force to punch the air out of him in a whoosh.
And just as Stiles feels like it can't get any worse, his mom calls from downstairs: “I don't remember inviting elephants over. Keep it down, please, boys!”
“Oh my god,” he murmurs against Derek's soft t-shirt, feeling his face burn with embarrassment. There's a tense moment of silence, but then Derek's chest starts jumping as he laughs. Stiles finally raises his head so he can glare. “Dude.”
“I'm sorry, but your face.”
“What's wrong with my face?!” Stiles demands, though from the sheer temperature of it he can probably guess. He fervently wishes for a rock to hide under.
“You just-” Derek hiccups, tears starting to well up in his eyes. “When I pulled you down you were all- and then you put your hand there and you went all- and then the chair, oh my god,” he wheezes, and Stiles wants to die a little bit.
“Sorry,” he grits out, and starts trying to get up without touching more than he has to. But Derek's arms come up to circle around him, keeping him where he is, and okay, Stiles can stay here a little if Derek wants to. They're kinda tangled up, knees slotted together, and practically every part of their bodies touching in some way or another. Stiles feels like he should be preoccupied with that somehow, but all he can do is stare helplessly at Derek's face, because holy shit he's beautiful. He's crying with laughter, eyes and nose all adorably scrunched up, and his bunny teeth openly on display as he wheezes and hiccups.
“No, don't,” he manages through bursts of laughing. “Don't go anywhere. I'm just.... oh my god, sorry, it just looked so funny.”
“Well,” Stiles croaks, feeling weirdly choked up. “I'm a funny guy.”
Maybe it's his tone, or maybe Derek is just finally getting over it, but his laughter trails off, and he blinks the tears out of his eyes to fix Stiles with a questioning look. “Are you... okay?” he asks, and his arms loosen a little bit. Stiles is not at all a fan of that.
“Fine, good. Great, even. I mean, this is good. Yup. I'm good here.” He squirms a little like he's settling in, but in retrospect that was probably the worst choice he could have made, because Derek goes abruptly red in the face. Which doesn't make him less beautiful at all, what the hell.
“Uhm. Okay,” he says, but avoids Stiles' eyes.
“Aaaaand now it's awkward,” Stiles says with a sigh and gets up, feeling like a lump is settling in his gut. He can't seem to do anything right, apparently.
Derek looks on from the floor as Stiles gets to his feet, brushes himself off and settles back down on the bed with a huff. “I don't... understand,” Derek says slowly, and Stiles snorts.
“Yeah, well, join the club. Let's just watch the movie.”
There's no response, and Stiles feels sick to his stomach again, waiting for whatever Derek is gonna say. Nothing comes out, though, and eventually Derek just climbs back on the bed, his long legs in his comfy sweats a familiar sight on Stiles' bed spread, and despite the weirdness he does feel a little better. Not much, but a little.
They don't speak again for the rest of the movie.
* * *
Stiles spends the next few weeks, including his eighteenth birthday, going through nothing short of an identity crisis. He's pretty sure he's feeling something in the romantic department for Derek, but it's nothing like the lustful daze he went through with Lydia, and at least with Lydia he knew from the start that there was no hope. With Derek he has no idea what to think. He doesn't know what to do or how to get over this weird wall his stupid confusing feelings have somehow created between them.
Derek still sleeps over, and where there was awkwardness before there's now tension. It's damn near unbearable, and something's gotta give. Turns out the first thing to break is Derek.
He comes over one night, conspicuously without his overnight bag, and Stiles feels ice settle in his gut as he lets him in and leads the way to his room. “So,” Stiles says, eager to get it over with, since it's gonna get awful either way. “This is it, huh? You done with our little arrangement?”
“What? No!” Derek says, looking genuinely shocked. “I just didn't bring anything because. Well, I didn't want you to feel like you had to let me stay if... I mean.” He stops there, and Stiles gets the sense, suddenly, that maybe he's not the only one confused. He's never ever telling his dad, but the memory of their conversation on the matter is what prompts him to suck it up and lay it all out there.
“Am I the only one feeling like we're going through some kind of relationship crisis?”
Derek blows out a frustrated breath and shakes his head. “No. I guess not.”
“Well. I'm having all these feelings, and I'm not sure what to do with them, and it's making everything weird,” he blurts before he loses his nerve. “You?”
“I... have feelings too. I know what to do with them, but... I don't wanna risk pushing them on you.”
This makes Stiles perk up, because he'd honestly expected to be met with a more complicated answer than this, and it's making him rethink a few things. He's not sure if Derek's declaration means he's into Stiles in a romantic way or something completely different, and the subject is already making him all kinds of uncomfortable, so he focuses on something a lot simpler. “Did I accidentally give you a boner the other night?”
Derek's face goes adorably pink, and Stiles grins.
“Yes. I'm sorry. I know that was weird for you,” Derek grits out, and he looks incredibly uncomfortable.
“Dude, no. I mean, yeah, it was weird, but not because I was grossed out or anything. I'm just... look, I'm having all these feelings too, but there's like... I dunno, my dick has apparently decided to sit this one out, and I don't know what the hell is up with that.”
“Well,” Derek says slowly. “There are a lot of sexual identities out there. You could be... I dunno. Demisexual or grey-ace or something else.”
Stiles blinks at him. “For a guy who barely knows what a meme is you know a lot about this stuff.”
“Cora likes to educate the whole family about things,” Derek says with a shrug.
“But it doesn't make sense. I'm definitely not asexual, first of all, and I doubt I'm demi, because Lydia was a thing, so I'm just...” he shrugs helplessly, and Derek gives him a tiny, cautious smile.
“Well. It doesn't matter that much to me. Whatever you want is okay with me. Even if... you'd prefer just being friends.”
Up until that very moment Stiles hadn't even been sure that wasn't what he wanted most, but hearing Derek say it? He's immediately and abruptly aware that he wants more than friendship. He still feels a little vague on where he's supposed to go from here, though. It's not that he's pure as driven snow, and he has a greatly mixed porn selection to prove it. But there's a difference between porn and real life, and he's not sure where, exactly, he sees this going.
“I want... something. I'm just not sure what, yet,” he says, as honestly as he can, and Derek seems to slump in relief.
“I can wait. Even if you decide friends is best. Just... please don't kick me out.”
“Never,” Stiles says sincerely, and there's kind of a pleasant moment of shared reassurance that neither of them are going anywhere, small smiles shared across the three feet or so between them, which suddenly doesn't seem like that much.
A few minutes later Derek goes to take his bag out of his car so they can get back to the business of sleeping.
* * *
Annoyingly, knowing that someone is into you apparently doesn't make it any bit easier to make heads or tails of any emotions you may or may not have yourself. After their talk Derek has been a lot less subtle about his affection, being very touchy and smiley, so at least that part is somewhat clarified. But as much as Stiles floats happily on the knowledge that someone has a crush on him – someone as hot and incredibly nice as Derek, no less – everything else is still frustratingly unclear. All Stiles really knows at this point is that he needs Derek, and not just for the sleep factor.
Sure, he hangs out with Scott, and sometimes Lydia when she can squeeze in the time for him in her incredibly busy schedule. He's gone months without Scott when he's been staying with his douchebag dad, or the few times Stiles has been abroad, but even a few days without seeing Derek gnaws at him.
They're only a few weeks from graduation now, and the thought that they might not see each other every few days anymore eats away at him, to a point where he starts having trouble sleeping again.
He's squirming around trying to find the sweet spot where he can relax and hopefully fall asleep when he elbows Derek for the third time, which turns out to be one time too many. Derek grunts from the pain, and then just reaches over and reels Stiles in, holding him tightly against his side until he settles.
“Could you not?” Derek grits, and Stiles stares at him, a little wide-eyed, because okay. Evidently, being manhandled really really does it for him, and the conundrum of the missing boners is rapidly becoming a non-problem. He tenses from embarrassment, and Derek immediately lets up a little.
“Sorry, uh. Too much? It was just really-”
Stiles doesn't even think before he moves, craning his neck up to press a small, dry kiss on Derek's lips, because finally, a clear and understandable physical reaction. Derek goes stock still, and Stiles immediately panics.
“Sorry, sorry, that was- sorry,” he babbles, and runs out of the room to take refuge in the bathroom.
“What the fuck?!” he soundlessly asks his reflection, and is frankly annoyed when there's no useful answer. It's not supposed to be this difficult! He knows he's into Derek and that Derek is into him, and his body finally seems to be catching a clue. But instead of everything coming together in beautiful clarity, he actually kind of feels worse. Not that the kiss was bad or anything. As tiny pecks go it was pretty awesome, if Derek hadn't looked so shocked. Has he changed his mind? Was it too much too soon? Is Stiles a bad kisser?!
He's acutely aware that he's not gonna get any answers just by staring down his own reflection, but he's freaking out too much to do anything else. So he takes the time to breathe through it and calm himself down.
“Okay,” he tells himself after about ten minutes of silent anxiety. “Okay, you're okay. Everything's okay.” He's not really fooling himself, because he's still kinda terrified at the thought of what Derek might say in a minute, but Stilinskis are not cowards, alright? Stiles is gonna face the music, even if he has to literally pinch himself to snap out of it.
He does eventually make himself go back to his room, shaking out his arms with a nervous breath as he moves down the hallway to his door.
When he comes in, Derek is perched on the end of the bed, like he's about to get up, and there's a spike of fear that he might be about to leave. But then he smiles, all softly, and gets up to meet Stiles half-way. “Hey, are you okay? I wanted to come after you, but I didn't wanna pressure you or anything, so I just kinda. Waited. Was that okay?”
He sounds a little rambly, which actually helps a lot, because at least then Stiles isn't alone in being worked up. “It was fine, Derek, don't worry about it. I just had a little freakout, because... well I'm not really sure why. Teenage dramas lied to me, feelings are fucking complicated, man.”
“I completely agree,” Derek says, and then moves a cautious step closer so they're only about a hand's breath apart. “But... I'm pretty sure about mine. Have been for a while. And I'm sorry if I'm reading it wrong, but... you kissing me kinda made it seem like you're figuring out stuff too?”
Stiles shrugs, because he's still not sure of anything. But his stomach is doing all kinds of swirly things from the realization that Derek has apparently been into him for some time. No one has ever been into Stiles in any significant way. Hell, his only other kiss was a weird, off-center peck with Heather, and mostly because she wanted to try it and didn't trust anyone else.
“I dunno. It's so stupid, I always thought that like... sexual identity crises were for middle-aged closet-cases, but here I am literally running from my boners, so what does that make me? I thought I was more open minded than this. Hell, even my old fart of a dad brought up compulsory heterosexuality, so it's officially topsy turvy time,” Stiles grumbles, and then stops breathing for a second when Derek slowly reaches for his hand and intertwines their fingers.
“It's okay. There's a difference between knowing stuff and feeling it. Believe me, I know.”
Stiles nods, because that makes sense. It's so much easier dealing with problems when they're not your own. “You're a smart cookie,” he says, and Derek does his adorable little huffy smile where he exhales through his nose while his eyes crinkle.
“Nah. Just... had to learn the hard way.” He looks a little pinched, suddenly, and Stiles is abruptly concerned for him.
“Hey, what-”
“Look, I'm just gonna... I wanna tell you something,” Derek says in a rush, and Stiles can see his throat working as he swallows and drops his gaze to the floor. “Just... don't say anything, just lemme get through it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Uhm. Well. A few years ago, I met this... woman. A temp teacher at my old school. I was fifteen and I was... well, I was kinda where you are right now. Nothing was making a lot of sense, and I didn't know what I wanted, just that I wanted something. And then along came this beautiful older woman, and she paid attention to me and flirted with me, and... I fell for her so hard. She was more than happy to tell me what to do with all my feelings, and I just did what she told me to. I loved it, but I also hated it, and it wasn't until later when she almost got away with burning my house down with my whole family inside for some fucked up reason that I realized how wrong it all was.
“I had to take a year off from school and start somewhere new after that. I couldn't stay where she-. I couldn't. She never cared about me at all. She just used me, and... I let her. I didn't take the time to let my feelings settle and find out if they were genuine or just, you know, lust and hormones and stuff.” He huffs bitterly. “Like you I kinda hated how the movies make it look so simple. Kate... made it simple for me. And also wrong.”
Stiles squeezes his hand comfortingly, and Derek finally looks up to catch his eye. “So. Take whatever time you need to figure things out. I'm never gonna pressure you, no matter what you decide you want by the end of it. And don't let my feelings influence your decision either. I'll be fine.”
Stiles can't help but laugh, because that's frankly ridiculous. “That's impossible, you doofus, because I actually care a whole lot about you and your feelings. I really, really want you to be happy, you know? I wanna... do nice things for you and see that cute smile a lot more. Telling me to not care about your feelings is just not happening, Derek.” He squeezes Derek's hand again. “Turns out I'm really into you.”
And there's that crinkly smile again. Stiles really loves that. To a point where he maybe wants to kiss it a lot more. “You know, I think my dad might've actually had a point,” he says. “About the whole... not feeling stuff because you're not sure you can. So maybe we could test it out? See if we can make it... I dunno, a little more real? If you want to, no pressure.”
Derek blinks slowly at him, his smile going smaller and sweeter. “Is... this your way of asking for a kiss?”
“Well. Yeah, I guess,” Stiles says, feeling awkward, but also excited, and butterflies start going wild in his gut when Derek moves in even closer.
“Ask me anytime, and I'll say yes. I always wanna kiss you,” Derek admits in a whisper, and Stiles feels like he could melt on the spot. Instead, the meets Derek half-way, and this? This is kissing. It's everything Stiles ever imagined a kiss should feel like, and he's losing his breath at top speed.
He's not sure exactly who moves when, but suddenly they're clutching at each other, Derek's arms tight around Stiles' waist as he clings to Derek's shoulders, because it feels like his legs won't support him. Derek keeps making all these soft little sighing sounds, and it's steadily wrecking Stiles in the best way.
When their lips finally part Stiles feels immediately disgruntled, because they could have been doing this for months. “Ugh, why the hell didn't I do this the minute I started wondering? Would have saved me so much shit, because this is the best ever, oh my god.”
Derek huffs a soft laugh and nuzzles their noses together. “Or maybe you would have felt worse for moving too fast. Who knows.”
“Yeah, who knows,” Stiles agrees, because Derek is smart and amazing, and Stiles might be a little high right now. “Oh my god, though. This is...” he trails off helplessly, because all the fucking love songs were right, there's really no way to describe all the feelings welling up in him right now. But they all feel right, and maybe it was Derek's story, or maybe it was the kiss, but Stiles feels like he's finally realizing that it felt right from the start, only he was too busy focusing on not knowing exactly what everything means. He still doesn't. His dick is still confused, for one thing, but that's okay. It feels okay to be confused. As long as Derek is there, then Stiles feels amazingly optimistic that he'll figure it all out in time.
Except... they don't have time.
“Shit,” Stiles says, and Derek frowns in concern.
“What?”
“Dude... I don't have time to figure this shit out, because we're graduating in like a month. And then college and then... who knows where we're going?”
“Didn't you get into Berkeley?”
“Yeah, but you're going somewhere for basketball right?”
Derek's face does something complicated before settling into vaguely sheepish. “Well, uh. I wasn't specifically going for a sports scholarship. I'm not planning on a career in it anyway, and my grades are fine, so... I, uh. I applied to all the same colleges you did. Including Berkeley. And I got in. Haven't accepted yet.”
Stiles can feel his jaw drop. “You what?”
“Yeah, I... I didn't know if you felt the same way I did, but... I was hoping. And I wanted...”
“Dude,” Stiles breathes. “You planned for a future with me? Since... god, since when?”
“Since... since we met, pretty much,” Derek mumbles awkwardly, and Stiles feels weirdly like crying.
“That... that is like... stupidly romantic, and fuck you, Derek, I'm getting all emotional now.”
“Sorry.”
“God, no, you absolute doofus, this is amazing, don't you dare apologize,” Stiles rambles, and throws his arms around Derek's neck for a hug. “You have no idea how much I fucking hated knowing that we'd have to stop doing this. And not just for the sleep thing, dude, I can't seem to go two days without missing your dumb face.”
Derek hugs him back, and buries his nose in his neck in a way that feels really nice. “Oh,” he breathes, and Stiles hugs him closer.
“Yeah. So, tomorrow you're going home and accepting that spot at Berkeley, and we're gonna go there and drive our roommates crazy with our constant sleepovers, and I'm gonna get my shit together and be a good boyfriend for you, okay?”
There's a slow nod against his neck, and Derek's arms tighten around him. “Okay.”
“Holy shit,” Stiles breathes, when all of it suddenly hits home at once. “I have a boyfriend.” He pulls away to grin stupidly at Derek. “You're my boyfriend!”
Derek just grins back, looking absolutely glorious in his happiness, and Stiles is gonna kiss him so much. But first things first.
“Mom? Dad?” he calls as he rushes to the staircase landing. “Breaking news, Derek's my boyfriend now!” he declares, and Derek facepalms audibly behind him. But Derek can suck it, Stilinskis are not shy, and there are no secrets in this house.
“That's great, sweetie,” his mom calls from the living room, and his dad pokes his head around the wall a second later to grin at him.
“That's awesome, son. I know you're both eighteen, but if you could keep the door open for any future sleepovers in this house it'd be great for my blood pressure.”
“Sure, but Derek's going to Berkeley with me, so don't get your hopes up for a purity pledge.”
John rolls his eyes, but he's still grinning. “Fine, whatever. Glad you two figured it out.”
“Me too,” Stiles says, and then skips back to his room to kiss Derek some more, because that's a thing he can do now.
* * *
The door to Stiles' room is dutifully left open every time Derek is over from then on. Not that it matters, because Stiles still doesn't feel any real hurry moving on from kissing. He will, eventually, he's pretty sure. But, as Derek keeps telling him, there's no rush. And they have all the time in the world.
Lydia, it turns out, isn't remotely surprised when he brings her up to speed. “Stiles, why do you think I never even looked your way?”
“Uhhh... because I was skinny and annoying?”
She glares at him until he holds his hands up in defense and makes a zipping motion across his lips, because obviously the Queen is speaking.
“No, dumbass. Yes, you were annoying, but you looked perfectly fine. But I went through my emotional crisis at fourteen, and once was bad enough. I refuse to sit through that again with someone else, and if we'd started dating you obviously wouldn't have known what to do with me.”
“Huh.”
“Yeah.”
“You could have told me, though,” Stiles grumbles, but Lydia just shrugs and goes back to filing her nails.
“Like you would have taken my word for it. Half your problem was refusing to hear a no, so I doubt you would have even sat through my reasons why. Glad you got over that.”
It's sad, but true, and Stiles is grateful he's matured that far, at least. “Couldn't have done it without you, Lyds.”
“I know.”
“You're very humble, you know that?”
“In fact, I do. Hand me the silver nail polish.”
Stiles doesn't know why, but he really loves his annoying friends.
* * *
Graduation comes in no time at all. Stiles grows another inch, but has to grudgingly accept that Derek is still that tiny smidge taller by the time they don their robes and caps. He's still hopeful that he'll overtake him at college, though, but for now he still has to tilt his head up just a little bit to give Derek a congratulatory kiss after they get their diplomas.
Derek looks so happy it seems like he barely knows what to do with himself, flitting between his own family and the Stilinskis until Stiles rolls his eyes and drags his parents over to where the Hales are milling around, saving Derek the trekking.
“Always knew you were a flaming homo like me, Stilinski,” Cora says, and Stiles rolls his eyes at her.
“More like a flaming bi, but whatever. Still working on it.”
“Nah, Derek is the flaming bi. You're more like a heterosexual, biromantic demisexual questioning cornucopia of rainbow shit.”
Stiles blinks at her. “I have no idea what that means.”
“That's the beauty of it,” Cora says, and yanks him in close with an arm around his neck, which is a little uncomfortable. “You don't have to know! I just like labels.”
“Okay then,” he croaks, and untangles himself as fast as he can so he can plaster himself against Derek instead. “Your sister is terrifying. How is she only sixteen?”
“Women in my family are just scary,” Derek says with a shudder. “Emily is nine, and the other day she told me she'd kill me if I ate the last cookie, and I swear my balls crawled completely into my body.”
“Can't blame ya. Even my dad had a theory that your mom's a werewolf.”
Derek snickers. “You know, I wouldn't be surprised. But I guess I'm glad she's not, because if I had secret werewolf powers I don't think I'd be allowed to do sports.”
“That's what I said!” Stiles says gleefully, and then kisses Derek some more.
They're surrounded by friends and family, they have a long summer ahead and then a whole new life together at college waiting for them. Derek's beaming smile is like sunshine, and leaves Stiles feeling warm to his bones.
The future is looking brighter every minute, and Stiles can't wait to see what happens next.
End.