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Stiles woke up with a pounding headache, without his shirt, and missing one of his shoes and both of his socks. “Motherfucker.”
“Language,” Derek said mildly.
Stiles sat straight up in bed, which was a really stupid idea because both his head and his stomach hated the motion. “Holy–what are you doing in my bed? What the fuck happened last night?”
Derek turned a page in his book and didn’t even bother looking over at Stiles. “First of all, you’re in my bed. Second of all, you graduated last night.”
“I…” Stiles trailed off and actually took in his surroundings. “Oh. Uh, how did I get in your bed?”
That seemed like a pretty important thing to know.
Derek reached over to the bedside table and handed Stiles a glass of water. “You passed out on it.”
Stiles drained half the glass. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this thirsty. Derek was a genius. “I passed out on your bed?”
“You wandered in here after a lot of whiskey and faceplanted on my pillow, talking about how good it smelled,” Derek said. “Seemed like a dick move to make you go somewhere else when you were so happy about it.”
Stiles could feel his face heat. He’d done a pretty good job of keeping his crush on Derek under wraps, but apparently drunk!Stiles hadn’t gotten the memo. “Oh, uh. Sorry about that.”
A smile twitched at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “It’s fine. I could’ve slept on the couch if it bothered me.”
It was early and Stiles was hungover. But something about the way Derek said it made him pause. “It…didn’t bother you? Me crashing in your bed?”
Derek shook his head. “No. It never does.”
Stiles set aside his water and slowly lay back down on the pillow. “So you don’t mind if I just stay right here?”
Derek’s smile spread slowly across his face and the tips of his ears turned faintly pink. It was adorable. “Stay as long as you like.”
Stiles grinned back. “You know, you’re never getting rid of me.”
Derek laughed softly. “Somehow, I think I’ll survive.”