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Stiles slams the door as he walks in, keys hitting the floor with a discordant jangle as he kicks off his shoes.
Derek doesn't even look up from his book.
"Rough day?" he asks, shifting slightly on the couch as he turns the page.
"Ugh," is all Stiles has to say, bending to pick up the keys and put them in their proper place-- the little ceramic bowl on the counter of their kitchenette. He and Derek have argued enough times about putting things in their proper places, and that's not something Stiles wants to add to his plate today.
He sighs.
All he wants right now is to shower and crawl into bed and forget the day.
Stiles pours himself a cup of water and swallows it down in two gulps, then stops in the doorway separating the kitchenette from their living room for a moment.
Derek looks so peaceful. He's wearing that worn, faded shirt --the one with the stretched neck that Stiles knows for a fact is his favourite-- and is curled up under their softest quilt. His reading glasses are perched on his nose, eyelashes a dark smudge under the red frames. Everything about him seems calm and warm and comfortable.
It settles something in Stiles, quells the jitteriness he's been feeling since that afternoon. Suddenly, escaping the world via shower doesn't seem as urgent. He steps closer to the couch.
Derek look up at him then, long eyelashes brushing the lens of his glasses.
He doesn't say anything, just smiles softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. Closing the book around his thumb, he pulls the blanket back and pats the cushions beside him.
Stiles hears himself sigh as he sinks down next to Derek, already relaxing into the warmth of his proximity. He presses himself into Derek's side as Derek settles an arm around his shoulders, palm rubbing gently at his bicep. Stiles turns his face to Derek's neck and breathes in the comforting smell of home.
"Hi," he murmurs into the soft skin under Derek's jaw, pressing his lips there for good measure.
"Hi," Derek says, with that hint of warm amusement that just makes Stiles melt. He shifts a little as Derek closes the book in his lap, then brings his palm to cup Stiles' cheek and guide him up for a kiss.
"Hi," Derek says again, smiles against his lips.
Stiles can't help but smile back, eyes fluttering shut as he sighs again, the last of the day's tensions leaving him in a warm gust of air. It always surprises him how quickly Derek's presence calms him down. Even now, after five years together.
Derek rubs his back. "Wanna talk about it?"
Stiles considers for a moment, then shrugs, shoulder dragging against Derek's. "Nah. Doesn't matter anymore."
Derek just hums, and Stiles sinks into him. He doesn't think he ever wants to get up. Head tucked under Derek's chin, he pulls his feet up to peel his socks off. He wiggles his toes, content, and throws his socks in the direction of their bedroom. Derek sighs, as if about to say something, but Stiles cuts him off with a yawn and a sleepy nuzzle.
"I'll get 'em later," he mumbles into the soft cotton of Derek's shirt, eyes already slipping shut. They both know that that's not going to happen but Derek doesn't say anything. Instead, his arms tighten around Stiles, and Stiles lets himself succumb to sleep.
The last thing he feels before drifting off is the gentle press of lips on his hair.