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Derek let himself inside and put his car keys on the small hall table. He heard a crash from upstairs and caught the end of Stiles’ loud shout, something about “sparks.”
“Stiles? Babe?” Derek ran up the stairs four at a time, his mind already racing at what could possibly be wrong. Was Stiles okay? Was it something to do with mountain ash and his spark? What would he find when he made it upstairs? He made it to the top of the stairs and rounded the corner into their bedroom. It looked like a bomb had hit it. Or a small hurricane.
Stiles sat in the middle of dozens of piles of clothing and random items, his clothing disheveled and smelling of sweat and frustration. In one hand he held a photo frame they’d received two years earlier for their wedding, and in the other a mug that Peter had gifted Derek one Christmas that had “Good morning, you moody bitch” written on the side. Stiles huffed and put them down in the very small pile to his left.
“Uh, everything okay in here?” Derek tried for calm, he didn’t want to stress Stiles out even more. He almost pulled it off, but it seemed Stiles either didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“Huh? Oh! Yeah, fine. Just, you know, look at this,” He swept an arm out over all the piles of stuff in front of him. “We have too much shit. So I’m culling it.”
“Culling it? Where’s it going?” Derek’s eyebrows practically raised themselves.
“I’m donating it to charity or giving it to the rest of the pack. Do you think Lydia would like this?” He held up a green ceramic pot they used as a pen holder. “No, you’re right. It’s not shiny enough for Lydia.”
Derek took a step further into the room and almost stood on a pile of comics. “I’m confused.”
“Huh?” Stiles was adorable looking up at Derek like that, his big eyes as stunning as ever. Next he picked up a pair of jeans he’d worn once. He’d then complained about them the entire night as they cut off circulation to his balls. Derek had loved them, they were easily some of the sexiest pants he’d ever seen Stiles wear. Stiles narrowed his eyes at them and threw them on the largest pile, apparently the clothes pile.
“You never sparked joy! Fuck you!” He growled at the innocent denim.
“Stiles, what the hell?! I’m so confused.” Derek sat on the only corner of the bed that was free of random stuff and put his elbows on his knees.
“I was bored, so I got through some of my Netflix list. I watched this show where this cute as fuck Japanese woman helps people cull their shit. Basically, if it doesn’t “spark joy,” you don’t need it.” Stiles was already onto the next item. Looked like the socks sparked joy.
“So this mess is getting somewhere? Do you need help?” He didn’t really want to help, it looked boring, but he was a good husband. He was relieved when Stiles shook his head.
“Nah, but thanks big guy. You’d throw out everything and I’d have to fish half of it out of the trash. I’m technically supposed to be doing only clothes right now, but we have so much shit and then I got distracted and saw that shitty photo frame… Does it have to spark my joy, or can it spark joy in house guests who technically may have gifted it to us?”
“Your joy, fuck the rest. Your joy is my joy, beautiful. Well, can I make you a coffee at least? That’ll spark joy, right?”
The grin he got in return was breathtaking. “Thanks baby, and your joy is mine too. And yes please! Oh my god, yes! Caffeine will make this so much easier. Hmm, red Converse, do you spark joy? You don’t not spark joy…”
Derek smiled as he walked toward the stairs. He’d married that fool. And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.