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“I am so fucking sorry!”
“It’s fine.”
“There is literally blood everywhere.”
“Shut up. My mom is going to kill me. That duvet was from Pottery Barn.”
“See! I told you I was sorry, you told me it was fine. And now your mother—who apparently lives vicariously through decorating your man loft is going to kill me.”
The only thing that seems to stem the panic in Stiles is for Derek to pin him an annoyed look. And with all of the blood dripping from his nose and the tampon he’s trying to cut in half to stem the flow, it’s enough to shock Stiles back into laughing hysterically.
“You’re the worst.” Derek says. But he’s a guy standing in an immaculate bathroom with ripped abs like he belongs in Fight Club and he’s about to shove two halves of a tampon up his nose so it’s hard to take him seriously. “Forget everything about earlier. You have an awful bedside manner.”
That seems to shock Stiles out of his laughing. He takes the scissors from Derek, deftly cuts the tampon they found in the medicine cupboard in half and promptly shoves both halves up Derek’s nose in the span on about two seconds.
“OW!” Derek yells, batting at Stiles’ hands.
“I handle emergencies with grace under pressure.” Stiles shoots back, washing his hands in Derek’s fancy sink that he still doesn’t fully understand. “I’m a kickass doctor.”
Derek sighs, wetting a hand towel that’s probably made out of Egyptian cotton in the sink so that he can wipe the blood from his face. How is it possible for a man to look so haughty with a tampon stuck up his nose?
“I’m not inclined to support that statement right now.” Derek says, and his voice has gone all nasally because of the tampon. “This is all your fault. You did that thing!”
“The talking in my sleep thing?” Stiles asks. Derek nods. “Yeah, that’s the reason I was sent home from sleep away camp when I was 14.”
Derek raises an eyebrow. “I’m going to need the full story about that one later.”
Stiles sighs, “Nothing much to tell. I am sorry about hitting you though. Probably should have warned you that my fight or flight response if definitely stuck in the fight zone.”
“Yeah, sometimes you kick me really hard in your sleep.” Derek grumbles, tossing the bloody cloth into the hamper.
Stiles sighs, reaching over to gently test the place at the bridge of Derek’s nose where it felt tender earlier. Derek ducks away, feeling it for itself.
“Well, I don’t see you with any bruises in the morning, so I must not be doing it hard enough.” Stiles says, hopping up on the counter to watch as Derek presses on his own nose. “There’s no way the bleeding’s stopped already.” He tells the other man.
“I think you’re overestimating yourself.” Derek says, pulling the tampon free. And there’s totally a lot less blood than Stiles expected. “See. I’m fine.”
Stiles shakes his head. He’d been pretty sure that he’d actually broken the other man’s nose.
It’s one thing to talk dirty in your sleep. It’s a whole other thing to talk dirty in your sleep and then punch your bedmate in the face upon waking. Stiles would be amazed if he got back to the hospital the next day and it wasn’t already widespread gossip.
Maybe the chief has them all under surveillance to make sure they aren’t performing illegal organ transplants on the side.
Stiles jumps down from the counter and pretty much plasters his front to Derek’s back. Derek always runs a bit warmer than Stiles. His skin is pretty much perfect and about as soft as Stiles had expected. Derek probably secretly gets full body exfoliation treatments. Stiles wraps his arms around Derek’s waist, holding him tightly. That's another thing he never realized. Their bodies just fit so well together. Stiles hadn't realized it until they had backed their way into their first on call room, but Derek is the same height as Stiles. He wasn't the imposing guy that Stiles had thought he was just from being around him when he went off on the interns for sloppy charts.
“I am sorry.” Stiles says to their refection in the large mirror that covers the bathroom wall. Derek sighs, butting his head gently against Stiles’ own with a soft sound.
“I know.” Derek says, reaching up to awkwardly pat Stiles’ head. His fingers catch in Stiles’ hair in a way that makes his knees go weak a bit. He likes to do this thing where he makes swirly patterns against Stiles’ scalp with his blunt nails. But that usually only happens after they’ve had sex and before Stiles has jumped up to leave the room.
This is a whole different animal. They’re standing very nearly naked in Derek’s bathroom in the daylight. Stiles hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet or run his hands through his hair to fix it. Neither has Derek, who has a secret cowlick at the back of his head that he hasn’t had time to fix with product. They're both stubbly and sleep-worn around the edges. It's a little weird and perfect.
Stiles looks up at their reflection after a moment. “Sorry, got lost there for a minute.” He says.
He expects Derek to grumble about getting ready for the day or that they should go have breakfast.
Instead Derek just kind of sighs and goes, “Me too.”
And they stay there for a long time, just looking.