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"What are you talking about?" Stiles asks, perching his chin on the back of the couch to look at Derek in the kitchen. "I’m pretty sure I just kicked your werewolf ass in Mario Kart and that’s why you’re cooking me dinner.”
"I’m pretty sure I just lost on purpose because your cooking is horrendous," Derek counters with a smirk. "When do I ever let you win in Mario Kart, Stiles?”
"When I’m hungry," he quips. Derek laughs at this and continues to focus on his onions.
There had been a time when Stiles couldn’t imagine spending a lazy Saturday with Derek freakin’ Hale. Now he’s not sure how else to spend his Saturdays. The guy certainly had opened up to him after the Nogitsune ‘incident’ as Stiles likes to ironically call it. After all, Derek knows what it’s like to do bad things against his will. Stiles watches Derek chop onions for a bit longer, hating him a little for not tearing up once, before he turns back to the television screen.
He enters a race for one player and hopes he’s not too rusty against eleven computer characters. Maybe one day Stiles wouldn’t have nightmares about the Nogitsune, and maybe one day, Derek wouldn’t have nightmares about the Hale Fire. He sure as hell hopes so - especially because Derek deserves to sleep soundly each night for the rest of his life.
"Fucking Bowser," Stiles mutters to himself when the damn character hits him with a red shell. What a dick.
"It’s your fault for choosing the smallest character," Derek points out. "The big guys are always going to pick on you."
Stiles snorts. “Yeah, well, you’re usually here to protect me. Why aren’t you doing that, Derek?”
He curses as he swerves to miss a banana and barely hears Derek’s laugh. “Stiles, it’s not up to me to protect you in Mario Kart. It’s up to me to keep your nice ass alive so that you can play the game.”
Stiles’ lips tug upwards and then he shouts, “Fuck you, Wario!”
When Stiles finishes the cup, coming in second to fucking Bowser, Derek teases him. “You can’t win unless I’m there to take all the hits for you, huh?”
Stiles gets up from the couch and joins Derek in the kitchen. “I like when you take hits for me.”
Derek pauses dumping the onions into his homemade pasta sauce to look at Stiles. “In the game or real life?”
"Both," Stiles answers, feeling a little brave. They had an unspoken vow of full honesty these days, ever since Stiles discovered that Derek hadn’t known Malia was Peter’s kid until Malia had stormed up to him and socked him in the stomach. All of that drama is settled now, and Malia is still not talking to Stiles. He misses her friendship, but he’s a little relieved that their romance is over. It had been too sudden, and too confusing.
"In real life, really?" Derek prompts, continuing to pour the onions into his sauce. "What is it that you like?"
"I enjoy when you get back on your feet and beat the living shit out of them. You know, for a while there, you were a pretty shitty fighter, eh?" Stiles says, trying to hold back his laugh. Derek raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t touch the comment.
It’s not until a few minutes of comfortable silence passes that Stiles asks, “What do you like about me?”
"Your voice," Derek answers immediately, as though he didn’t have to think about it. Stiles’ lips part in surprise. Derek explains, "As long as you’re talking, I know you’re breathing, and I do like listening to you in general. Your mind is this tangled web that only you can understand. It’s interesting watching you jump from thought to thought."
Stiles rubs a hand through his hair. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me before.”
"Yeah, well," Derek says, shrugging. He leaves it at that and moves around Stiles to grab a spoon. "What do you like most about me?"
"Your heart," Stiles answers. "You care a lot for people, even though you act like you don’t. I know you were the anonymous donor who paid for Erica’s schooling last month. She was so disappointed when her car broke down and she had to use her money to repair it."
"She’s wanted to go to school for a few years now," Derek says with a shrug. "I couldn’t let her wait another year."
He nods. “I know, dude. That’s why I like your heart the most. You’re a softie by nature. Don’t think I’m not aware that you visit my dad on Mondays with veggie burger and sweet potato fries.”
"You know about that?" Derek asks as he pours his sauce onto the pasta. "I didn’t realize that."
"Do you really think my dad wouldn’t tell me all about it? He talks about you allthe time. Derek this, Derek that, did you know this about Derek?” Stiles lets out a laugh. “My dad adores you so much that I’m pretty sure he’d love to see us married off and adopting kids.”
Derek looks up to meet Stiles’ eyes and studies him for a moment. He pushes a bowl over towards Stiles before he asks, “Would that be so bad?”
"Ha," Stiles says as he walks towards the couch again. He glances over his shoulder to see that Derek hasn’t gotten himself a bowl yet. “Can you imagine us as fathers? I’m not sure we’d make the best ones. We can’t even chase our own nightmares away, how could we do it for some rugrats?”
When Derek joins Stiles on the other end of the couch, they both prop their feet up, nestling them against one another. “I have a few ideas about chasing away the nightmares.”
"Oh yeah?" Stiles says, as he takes a bite into his pasta. A low moan escapes his lips. "Jesus Derek, you make the best pasta sauce ever. This is delicious. Fuck.”
"This is why I let you win when we make bets on who cooks," Derek points out. He gives Stiles a smug smile before he tries some himself. "I’m glad you’re home for the summer."
Stiles’ eyes widen at the confession and then he tries not to let his smile grow too big. “I’m glad too. I think you need to visit me more at school or something. I miss you.”
"Yeah?" Derek says.
"Yeah," Stiles answers.
They both fall into silence, but this time, Stiles watches Derek thoughtfully. He wonders what life would be like if they had kids running around this house in ten years, wonders what always looks like with Derek. His lips curve up without his knowledge.
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"This summer has been great," Stiles says, kicking a rock with his shoe. He doesn’t want to say goodbye. He’s not ready, so he doesn’t look Derek in the eye. It’ll be better that way.
"Stiles," Derek’s soft voice comes. A hand appears on his shoulder, and Stiles looks up out of reflex. "We already agreed that we’d see each other every other weekend. It’s more than the once every three weeks from last year."
He shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve been seeing you almost every day this summer. I liked it.”
"Me too," Derek murmurs. He cocks his head to the side. "Claudia."
"Excuse me?" Stiles asks.
"If we were to have a girl, we would name her Claudia." Derek gives Stiles an uneasy smile.
"Didn’t we agree on Hattie—or rather, Harriet?" Stiles asks him. They’d been talking about their hypothetical kids’ names, personalities, and hobbies for the past five weeks.
Derek shrugs. “We’ll have a Claudia and a Hattie.”
"Harriet Laura Hale," Stiles says, nodding.
"We’ll be okay, seeing each other every two weeks, right?" Derek asks, softly enough that Stiles almost misses it.
"I think so," Stiles mutters. He kicks another rock with his foot before he steps forward and throws his arms around Derek. "I like seeing your pretty face."
"God, we’re acting like you and Scott. We’re not that attached, are we?" Derek says, trying to lighten the mood.
"I don’t think so," Stiles lies. When he steps back, he doesn’t move his hand from Derek’s arm. "This is pathetic. I’m just going to get in the car and leave and we’ll see each other in two weeks."
"Okay," Derek says, nodding.
"Stay alive dude," Stiles says before he shuts the door of his Jeep. He turns the engine on and pulls out. Derek lifts a hand and waves. It kills Stiles a lot more than he’d like to admit.
He’s on the road for less than a minute when his phone buzzes. He checks it, unable to resist.
DEREK: Hattie would like soccer I think
Stiles turns around the Jeep. He doesn’t care anymore. There’s no way he’s going to get to his dorm room and think he made the right choice by continuing to drive. When he pulls up to the driveway, he’s relieved that Derek hasn’t even moved.
"Stiles—" Derek starts when Stiles gets out of the vehicle.
"Shut up," Stiles demands. "We’re going to aim for the four kids and the white picket fence. We’re going to get those lazy, human Saturdays where we play Mario Kart and hosts huge barbecues for the people we care about. You know what I like most about you?”
Derek blinks, and rubs a hand on the back of his neck. “Um, what do you like most about me?”
"You. I like you the most.” Then Stiles is stepping forward, his hands taking place on either side of Derek’s face, and his lips finally finding a home.
Derek pulls away, and Stiles wonders if he had misunderstood what’s been going on between them. Derek murmurs, “I’ve wanted to do that for months.”
"Well, you’re going to have to wait two weeks ——"
"What about next weekend?" Derek asks.
"Scott will be at Kira’s, Isaac is going to Allison’s, and Boyd is going away for the weekend with Erica." Stiles eyebrows wiggle. "I think we should explore our friendship."
"Friendship?" Derek mutters. "Fuck that, Stiles. You said the girls and the picket fence."
Stiles beams. “Go big or go home. I like it. I like you.”
"I like you too, but you talk far too much."
"You’re the one who stopped to chat," Stiles teases. He doesn’t get a chance to say anything else for the next thirty minutes. Neither of them complain.