Work Text:
Stiles snickered for a moment. Then went back to whatever he was working on.
Derek was sitting on the other end of the room, as Stiles worked from the table they had set up so he could work from the loft. Concentration broken, Derek put a finger to mark his place in his book. "What was so funny?"
Stiles grinned. "Nothing, really. Just a crossword puzzle clue."
"I thought you were working." Derek frowned.
Stiles had come back to Beacon Hills as the virus spread across Asia and into Europe. He knew it would get worse before it got better and he was going to be close to his dad. So he threw money at his landlord to break his lease, left the furniture, put what he wanted to keep into boxes for shipping, and came home.
When the virus landed in Beacon Hills, Stiles was unceremoniously moved to Derek's loft. Not that it was a real hardship on Stiles' part -- being around one's boyfriend 24/7 was a good thing -- but it also meant not seeing his dad in person. They talked daily, but it wasn't the same. At least John had Melissa to keep him company.
"Stiles," John had said, delivering one last, fierce, hug. "I have to be out there. There's no way I can let you stay here, with me. I need to know you'll be safe."
Stiles was now 'working from home' -- from the loft, and keeping an eye on Beacon Hills in general. Even though he wasn't out in public, he was keeping track of both crime and the spread of illness in the town, in between his work and taking classes.
Luckily, Beacon Hills had enough of a supernatural population to keep the spread of the virus down, and Stiles' work helped predict hot spots of any kind.
Werewolf immunity to the virus meant the members of the Pack were in demand for everyday work that was risky for mundanes to do. It didn't take long to organize their own grocery delivery service, and anyone could call and get food delivered to their homes.
While there were a number of sick people in Beacon Hills, so far no one had died from the virus. Stiles was determined to keep it that way.
Derek got up from the couch and looked over Stiles' shoulder at the screen.
"What? I need to do something meaningless once in a while," Stiles defended himself.
Derek shrugged. "Not a problem, just curious." He scanned the puzzle on the screen and didn't see anything obviously funny.
Stiles' ears turned red. "Umm... well... 17-across."
Derek looked at the clue. Demand He looked at the puzzle and saw it filled in with request.
"I don't get it," Derek admitted.
"It... just made me think of you, when we first met," Stiles admitted. "You were all gruff and scowl-ly and, well, you demanded more than you asked for things. And I wasn't sure you knew enough words to make a real request."
Derek gave a small smile. They had both come a long way since then.
"You about ready for a break?" Derek asked.
Stiles nodded. "Sure. I was about to get some dinner started."
Derek leaned in for a soft kiss. "How about if we work up an appetite first?"