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Derek sat in the stands, huddled up with Stiles under a blanket. They both clutched disposable cups of terrible hot chocolate. Derek was thankful for his werewolf body heat but worried for Stiles, who shivered beside him. Stiles’ dad stood next to them, looking perfectly comfortable in his parka as he shouted down towards the field.
“How does he do it?” Stiles muttered.
“Lots of years watching you play lacrosse, I would guess,” Derek responded, taking a sip of his hot chocolate, eyes tracing the field to find the one jersey that had more letters on the back than any other. The helmets made it too difficult to identify, and they were all moving a bit too quickly to read the backs of the jerseys.
“More like watching me sit on the bench. At least Alexander is playing,” Stiles said, leaning harder against Derek. “Of course, it was never this cold when I played.”
“Well, New York actually has seasons,” Derek pointed out. “Don’t know why he couldn’t just play basketball like me,” he said, wrapping an arm around Stiles closer until he was practically laid in his lap.
“He’s planning to,” Stiles said. “And run cross-country like me and wrestle like dad,” Stiles said, laughing. “Who would’ve thought a child born of Lydia and I would be a jock.”
“Hey, he’s my son, too,” Derek argued, his eyebrows drawing together as he fought off the wave of jealousy at the reminder that he hadn’t been around for the beginning of Alexander’s life, how he’d almost missed out on the chance to have this entirely.
Stiles smiled softly and pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips. “The first thing you did when we moved here was put up a basketball hoop for him. So, I blame you.”
Derek snorted. “I taught him basketball….not football.” He groaned as a roar went up from the crowd. “Great, we missed something.”
“You sure did,” John said, pulling them up to stand. “Your son just kicked a field goal!”
Stiles and Derek looked at each other, dropping the blanket and their hot chocolates as they started shouting and cheering. They might hate the cold and sitting on the metal benches freezing their butts off, but they loved that kid down on the field more than anything in the world. It didn’t matter what he chose to do; they would always be there cheering him on.