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Stiles is sure Derek tries to be subtle about it. He does intend to be sneaky when he crouches outside his window at night or keeps monitoring his emotions whenever they’re together. It’s funny, really, because his betas aren’t even trying any longer. They usually waltz in unannounced with snacks and movies. Boyd is by far his favorite because he’s not trying to make him talk. When Derek comes over, Stiles either is about to have a serious conversation or has to pretend for hours that he didn’t notice Derek keeping an eye on him. Right now, he probably thinks Stiles is distracted enough by the too hot water hitting his skin that he didn’t notice he’s been standing in the door for the past five minutes. He most likely thinks he’s sneaky too. He’s not. Never has been. But Stiles isn’t going to burst that bubble.
Steeling himself for the following conversation, he shuts the shower off. “If you’re creeping anyway, the least you could do is hand me a towel.” Stiles opens the curtain and steps out of the shower, water dripping onto the bathmat. He shudders as the cool air hits him.
Derek cracks the door further open, brows furrowed. He doesn’t say anything and grabs a towel from the rack. For the flicker of a second, he doesn’t move, and his knuckles turn white in the soft fabric.
“We talked about this, remember?” Stiles snatches the towel from him and wraps it around his hips after drying his hair haphazardly. “You sneaking up on me? I’m not a fan.” A conversation they’ve had before because Derek loves to appear in his apartment at random times, unannounced, and not by using the doorbell.
“How—“
“Did I know you were staring at me from behind the door?” Stiles grimaces and folds his arms over his chest. “The nogitsune ruined my life, not my hypervigilance.” No matter what the nogitsune did to him, his senses have never worked better than they do now. He’s on high alert twenty-four hours, seven days a week. Nothing gets past him. Especially not Derek trying to be sneaky. “I'm making zrazy,” Stiles informs him then and walks out of the bathroom, “you want some?”
Derek follows him. “How are you feeling?”
“Like my privacy has been invaded.”
“Stiles.”
Oh, good. Someone’s got a short fuse today. “I’m a college student with mid-terms coming up, I’m working two jobs — yes, protecting this town is basically a full-time job.” Stiles leaves a watery trail as he walks to his dresser. “And I’m still waiting for our third date, Derek Hale.” Sighing, Stiles grabs his sweatpants and drops the towel. He’s spent too much time with werewolves and their lack of clothes to be embarrassed about it. Plus, it’s not like Derek hasn’t seen him naked before. He has. Multiple times. Long before they went on their first date. “How do you think I’m feeling?”
Derek doesn’t say anything for a long time, but his gaze is palpable on the back of Stiles’ head. “Are you getting bad again?”
There are times when Stiles appreciates Derek doesn’t beat around the bush. Today is not that day. He folds his arms over his chest and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath. Jackson asked him the same question yesterday, and Stiles wanted to kick him out of the window he crawled in through. But this is Derek. It’s different with him. It’s always different with him. “I don’t know.”
Another silence follows his words. Much shorter than the first. Derek crosses the room on quiet feet. His body is warm against his back. Familiar. Strong. “You know,” Derek whispers, curling his arms around Stiles’ shoulders, “you’re never doing this alone.”
“It’s pretty lonely in my mind.”
Derek presses a kiss to the back of his head.
Closing his eyes, Stiles falls against him and holds onto Derek’s arms. He’s pack. He’s home. He’s safe. Stiles smiles a little and leans his head against Derek’s shoulder. For all he cares, they could stay like this forever. But there are mid-terms coming up, hunters roaming their hellhole of a town, and he’ll have to keep working on his dinner. Stiles opens his eyes again, studying the lights of downtown Beacon Hills. “How did you know?” How do you always know? Because Stiles certainly doesn’t notice. Not when he’s slipping.
Derek huffs. “You shot the hunter without hesitation.”
“In the leg.”
“Stiles.”
“He was running?!” Plus, he was alone. “I had to stop him somehow.”
Shaking his head, Derek pulls away and grabs Stiles’ chin instead. He raises a brow, tipping his head up. “We both know you’re faster than him.”
Stiles scrunches up his face. “I wasn’t in the mood for a chase.” Fine, maybe Derek has a point. “I have to study for my mid-terms. Criminal justice is no joke. I don’t have time to be exhausted.” Especially not with working as a server to pay for this apartment.
“You threatened to throw Jackson out of your window,” Derek adds, now raising the second brow in accusation — which, rude — and turns around to get two plates from the one lonely wall cupboard in his kitchenette.
Stiles yanks his t-shirt over his head. “I’ve threatened to do that before.” This guy is such a baby sometimes. Jackson really didn’t have a reason to rat him out.
“Maybe,” Derek concedes and continues to set the table as if he’s the one living in this tiny flat, “but this time, Jackson was worried you’d go through with it.”
Scoffing, Stiles reaches for his phone. He’s gotta start cooking the potatoes soon.
Derek grabs his arm and pulls him close, cupping his neck with the softest smile Stiles has ever seen on him. “We all struggle with our humanity sometimes.” Squinting a little, he tips his head to the side. “Not sure Jackson’s got any left.”
“Don’t let him hear that.”
“What I’m saying is, we understand.” He smiles, kissing his forehead. “And we’re never going to leave you. I will never leave you.”
Stiles smiles and wraps his arms around Derek’s waist. “You only make me wait on that third date forever, huh?”
Again, Derek kisses his forehead. “This could be our third date.”
“I like the sound of that,” Stiles smiles and leans up to steal a long-overdue kiss.