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The rebuilt Hale house was a masterpiece of restoration and modern comfort, its Gothic architecture accented by warm wooden tones and expansive windows that let in the forest’s natural light. The walls carried faint reminders of the past—photographs of family members gone too soon, and trinkets salvaged from the fire that once consumed the original structure. It wasn’t just a house anymore; it was a home in the making, though Derek still had a hard time admitting that.
Stiles lounged on the couch, a brand-new addition Erica had convinced Derek to buy. Its plush, deep cushions made it impossible for anyone to sit up straight, but Stiles didn’t seem to mind. He sprawled, legs hanging over one armrest, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on his chest. Across from him, Erica sat cross-legged in an oversized armchair, tossing pieces of popcorn at him in rapid succession.
“Why do you always push me away?” Stiles questioned, his voice only slightly muffled by the popcorn he had just caught in his mouth. His lips puckered into an exaggerated pout as he squinted at Derek, who stood leaning against the grand staircase, arms crossed, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Have you ever considered the fact that I just don’t like you?” Derek replied, raising an eyebrow in a way that seemed to say, Isn’t it obvious?
Stiles froze, his mouth half-open as if ready to launch into an argument. “No,” he said simply, his tone laced with mock anger.
“Well, consider it,” Derek shot back, turning slightly as if the conversation had already ended.
Before Stiles could respond, Peter—seated casually at the dining table, sipping from a wine glass—let out a low chuckle. “Oh please, Derek. You’re practically in love with the boy.”
Stiles blinked, startled, and lost his grip on the popcorn bowl. The next kernel Erica lobbed at him hit him square on the nose, and the popcorn tumbled to the floor in a clatter. “What—” he started, looking at Peter with wide eyes.
“Shut up, Peter,” Derek snapped, his tone dangerously low.
Erica cackled, doubling over as she clutched her stomach. “Oh my God, are we finally admitting feelings?” she teased, her voice pitching higher with delight.
Derek’s glare whipped to his beta, but Erica was unfazed. She grinned, throwing another piece of popcorn at Stiles, who was still frozen in a state of mild shock.
“It’s about time,” Jackson chimed in from where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling idly through his phone. He didn’t even bother looking up as he spoke, but the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth was evident.
“Yeah, it was getting insufferable,” Isaac added, perched on the armrest of Boyd’s chair. Boyd nodded solemnly in agreement, as if this were an intervention they’d been planning for months.
“I hate all of you,” Derek muttered under his breath, though his expression betrayed the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.
Stiles, now seemingly recovered, sat up straighter on the couch, his lips curling into a slow, mischievous grin. “Wait, wait, wait,” he said, holding up a hand as if to pause the moment. “Are we seriously having this conversation? Derek Hale—broody, emotionally constipated Derek Hale—has feelings for me?”
“I said shut up, Stiles,” Derek barked, but his voice lacked its usual bite.
“That’s not a no!” Stiles shot back, leaning forward with a spark of triumph in his eyes. “Holy crap. This is amazing. This is—Erica, are you hearing this? He totally likes me!”
Erica wheezed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Oh, we’ve all known for ages. We just didn’t think you’d catch on before the end of the decade.”
Peter raised his glass in mock salute. “To Derek’s agonizingly slow emotional growth.”
“Don’t,” Derek warned, his voice sharp as he glared at his uncle.
“Okay, okay, everybody calm down,” Stiles said, though he was grinning ear to ear and making no effort to calm down himself. “Let’s just take a moment to process this historic event. Derek Hale might, might, have a crush on me. I mean, obviously he does—”
“I don’t,” Derek interjected, but no one paid him any attention.
“—but the real question is, what’s he going to do about it?” Stiles finished, leaning back and crossing his arms with an air of mock seriousness.
“Stiles,” Derek growled, his tone warning enough to make most people shrink back. Stiles, of course, was unfazed.
“Yes, Derek?” he replied sweetly, batting his eyelashes.
Derek’s hands clenched at his sides, and for a moment, it looked like he might actually storm off. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. “You are the most irritating person I’ve ever met.”
“And yet,” Stiles said, gesturing around dramatically, “you let me hang out here all the time. You’ve even stopped complaining when I rearrange your bookshelves. Face it, Derek. You looooove me.”
“I’m regretting rebuilding this house,” Derek muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Erica snorted. “Oh, come on, Derek. Just admit it already. We all know you’re happier when he’s around.”
Derek looked like he was about to argue, but Boyd spoke up for the first time, his voice calm and even. “They’re not wrong.”
Derek’s eyes darted to Boyd, betrayal flashing across his face. “Not you too.”
Boyd shrugged. “You’re less of a pain when Stiles is here.”
“See?” Stiles said, pointing at Boyd as if his argument had just been proven by an expert witness. “Even Boyd agrees. And Boyd’s basically a werewolf monk—he doesn’t get involved in this kind of nonsense unless it’s true.”
Derek groaned, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you all still here?”
“Because this is better than Netflix,” Isaac said, smirking.
Jackson finally looked up from his phone, his smirk turning into a grin. “This is better than anything.”
“Okay, fine,” Derek snapped, his voice rising enough to silence the room. He turned to Stiles, his expression a mix of exasperation and something softer that he quickly tried to hide. “Yes, I like you. Are you happy now?”
The room went completely still. Stiles’ mouth opened, then closed, then opened again as if he were a fish trying to figure out how to breathe. “Wait, seriously?”
“Yes, seriously,” Derek said, his voice quieter now, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.
Stiles blinked, his brain seemingly short-circuiting. “I—I mean, I didn’t think you’d actually say it. I thought this would be one of those things where you deny it for, like, another year, and we have this whole ‘will-they-won’t-they’ dynamic going on.”
“Well, congratulations,” Derek said dryly. “You ruined the suspense.”
Peter clapped slowly, the sound echoing through the room. “Bravo. Truly, this is a moment for the history books.”
“Shut up, Peter,” Derek said automatically, but there was no real heat behind it.
Stiles finally seemed to snap out of his daze, a grin spreading across his face. “So, just to be clear—you, Derek Hale, like me, Stiles Stilinski.”
Derek sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Yes.”
“Ha!” Stiles exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air. “Take that, Erica. You owe me twenty bucks.”
Erica scowled. “Damn it. I really thought he’d hold out until Christmas.”
“You were betting on this?” Derek asked, disbelief dripping from his voice.
“Obviously,” Erica said, smirking again. “We’ve had a pool going for months.”
Derek groaned, rubbing his temples. “I hate all of you.”
“No, you don’t,” Stiles said, his voice softer now as he stood and crossed the room to stand in front of Derek. “And, for the record…I like you too.”
Derek’s eyes snapped up to meet Stiles’. “You do?”
“Of course I do,” Stiles said, his grin softening into something more genuine. “You’re grumpy and sarcastic and emotionally repressed, but you’re also loyal and brave and kind, even if you try to hide it. What’s not to like?”
Derek stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, grinning. “But you like me anyway.”
Derek shook his head, but there was no denying the warmth in his eyes as he looked at Stiles. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
The moment hung in the air, thick with anticipation. The room, which had been filled with teasing laughter and biting remarks just moments before, fell quiet—too quiet. Stiles turned to the group still gathered around, the collective smirks of Erica, Jackson, and Isaac spelling trouble before their mouths even opened.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Erica started, her voice sing-song and far too delighted.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Jackson joined in, his usually aloof demeanor cracking into a grin as he clapped his hands in rhythm.
“Kiss, kiss, kiss!” Isaac added with an exaggerated cheer, nudging Boyd, who raised an eyebrow but ultimately joined in with a few claps of his own.
Stiles turned back to Derek, biting his lower lip, hesitating, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can’t disappoint the pups now, can we?” he said, voice light but underpinned with something warmer, more genuine.
Derek rolled his eyes dramatically, as if this was the last thing he wanted to do. But the faint pink dusting of his cheeks and the way his gaze lingered on Stiles’ face betrayed him. “You’re impossible,” he muttered, the faintest curve of a smile tugging at his lips.
And then, just as Stiles was about to crack another joke, Derek leaned in.
The room erupted into chaos. Erica shrieked with glee, practically bouncing in her chair. Jackson whooped loudly, throwing his fist into the air like he’d just won the lottery. Isaac grinned wide enough to split his face in two, clapping Boyd on the back as if this moment was the peak of all their hopes and dreams. Even Boyd, usually reserved and stoic, let out a low, approving cheer.
Peter, who had been silently watching from his seat at the dining table, leaned back with a rare, genuine smile curling on his face. His sharp, snarky edges seemed to soften as he observed his nephew, who for so long had been weighed down by loss and loneliness. Derek had fought so hard, carried so much, and now, finally, he was letting himself have something good. Peter didn’t say a word—he didn’t need to. The fondness in his expression said everything.
Stiles, initially surprised at the boldness of Derek’s move, melted into the kiss, his hands instinctively reaching up to rest lightly on Derek’s chest. It wasn’t a grand, cinematic kiss, but it was warm, steady, and filled with a quiet sort of promise. When they pulled apart, Stiles’ face was flushed, his grin lopsided but utterly delighted. Derek, for his part, looked uncharacteristically soft, his usual scowl replaced with something that could only be described as contentment.
“Well,” Stiles said after a beat, his voice breathless but still carrying that trademark humor. “That was…unexpected. Not unwelcome, mind you, but unexpected.”
Derek shook his head, the faintest chuckle slipping from his lips. “You talk too much.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles replied, his grin widening. “But you like it.”
Erica stood abruptly, pointing a finger at Derek with mock authority. “You two are officially disgusting, and I love it.”
Jackson snorted. “It’s about time. Seriously, Derek, the amount of brooding you’ve subjected us to—”
“Don’t push it,” Derek warned, but his voice lacked any real threat.
“Hey, man, no complaints here,” Isaac said, holding up his hands in surrender. “This is the happiest I’ve seen you in…ever.”
Boyd nodded in agreement, his expression calm but approving. “It’s good for you,” he said simply.
Stiles glanced around the room, taking in the wide smiles and teasing grins, then turned back to Derek. “Looks like the pack approves,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “Not that you needed their permission, obviously. But, you know. It’s nice.”
Derek sighed, though it was more out of exasperated fondness than actual annoyance. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”
“Oh, 100%,” Stiles said, grinning again. “But hey, you signed up for this when you decided to have feelings. Welcome to the Stiles Stilinski experience.”
Peter, still seated at the dining table, raised his glass in a silent toast. “To Derek Hale,” he said, his voice quieter now, devoid of its usual sarcasm. “For finally learning how to let himself be happy.”
Derek glanced over, his brow furrowing slightly, but Peter’s expression was sincere. It wasn’t often that Peter dropped his walls, but in this moment, Derek saw a flicker of the uncle he’d known before the fire—someone who genuinely cared, in his own, slightly twisted way.
The chaos slowly settled, and the pack began dispersing—Jackson and Isaac wandered into the kitchen in search of snacks, Erica sprawled across the couch, still giggling to herself, and Boyd returned to his chair, calm as ever. Peter remained at the table, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass, watching his nephew with a mix of pride and quiet satisfaction.
For the first time in a long time, Derek felt…whole. The house was no longer a hollow reminder of what he’d lost—it was alive, filled with laughter, teasing, and warmth. His pack was his family now, and with Stiles by his side, he finally allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he deserved this happiness.
“You okay?” Stiles asked, his voice softer now as he leaned in close, searching Derek’s face.
Derek nodded, his lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. “Yeah,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m okay.”
And for the first time in years, he truly meant it.