Chapter Text
Scott’s sitting by his desk, burying himself as deep as he can get into his studies, when the front door opens with a loud bang on the bottom floor. He can hear Stiles’ rushing steps and drawling voice travel through the house as he climbs the stairs two at a time.
“It’s snowing!” He announces, appearing in the doorway of Scott’s bedroom, a grin threatening to break the sides of his face.
He has a long red scarf wrapped in two sloppy circles around his neck and a matching hat on his otherwise bare head to go with it. His nose and cheeks are slightly flushed, providing he’d probably ran there instead of going by car. The dampness of his jeans and his attempt to catch his breath are what convince Scott of that theory.
Scott glances disbelievingly out the window, eyebrows raised. The blinds to the window are open and only a blind man would be unable to notice the white world outside. He returns his gaze to Stiles.
“I can see that.”
“Dude,” Stiles said firmly, clearly disappointed in the lack of reaction. “It’s snowing.”
“And?”
“And you’re gonna put on your ugly green gloves from last year and come outside to help me build a snowman.”
His voice is his annoyingly casual, yet informative, one; the one he uses when Scott should see no other options, but Scott shakes his head and frowns in disapproval.
“I’m not building a snowman.”
Stiles sighs and presses his lips together in a thin line.
“That’s what you’ve said every time for the last five years, yet we all know it always ends with you building a snowman. Which looks more like a troll.”
He finishes with another big smile, the kind Scott can’t help scoff at, but he still isn’t on board.
“Not this year.”
“Dude,” Stiles whines. “Come on. You never cared for your little reputation before.”
“I didn’t have a reputation before, Stiles,” Scott reminds him. “What I did have was time to study.”
Stiles lets out a frustrated sound as Scott looks down at the book in his hands, clearly stating that the conversation was over. Stiles only remains silent for barely a minute, however, sloughing down on the edge of Scott’s bed to cross his arms sloppily over his chest and gets his hand stuck in his scarf in the process.
“Do I have to go down to the pet store and buy you a leech?” He suddenly says in a half-mocking tone. “You know I’ll do it. I’ll even make them put a dog tag with the name Scott and my phone number on it.”
Scott breathes a heavy sigh, giving his friend the stare he knows is a perfect replica of Derek’s. Freaks Stiles out and is exactly why Scott does it.
“Come on,” Stiles says again, softer this time. “I’ll help you get an A.”
And to that, Scott actually closes the book and offers him a light smile.
“A-plus.”
Stiles smirks.
“Deal.”
- - -
They had just put Stiles’ hat on the snowman’s head – because Scott had insisted that it wasn’t that cold, even though it was, and therefore hadn’t brought one – when Derek walks by the house. Stiles finds himself more surprised by his arrival than his actual presence, seeing as he usually appears out of nowhere and risks giving Stiles a heart attack more than once.
Another matter that surprised him is the fact that Derek didn’t seem to care for the drop in degrees. Despite the snow falling down, making his hair damp and tousled like Stiles had never seen it, he isn’t wearing anything more than his trademark leather jacket. The sight alone sent a cold shiver down Stiles’ spine.
“Okay, what’s the deal with you wolves?” Stiles demands, throwing Scott, who barely gets his jacket zipper up, a glance before staring back at Derek who stopped by the fence surrounding the front lawn. “I’m freezing my ass off over here.”
Scott looks as if he’s about to ask Derek what he’s doing here – which might’ve been a good idea because Stiles should be wondering that, too – but seems about as baffled at Stiles’ question as he is and looks to Derek for an answer.
Derek scoffs lightly taking a cautious step through the open gate.
“Don’t you know? Werewolves’ body temperature is warmer than humans’. We hardly ever get cold.” He raises one eyebrow at Scott. “One would think you would’ve noticed this by now.”
Scott’s lips thin controlling himself from snapping back at Derek. Stiles kind of likes the way these two have started treating each other more like squabbling brothers than rivals. The threats and insults exchanged between them are more teasing than actual fighting. Took them long enough.
“So,” he begins thoughtfully. “If I were to bomb him in a snowball fight…”
“You could try,” Scott challenges.
Stiles pulls a face at him, suddenly not as up for it. He absentmindedly sweeps a hand over the snowman’s head to get rid of the snowflakes already gathered on top of his red hat before doing the same to his own head. The action brings Derek’s full attention to the snowman and a wry smirk spreads across his lips.
“It’s got a weird nose.”
“We were out of carrots,” Stiles pitches back in defense. “Potatoes work fine.”
Derek huffs and shakes his head and that, more than anything, makes Stiles grin. Making the Sourwolf do anything but his default grumpy face, even for a second, is a victory.
Before his sanity catches up and tells him it might be a bad idea, he crouches down to grab a handful of snow and hurls it toward Derek. The not-so-very solid ball hits him square in the chest and Stiles has time to think that his aim has improved a lot right before the Alpha gives him one of his hard stares.
Uh-oh.
In the span of a second, Derek doesn’t tackle him with snowballs like Stiles had assumed he’d do, but with his own body, pushing him into the little snow pile that had gathered while making the snowman. Stiles makes a gasping sound as he lands on his stomach with half of Derek’s weight pinning him down, the cold snow soaking through his clothes.
“Derek!”
“You started it.” Derek’s voice is casual, but Stiles can hear the underlining amusement.
Somewhere in the distance, Scott’s laughing louder than he had in weeks.