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Stiles was enjoying a lazy doze, clinging on to the remains of sleep, until he made the mistake of rolling over and something sharp jabbed into his arm. He sat up, suddenly awake, and a torrent of roses tumbled from his chest onto the bedclothes. The culprit for the stabbing pain was obvious: the roses had thorns. For some reason, his bed was covered in pointy flowers.
“Derek?” Stiles called out, hoping for an explanation. When there came no reply, he started to worry. What if some evil witch had cast a spell and turned Derek into a pile of roses?
He tried to calm himself down rather than jumping to the weirdest conclusion possible, but he couldn’t think of any other reason why the bed would be covered with roses. It wasn’t like it was Valentine’s Day or the anniversary of any key relationship milestones. Besides, flowers were definitely not Derek’s style.
Stiles climbed from the bed, carefully avoiding impaling himself on any more thorns. He walked out of the bedroom, calling out for Derek again, and stepped into a florist’s dream. There were flowers everywhere. Bouquets stood in vases, jugs, mugs, pots, and anything else that could hold water, covering most of the flat surfaces and a good deal of the floor. Everywhere he looked, Stiles saw lilies, roses, tulips, daffodils, and a million more varieties of flower that he couldn’t name.
This was not normal. And not normal round here, usually meant someone was about to die. He found his phone under a collection of orchids and quickly called his dad, trying not to panic as he desperately sought for an explanation of this invasion of flora. No obvious explanation presented itself, so Stiles’ mind was left to come up with wilder and wilder possibilities.
“I think Derek’s been possessed,” Stiles said the instant his dad answered.
“What?”
“By a nature spirit or something. There are flowers everywhere.” Stiles looked around again at the madness that had been his living room.
“Derek’s not possessed,” his dad said. Stiles was about to argue that this was Beacon Hills and his dad shouldn’t be so dismissive, when his dad continued, “I’m reasonably sure he’s not possessed.”
“But… flowers?”
“Just go with it. I’m sure it will make sense soon.”
His dad hung up on him before Stiles could argue that waking up to a bed full of roses could never make sense. But his dad was sure about possession, which meant he knew something about what was going on. Stiles looked around and tried to think of explanations that his dad would know about.
Had there been a crime at a florists? Maybe some florist had been brutally assaulted and robbed and was terrified of starving in the streets because they didn’t have any money, and Derek had found out and decided to buy everything in sight as an act of charity? But, no, that didn’t make sense. How would Derek have found out?
Maybe there was a spell making people buy flowers. Maybe the florist was a witch using magical pollen to attract people into buying flowers and it was more effective on werewolves. No, then his dad wouldn’t know about it.
Maybe the spell was on Stiles. Maybe flowers were just magically appearing around him and Derek had gone to get help and told his dad. No, then his dad would have told him.
Maybe the flowers were actually evil magic and Derek had brought them here to keep them away from the general population. No, Derek wouldn’t do that. He definitely wouldn’t leave Stiles alone with evil flowers.
Stiles was working himself up to a good panic when the front door opened and Derek walked in holding a Styrofoam box that smelt of bacon. Derek took one look at Stiles and recognised the panicked expression.
“What’s wrong?” Derek asked.
“Flowers!” Stiles said.
“You don’t like them?”
“Why is our apartment full of flowers?”
Derek didn’t look like he was about to announce the impending apocalypse, which was slightly reassuring. He just looked a little sheepish.
“I was trying to be romantic,” Derek said.
“Romantic?” Stiles wondered again about possession as a possible explanation. “Derek, most people buy flowers on anniversaries or when they need to apologise for something. Are you apologising for something?” Stiles looked round and wondered what offense could possibly warrant this quantity of flowers. “Oh god, did you kill someone? Did you kill Scott in a fit of wolfy rage and now you’re apologising by buying every flower in California?”
“What?!” Derek looked horrified. “Of course I haven’t killed Scott. Why would you think that?”
“Flowers!”
“I try to be romantic and you think I’m a killer.” Derek was starting to look offended now. He tossed the breakfast box down with more force than was usually required and Stiles began to wonder if he was the one making some weird mistake. Derek was very sensitive about people thinking him a killer.
“It’s just really weird,” Stiles said, “and I’m freaking out.”
“You don’t have to freak out,” Derek insisted. “This is good. No one’s dead. This was... I wanted to be romantic.”
“But it’s seriously overcompensating. It’s like you’re trying to stuff a decade’s worth of romance into one gesture. Do you think we’re not romantic enough?” Stiles started to panic that maybe Derek was panicking, that maybe this was some last-ditched attempt to be a romantic couple and now Stiles was screwing it up and making things worse. “Do you think we’re failing as a couple?”
“What?! NO!” Then a look of panic crossed Derek’s face. “Do you think we’re failing as a couple?”
“I hadn’t been until now."
"How could you assume flowers mean we’re ending as a couple?” Derek asked.
“Because this isn’t you! My first thought was that you were possessed!”
Derek rubbed a hand over his face in a gesture Stiles thought had been picked up from him.
“I should have listened to your dad.”
“What? My dad? Why would you talk to my dad about buying flowers?”
“Can we just eat breakfast?” Derek gestured hopefully towards the takeout container where the bacon smell was trying valiantly to overcome the scent of flowers.
“Derek, tell me what’s going on. I’m freaking out over here. There’s flowers everywhere and you’re behaving really weird and weird in this town usually means death and destruction so please just tell me what this is all about or I’m going to keep thinking the worst. So, please, Derek, tell me what this is all about.”
“Here!” Derek snapped. He grabbed the takeout container and shoved it into Stiles’ chest. Stiles flipped open the lid, heart still racing as he anticipated the worst.
Stiles froze.
He blinked.
He tried to get his brain to start working again.
There was a ring perched in the scrambled egg. Derek was trying to be romantic. Derek was giving him flowers and buying him breakfast and trying to be romantic in a lead up to this. Derek was trying to propose.
And Stiles had just ruined it.
Stiles started crying. He was the worst boyfriend in the world. His response to a proposal attempt was to accuse his boyfriend of killing his best friend. Derek probably wouldn’t even want to propose now that he’d screwed up so badly. God, he was an idiot. Why did his mind always jump to the worst possible conclusions? Why had it never occurred to him that Derek might actually have something good planned?
“Stiles?” Derek was there in front of him, looking concerned. “We don’t have to.”
And that made Stiles cry even harder because obviously Derek was trying to back out now that he’d seen how messed up Stiles was that it never even occurred to him that something nice might be happening. Or something that was supposed to be nice. What if this ended their relationship? What if Derek decided he wasn’t worth putting up with if he could turn a romantic gesture into arguments and accusations?
“Stiles?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw up.”
“Stiles, no. It’s OK. You didn’t screw up.”
“I accused you of murdering Scott.”
“Yeah, but you didn’t actually think I’d do that, did you?”
Stiles shook his head.
“I’m an idiot,” Stiles sobbed.
“Yeah, but you’re my idiot. At least, I hope you want to be my idiot. Officially.”
Stiles nodded.
“So is that a yes?” Derek asked.
“You still want me? Even after I messed up?”
“I will always want you, no matter how much you mess up.” Derek kissed him briefly and then added, “But you might want to talk about your tendency to always assume the worst at your next therapy session.”
Stiles’ tears melted into laughter as he plucked the ring out and went to clean the egg off it. As he was slipping the ring over his finger, a thought occurred.
“My dad knew what was going on,” he said.
“Yeah,” said Derek. He flushed slightly with embarrassment.
“Did you ask permission for my hand?” Stiles asked.
“He helped me choose the ring.”
Stiles grinned, “My dad always hated jewellery shopping. He would complain endlessly whenever he had to go with my mom or buy her something as a gift. He must really want you as a son-in-law to help you buy the ring.”
Derek gave a smile, “You really think your dad likes me?”
“Of course he likes you. You’re family and you know how he feels about family.”
“I’m not exactly family.”
“You are now.” Stiles held up his hand, waggling his fingers to make the ring sparkle in its new place.