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Derek had given the pack keys to his loft years ago, before most of them left for college. It wasn’t uncommon for him to walk in and find one or two of them hanging out there, watching TV or making dinner or even just taking a nap. So he wasn’t surprised when he opened the freezer to find a tub of ice cream that he definitely hadn’t left there. However, it was a surprise that it was plain vanilla ice cream, since the rest of the pack protested it almost disgustedly. No one else was in the loft, but there was a note taped to the lid.
‘Derek,’ it read, ‘this ice cream is for you, since you seemed kind of grumpy the other day. Toppings can be found in the left cabinet over the toaster. Enjoy!’
It wasn’t signed, but there was a faint smell of Stiles there, despite having been in the freezer for possibly hours. Derek shook his head, smiling reluctantly, and scooped some into a bowl a few minutes later, layering it with chocolate syrup and multi-colored sprinkles. He didn’t stop to wonder how Stiles knew he liked to decorate his ice cream, despite the fact that no one else did.
A few weeks later, he arrived home late to Stiles sound asleep in his bed. Derek didn’t wake him, choosing instead to cover him with an extra blanket (because Stiles ran cold, especially at night) and walk quietly back downstairs to make himself dinner. To his surprise, a pot of chicken and rice already sat in the fridge, with another note taped to it.
‘I was going to wait up for you, but it was a rough day and your bed is better than your couch or chair. Scott and Kira are having a sleepover, which is my cue to get the hell out of the apartment, and yours is closest. Wake me when you get home so I can move. I’ll tell you about everything in the morning. –Stiles’
Derek chuckled, scooping some of the dish into a bowl and heating it up. He ate slowly and trudged upstairs to take a shower. He only considered waking Stiles up for a few seconds before pulling on a pair of boxers and slipping under the sheets, turning on his side to face Stiles. His mouth hung open just a little, and his muscles twitched lightly in his sleep. Derek always found it odd that Stiles was almost completely silent in sleep, beyond the soft huffs of breath that indicated he was having a more stimulating dream.
Derek had figured out a long time ago that he liked watching Stiles sleep, the first time that he had stayed over in Stiles’ dorm at college after a long day of research. Stiles had grown into his body a long time ago, but he was still a bundle of energy and movement in his waking moments. When he slept, it was like all the tension just fell out of him, leaving him still but for those little muscle spasms. Watching Stiles sleep calmed Derek too, until his own eyes drifted closed.
The next morning, neither of them commented on the fact that Derek hadn’t kicked Stiles out of his bed, or that Stiles had migrated across the sheets in the night so that they woke up on the same pillow with their legs tangled together. Derek just listened as Stiles ranted over breakfast about how high school students were the absolute worst, and that he couldn’t possibly have been this awful. When he left to go meet Lydia for lunch, Derek was left with the lingering scent of Stiles in Derek’s shirt (because he’d borrowed one to sleep in the night before.)
It was only the third time that Derek began to suspect that something was going on. The entire pack had gathered to negotiate with another pack that was passing through Beacon Hills. They met at the old Hale house, which Derek had had fixed up in the years that the rest of the pack was in college. The other pack had a particular taste for dog, and was asking permission to eat their fill of the dogs in Beacon Hills.
“Those dogs are people’s pets,” Scott protested in shock.
“Well, of course we would leave those ones alone,” their alpha said quickly. “But we couldn’t help but notice that your shelter here takes in an awful lot of strays. Surely they won’t be missed?”
“You won’t touch any dog here, stray or not,” Scott said firmly. “I think it would be best if we escorted you out of our territory.”
“A parting gift, then,” the alpha said. He eyed Stiles with something akin to hunger. “Your human will do.”
Derek growled and stepped in front of Stiles, reaching back to grab his wrist. “You won’t touch him.”
The pack had gotten angry. “It is customary for these negotiations to benefit both parties involved,” the alpha snarled. “Or have you forgotten?”
Kira drew her katana, sinking into a stance that the whole pack recognized as a threat. A few of the other pack actually laughed, but Derek recognized the expression of fury on her face that promised death. “Oh, leaving our territory will benefit you,” she said lightly, her voice betraying nothing. “You’ll leave with your lives.”
One of the wolves lunged forward with a howl, claws extended to Kira’s face, but Kira ducked and whirled around. The she-wolf fell with a yelp of pain at Kira’s feet, and Scott’s eyes flashed red. “It’s time for you to leave.”
The alpha laughed. “No chance.” He charged forward, and with him the rest of the pack. Everything was a blur of motion and enraged growls, and Derek’s side was ripped open with claws that were meant for Stiles. He threw the werewolf to the ground and a moment later Stiles shoved a handful of mountain ash and powdered wolfsbane down its throat. He screamed in pain and seemed to burn from the inside out, until nothing was left at all. The fighting stopped at the horrific shriek, and in a moment Scott had the other alpha pressed to a tree with his claws at his throat. “Call them off!” he yelled.
He did, and the other pack slunk back behind their alpha. The fight hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes, but they were dripping blood and three less than they’d started with. It was decided that everyone but Stiles and Derek would accompany them off of the territory. Stiles waited until they were out of sight before turning to Derek and making him take off his shirt. “It’s fine,” Derek tried to say, but Stiles was pressing the ruined shirt to the gashes that almost cut to the bone.
He made Derek wrap an arm around his shoulders, taking some of his weight as they returned to Stiles’ Jeep. Derek kept the shirt pressed to his side until they got back to the loft, where Stiles cleaned out the already-healing wounds with antiseptic. When the skin had knitted itself back together, he made Derek sit on the side of the tub while he gently ran a wet washcloth over his skin, wiping away the blood.
“Thanks,” Derek said quietly when he was finished.
“Of course,” Stiles told him. “Come on, I’ll make dinner.”
Stiles stayed the night again, and if Derek pulled him back against his chest before letting himself drift off to sleep, well, no one but the two of them had to know.
A few days later, Derek ran into the sheriff at the grocery store. They made small talk for a few minutes before Sheriff Stilinski smiled. “Seems like Stiles has been spending more time at your place than his and Scott’s lately,” he commented.
“To be fair, Kira has practically moved in with them,” Derek pointed out. “I’m just the nearest place of escape.”
The sheriff hummed, picking out a loaf of bread. “What’re your plans for tonight, son?”
“Oh, Stiles is bringing over the Harry Potter series; I never had a chance to watch the last few. He said he’s never watched them all in a row before, so we’re sort of killing two birds in one stone. I’m just picking up some food and drinks.”
He didn’t mention that he had been looking forward to tonight for days now, but the sheriff was smirking like he already knew. “Well, enjoy yourselves,” he said, turning to go. “I suspect I’ll be seeing you soon, Derek.”
Derek watched him go with a slight frown, but finished getting everything without thinking too much of it. This thing between himself and Stiles had been going on for years, or at least it had on his end. But he hadn’t imagined that anyone else had noticed, maybe not even Stiles.
Stiles was already at the loft by the time Derek returned. He had laid out a few blankets and a pile of pillows on the floor in front of the couch. The coffee table had been shoved up against the far wall, out of the way. “Hey!” he exclaimed when Derek came in. “You ready to go?”
Derek nodded, spreading out the snacks around them and sinking down onto the blankets next to Stiles, close enough that he could wrap an arm around the other if he wanted. Which was exactly what he did a moment later, because Stiles tucked himself into Derek’s side and pulled a blanket over both of them. “Let’s do this,” Stiles said, clicking the remote and snuggling further into Derek.
As it turned out, Stiles was more interesting to Derek than the movies, especially when night fell and Stiles slowly lost coherency, until any comment was mumbled into Derek’s shoulder without making much sense. Around four in the morning, Stiles slumped over completely, eyes shut, mouth open just a little bit. Derek reached over him to pause the movie and turn the TV off before dropping his head onto Stiles’ and falling asleep too.
At around eight in the morning, he woke up to Stiles grumbling about how Derek was absolutely useless. “The whole point of all the way through it not to stop,” he said louder when he noticed that Derek was blinking at him blearily. Stiles had crawled out of the nest of pillows and blankets and was picking up the trash that they’d carelessly thrown to the side throughout the night. “Now I’ll have to lie to everyone about how I managed to stay awake for twenty-four hours without some supernatural being threatening my pack.” When he was within reach again, Derek yanked him down in the V of his legs, crossing his arms over Stiles’ chest so he couldn’t get up again, despite his protests. He played the movie again, and Stiles’ words fell to silence, except for when Derek asked quiet questions about the plot. He didn’t tell Stiles that it was because he was more interested in Stiles’ warmth pressing into his body.
It was when he walked into the loft almost a month later to find Stiles baking a cake for his birthday that Derek stopped pretending that nothing was happening. One second, he was standing in the doorway watching Stiles carefully measure out a cup of flour, and the next, he had Stiles backed up against the counter, hands on his hips and kissing him soundly. He swallowed the surprised little noise that Stiles made against his mouth, but then his fingers were threading through Derek’s hair and he was kissing back, tugging Derek closer until there wasn’t any space left between them.
When the broke apart, Stiles looked dazed. “You—you have flour in your hair,” he said.
Derek laughed and buried his face Stiles’ neck.