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“I can’t believe I did that,” Stiles groaned, pacing the length of the loft like a man awaiting sentencing. “I’m so stupid. I’m actually, clinically, irreversibly stupid.”
Scott blinked at him from the couch. “You forgot to lock the Jeep, dude. You didn’t, like, hand someone the Nemeton secrets or something.”
“That’s not the point,” Stiles snapped, dragging both hands down his face. “It’s the principle. The pattern. The ongoing, lifelong documentary titled Stiles Stilinski Makes Questionable Choices.”
From across the room, leaning against the brick wall with infuriating composure, Derek huffed out a quiet, amused breath.
Stiles whirled on him. “Don’t. Don’t you dare.”
Derek’s brow lifted slowly. “Don’t what?”
“Make that face.”
“What face?”
“That face,” Stiles insisted, gesturing wildly. “The one where you’re judging me but also vaguely entertained, which somehow makes it worse.”
Scott looked between them. “I don’t see a face.”
“That’s because you’re not hyperaware of every micro-expression he makes,” Stiles shot back automatically.
Derek’s mouth twitched.
“There!” Stiles pointed accusingly. “That.”
Scott squinted at Derek. “He just looks normal.”
Derek pushed off the wall, crossing the loft with the unhurried confidence of someone who knew exactly what he was doing. He stopped just a little too close to Stiles. Close enough that Stiles had to tilt his head back.
“I’m not judging you,” Derek said, voice low.
“Oh, sure,” Stiles muttered. “You’re just silently cataloging my incompetence.”
Derek’s gaze dipped briefly and deliberately before lifting again. “If I were cataloging incompetence, we’d need a much bigger book.”
Scott’s eyes widened. “Dude.”
Stiles flushed instantly. “Wow. Wow. See? This is what I mean. Emotional violence.”
Derek’s expression shifted, something sharper sliding beneath the surface. “You said you’re stupid.”
“I am,” Stiles insisted. “Exhibit A: today. Exhibit B: most of high school. Exhibit C: that one time I thought I could hotwire a golf cart.”
“You can’t hotwire a golf cart?” Scott asked, startled.
“Not the point,” Stiles and Derek said in unison.
Derek’s eyes flicked to Stiles again. Slowly and with intent.
“Well,” Derek said casually, “I’m fucking stupid.”
Scott blinked. “You didn’t do anything.”
Stiles’ brain short-circuited.
Because that wasn’t what Derek meant. That was very much not what he meant. Stiles’ mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “That’s not —”
Scott frowned, confused. “You just stood there.”
Stiles swallowed hard, heat crawling up his neck. “That’s not what he meant.”
Derek didn’t look away.
Scott’s gaze ping-ponged between them, dawning horror spreading across his face. “Oh. Oh.” He shot up from the couch. “I...uh. I just remembered. I left… something. Somewhere.”
“Subtle,” Derek murmured.
Scott was already backing toward the door. “I’m just going to, uh yeah. I’ll see you guys later.”
The door slammed shut. Silence settled over the loft. Stiles glared at Derek. “You did that on purpose.”
“Did what?” Derek asked, maddeningly neutral.
“You know what.” Stiles crossed his arms, but it lacked conviction when Derek was standing this close. “You cannot just say things like that in front of Scott.”
“Why not?”
“Because he still thinks we hold hands and watch documentaries.”
Derek’s eyebrow lifted. “We do watch documentaries.”
“That is not the point.”
Derek stepped closer. There wasn’t a lot of space left to give. Stiles found himself backing up until his shoulders brushed the cool brick wall. Derek braced a hand beside Stiles’ head, caging him in without actually touching him.
“If you’re stupid,” Derek said quietly, “then what does that make me?”
Stiles swallowed again. “Annoying?”
Derek leaned in, breath warm against Stiles’ cheek. “Try again.”
Stiles’ pulse thudded in his ears. “Derek —”
“You called yourself stupid,” Derek continued, voice low and deliberate. “And I said I’m fucking stupid.”
Stiles’ face burned. “I heard you.”
“Good.”
“That doesn’t mean you have to say it like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like —” Stiles gestured helplessly. “Like you’re narrating a very specific scenario.”
Derek’s lips brushed the shell of his ear, not quite a kiss. “Maybe I am.”
Stiles’ breath hitched.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered.
“And yet,” Derek said softly, “you keep choosing me.”
“That is also a questionable decision,” Stiles shot back weakly.
Derek’s hand shifted, fingers grazing Stiles’ hip, light, almost absentminded, but it sent a shock straight through him.
“If you’re stupid,” Derek murmured, “then I’m the one who can’t stop fucking stupid.”
Stiles’ brain blue-screened. “You are the worst,” he whispered.
Derek hummed thoughtfully. “I think you like it.”
“That is not —” Stiles cut himself off as Derek’s thumb traced an idle circle just above his waistband. “That is not evidence-based.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I do that when I’m angry.”
“Sure.”
Stiles glared at him, but it lacked heat. “You’re twisting it.”
“Twisting what?”
“The phrase.”
Derek’s eyes darkened. “Am I?”
“Yes,” Stiles insisted. “It was a figure of speech.”
Derek leaned closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Everything is a figure of speech if you say it the right way.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does to me.”
Stiles huffed, but the sound came out shaky. “You can’t just weaponize grammar.”
“Watch me.”
Derek’s hand slid slightly higher, still nothing explicit, nothing that would scandalize a bystander but enough to make Stiles acutely aware of every inch of space between them.
Derek tilted his head. “Why are you reacting like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like I said something true.”
Stiles opened his mouth to argue.
Nothing came out. Derek smirked.
“Shut up,” Stiles muttered.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face is saying plenty.”
Derek’s nose brushed Stiles’ temple. “You think I didn’t know what I was doing?”
“With Scott?”
“With you.”
Stiles’ heart did an unhelpful somersault. “You absolutely knew,” Stiles admitted reluctantly.
“And?”
“And you’re enjoying this.”
Derek’s lips ghosted down to hover near Stiles’ jaw. “Maybe I enjoy how easily you fluster.”
“I do not fluster!”
Derek made a low sound in his throat that was half laugh, half something else entirely.
“You’re doing it right now.”
“That’s just a physiological response to proximity.”
“Is that what you’re calling it?”
“Yes.”
Derek’s fingers tightened slightly at his hip. “Then let’s be precise.”
“Oh no.”
“If you’re stupid,” Derek said, voice dropping even lower, “then I’m the idiot who keeps you pinned against walls.”
Stiles inhaled sharply.
“And I’m not complaining,” Derek added.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You like that too.”
“Stop telling me what I like.”
“Make me.”
Stiles glared up at him, trying for indignant and landing somewhere around overwhelmed. “You can’t just reinterpret my self-deprecating spiral into...into whatever this is.”
Derek’s thumb traced another slow circle. “I can if it makes you stop calling yourself stupid.”
Stiles blinked. “What?”
Derek’s expression shifted,still intense, but less teasing now. “You’re not stupid.”
“I literally left the keys —”
“You forget things,” Derek cut in. “You overthink. You panic. You ramble.” His gaze softened slightly. “But you’re not stupid.”
Stiles’ chest tightened.
“And if you insist on using that word,” Derek continued, “then I’m going to keep reminding you that I’m fucking stupid.”
Stiles swallowed. “You are not.”
Derek’s lips curved faintly. “No?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” Stiles said, breath still uneven, “you know exactly what you’re doing.”
Derek leaned in, brushing his nose lightly against Stiles’. “Exactly.”
The tension between them thickened. Charged and intimate, but still contained. No frantic movements. No rushed escalation. Just the steady burn of proximity and implication.
“So,” Derek murmured, “still think you’re stupid?”
Stiles hesitated.
“Maybe,” he said softly, “just a little.”
Derek’s hand slid from his hip to his waist, firm but not demanding. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep proving you wrong.”
“With innuendos?”
“With whatever works.”
Stiles huffed a breath that might have been a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re blushing again.”
“That’s your fault.”
Derek’s mouth hovered just shy of his. “Good.”
For a moment, neither of them moved. The world outside the loft felt distant. Stiles finally shook his head, a helpless smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.”
“Great.”
Derek’s thumb brushed lightly over his side, grounding him. “You don’t get to call yourself stupid.”
“And what do I get to call myself?”
Derek considered him, gaze slow and deliberate.
“Mine,” he said simply.
Stiles’ breath caught again. “You’re really leaning into the caveman aesthetic lately,” he murmured.
Derek’s lips ghosted over his jaw once more. “And you’re still here.”
Stiles’ hands finally came up, fisting lightly in Derek’s shirt. “Yeah.”
“Yeah,” Derek echoed.
There was a beat of quiet understanding. Then Stiles smirked faintly. “You realize Scott is never going to look either of us in the eye again.”
Derek snorted softly. “He’ll survive.”
“And if he asks?”
Derek pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “I’ll tell him the truth.”
Stiles’ eyes widened. “Absolutely not.”
Derek’s smirk returned, wicked and unrepentant. “Oh, absolutely.”
Stiles groaned. “You are impossible.”
Derek leaned in one last time, voice a low rumble against Stiles’ skin. “Maybe,” he said. “But I’m your impossible.”
Stiles swallowed, heartbeat finally evening out. “Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “You are.”
And this time, when Derek closed the distance between them, there were no misunderstandings left in the words at all.