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Derek Hale had been enjoying what should have been a perfectly peaceful evening.
The loft was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic filtering in through the open windows. He sat on the couch with a book he wasn't actually reading, one arm draped over the backrest while Stiles occupied the opposite end, laptop balanced on his knees.
They had settled into the kind of comfortable silence that only came after years together. No pressure to fill every moment with conversation. Just existing in the same space.
Which, Derek had learned, usually meant Stiles was about to ruin the tranquility.
Stiles' phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen and smiled.
"Dad."
Derek made a noncommittal noise.
Stiles answered, putting the call on speaker as he continued absentmindedly scrolling through something. "Hey, Dad."
"Stiles." Sheriff Stilinski's voice echoed through the loft. "I finally got a reservation at that steakhouse for Saturday."
"Oh! Nice."
"I just need to know how many people."
Stiles frowned. "How many people?"
"Yes," Noah replied patiently. "Reservations require numbers."
"I know what reservations require."
"Then why are you asking?"
"I'm not asking."
"You literally just repeated my question."
Stiles sighed dramatically. "I hate talking on the phone."
"So do I. That's why I'd like to finish this conversation."
Derek hid a smirk behind his book.
Sheriff Stilinski continued, "I need to tell them if you're bringing anyone."
"Sure," Stiles said. "Just give me a second."
He covered the phone with one hand before swiveling to face Derek. Derek immediately recognized that expression. It was the same one Stiles wore before suggesting terrible ideas.
"No."
"I haven't even said anything."
"You don't have to."
"I do."
"You really don't."
Stiles ignored him. "So."
"No."
"You know how we are soulmates."
Derek stared. "...What?"
"Soulmates."
"No."
"No?"
"No."
Stiles blinked. "No, we're not?"
"No, soulmates don't exist."
Stiles looked personally offended. "They absolutely exist."
"They don't."
"How do you explain us?"
"I explain us by years of mutual trauma, supernatural circumstances, emotional attachment, and your refusal to leave me alone."
Stiles pointed triumphantly. "Exactly! Soulmates."
"That isn't what that word means."
"It is in spirit."
"It isn't."
Stiles narrowed his eyes. "Fine."
He crossed his arms. "Since I'm the love of your life..."
Derek didn't even hesitate. "I've never claimed that."
Silence. Absolute silence. Then Stiles slowly lowered his arms. "You..." He pointed accusingly. "...have exactly five seconds to reconsider."
"I don't."
"One..."
Derek turned a page in his unread book.
"Two..."
"I'm comfortable with my answer."
"Three..."
"You are counting remarkably slowly."
"Because I'm giving you a chance to think."
"I have."
"Wrong answer."
From the phone came Noah's exhausted voice. "...Am I still here?"
Neither of them answered. Stiles stepped closer. "Derek."
"Hm?"
"I am trying to help you."
"With what?"
"Our future."
"Our future seems fine."
"Our future requires a proposal."
"It doesn't."
"It absolutely does."
Derek looked genuinely confused. "Why?"
"Because," Stiles said as though explaining basic mathematics to a toddler, "people keep asking."
"So?"
"So I'm tired of saying, 'No, he hasn't proposed because apparently he's emotionally constipated.'"
"I am not emotionally constipated."
"You once expressed affection by buying me a new torque wrench."
"You needed one."
"I did."
"It was a good gift."
"It was an excellent gift."
They stared at each other.
"...That's not the point."
"I fail to see another point."
Stiles threw his hands into the air. "Oh my God."
He turned away dramatically before spinning back. "Derek."
"What?"
"If you don't propose to me in the next five minutes..."
Derek sighed.
"...I'll cut your balls off."
The threat echoed through the loft. There was a long pause. From the phone came a quiet sigh. "...I should hang up."
"No!" Stiles yelled. "Stay there."
"I'm questioning my parenting choices."
Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. "You threaten violence remarkably often."
"I've never actually followed through."
"You bit me once."
"That was flirting."
"It was absolutely not flirting."
"It worked, didn't it?"
"...Unfortunately."
Stiles smiled victoriously. "See?"
Derek looked toward the ceiling as if asking for strength. Then he looked back at the man standing in front of him. Hair sticking in six different directions. Mismatched socks. One sleeve rolled up farther than the other. Animated enough that he nearly knocked over a lamp while talking. Ridiculous and loud. The person who had somehow become home.
Derek sighed again. "You're serious."
"I am."
"You are threatening to mutilate me over dinner reservations."
"I prefer to think of it as motivation."
"You've thought about this."
"For at least thirty seconds."
"I can tell."
Another beat of silence. Then Derek carefully set his book on the coffee table. He stood. Walked the two steps separating them. Looked Stiles directly in the eyes. "You know this isn't how proposals usually happen."
"I've never been interested in 'usual.'"
"No."
"You've noticed?"
"I have."
Derek rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. He wasn't good at speeches. Feelings were easier shown than spoken. He reached for Stiles' hand. His thumb brushed over familiar knuckles.
"I wasn't waiting because I wasn't sure."
Stiles' expression softened. "I know."
"I just..." Derek searched for words. "...wanted it to matter."
"It already does."
"I know."
Another pause. "You make my life louder."
Stiles snorted. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"It is."
"You also make it more complicated."
"I definitely know that's true."
"And significantly more dangerous."
"Occupational hazard."
Derek couldn't help smiling. "But you also make it better."
Stiles' teasing grin faded into something smaller. "You make mine better too."
Derek squeezed his hand. Then, with the most solemn expression he could manage despite the absurd circumstances, he said,
"Stiles Stilinski."
"Hm?"
"Would you do me the honor of being my lovely wife?"
Stiles stared. "...Really?"
Derek nodded once. "Really."
"You had one job."
"I completed it."
"You absolutely did not."
"I proposed."
"You called me your wife!"
"It seemed formal."
"It seemed incorrect."
"It was close."
"It wasn't even the right gender!"
"I wasn't aware there were proposal regulations."
"There are now!"
Derek fought a smile. "So..."
Stiles groaned dramatically before throwing his arms around Derek's neck. "You absolute asshole."
"I'll assume that's a yes."
"It is." He pulled back just enough to poke Derek in the chest. "But I am going to be your husband."
"I suspected as much."
"And you're buying me a ring."
"I planned on it."
"And you're doing an actual proposal later."
"I can arrange that."
"With effort."
"I'll make an effort."
"And no calling me your wife."
"...Noted, but no promises."
Satisfied, Stiles leaned up and kissed him. It was brief. Comfortable in the way kisses became after years together.
When they separated, Derek rested his forehead against Stiles'. "So."
"So."
"We're engaged."
"We are."
Stiles beamed. Then suddenly gasped. "Oh!"
He turned back toward the forgotten phone still sitting on the coffee table. "Dad!"
There was a pause. Then Noah answered in the flattest voice imaginable. "I'm still here."
"Right."
"You know... contrary to popular belief... I couldn't actually leave because you never ended the call."
"Oops."
"I've now listened to your boyfriend deny you're soulmates..."
"Fiancé," Stiles corrected immediately.
"...threaten bodily harm..."
"Motivation."
"...and receive what may be the least romantic proposal in recorded history."
Derek folded his arms. "I tried."
"I know you did," Noah said. "And somehow that makes it worse."
Stiles grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. "So..."
"So?"
"I'm bringing my fiancé."
A long silence followed. Finally Noah sighed. "You know what?"
"What?"
"I'm happy for you."
Stiles' smile softened. "Thanks, Dad."
"But if anyone asks," Noah continued, "I'm telling them Derek planned this weeks ago."
Derek looked mildly alarmed. "I appreciate that."
"I refuse to admit my future son-in-law proposed because my son threatened to castrate him over a steak reservation."
"Fair."
"I have a reputation."
Stiles laughed so hard he nearly doubled over. "You love us."
"I do."
"Even when we're disasters?"
"Especially then."
Another laugh escaped Stiles. "See you Saturday?"
"I'll make the reservation for eight." Noah paused one last time. "And Derek?"
"Yes?"
"Next major life event..."
Derek already knew where this was going.
"...maybe don't let Stiles be in charge."
Derek glanced at the grinning man beside him. "...I'll certainly try."
Noah chuckled before hanging up.
The loft fell quiet again. Stiles looked at Derek with unmistakable satisfaction. "So."
"So."
"We're engaged."
"We are."
Stiles slipped the phone into his pocket before wrapping both arms around Derek's waist. "I still can't believe you called me your wife."
Derek's lips twitched. "I've already apologized."
"You haven't."
"I was planning to."
"You'd better."
"I will."
"And you're still sleeping on the couch tonight."
Derek raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were engaged."
"We are."
"Then why the couch?"
Stiles smiled with infuriating sweetness. "Consider it character development."
Derek huffed out a laugh, pulled him closer, and kissed the top of his head. "You really are impossible."
"I know."
"And somehow..."
"Hm?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way."
Stiles smiled into Derek's shoulder. "Good."
"Because you're stuck with me now."
"I think," Derek murmured, "I figured that out years ago."