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"Seriously, all these changes and you’re still the same grumpy old Sourwolf," Stiles says shaking his head. Derek growls. He’s not the same person Stiles met a year ago: he has a pack now. A pack and a house. He’s been using his phone more and showing up in Stiles’ bedroom unannounced less. He’s even applied at a couple of places since Stiles told him a job would make him less creepy.
"I’m not the same," Derek growls. Stiles raises his eyebrows.
"Superficially, maybe not, but you haven’t worked out any of your problems, you still don’t like to trust us and you refuse to come to pack nights when they are held anywhere but here," Stiles points out. Derek grinds his teeth together. He doesn’t understand why Stiles keeps pushing. He’s trying his best to have a life again. It’s not as easy as Stiles likes to make it out to be. “Don’t give me that look, Derek. I know what that look means."
"I’m not giving you any look," Derek grinds out. Stiles rolls his eyes.
"Right, of course not, you always look at me like you’re trying to figure out the best way to kill me and make it look like an accident so my dad doesn’t arrest you," Stiles says.
"I’m not-" Derek says. Stiles holds up a hand, cutting him off.
"Whatever. Pack night, at Scott’s. Be. There," he says and walks away. Derek listens to the jeep splutter until it’s out of earshot.
"Why do you let him push you around?" Cora asks, emerging from the shadows. Derek sighs angrily.
"He makes me a better person," he admits. Cora snorts.
"Don’t tell me you’ve turned romantic," she says. Derek glares at her, letting a little red flash into his eyes. She rolls her eyes, unimpressed.
"Just get ready for tonight," he tells her, stalking off to his bedroom.
Pack night away from his loft isn’t as terrible as he feared, sure it doesn’t smell quite like home, but the pack is there so much, it’s pretty close. Stiles smirks at him all night. Derek pointedly ignores him.