#technically having his birthday on the 15 — just writing this on the 14th because he’s counting down :)

[poured-my-past-down-the-drain]

Tommy closes the door to the hotel room, twisting the lock as an afterthought.

It’s dark outside — at least as dark as Las Nevadas can be. He can see the moon high in the sky from his window and mobs peeking out between the canopy of the forest, deterred by the bright city lights.

The hotel room is dark, too. Dimly lit by lamps and barely-open offshoot rooms, just enough to keep any skin-crawling at bay. The clock is ticking above the door. 11:50, four seconds. Five seconds. Six seconds. Seven.

He put his bag down on the bed, unzipping to dig around in it. It was a very… well-loved, to say, backpack. A shoddy dark-blue dye that still stains his fingers if he touches it after washing his hands, fraying at the edges, beaten and dented pins along the front, and stuffed to the brim with odds and ends of his life.

Call it paranoia, but after exile, it gave him comfort to know if he needed to run, he could have all his necessities on hand at any given time.

He wasn’t looking for a change of clothes or a trinket bag this time, though. This time, he pulled out a box. Nothing special — just laminated thin cardboard with an order number scrawled on the top. A box, a lighter snatched from Wilbur, and a loose, slightly-crumbly, small candle.

11:55.

Tommy zipped his bag back up and moved it to the floor instead. He didn’t need it right now.

One good thing about Las Nevadas hotel rooms was that every one came with a small kitchenette. Very small, of course, but it was there. Complete with a countertop — the surface that Tommy had moved to and put his box on. Food coloring was annoying to get out of white sheets, so he didn’t want to eat on the bed, and the desk was too close to the window. He didn’t want to set up by the window. Anyone, even Him, could’ve come up through the window if they really wanted to.

He shoved down a tremble in his hands.

Instead, he focused on opening the little box.

It wasn’t anything special, really. Just a nice little treat Tommy had begged his favorite bakery for when he saw it in the window. Swearing up and down he’d pay for it once he had the funds, he’d make up what it would’ve needed, anything, as long as he could take it that night.

The baker had grumbled and caused a fuss, and absolutely quoted Tommy a price way too high for a simple little treat that he’d have to pay back eventually. But in the end, Tommy had gotten it.

A slightly stale apple-pie cupcake. Whatever that meant. It had looked delicious was what mattered.

11:57.

He took a breath.

He put the candle into the frosting, in the center of the lovely little apple-slice circle garnishing the top. He lit it, and the room felt a little less dim and dark. A little less lonely.

The past year had been equal parts the best and worst of his life. He’d spent his last birthday in exile, gifted items by Him that would eventually either hurt him or be taken away as punishment. Fed berries and fruit that was just slightly too rotted, sweet just to the point it was sickeningly so, and— and just in case he had been considering leaving Logstead, wither roses.

He loved using those to zap away Tommy’s energy to leave.

Ashy, awful, sharp. Sometimes the flavor was sweet, too, but often it was just ashy, awful, and sharp. They’d turn into sulfury tar in his throat, congealing and thickening enough it would be hard to breathe past them until he was done, trembling, too exhausted to even think of going anywhere. Begging for company past his tears, begging Him not to leave him alone again, not while he was like this.

And feeling indebted, somehow, when He would stay with Tommy until he fell asleep. Like how Wilbur used to.

But he’d gotten away from Him, too, since his last birthday. He’d died, of course. Died and came back. But so had Wilbur — his brother had come back, and came back to him, too. He got Wilbur back, for better or worse. He made up with Tubbo, even, and became part of that family.

Quackity became part of his daily life. It had been so, so long since Tommy had an adult who didn’t want to see him worse.

If Wilbur had to choose anyone to stay in their lives, Tommy was glad it was Quackity. Quackity and Wilbur were both fucked up but at least they were both too stubborn to leave. Or change, for that matter.

Tommy had even found someone he wanted to keep in his life, too. After plenty of… internal turmoil, of course. But he wanted Tubbo to stay — and the most unbelievable part was that Tubbo wanted him to stay, too.

It had been three hundred and sixty four days and twenty three hours. A lot of time, especially with how fast things could change on the Server. And things still weren’t perfect. But it was so, so much better than it had been a year ago.

11:59, fifty six seconds. Fifty seven. Fifty eight. Fifty nine.

He blew out the candle, and the room fell back into its dimness.

[halinski]

Feb 15. The Day After

My... Post-valentine's day fic! I'm super late and I'm super sorry but honestly I didn't think I would be finishing this at all so... Success!!! It's not my best work but this is for a few wonderful people who prompted me, aka

@vibranivmheart

@princecharmingwinks

@c0tt0nstar

@my-son-is-dating-a-werewolf

@sherwhoharryhungerfan

Thank you so much for this, it got me writing and made me feel good about writing!

And also this is for my darling @lokiofasgcrd bc it's her birthday today in her time zone!!!! ❤️ (And I have nothing else for her yet, I feel awfulllll but pssst go wish her a happy birthday!)

It's still the 15th here soooo still the day after so this totally works. Enjoy!

It was a tattoo. That was what Derek had always told everyone. A tattoo to remember his family with - and what he'd done to them. Truth be told, while it still served that purpose - weighing on his shoulder blades like the end of the world - the rest was a lie. The triskele just so happened to be his family's emblem but also, it was his soulmate mark. Appearing in his 18th year of life like an itch, Laura had been the first to notice it, touching his back with trembling fingers and a soft sob. They'd both had the same thought - or at least Derek was convinced - that it was a confirmation of his damnation. He wasn't meant to have a soulmate. His family was his love and he'd killed them.

He'd convinced himself of it. Derek Hale had no soulmate. When he said that people wouldn't believe him at first - everyone had a soulmate - but when they saw his bare chest, arms and back (beside the curved black lines) the disbelieving looks would turn into ones of pity. Birthmarks weren't usually so bold and dark and defined. Oh, poor Derek Hale, fated to be all alone in this world. Yeah, he was. So what? Derek made sure to come off as rough on the edges as he felt so they would think he deserved it and left him alone.

Of course, there was one person who never seemed to get the message. A certain someone who always loved crawling back under Derek's skin no matter how many times he pushed him away. He practically never left.

Derek fully expected Stiles to be behind the door when he opened it, but he'd been so focused on his sugary vanilla scent that he hadn't even noticed Lydia's. Hers was the first face he saw when he opened the door. Then behind her, Stiles.

Stiles and his gorgeous honeydew eyes that pulled him in for eternity and the trails of stardust on his skin.

Stiles.

Stiles, whose gaze dropped down to Derek's bare torso and quickly was averted but not before those cheeks bloomed up in pink oh so deliciously.

Stiles.

Derek had to tear his eyes away from the male at his doorstep and back to the redheaded banshee who was less gentle on Derek, looking him up and down with a smirk. He crossed his arms over his chest defensively. When she had asked when he would he back from his run, he hadn't expected her to come over right away.

"What are you doing here?" Derek pressed out, sounding more hostile than he had intended, even to his own ears. He saw Stiles flinch, and a bitter coating, like blood, settling on his tongue.

"Hot and sweaty. Just how we like our men, huh?" Lydia said, nudging Stiles with a chuckle and completely ignoring Derek as she slipped past him.

"I um... ," Stiles let out a cough and hesitated on following her, eyes flitting around, only meeting Derek's for a fraction of a second - almost as if he was scared. Derek could smell the anxiety wafting off him. The bitter taste weighed heavier.

Derek turned away.

"What do you want?" He asked, trying to focus on Lydia who was making herself at home in his kitchen, rooting the cupboards. But Stiles' heartbeat was the only thing that rang through his ears, every small jump in it alerting Derek to danger - even if the only dangerous thing in proximity was Derek. It drove him crazy sometimes. All the bouncing off the walls, the back and forth, the rise and fall of his emotions. Stiles was… a whirlwind. An endless source of energy, of life. Strong enough to reignite Derek's will to live. And that was saying something.

Anyway- Lydia.

“Oh, you know," the girl closed the cupboard and turned around again, her hair cascading over her shoulder. Not that she had actually done anything with the cupboards, or whatever was in them. Pacing forward dramatically, Lydia placed her palms on the granite counter of the island. And smiled. "I had an idea."

Stiles let out a heavy breath from behind Derek and Derek could only agree with his quiet murmur of, "oh boy."

"You know what day it is today, right?" Lydia asked.

“...Thursday."

“Lydia rolled her eyes. "Not the day of the week, idiot."

Derek frowned. Idiot was his word to use. Usually with Stiles, whose heart beat right now sped up. Derek refused to turn around to check on him.

"It's the 14th," Derek stated, crossing his arms.

“Exactly!" Lydia beamed successfully. "February 14th, aka, Cupid's day." Derek didn't need the reminder. The hearts and pink and red and chocolates had been all over the place for weeks. It's why Derek had been spending more time indoors.

“See, we're all busy today-”

"Lydia," came Stiles soft protest.

“But Stiles here was yapping my ear off about being lonely and all alone on this special day-"

"I never said that!" Stiles burst out somewhere in the background but Lydia carried on undeterred.

"So, of course, I'm calling the gang together to organize a little something. We're going to whip up something quick and sweet for the both of you," Lydia said matter-of-factly.

Derek raised an eyebrow. He was almost afraid to ask. "What does this have to do with me?"

“You deserve something special?, too. Plus, you're free today, so you can keep poor lonely Stiles' company."

“I have things to do," Derek protested, giving her a pointed look. "It's just another day. I don't believe in a commercialized holiday geared towards heteronormativity and capitalism."

“Yeah! What he said!" Stiles followed up. "Derek, I swear, I didn't-"

"See, this is why you two should spend the day together. You're perfect for each other," Lydia said. "You're going to have a lot to talk about." She folded her hands and smiled like she had already won.

Derek kept his face schooled and shook his head. "I don't know what you're up to and I don't care either," he told her. "I'm going to go shower."

Without sparing a glance at the bewildered Stiles, Derek turned and left the room, immediately heading into the bathroom. He went to the shower knob immediately and turned the water on. That didn't drown the voices from the kitchen out though.

“Lydia, what the fuck!"

"I'm just helping you out, what's the big deal?"

“The big deal? The big deal! You're putting both Derek and me in a really awkward position here. We both already know we're like the 7th and 8th wheel in the pack and that we're the only ones left. I don't need you pushing him into any uncomfortable situations. Who knows what Valentine's Day reminds him of..."

“Well, then, it's time to make new memories."

“Lyds, this is stupid. Me and him? That'll absolutely never happen."

“It absolutely could!"

“He doesn't like me like that. And if you can't see that maybe you don't deserve the fields medal in the near future because- because it's obvious. Derek... barely tolerates me."

And Derek doesn't. He can't like Stiles like that. He absolutely does not. Derek Hale isn't made for love, he reminds himself as he leans his forehead against the cold tile, wishing it could numb his brain.

*********

When Derek left the bathroom, Stiles was still there. Sitting on the kitchen counter on his own. He choked on the smoothie he was drinking when Derek walked by.

"I uh... H-hi," Stiles sputtered. Derek appreciated that Stiles averted his gaze from Derek's half-nude form. There was only a towel around his hips shielding him from complete humiliation. Not that Derek technically minded being naked, even in front of people. He just didn't appreciate the sexualization, the objectification.

Whatever Stiles thought he felt for Derek it was probably just that; hormones and physical attraction. It made Derek's facial expression hardened, pulling up the walls around him and challenging the situation.

Stiles' heartbeat clearly sped up as Derek walked over, grabbing a cup and filling it with tap water to drink. Stiles didn't turn to follow Derek's movements but the little droplets sliding from Derek's hair still struck his skin icily.

"Lydia... Made us these, I guess," Stiles said, passing his smoothies from one hand to the next, rolling it between his palms. Derek was ready to watch it slip and fall and shatter. Maybe he was ready to jump over and catch it. He didn't want to think about it. But he did look over to the second serving of the smoothie. Banana and strawberry. His favorite.

"She also, um, took my car keys, so... I'm kind of stuck... Here," Stiles added, clearing his voice. He finally looked up when Derek walked over to grab the second smoothie. But he also kept his gaze on Derek's face, as if calculating, trying to read the silent werewolf's thoughts.

"I didn't plan this," he continued.

It wasn't a lie.

"I mean, Valentine's Day is bullshit, like you said. Why should I feel any different than any other day?" Stiles looked away as he said this. looked down into the pink smoothie that had a strawberry cut out of a heart on top of it. it was... not totally a lie. Stiles was too good at words sometimes for Derek to be able to tell what it meant.

Obviously, the silence from Derek was awkward, because Stiles twitched and shifted on the counter, one leg rhythmically tapping against its side. But Derek didn't know what to say. Couldn't talk, tongue tied.

It was any other day.

“Did you know that Valentine's day-"

"Stiles, you can stay. I don't care," Derek told him as he turned to go to him room so he could get dressed. The words felt wrong in his mouth but it didn't hit Derek until he saw Stiles' shoulders slump just before he left his sight.

"Yeah... Okay," came the quiet reply from behind him. ****

Stiles was acting considerably more normal now that Derek had a shirt back on. Derek wished he could say the same about himself but he really couldn't tell anymore what his own normal was. His perception of himself was kind of skewed. It happened sometimes when your first girlfriend died in your arms, then you get abused by an older woman who kills almost your whole family as a teen, and then your uncle goes crazy and kills your sister so you have to kill your uncle, while taking care of a bunch of teenagers, some of who are freshly bitten. Sometimes Derek wasn't sure he knew left from right anymore.

But right now, Stiles was in his living room, sitting on the couch with Derek's laptop and telling by his soft chuckles listening to something funny and that was calming enough. Though- considering it was Stiles he could also be laughing at something that was not actually average person funny.

Unfortunately, this moment of normalcy, where Derek could revel in the soft content didn't last very long. Stiles looked up only a moment after Derek stopped in his tracks, crossing his arms and training his eyes on the door. He could hear a car pull up downstairs

“It’s the pizza,” Derek guessed uncomfortably, immediately reintroducing the tension into the room. Stiles quickly put up a hopeful grin.

“I mean, can you really say no to free pizza?” he asked, giving Derek a pointed look.

Derek sighed. There was no way he could argue about just how ridiculous this was without bringing up what he didn’t want to talk about, aka the pack’s painfully obvious attempts to try and get the two of them together. Shortly after Lydia had left, Erica and Boyd had appeared, bringing a bunch of chocolates and some rom-com with them, ordered pizza and then pretended a reservation they had been waiting for cleared up all of a sudden. Derek had been able to hear there was no one on the other end of that phone call. He wasn’t an idiot. The one thing he had missed was that one of them had stolen the keys to the camaro as well, so that Stiles actually was stuck here. With Derek. With free pizza and chocolates and a movie. It was turning out to be a date if they wanted it to be or not.

When Derek returned back upstairs with the giant pizza box, Stiles had put the laptop away and was standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room.

“You know, I can leave if you really want me to. I can walk home, it’s not that far. And the pizza, well, it’s not like I can’t order some for myself. You said you have things to do but now you’re just hanging out around here with me but we’re still both doing our own thing and I-” Stiles started but Derek wasn’t going to have him ranting his way out into the cool evening to walk all the way home. He walked past him to set the pizza down.

“I told you, I don’t mind,” Derek said.

“That doesn’t mean you actually want me here,” Stiles pointed out. “I’m totally invading your free time and private space-”

“You’re not walking home.” And before Stiles could open his mouth again, Derek shook his head. “I didn’t actually have anything to do today, I just…”

“You didn’t want anyone bothering you,” Stiles guessed, another wave of unhappiness, discomfort or something, running through him, strong enough for Derek to feel.

“It’s not-” Derek started to argue, but what was he going to say? Was he going to blurt out all his feelings about how he couldn’t have Stiles even if he wanted to? How he might actually yearn for some closeness and warmth and comfort from another person? How he wondered if Stiles had a mark - he had to have it. Everyone had a soulmark and Stiles was 19 by this point. Just, Derek hadn’t seen anything. No one had said anything. Stiles usually wore long sleeves. There was still no way. Stiles had a soulmark and a soulmate that wasn’t Derek. Because Derek didn’t have a soulmate.

And even without that, would it even make sense? He was the Alpha, Stiles was the emissary… that’s just not what their relationship was supposed to be. It was strictly business- well, pack too but. His mother didn’t date Deaton, did she? That would just be weird.

No soulmates.

“It’s not you,” Derek then said, trying to convince himself of it. Stiles wasn’t his soulmate.

“Derek, you really don’t have to-”

“I just… it’s the whole soulmates crap, you know?” he said, without looking over at Stiles, running off to the kitchen to get them plates, napkins and drinks. He continued when he came back, settling down on the couch. “It’s all everyone talks about ever, and then today… literally nothing else in the universe exists. It just gets kinda old when you don’t have a soulmate yourself.”

Derek busied himself with opening the pizza, stopping short when he was faced with a semi-heart shaped blob of grease. He glanced over at the other male, only to find Stiles staring off into the distance with a frown.

“Yeah, no, I get that,” Stiles muttered, a hand rubbing over his chest. A chest, within which a heartbeat made a few extra skips. “I mean, soulmates? Can the universe decide for you who you’re supposed to be with? Unconditional love with random people. That doesn’t happen. Only with family is that a thing. Like my dad. I could kill someone and he’d probably love me.”

Derek refrained from pointing out that new families would start out with couples. He tore his gaze away from Stiles’ red shirt.

“That’s because you wouldn’t kill without reason,” Derek said simply, handing over a plate with a piece of the pizza. Stiles stared at him curiously and Derek didn’t try to figure out what for.

“It’s meat lover’s,” he pointed out about the heart shaped atrocity before him. And Stiles snorted at the irony- because yeah, it was just fucking hilarious-  but he didn’t address what was supposed to be going on here.

The bitter taste in Derek’s mouth returned.

****

It happened when Stiles was changing for bed, Derek having given him some spare clothes to sleep in. No need to organize to get back home at this point, Derek had said. And he could just sleep on the couch, Stiles had added with a shrug. It had gotten late anyway. They had ended up watching the movie as they sat on opposite sides of the couch awkwardly, a ghostly cool vacancy occupying the third seat between them.

But now, Derek was the one with the wild beating heart, rooted to the ground like he had been struck by lightning, his breath catching in his throat.

By the time Stiles had lowered the shirt down over his head and could see Derek again, Derek was gone.

In his room, Derek stood unsure at the side of his bed, trying to stop his thoughts from racing.

It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. He’d seen wrong, he was dreaming. He… The press of claws into his palm pricked and stung and Derek exhaled.

He knew what he had seen, the soft brown moles, splattered over Stiles’ breastbone, grouped together closely to form a swirling mark. A clear mark. Three swirls. A triskele to match the charred coal one on Derek’s back.

**********

Naturally, Derek couldn’t sleep. Here Valentine’s Day had come and passed, he’d found out Stiles had a mark that looked just like his own and yet he had done nothing. He lay in bed, limbs heavy with panic and fear, but mind racing with the need to act.

Because Stiles.

Maybe Stiles could actually be his. And just that possibility made it feel impossible to be here without him. It wasn’t right. It was…

He had to do something.

Stiles himself had been tossing and turning on the couch. It wasn’t a comfortable couch, Derek had told him that right away.

Derek stood.

“Stiles,” he said, popping up at the doorway. “Take the bed.”

Stiles turned to him. “I’m not going to steal your bed from you.”

“We can both fit.”

“But- it’s your bed… and my scent-”

“You’re keeping me up.” Derek was glad that Stiles’ didn’t share the same powers of playing lie detector.

“Oh.”

After a minute or so, Stiles rose, and lifted the blanket with him at first, than stopped- before deciding to take it with him after all. He sheepishly walked past Derek into the bedroom. He halted before getting on the bed.

“Are you-”

“Get in the bed, Stiles.”

“You know I never thought I would be hearing that from you, concerning your bed,” Stiles said as he obeyed, shuffling under the covers.

Derek couldn’t tell what he was actually smelling and what was just wishful thinking.

“Shut up, Stiles. Or there won’t be any cuddling.”

Stiles coughed. There was definitely a flourish of emotion drifting over from Stiles as Derek settled between the sheets again. A scent that was exciting and comforting at the same time. Like an adventure leading home. Derek fought himself not to lie on his side and face Stiles. He turned the other way and closed his eyes. It was comforting to find that he was unbothered by the fact that Stiles could stab him in the back while Derek was unprotected, but he trusted him not to.

“Asshole,” Stiles said softly. His voice was fond.

Derek smiled.

*******

He felt the pull first, before he woke. Then the warmth, vibrating through him, from the middle of his back, along his shoulders, around his waist. And… Stiles. It was his scent, his body pressed against his, a grounding arm holding him close.

Derek let his eyes drift open into the early morning haze. He could feel Stiles' soft skin beneath his fingertips and he looked down at the arm that kept him safe. It had been half an eternity since he'd felt so whole, so unbroken.

It took him a while to understand the warm, fulfilling feeling but the revelation soon sank into his bones with a guest of happiness. He was anchored. Through Stiles' heartbeat, through his triskele-adorned chest, through to Derek's marked back and enstrengthened spine, all the way through to his heart.

And Derek knew this was where he meant to be, safe and protected by Stiles, his trusted and loyal emissary, his mate.

****

Derek was still in the kitchen when Stiles started to stir. His heartbeat tripped over itself as he tried to hurry to but the cinnamon toast together, nicely presented on Derek's finest plate (though in an amateur way).

"Come on, come on," he urged the coffee machine, as if he would succumb to his pleading, while he shifted on his feet and glanced toward the bedroom. Fresh cinnamon toast, two mugs of coffee, and the chocolates that Derek grabbed from the bag Erica had brought soon adorned a tray Derek had surprisingly found in his kitchen. And he reminded himself to walk slowly and calmly as to not spill anything. Despite what Stiles believed werewolves were not exempt from clumsiness. Derek had broken glasses and a vase or two, plus a window once, in his time.

To say he was nervous about confronting Stiles after their impromptu unconscious nightly cuddle session was an understatement. Probably because what he was getting at was that they might be mates- were mates.

Oh boy, this was going to be a ride. But life was always a rollercoaster of surprises with Stiles. Good thing Derek liked rollercoasters.

He took a breath and entered the room, drawing Stiles' attention from the phone he was checking on the bedside table. Stiles sat up in surprise.

"Is that… you made me… breakfast in bed?" He asked, mouth hanging open.

Derek shrugged as best as he could and smiled sheepishly. Stiles' mouth fell open wider.

"Happy Valentine's day?" He tried, miming the writing on the heart-shaped box of chocolates, setting down the try on Stiles' lap and anxiously clasping his hands together behind his back.

"It's not Valentine's day," Stiles pointed out, gaping at the display in front of him before turning his stare at Derek again.

Derek could feel not only his ears but also his cheeks starting to burn.

"Well, I fucked up that opportunity yesterday so I'm hoping to make up for it today… Happy day after Valentine's day?"

"Wha… why?" Derek could see Stiles' Adam's apple work, could see the hope in his eyes, sense his fear. He sat down on the bed at Stiles' side.

"Because I've been an idiot," Derek sighed. He grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it off, showing Stiles the black spiraled design he knew so well. "It's not a tattoo."

Derek was too afraid to look at Stiles but could hear the soft exhale that came from the other male when he understood. A second later, there was a soft touch, triggering an exploding warmth from the center of Derek's back, a tingling shudder running through him.

"It's your soulmark," Stiles whispered and Derek looked up to meet his eyes in confirmation, feeling the connection spreading as Stiles' palm settled against his skin.

"I have… it's," he started, then pulled away as he struggled to dispose of his own shirt.

"I know," Derek said softly, gaze falling onto the soft dotted triskele on Stiles' chest. He followed the rising blush up to Stiles' face. "I saw it last night."

Stiles' lips quirked up.

"That's why the whole bed and breakfast in bed thing," he said cheekily. "You're wooing me."

Derek really should have expected for Stiles to find amusement in this. No matter that they were mates and Derek just wanted to treat him nice.

"It's working," he countered with his own smirk. "You took your shirt off for me." Stiles huffed and crossed his arms as if to shield himself from Derek's gaze.

"You took your shirt off first."

"Yeah, but you've never taken your shirt off in front of anyone else." Derek could only hope Stiles could hear the appreciation in his voice, because he knew his emissary despite all his cuteness - and tremendous power - was horribly self-conscious. No matter the mask he put up.

The food and coffee hadn't been touched yet, both of their interests elsewhere, so Derek moved the tray to the side and scooted closer. Stiles watched him, shifting forward  as he did so, hands falling into  his lap. Derek reached over to take one of them lightly, cradling it in both of his, and it was almost like he could feel Stiles' happiness flutter through to him.

Stiles' scent spiked with nervousness as Derek's gaze fell to the soft curve of his lips.

"I'm going to kiss you now," Derek declared, "but only if you want me to." Stiles was nodding before Derek had even finished his sentence. "Yes. Yes, I want you to."

It wasn't fireworks and lightning when their lips met but all pieces fell into place and life's puzzle was solved and solidified. Derek could have stayed there forever, gazing into Stiles' eyes, feeling his soft breath against his lips, that still tingled. Talk about post-kiss bliss.

But of course, the pack always had to find a way to get involved. A knock rang out a few seconds before the loft door rolled open with a squeak and Isaac's voice rang out.

"Hello? We uh- we haven't heard from either of you so the pack made me check in and see if… if, uh.."

"We're busy, Isaac," Derek said with an unhappy grunt.

"Don't kill me, I drew the short straw! And you know how scary Erica can be!"

"Isaac," Stiles interjected loudly. "I'm about to lay down that wood. And I don't care if you're here to hear it or not so…"

Derek covered his face and groaned, while Isaac squawked and tripped out the door again. Stiles just laughed. Derek waited till Isaac's quiet cursing was out of ear shot before he looked up again.

"I'll have you know that you're not getting in my pants on the first date," he told Stiles, who continued chuckling.

"Bummer," he replied offhandedly, but his eyes spoke only of happiness. "How about another kiss."

"Mh, that's still pretty demanding." Derek pulled a face and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I don't know how wooed I am just yet, you know," Stiles warned Derek.

"Give me a day and then let's talk."

Stiles hummed appreciatively. "One day. Then there'll be evaluations. You've got one chance, Sourwolf. Pass or Fail. This is the test."

"You're so ridiculous," Derek complained, while a smile tugged at his lips.

"Hm. I'm not sure I like the sound of that. That'll be ten minus points on the record. You don't woo people by insulting them. Now that's just science."

"Shut up so I can woo you."

"Minus 20 points! This is not a good development. Not at all. You know you were doing good with offering the bed and then presenting br-"

Derek saw no other choice but to occupy Stiles' mouth with another kiss, this one longer, still gentle, but with more feeling. Stiles looked dazed when he pulled back.back.

"50 plus points," Stiles said quietly, cheeks blooming.

"Aaaand open up," Derek said, guiding a piece of cinnamon toast to Stiles' lips, who gladly took a bite of the bread.

He chewed and swallowed, beaming, like the sun to Derek's moon that he was.

"I should call you cheesewolf," Stiles teased. "You're so cheesy."

Derek let him take another bite before he retaliated. "Just looking for ways to shut you up," he said innocently.

Stiles nudged him with a playful glare. "Asshole," he muttered, mouth full.

"Idiot," Derek said fondly.

"You're a total romantic at heart. You're a secret cuddler. Cuddled with me all of last night even though you said you wouldn't."

Derek snorted. "That's just because you were being clingy." That was a total lie and he couldn't look Stiles in the eyes for it.

"Nah," Stiles said offhandedly, a thoughtful look forming on his face as he grabbed Derek's hand to intertwine their fingers. "It's because you belong in my arms."

And yeah, Derek had finally found home again.